THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
The peace of Utrecht left England in the very front rank of European
powers, bound by treaty obligations to maintain the settlement then
made, and taught by many victories to assume that her intervention
would be effective. Moreover a new influence tended in the same
direction: her kings had through their Hanoverian dominions a personal
interest in continental affairs, and naturally tried to obtain English
support in Hanoverian quarrels. Naturally also France was permanently
jealous of the power which had destroyed her dream of naval supremacy,
and had played the leading part in humbling Louis XIV. Thus it was
to be expected that England would be involved more or less in most
European wars, and also that she would habitually have France as her
antagonist. She had private troubles in addition, in the shape of the
Jacobite rebellion of 1745 and the revolt of the American colonies.
The former could hardly have taken place had England not been at war
with France: the latter succeeded very largely because France and the
other European opponents of England seized the opportunity to coalesce
against her. France and England were in truth pitted against each other
all the world over. In North America they began the rivalry of the
eighteenth century on fairly equal terms, so far as that continent was
concerned. But the naval and commercial superiority of Great Britain,
which grew more and more pronounced as time passed, insured her
ultimate triumph in America in spite of all that France could do; while
nearer home England found her advantage in supporting with money and
men the continental enemies of her rival.
Nevertheless nearly thirty years elapsed after the peace of Utrecht
before England again sent an army to the continent. At first temporary
considerations led the governments of George I. and the regent Orleans,
threatened by similar dangers at home, to act in concert abroad.
A little later Walpole came into power, and his chief aim was the
maintenance of peace, in order that the new dynasty might have time to
take root. During this period of peace the army lost the efficiency
which Marlborough had given it. Political corruption undermined every
department of the public service. The traditional jealousy of the
existence of a standing army exhibited itself in the form of cutting
down the numbers, and neglecting the equipment, of the army which was
still kept in existence. The officers, who owed their rank to money or
court favour, trained neither themselves nor their men. The only thing
which saved England from disgrace in battle after battle was the stolid
courage which never knows when it is beaten. This is to all appearance
a national characteristic: in other words it is a quality found in most
Englishmen, developed in them by the unconscious influence of race, of
tradition, of we know not what, but not the outcome of conscious and
deliberate training. English soldiers might have incompetent leaders,
be ill-supported by their allies, be even placed under foreign generals
because the government could find no competent Englishman to command.
In spite of every discouragement they exhibited time after time the
same obstinate valour, and on the distant battle-fields of India,
where the good fortune of England brought men like Clive and Coote to
the front, they accomplished feats worthy to rank with the greatest
achievements of the Black Prince or Marlborough.
When the war of the Austrian Succession broke out, a strong feeling
arose in England in favour of Maria Theresa, who was being deprived by
a league of European powers of rights which they had all solemnly bound
themselves to maintain. France was her chief enemy, and this doubtless
quickened English zeal, though it was not until many months after an
army largely English, under George II. in person, had won a victory
which drove the French out of Germany, that war was formally declared
by France. For two years both English and French had been nominally
acting only as auxiliaries to their respective German allies. The
battle of Dettingen (June 27, 1743), the last in which an English king
has taken part, was not creditable to the skill of either party. The
Anglo-Austrian army, in attempting a bold stroke, allowed itself to be
so shut in by a very superior French force that its surrender seemed
almost inevitable. Mismanagement on the French side brought on a battle
under conditions which neutralised this advantage; and they were badly
defeated, though the allies, content with rescue from their perilous
position, did not press the pursuit.
Two years later (May 11, 1745) the English contingent played a
distinguished part in the bloody battle of Fontenoy, fought in the
hope of raising the siege of Tournay. The task was almost hopeless,
for Marshal Saxe with superior numbers occupied a strong intrenched
position, and the allies not only had no general comparable to Saxe,
but were not even under the real command of any one. The duke of
Cumberland, son of George II., was nominal commander-in-chief by virtue
of his rank, but he had practically no authority over his Austrian and
Dutch colleagues. The idea of the battle was of mediæval simplicity,
direct attack all along the line. The Austrians and Dutch could make
no impression on the French right: Cumberland, after more than one
unsuccessful attack on their left, formed most part of his British and
Hanoverian infantry into a single heavy column 14,000 strong, which
broke through the left centre of the hostile line, bearing down all
opposition, though suffering enormous loss. If Cumberland had been
properly supported at the critical moment, a victory might have been
won, but his colleagues would not stir; and his column had to retire
under a heavy cannonade, and fiercely assailed in flank by the Irish
troops in the French service. They left 4000 dead behind them, but
their ranks remained unbroken, and the cavalry ultimately was able to
cover an orderly retreat.
The most noteworthy fact about Fontenoy is that on that day the English
infantry was led to attack in column, instead of in line. It was very
natural that Cumberland should do so under the circumstances; English
military science was at a low ebb, and he might well suppose that
the methods of the continent were superior. His previous efforts,
apparently made in line, had been foiled: it was most natural, since
his obstinate courage refused to accept failure as his allies were
doing, that he should try another formation. The attack in column was
up to a certain point successful, but it would be rash to infer that
therefore the column was preferable. The movement of retreat was made
under every condition calculated to demoralise soldiers, frightful
losses in their own ranks, inability to strike at the enemy in return,
refusal of their allies to support them. Troops capable of maintaining
their formation with perfect steadiness under such a trial were capable
of anything. An attack made by them in line, pressed home with equal
determination, would have been quite as likely to succeed, would have
cost the enemy more, and themselves much less.
The Jacobite rebellion of 1745, which involved the last fighting that
has taken place on British soil, is chiefly remembered because of the
romantic interest in the Stuart cause created more than half a century
later by the genius of Sir Walter Scott. In the home of their race
the Stuarts aroused much chivalrous loyalty, though never was a noble
sentiment wasted on more unworthy objects. The advance into England
can plausibly be described as a piece of brilliant daring, which went
very near to being rewarded with success: but it is perfectly obvious
that no other policy offered the remotest chance of succeeding, and
equally certain, though perhaps less obvious, that failure was always
inevitable. England seemed indifferent: Jacobite zeal was almost dead,
and the feeling toward the house of Hanover had not risen above passive
acquiescence. Still the apathy was largely superficial: the panic in
London, when it was known that the Highlanders were in Derbyshire, is
a grotesque proof of this. If the English nation had ever seriously
believed that there was a probability of a Roman Catholic king, backed
by the strong favour of France, mounting the throne, the chances of the
Pretender would have vanished in a moment.
The battles fought during the rebellion, small as they were, point
with some force more than one military lesson. At Preston Pans the
disgraceful panic flight of the English cavalry left the infantry
exposed without support, and with both flanks uncovered, to the sudden
rush of the Highlanders. Armed with clumsy muskets which required so
long to load that they had no time to deliver a second volley, and
with bayonets slow and awkward to fix, they were practically unarmed
against the onset of brave men armed in a manner most effective at
close quarters. It was no wonder that they imitated the dragoons and
took to flight, though with more excuse. At Falkirk General Hawley,
grossly incompetent and careless, allowed his army to be surprised:
the Jacobites, well handled, and having the further fortune of being
able to attack while wind and rain were blinding the enemy, gained a
well-deserved victory. At Culloden (April 16, 1746) the Jacobite bubble
finally burst. The duke of Cumberland understood his business, and
had in his favour superior numbers, and more efficient artillery. The
rebels, half starving, had no choice but to fight or disperse. Unable
to bear the fire of Cumberland's guns, which instead of being massed
were distributed along the front line, two in each interval between
regiments, the Highlanders of the right and centre charged desperately
home. In spite of Cumberland's ingenious order that his men should
thrust with the bayonet each at the enemy to his right, so as to avoid
the Highland targets, they succeeded in breaking the front line. The
second line however received them with a crushing fire which drove them
back in utter rout. The Macdonalds on the left had hung back, sulky at
being refused their traditional post on the right: but this only made
the difference that a few less fell on both sides. Against discipline
and steadiness they had never had a chance of victory.
The treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, 1748, put an end to the European war,
and made formal peace between England and France. The differences
between the two great rivals outside Europe were however in no way
removed: it can scarcely be said that in India or America the peace was
ever more than nominal. The French attempt to connect their possessions
in Canada with Louisiana gave the English colonies no option but
armed resistance, unless they were prepared to abandon all prospect
of extension westwards. For some time the contest was carried on in
the region of the Ohio, without involving a formal breach between the
two nations. In 1756 however, a coalition was formed between Austria,
France, Russia, and Saxony for the dismemberment of the Prussian
monarchy, which had risen to considerable power under Frederick the
Great. Great Britain naturally allied herself with the enemy of France,
and English subsidies were of great value to Frederick in his skilful
and substantially successful resistance to enormous odds. The part
taken by English arms in the war in Germany was not very important. The
duke of Cumberland's blundering campaign, which ended in the convention
of Closterseven, was made with Hanoverian and other German troops.
More than one expedition against the French coast proved practically
abortive. In 1759 however British troops had a conspicuous share in the
important victory of Minden.
Marshal Contades with a French army of about 45,000 men held Minden,
which is situated on the left bank of the Weser, just below the
junction of a small tributary, the Wastau. On the approach of
Ferdinand of Brunswick with a slightly inferior army, mainly German,
but including six regiments of British infantry and some cavalry,
Contades determined to give him battle. Accordingly during the night of
July 31 he crossed the Wastau, over which he had constructed several
bridges, his camp having been hitherto on the south of it, and formed
in order of battle two or three miles north and west of Minden, with
the left resting on the village of Hahlen, the right extending to
the Weser. His own immediate command, about two-thirds of the whole,
faced nearly north-west; and for a very inadequate reason his cavalry
was massed in the centre, the infantry on the wings, the artillery
being as then usual distributed along the front. The duke of Broglie's
command, which had hitherto been acting separately, formed the right
of the army, at an angle to Contades' line, facing northwards. Prince
Ferdinand, advancing also before day-break, placed his army on an arc
corresponding to the French, but necessarily somewhat longer, and
therefore, as his numbers were less, in decidedly less dense formation.
Contades' plan of battle was that Broglie should begin the action by
attacking Ferdinand's left wing, and after driving it off, should
turn and take the German centre in flank, while he himself attacked
it in front. Broglie's opening cannonade however made no impression
on the enemy, and he had to content himself with holding his ground.
Prince Ferdinand's army was drawn up in a more rational fashion. On
his extreme right was a mass of cavalry, under Lord George Sackville
the English general: and another body of cavalry faced the immediate
right of Contades, while the space between was filled by infantry
in two lines, with guns at intervals. A detachment sent forward to
drive the French out of Hahlen, in order to clear the way for the
artillery to advance, had not yet succeeded in its task, when the
English regiments, which formed the right of the infantry line, began
to advance. Ferdinand had not intended this, some order seems to have
been misunderstood; but the advance once begun could not be checked.
Supported by some Hanoverian regiments, the British marched in line, as
if on parade, towards the left centre of the French, regardless of the
fire poured on them by two batteries, one on each flank. The first line
of the French, here entirely cavalry, attacked them in vain: but their
continued advance exposed them to flanking fire from the infantry of
the French left. Prince Ferdinand sent repeated orders to Lord George
Sackville to bring forward his cavalry, and take some of the pressure
off the infantry; but he remained obstinately inactive. Had he obeyed
orders, the victory would have been decisive and complete: the whole
French army must apparently have been driven into the Weser. Charge
after charge was delivered upon the English, rather ill combined, with
the result that the whole of the splendid French cavalry was completely
defeated, and driven off the field, with a loss of 1700 men.
Meanwhile the action had been better sustained on Contades' right;
but the defeat of his centre involved the retreat of his whole army.
Covered by Broglie's corps, which had not been seriously engaged, the
French retired on their bridges, and succeeded in crossing the Wastau,
not without sustaining additional losses from the British artillery,
which was boldly and skilfully pressed forward as the French left
gave way. Broglie made good his retreat into Minden, but not without
losing a whole brigade, which was surrounded and had to surrender. The
French loss was 7000 men, that of the allies about 2600, of which
half fell on the six English regiments, the 12th, 20th, 23rd, 25th,
37th, and 51st, which to this day bear the name of Minden on their
colours. But for the English general, the result would have been like
that of Friedland, the annihilation or surrender of the whole hostile
army, except the few who might succeed in crossing a bridgeless river.
Lord George Sackville's military career ended on that day, as well it
might: a fortunate accession to property enabled him to enter political
life under a new name, but it can hardly be said that the achievements
of Lord George Germaine were much more distinguished in the arena of
politics than those of his former self on the battle-field.
Almost simultaneously with Minden, occurred the brilliant capture of
Quebec by Wolfe, which meant the conquest of Canada. Pitt, who knew how
to select and to appreciate a capable man, chose Wolfe, who was only
a colonel, to conduct the most difficult part of a complicated scheme
for invading Canada. One force was to strike at Niagara, another was
to move by way of Lake Champlain, the third was to go in ships up the
St. Lawrence and assail the capital. Separated as these forces were by
long distances, and opposed by the French in adequate numbers, they
could not possibly act in close concert. It may suffice to say of
the two expeditions which started by land from the territory of the
colonies, that they were conducted in a steady methodical way, and
achieved a fair amount of success. Their real importance lay in their
distracting the councils of the French, and preventing Wolfe from being
overwhelmed. Even as it was, Wolfe was enormously overmatched so far as
mere numbers were concerned; but his troops if few were of excellent
quality, whereas opposed to him were still fewer French regulars, the
Canadian militia, for which he had a well-grounded contempt, forming
the bulk of the army that held Quebec. There was some little delay,
after Wolfe had reached Louisburg, before the expedition could set
sail up the St. Lawrence. The French knew of his coming, and had
made all possible preparations; but as time went on, they persuaded
themselves that their enemy would not venture to attempt the dangerous
navigation of the river. The English admiral, however, managed to
secure pilots: some of his captains even scoffed at the difficulty,
and piloted themselves. Without any accident, the whole English fleet
passed up the tortuous channel, and landed Wolfe's army opposite
Quebec. As the governor of the province wrote home to the French
minister, "the enemy passed sixty ships of war where we hardly dared
risk a vessel of a hundred tons."
[Illustration:
_Map XII._
_Quebec._ (_1759._)]
Quebec stands facing eastwards down the St. Lawrence at the end of a
long strip of high ground, which above Quebec is about a mile wide,
with extremely steep descent both southwards to the river bank, and
northwards to the plain through which the river St. Charles winds, to
fall into the St. Lawrence beside Quebec. Seven or eight miles below
the mouth of the St. Charles, on the north bank, is a narrow and deep
ravine, into which the river Montmorenci tumbles in the celebrated
falls. Between the two the ground is fairly flat, but high above the
level of the river, which is edged by slopes too steep to be climbed
except at a few spots. Along this shore the French general Montcalm,
with the concurrence of the governor Vaudreuil, thought fit to encamp
his army, and to line the whole bank with fortifications. He doubtless
thought to crush the English fleet if it attempted to pass up: but as
the river is there two or three miles wide, the ships passed to and
fro as they pleased, and whenever it suited Wolfe's purpose gave the
shore batteries and camp a very unpleasant time. Immediately under
Quebec the St. Lawrence is but a mile wide, and the south bank forms
a great curve known as Point Levi, immediately below which, separated
from it by a deep inlet, and opposite the mouth of the Montmorenci, is
a long stretch of low ground called the Isle of Orleans. Wolfe arrived
before Quebec on June 26, without having encountered any opposition,
and landed his forces on the Isle of Orleans. Montcalm had decided on
the prudent course: he believed that he had made Quebec unassailable,
and he calculated that by avoiding battle and simply standing on
the defensive, he would compel the English, after expending their
resources, to retreat baffled. He only omitted one element from his
calculation, the perfect mobility given to Wolfe by the British ships.
There were French vessels in the St. Lawrence, but very inferior in
force to the English: and they had been sent, with disastrous caution,
far up the river for safety, and their crews withdrawn to aid in the
defence of Quebec. Wolfe consequently could move his troops exactly as
he pleased, to or from any part of either bank not actually occupied by
the French, and they were powerless even to impede his movements. The
only possible device open to the French was to attempt to destroy the
fleet with fire-ships: this was tried more than once, but the English
sailors on each occasion grappled the flaming masses, towed them
ashore, and left them to burn themselves out innocuous.
Wolfe's first move was to occupy Point Levi, and erect batteries
there, from which he could bombard the city. His next was to occupy
the ground just east of the mouth of the Montmorenci, in the hope of
being able to cross that stream higher up and attack the main French
camp in rear. There was no real risk in dividing his army, assuming
that the force on the north bank of the St. Lawrence was sufficiently
large, for the detachments on the south bank were inaccessible to the
French. On July 18, some ships ran past the batteries of Quebec, a feat
which the French commanders had deemed impossible. Boats were dragged
overland behind Point Levi, and launched on the river above. It became
necessary to detach troops to guard the long line of cliffs extending
for many miles above Quebec. Still Montcalm could not be brought to
risk anything by a counter stroke: a direct attack on his camp seemed
hopelessly rash, but there was apparently no alternative. On July 31 an
attempt was made to scale the heights a little west of the Montmorenci,
which failed: the over-eagerness of the detachment ordered to lead the
attack spoiled what little chance there may have been, but success was
hardly possible. Then Wolfe fell ill, and for weeks nothing was done.
When he recovered, if it can be called recovery for an acute attack
of a mortal disease to pass away, he turned his attention in earnest
to the river above Quebec. Ship after ship ran the gauntlet of the
batteries, and troops were pushed up the southern bank. A large French
force under Bougainville had to be employed to guard, as best they
could, the long line of cliffs on the opposite shore. Several attempts
at landing were made, without achieving much except wearing out the
French troops with incessant marching to and fro, while the English,
conveyed rapidly in boats, could threaten any point they pleased.
Obviously however, it was one thing to land a party for a mere raid; it
was far more difficult, under the conditions, to land the whole army,
small as it was, and establish it on the high ground west of Quebec.
Before he had seen the place, Wolfe had hoped to attack the city in
this way: now, after proving that no other course was feasible, he
reverted to this desperate venture.
When Wolfe evacuated his camp by the Montmorenci, taking the soldiers
on ship-board, the natural hope of the French was that this step was
preparatory to retreat. They knew, or thought they knew, that the
English admiral was anxious to be gone, before the season was too far
advanced. Nor could they understand the meaning of his taking the ships
up the river: they believed the north bank, guarded as it was, to be
unassailable. Wolfe however had fully resolved on making the attempt;
his great anxiety was to be fit to lead in person, since he would not
devolve on any one else the responsibility of probable failure. "I know
perfectly well you cannot cure me," he said to his physician: "but pray
make me up so that I may be without pain for a few days, and able to do
my duty." After reconnoitring the whole shore carefully, he decided on
trying to ascend at the spot now known as Wolfe's Cove, about a mile
and a half above Quebec. By so doing he would compel Montcalm, who had
of course ready access to the city across the mouth of the St. Charles,
to choose between fighting a battle to save Quebec and being shut up in
the city, already beginning to starve. It is true that he would have in
his rear the considerable force under Bougainville, but he knew that
his own troops were far superior in quality to most part of the French,
and relied on being able to keep Bougainville at bay. After all, if the
risk was great, the prize was great also, and the only alternative was
to submit to total failure.
For several days the ships were allowed to drift up and down with the
tide, while boats seemed to be looking for points of landing, and
Bougainville's men were kept incessantly on the move. Every man that
could be spared, without evacuating the necessary stations at Point
Levi and the Isle of Orleans, was brought on board the vessels: even
then, the total did not reach 5000. At two a.m. on Sept. 13, the
tide served, and the boats conveying the infantry who were to land
dropped down the river, the other vessels following gradually. As they
neared the chosen spot, they were challenged from a French post on the
heights: an officer promptly replied in French, and the enemy, who
were expecting some provision boats to steal down in the night, were
satisfied. Fortune was favourable at the landing-place: the officer
commanding the post above was negligent, and a regiment which ought
to have been encamped on the plateau near at hand had been by mistake
placed at some distance. The ascent was made without opposition, and
before daylight Wolfe's little army, all infantry from the nature of
the case, was safe on the plateau. A regiment was left to hold the
landing-place, and another was pushed out to the rear to guard against
the chance of attack from Bougainville. Thus the total force available
for the actual battle was but 3600 men. As soon as there was light
enough, Wolfe formed his line facing Quebec, about a mile from the
city. English ships had been cannonading Montcalm's lines until after
nightfall, and seeming to threaten a landing. When at daybreak Montcalm
heard firing from above Quebec, he rode in that direction, caught sight
of the red-coats on the plateau, and hastily ordered up all the troops
that were within reach. By about ten o'clock the French also were in
order of battle, and advanced to the attack. Two field-guns had by this
time been dragged up from the landing-place; Montcalm had also obtained
three from the citadel: but substantially it was a battle of infantry
only, with everything to favour the English. Montcalm had not waited to
bring up all possible force, and engaged with numbers little greater
than Wolfe's, of by no means uniformly good quality. The English line
had been long formed, and the men quietly halted in perfect order;
the French advanced hastily, not in the best order. Wolfe waited till
the enemy were within forty yards: then a volley along the whole line
broke the attacking column to pieces. The English charged, and all
was over. "As Wolfe led on his men he was struck first by one bullet,
then by another, but still held on his way. A third pierced his breast
and he fell. He was carried to the rear, and asked if he would have a
surgeon. 'There's no need,' he answered, 'it's all over with me.' A
moment after one of them cried out, 'They run: see how they run.' 'Who
run?' Wolfe demanded, like a man roused from sleep. 'The enemy, sir:
egad, they give way everywhere.' 'Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton,'
returned the dying man; 'tell him to march Webb's regiment down to
Charles river, to cut off their retreat from the bridge.' Then, turning
on his side, he murmured, 'Now God be praised, I will die in peace:'
and in a few moments his gallant soul had fled."[63]
Montcalm was mortally wounded in the retreat, and there was no one to
replace him. Total as the French defeat had been on the field, they had
still at least double the English force, and Quebec was untaken. But
despondent counsels prevailed, the city capitulated, and when peace
came, France had to purchase it by surrendering her one great colony;
England was left mistress of North America. Well may Parkman say,
"Measured by the numbers engaged, the battle of Quebec was but a heavy
skirmish: measured by results, it was one of the great battles of the
world."
The operations before Quebec furnish an admirable illustration, on a
small scale, of what sea power can do to render assistance to land
warfare. The French were forced not only to watch, but to occupy, many
miles of shore; the English could post themselves where they pleased
on the opposite bank in perfect security, and could move hither and
thither when they desired it. They could cannonade from the water
any portion of the French shore, and their enemies could never feel
safe at any point against attack at any moment. The ships practically
multiplied two or threefold the little force at Wolfe's disposal. Wolfe
might grow sick at heart at seeing no opening for decisive action, his
men might grow weary of delay, but they had no hardships to suffer.
The French position was extraordinarily strong, and Montcalm steadily
patient in giving his opponent no opportunity. Wolfe was obviously
right in exhausting all other possibilities before trying a venture
which if unsuccessful would have been fatal; but when he did try it,
his naval strength enabled him to do so with every chance in his favour
which the situation allowed.
Of the war of American independence it does not enter into my plan to
write. A detailed narrative would only ring the changes on two or three
simple themes. Disciplined troops might be expected, unless grossly
ill-commanded, to have the advantage over the colonists. The vast
extent of the country made it impossible for the small British armies
effectually to occupy more than isolated bits. The generals sent out
from England were some of them incompetent, some neglectful, all face
to face with a task beyond their strength. Washington, who held the
chief control of the colonial forces, did his work with great skill
and most admirable patience, and he was on the whole fortunate in his
subordinates. Had not France intervened, the war might very probably
have been much longer protracted. But when France and Spain and Holland
had all joined in the war, the British navy was no longer dominant
in the Atlantic; supplies, reinforcements, communications generally,
ceased to reach America with ease and certainty, and the case became
hopeless. British credit was restored, to say the least, by the great
naval victory of Rodney in the West Indies, and by the total failure of
the French and Spaniards to make any impression on Gibraltar; but the
American colonies had none the less achieved their independence.
[Illustration:
_MAP XIII._
_Outline Map of
SPAIN & PORTUGAL_]