ARLINGTON STREET, _Oct._ 14, 1746.
You will have been alarmed with the news of another battle lost in
Flanders, where we have no Kings of Sardinia. We make light of it; do
not allow it to be a battle, but call it "the action near Liege." Then
we have whittled down our loss extremely, and will not allow a man more
than three hundred and fifty English slain out of the four thousand. The
whole of it, as it appears to me, is, that we gave up eight battalions
to avoid fighting; as at Newmarket people pay their forfeit when they
foresee they should lose the race; though, if the whole army had fought,
and we had lost the day, one might have hoped to have come off for eight
battalions. Then they tell you that the French had
four-and-twenty-pounders, and that they must beat us by the superiority
of their cannon; so that to me it is grown a paradox, to war with a
nation who have a mathematical certainty of beating you; or else it is
still a stranger paradox, why you cannot have as large cannon as the
French.[1] This loss was balanced by a pompous account of the triumphs
of our invasion of Bretagne; which, in plain terms, I think, is reduced
to burning two or three villages and reimbarking: at least, two or three
of the transports are returned with this history, and know not what is
become of Lestock and the rest of the invasion. The young Pretender is
landed in France, with thirty Scotch, but in such a wretched condition
that his Highland Highness had no breeches.
[Footnote 1: Marshal Saxe had inspired his army with confidence that a
day of battle was sure to be a day of victory, as was shown by the
theatrical company which accompanied the camp. After the performance on
the evening of October 10th the leading actress announced that there
would be no performance on the morrow, because there was to be a battle,
but on the 12th the company would have the honour of presenting "The
Village Clock." (See the Editor's "France under the Bourbons," iii.
26.)]
I have received yours of the 27th of last month, with the capitulation
of Genoa, and the kind conduct of the Austrians to us their allies, so
extremely like their behaviour whenever they are fortunate. Pray, by the
way, has there been any talk of my cousin, the Commodore, being
blameable in letting slip some Spanish ships?--don't mention it as from
me, but there are whispers of court-martial on him. They are all the
fashion now; if you miss a post to me, I will have you tried by a
court-martial. Cope is come off most gloriously, his courage
ascertained, and even his conduct, which everybody had given up,
justified. Folkes and Lascelles, two of his generals, are come off too;
but not so happily in the opinion of the world. Oglethorpe's sentence is
not yet public, but it is believed not to be favourable. He was always a
bully, and is now tried for cowardice. Some little dash of the same sort
is likely to mingle with the judgment on _il furibondo_ Matthews; though
his party rises again a little, and Lestock's acquittal begins to pass
for a party affair. In short, we are a wretched people, and have seen
our best days!
I must have lost a letter, if you really told me of the sale of the
Duke of Modena's pictures, as you think you did; for when Mr. Chute told
it me, it struck me as quite new. They are out of town, good souls; and
I shall not see them this fortnight; for I am here only for two or three
days, to inquire after the battle, in which not one of my friends were.
Adieu!
_ON CONWAY'S VERSES--NO SCOTCH_MAN_ IS CAPABLE OF SUCH DELICACY OF
THOUGHT, THOUGH A SCOTCHWOMAN MAY BE--AKENSIDE'S, ARMSTRONG'S, AND
GLOVER'S POEMS._