CHAPTER VIII.

Opening of the Campaign in Germany under Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick--Reports of the Battle of Minden--Lord Granby and Lord George Sackville--Reflections on the latter--His Lordship’s conduct at the Battle of Minden--He returns to England--Correspondence of French Generals--King of Prussia’s Campaign--His Army defeated at Cunnersdorf--He saves Berlin and retrieves his Affairs--Spain and Naples--Charles III. of Spain sets aside his eldest son in the succession, in consequence of weakness of intellect--Admiral Boscawen defeats the French Fleet--Conquests in America--Lord George Sackville--Death of the Bishop of Worcester.

Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick had opened the campaign with less success than reputation, having been obliged to retreat after attempting to dislodge the French from Bergen. It was this and some parallel occasions in which the French stood their ground, that intituled Prince Ferdinand most deservedly to the character of a consummate General. Retreats before a victorious Army, and prosperous campaigns against a superior Army, these were his titles--the incapacity of the hostile Generals, and the shameful behaviour of their troops, rendered his subsequent achievements less brilliant, without proving that he would not have succeeded against abler antagonists. It is a little more problematic whether he could not have served us better, had he had no interests to serve but ours. As we were strictly connected with the King of Prussia, co-operating with him was serving the common cause. The question is, whether Prince Ferdinand never lost sight of the interests of Great Britain, when a motion, a diversion that might shield that Monarch, clashed with an obvious plan of activity for driving the French out of the territories that more immediately affected our cause.

The advantage of employing so able a German General balanced some signal inconveniences attending that nomination. The sums which were never refused to him, and for which, not being a Briton, he could not be called to account, will perhaps outweigh the glory he procured to our arms, the benefits that resulted from his success, or the share which he made us take in saving the King of Prussia from destruction. Should the last-named Prince prove oftener our enemy than our Ally, we must comfort ourselves with having guarded the Protestant religion in Germany--for the Protestantism of its chief, it was too ridiculous to be made, as it was, even a serious object by the mob! Atheistic odes were the psalms which that Protestant confessor sung by the waters of Babylon!

After the check at Bergen, Prince Ferdinand, though retreating, disputed his ground by garrisoning the chief towns on his march. Yet they were all taken by the French, particularly Munster and Minden. Hanover seemed again on the point of becoming their prey. Nothing was left, but to hazard a battle; on which the Prince determined, and the news of which arrived here, when such an event was least expected, except by the King, who, on receiving General Yorke’s[52] courier, owned that he had had Prince Ferdinand’s plan in his pocket for ten days, without communicating it to a single person. This testimony was given immediately, before the slightest particulars were known, except that the general result of the action was complete success. Yet, however the event was coincident with the design, however determined the Prince was to provoke an engagement, it is rather clear that he was surprised, though not by his own fault, as came out afterwards.

Colonel Ligonier[53] followed General Yorke’s courier, but had been dispatched so early from the field of battle, that he scarce knew any of the circumstances, except the great loss on the French side, the large number of prisoners, with the capture of their cannon and baggage.

Three days afterwards arrived Colonel Fitzroy,[54] Aide-de-camp to Prince Ferdinand, with confirmation of the victory; not so ample as in the first intelligence, but decisive, and attended immediately by essential advantages. Contades had passed the river in the night, ordering the bridges to be destroyed. Minden, with its garrison, surrendered the next day. The loss on our side had not been inconsiderable, and had fallen chiefly on the English, who had also the greatest share in the honour of the day. The Generals Kingsley and Waldegrave had particularly distinguished themselves.

With Fitzroy came over the Duke of Richmond; and they, particularly the latter, disclosed a passage, which soon threw the nation into a flame. Lord George Sackville,[55] by his weight with Mr. Pitt,[56] and in Parliament, had insisted on going to Germany, and had gone without the King’s approbation, and even without waiting on his Majesty. Lord Granby was next to Lord George in command, and so popular, that when he set out for the Army, fifty-two young officers had solicited to be his Aides-de-camp. Between these two Lords a coolness soon ensued, and divided the Army, if it can be called _division_, where almost every heart sided with Lord Granby. He was open, honest, affable, and of such unbounded good-nature and generosity, that it was impossible to say which principle actuated him in the distribution of the prodigious sums that he spent and flung away.

Lord George Sackville was haughty, reserved but to a few, and those chiefly Scotch; and with no pre-eminence over his rival, but what his rank in command gave him, and his great talents, in which there could not be the smallest competition; and yet with those superior talents, Lord George never had the art of conciliating affection. He had thwarted Prince Ferdinand, and disgusted him, in the preceding campaign; and was now in the Army against the Prince’s inclination. The latter, with equal haughtiness, but with far more art and address, could not fail of fomenting a breach that tended so much to mortify Lord George, and to promote his own views. Lord Granby was tractable, unsuspicious, and not likely to pry into or control the amazing impositions of the German agents, which Lord George had too honestly, too indiscreetly, or too insultingly, let Prince Ferdinand see had not escaped his observation, instead of remonstrating or withstanding such dissipation, as he should have done, at home--though it is questionable whether his representations would have been listened to by Mr. Pitt, who cared not what he lavished on whoever would carry on his glorious sketches, or rather adventurous darings--a prodigality unhappily copied in the next reign, throughout the American war, by men who imitated Mr. Pitt in nothing else, and who had none of his genius, ambition, patriotism, activity, nor even his lofty ideas.[57]

This was the state of things before the battle of Minden; but being little or not at all known in England, it was with equal surprise and indignation that the people heard Lord George Sackville, who had always stood in high estimation for courage, more covertly at first, soon openly accused of cowardice, and of having thrown away the moment of completing the total destruction of the French Army. Prince Ferdinand had passed this reproach on him, indirectly and artfully indeed, but, when combined with the circumstances of the battle, not to be misunderstood. In the orders which he gave out the next day, he expressed concern that Lord Granby had not had the command of the Cavalry on the right wing, which, if led by him, his Highness did not doubt would have given a more decisive lustre to the day. More mysterious, yet still more pointed, was a paragraph in the same orders, requiring that, _for the future_, his commands, delivered by his Aides-de-camp, should be more exactly obeyed.

Inquiry soon led to the particular fact alluded to. During the battle, the Prince sent Ligonier, one of his Aides-de-camp, to Lord George, with orders to bring up the Cavalry; Fitzroy immediately after, with orders for Lord George to march with only the British Cavalry, and to the left. Lord George, as Fitzroy, who arrived suddenly after Ligonier, said, received the order with some confusion, and replied, “This cannot be so; would he have me break the line?” Fitzroy, young, brave, and impetuous, urged the command. Lord George desired he would not be in a hurry. “I am out of breath with galloping,” said Fitzroy, “which makes me speak quick; but my orders are positive. The French are in disorder; here is a glorious opportunity for the English to distinguish themselves.” Lord George still hesitated, saying, it was impossible the Prince could mean to break the line. Fitzroy stuck to the Prince’s orders. Lord George asked which way the Cavalry was to march, and who was to be their guide? “I!” said Fitzroy, bravely. Lord George pretending the different orders puzzled him, desired to be conducted to the Prince for explanation; in the meantime dispatched Smith, his favourite, with orders to lead on the British Cavalry; from whence, he pleaded, no delay could happen. Smith whispered Lord George, to convince him of the necessity of obeying. Lord George persisted on being carried to the Prince, who at Fitzroy’s report was much astonished. Even when Lord George did march, he twice sent orders to Lord Granby to halt, who was posting on with less attention to the rules of a march, but with more ardour for engaging. Before they arrived, the battle was gained. Lord George defended himself on the seeming contradiction of the orders; on the short space of time that was lost, at most eight minutes; on obstructions from a wood on his march; and on his own alertness, he having been one of the first on horseback on hearing the French cannonade; the Prince of Anhalt having neglected to send to Prince Ferdinand information of the approach of the French, which he had learnt from four deserters.

That the whole affair turned on very few minutes, is certain. Whether, if employed, they would have been of great consequence, cannot now be determined. Enough was evident to prove that Lord George, at best, was too critically and minutely cool in such a moment of importance. Indeed, more was proved. Previous to the arrival of Ligonier, he had lost time in affecting not to understand a message delivered to him by a German Aide-de-camp. Colonel Sloper, too, (who had been obliged to him,) remarking his confusion, said to Ligonier, “For God’s sake, repeat your orders to that man, that he may not pretend not to understand them--but you see the condition he is in!” Had Lord George’s courage been less problematic, one might suspect that his hatred to Prince Ferdinand had made him willing, by an affected delay, to balk the Prince of part of his glory;[58] but some late occasions had already discovered that his Lordship was no hero. The late Duke of Marlborough[59] had remarked it in their joint expedition to the coast of France; and the little spirit he had shown in Ireland, under the most grievous abuse, was now recollected, and concurred to corroborate the present imputation. His real constitution, I believe, was this: he had a high and bold spirit, till danger came extraordinarily near. Then his judgment was fascinated--yet even then he seems not to have lost a certain presence of mind. His quickness in distinguishing a trifling contradiction in a message delivered by two boys in not precisely the same terms, showed that all his senses were not lost; but if that dexterity served his fears, it cut up his fortune by the roots, annihilated his character, and gratified the utmost spleen and vengeance of his enemy. I question if a fuller victory had been more acceptable to Prince Ferdinand.

That disappointment alone had not provoked his Highness, seemed to appear from the choice he made of Lord Granby for the particular object of his compliment. Though the next officer to Lord George in the Cavalry, Lord Granby had only marked a great readiness to lead them to the charge; but had had no opportunity of otherwise distinguishing himself. For Lord George, whether unconscious of having failed in his duty; or whether, which is more probable, to carry on the semblance of having done it, he did not scruple to mix with the general officers at Prince Ferdinand’s table after the battle. “_Voilà cet homme_,” said the Prince to those nearest to him, “_autant à son aise comme s’il avoit fait des merveilles_!” No more passed then. The next day’s orders informed Lord George that the Prince’s silence was no indemnity. His Highness knew the English; and left it to them to execute the rest.

Lord George Sackville felt the stroke. He saw Germany and the Army were no longer a situation for him. He wrote for leave to resign his command, and to return. Both were granted. Ere he could arrive, both the Court and the nation were prepared to receive him with little less abhorrence and abuse than had led the way to the fate of Admiral Byng.

A promotion of Lieutenants-General was immediately made, in order to include and hasten the rank to General Waldegrave,[60] to whom the success of the battle had in great measure been owing. The six English regiments, who sustained the whole effort of the French, had begun the engagement with less promise of valour. At first they began to give way. Waldegrave, affecting not to perceive that their motion tended towards a retreat, cried out, “Wheel to the right!”--they did, and recovered the day. Waldegrave was a man who united much frankness with steady attention to his interest. His parts were never taken notice of but on this occasion: but such an occasion is immortality.

Seventy thousand men routed by 35,000 was indeed a shining victory. The defeat of the French was attended with scarce less rancour between their Generals than happened between ours. The Marshals Contades and Broglio threw the blame on each other: but the former never recovered any share of estimation. His papers, which fell into our hands soon after the battle, were artfully published. They included his correspondence with Marshal Belleisle, who directed the operations of the war, and gave orders for the conduct of it with a barbarity that spoke very plainly how little France was influenced by any sentiments of humanity or good faith in pursuit of her views.[61] The Germans were treated in those despatches with the most marked contempt; the Princes suspected by them, despotically; and even their friends, the Electors of Cologne and Palatine, were to be made feel the misery of being connected with a too powerful and arrogant Ally. They were to be plundered under the observance of the most insulting ceremonial. But what shocked Europe most, were repeated commands to reduce the most fertile provinces of Germany to a desert: the pretence, to shorten the war. Had their meditated invasions of this country succeeded, one may judge what would have been the secret instructions to their Generals!

We must now turn to the King of Prussia. The efforts he had made in the preceding campaigns to withstand so many enemies were again to be renewed. The Russians were ready to burst on Silesia, and were not a nation with whom he could temporize, as he could with Marshal Daun, by stratagems, shifting situations, and the other resources of a politic general. Count Dohna, who was opposed to them, had endeavoured to ward off the blow by such expedients: but his master determined in his own mind that the Russian storm should be encountered by a shock like their own. He disgraced Dohna, and substituted Wedel in his place, with absolute command to risk a battle. Wedel accordingly engaged seventy thousand Russians with less than half their number, and was defeated. The towns of Crossen and Francfort-on-the-Oder fell into the hands of the conquerors.

The King, to vindicate his own measure, and indeed from the necessity of making a decisive effort, hastened with ten thousand men to the shattered remains of Wedel’s army; while Marshal Daun, who knew that the Russians wanted nothing but a body of cavalry, despatched twelve thousand horse to them under General Laudohn, who was accompanied, too, by eight thousand foot. This supply made the Russian force amount to above fourscore thousand men, already blooded with victory and barbarity. The King, with all the recruits he could collect, had not assembled above fifty thousand men--enough to sacrifice to despair! It was near the village of Cunnersdorf that he once more tried what the most intrepid rashness could perform. Even the advantage of situation was against him; yet nothing stopped his impetuosity. His Generals had no option: his troops were animated by revenge, by the dangers that threatened their country, and by the example of their King, who was so far entitled to lavish the blood of his soldiers, as he was prodigal of his own. Such motives and such fury bore down all before them. The Russian entrenchments were forced; seventy pieces of their cannon were taken; posts after posts were carried, and prodigious slaughter made of their bravest battalions. The King, confident of success, and impatient to notify it, despatched a courier to the Queen with these words: “Madam, we have beaten the Russians from their entrenchments; in two hours expect to hear of a glorious victory.” Unless he concluded that the expeditious divulging of his success could check the progress of his other enemies, or encourage his people to withstand the tempest that was ready to break upon them, this anticipation of his good fortune was childish, and more like the juvenile ardour of an unpractised hero, than of a man accustomed both to victory and reverses, and who was now fighting for dearer objects than glory.

The promised two hours never arrived. Soltikoff, the Russian General, collected the remains of his right wing, and, with supplies drawn from his centre, reinforced his left, which he observed to be the most entire, and posted it on a rising ground to advantage. The King, flushed with success, and now engaged in honour to make it complete, resolved to drive the Russians from that last post too. The fatigue of his troops, the representations of his Generals, the advantages already gained, nothing could dissuade him from pushing his fortune to the utmost. The command for attack was given, and was obeyed with alacrity by the Prussians, though almost spent by the heat of the day, and the efforts they had exerted. At that moment the Austrian cavalry, so judiciously furnished by Daun, and as ably put in motion by Laudohn, rushed upon the enfeebled victors, broke their ranks, drove them back in disorder, and ravished from them in few moments the fruit of their glorious ardour and intrepidity.

A total defeat of the Prussians ensued, notwithstanding the undaunted valour of their monarch, who could not recover by despair what he had let slip out of his hands by presumption. Yet, to that intemperance in action succeeded the coolest prudence and judgment. He had acted as in despair at the head of fifty thousand men; he took measures for re-establishing his Army, when he knew not whether he had an Army left. All his Generals were killed or wounded, all his cannon taken, the flower of his troops slaughtered or dispersed: yet, in those circumstances he made so able a retreat, so assiduously reassembled the remains of his Army, and chose his ground in so masterly a manner, that the Russians not only did not venture to make any attempt on Berlin, but drew no advantages from so complete a victory. Even Marshal Daun, who had selected the very moment for deciding the King’s ruin, improved the conjuncture with far less capacity than the vanquished Prince, who seemed to have no resource left. The Marshal, instead of being born, as men conjectured, to weary out the fertility of that monarch’s genius, seemed at last but the proper touchstone for proving the extent of his abilities. In a second note to his Queen, his Majesty ordered her to remove from Berlin with the Royal Family; the archives to be transported to Potsdam. The capital, he added, might make conditions with the enemy. This was the first thought--yet he not only saved Berlin; but though Marshal Daun joined Soltikoff, and though the King received two more defeats during the course of the campaign, yet by the dexterous manœuvres of his brother, Prince Henry, whose military talents the King professed to prefer to his own, and who drew the Marshal towards Saxony by a daring and celebrated march, by the retreat of the Russians, to which the King forced them, and by the too deliberate councils of the Austrian chief, who continued to act in a defensive style even after he had reduced the King to the last gasp, that Prince was still saved to baffle the reasonings of the speculative, and to terminate his glorious career in a manner worthy of its progress.

While the war seemed drawing towards a conclusion in the North, it looked as if fate was opening a new source of calamities to mankind. Ferdinand King of Spain died; a Prince of no abilities, and lately of disordered intellects. His want of issue had formerly been imputed to drugs administered to him by the practices of his mother-in-law, Elizabeth Farnese, the politic Queen-dowager. Men of a suspicious cast might attribute his frenzy to the same cause; but a more pregnant reason might be assigned. His father, who certainly was far from being afflicted with any bodily debility, had been equally disturbed in his understanding. Ferdinand’s Queen,[62] who had great ascendant over him, had kept his madness within bounds. On her death nobody had any influence with him. His disorder, thus left to itself, increased, and put an end to his life about a year after the decease of his Queen.

The Queen-dowager, though not absolute directress of affairs during the life of her son-in-law, had yet, from her intrigues, bribes, and dependents, and still more from the visible and approaching prospect of her own son’s succession, acquired much authority, though not enough to throw the kingdom, as she wished, into direct connexion with France. The probability of the weight she would have with her son Don Carlos; the power his own Queen, who was a daughter of Saxony, was known to have with him; and the subjection in which we had held him while only King of Naples--all these motives concurred to lead him into French measures. Naples, by the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, had been destined to his brother the Duke of Parma. Don Carlos, indeed, had never given his consent to that disposition: he was less inclined to conform to it when the forces of Spain enabled him to dispute it. Accordingly, on obtaining the Spanish Crown, he destined that of Naples to one of his younger sons. The eldest, called Duke of Calabria, and heir-apparent of Spain, inherited the weakness of mind of his grandfather and uncle. Him, therefore, it was determined totally to set aside. Solemnity was used in proceeding to that rejection. The young Prince, then thirteen, was formally examined by physicians. One[63] of them was so honest as to refuse to sign his persuasion of the Prince’s incapacity, though at length he too yielded. The case was novel and striking. Just, undoubtedly, to the people who were to be governed: but many favourers of hereditary right--that is, men who think that no want of talents or virtues ought to exclude a Prince from exercising that office which requires the noblest share of both, and hold that mankind, like land, ought to be the property of birth--will not be pleased with the reasons which the Neapolitan physicians were of opinion disqualified the Prince for the throne of Spain.

“He was short, his joints were contracted, he stooped, looked down, squinted, was sometimes indifferent to things convenient for him, at others too warm and impetuous. His passions not restrained by reason; he had an obstinate aversion to sweetmeats; was disturbed by all sorts of noise; pain or pleasure made no lasting impressions on him; he was utterly unacquainted with good-breeding; had not the least idea of the mysteries of their holy religion; loved childish amusements, the most boisterous the best; and was continually shifting from one thing to another.”

If these defects were disqualifications, hard would be the fate of most sovereigns! how seldom would an eldest son succeed his father! Would not one think that the faculty of physic at Naples had rather been describing a Monarch than dispossessing him? One thing is evident--it must have been a King who selected _such_ criterions for judging whether his son was capable of governing a great nation. “Ask him,” we must suppose, said his Neapolitan Majesty, “whether he loves sweetmeats! if he does not, he is unworthy of filling the Throne of his ancestors.” The Prince’s ignorance of good-breeding and of his religion seems rather imputable to his parents and preceptors than to him. If it were the mysteries of the Roman Catholic faith which he was incapable of comprehending, I should suspect the Prince was a sensible lad. Perhaps the honest physician thought as I do--at least, I do not doubt but, if permitted, he would have asked the Prince other questions.

Voltaire, who, I do not know why, thinks Princes are always to be mentioned with strict decorum, could hardly persuade any man to refrain from laughing at this absurd catalogue of royal deficiencies. The Prince really was an idiot; nor was it likely that a father would wish to disinherit his own child, especially who was not old enough to have given him jealousy, unless the incapacity had been glaring and hopeless--but one would think the whole Cabinet of Naples had been idiots likewise, when they could find no better colours to dress up a notorious fact. Indeed, the Spanish as well as Portuguese statesmen have been wofully defective in composition in this age, as often as they have attempted to lay the grounds of their proceedings before the rest of Europe. The most barbarous periods of monkish ignorance and despotism produced nothing more despicable than several manifestos of those Crowns.

The Prince was set aside in consequence of the decision of the physicians.[64] The second son was carried to Spain and declared Prince of Asturias. To the third was actually resigned the Crown of Naples, though too young to have it known whether he was more fit to reign than his eldest brother--but a baby is never thought disqualified. The tranquillity, however, of that child’s reign depended so much on preserving the friendship of England, that the new King of Spain was not impatient to hurry into French councils. His wife too had prepossessed him with apprehensions of being governed by his mother. The Crown of Naples, which he had owed entirely to her intrigues, could not induce him to put that of Spain under her direction. She could not even obtain to see him alone--a mortifying return from a darling son, who had been absent from her thirty years! But if the new Queen in that instance showed her influence, she lost it in every other. The King was extremely weak, but unmeasurably obstinate. The Crown of Spain, or probably some Spanish Minister, infused into him higher thoughts of himself. He grew jealous of his wife’s ascendant, sent away a Neapolitan Duchess who governed her, and took a resolution of deciding everything by his own judgment. He could not have chosen a worse counsellor.[66] The disgraces that soon attended his measures made the true Spaniards wish that the Neapolitan doctors had been consulted on more cases than one.

The death of King Ferdinand was followed (September 4) by that of the Lady Elizabeth of England, second daughter of Frederic, Prince of Wales, in her eighteenth year. She had the quickest parts of any of his children, but was extremely deformed and homely. She died at Kew, of an inflammation in her bowels, having been ill but two days.

The beginning of the same month was distinguished by a torrent of prosperous news. The French fleet had sailed from Toulon. Admiral Boscawen[67] was refitting his squadron at Gibraltar, an inaction of which they hoped to profit, but the alertness of our commander demolished their hopes. On notice of their approach, he sailed out, and came up with the French off Cape Lagos, in Portugal. They made a running fight, but could not escape the vigilance and bravery of Boscawen. Two of their largest ships were taken; two others forced on shore and burnt; in one of which was the Commander, who was wounded in both legs, and expired soon after. The action passed on the 18th of August.

At the same time we learnt the conquest of Niagara by Sir William Johnson, the provincial hero. The account was carried to General Amherst on the very day on which he took possession of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, abandoned by the French. It had been the plan to attack all the strong posts of the French at once. Amherst[68] had the command in chief; and, by the river St. Lawrence, was to fall on Quebec on one side, while the expedition under Wolfe and Saunders was to undertake the siege on the other. The conduct of that against Niagara was committed to General Prideaux, who was killed in the trenches by the bursting of a cohorn. Sir William Johnson, on whom the command devolved, took the place, after beating an army of French and Indians sent to relieve it.

Amid such a tide of success Lord George Sackville arrived in London. He immediately wrote to Lord Holderness to demand a Court-Martial. The demand was evaded for the present. He was told, the officers necessary were employed abroad. Lord Ligonier, the Commander-in-Chief, and Lord Barrington, Secretary at War, were more explicit, and informed him, that if he desired a Court-Martial, he must seek it in Germany. This was followed by a message, delivered by the latter, acquainting Lord George, that not only the command of his regiment would be taken from him, but that he would be dismissed from his rank of General, and from his post of Lieutenant-General of the Ordnance; and Lord Barrington asked civilly if his Lordship chose to receive that notification then from his mouth, or in writing! Lord George preferred the latter. “That,” replied Lord Barrington, “will be easy; for I know but one precedent, that of the late Lord Cobham. I will send your Lordship the same.” Lord George smiled, and replied, “I hope your Lordship will send me a copy of Lord Cobham’s answer, too.”

This behaviour of the Court was not very intelligible, many even thought it had been concerted, as the gentlest way of letting Lord George escape. Certain it is, that their avoiding to call him to a trial made him presume on his cause, and resolve to try to correct the severity of his fortune. On the other hand, the punishment seemed too rigid to a man untried, uncondemned, who asked a trial, and against whom no complaint was preferred in form. He had even, a fortnight after his disgrace, written to Prince Ferdinand to know his charge. The latter protested he had no complaint against him, nor had written a word in his disfavour, _till_ on hearing the discourses in the camp. Tenderness to so old a servant as the Duke of Dorset, perhaps, made the King willing to avoid the last severity, which, should Lord George be condemned, would be difficult to avoid. The officers of the Fleet, who had seen an example made in their profession, would exclaim against partiality to a land officer, the greatness of whose birth would be the obvious cause of such lenity.

Mr. Pitt, too, was of no sanguinary complexion, though a rigid exactor of obedience. From the first moment of Lord George’s disgrace, Mr. Pitt warmly adopted the sentiments of Prince Ferdinand, whom he was determined heartily to support. Though he went to visit Lord George in form, he by no means meant to protect him. He would not, he said, condemn any man unheard. But he was sworn to the German cause, and to the heroes whose success reflected such lustre on his own Administration, and concurred so much to give it stability. When Fitzroy returned to the Army, Mr. Pitt charged him with the strongest assurances to Prince Ferdinand (as Fitzroy told Mr. Conway): “Tell him,” said Mr. Pitt, “he shall have what reinforcements, what ammunition, he pleases--tell him I will stand or fall with him.” Hearing, too, that Lord Mansfield connected with Lord George, and the Law intended to support him, “The Law,” said Pitt, “have nothing to do with that question.” Lord Granby succeeded Lord George Sackville in the Ordnance, and General Waldegrave in the regiment. Lord George published a short address, intreating the nation to suspend their opinion till he could have an opportunity of clearing himself.

In this month of September died Dr. Madox, Bishop of Worcester, a man who, from very low beginnings, and with no visible address, had raised himself to great height in the Church; and which at that time was singular, he never pushed his fortune through the Duke of Newcastle. He had higher merit--assiduously promoting regulations to prevent the destructive vices of the common people. He was succeeded by Johnson of Gloucester, who has been much mentioned in these Memoirs on a particular occasion.[69]

FOOTNOTES:

[52] Joseph Yorke, third son of Philip first Earl of Hardwicke, and Minister in Holland; afterwards, in 1788, created Lord Dover.

[53] Nephew of Marshal Lord Ligonier, whom he succeeded in the title.

[54] Charles, only brother of Augustus Henry, Duke of Grafton; afterwards created Baron of Southampton.

[55] Third son of Lionel Sackville, first Duke of Dorset.

[56] He had, however, already offended Mr. Pitt. The latter had offered to him the command of the expedition to St. Cas. Lord George replied, “_he was tired of buccaneering_.” It was to avoid that service that he had insisted on going to Germany--but Pitt did not forget the sarcasm on his expeditions.

[57] From this passage, as well as others, it is clear that our author revised his work many years after he wrote it. To this chapter, in a copy fairly transcribed, he has subjoined Oct. 28th, 1763; but in the same copy the concluding sentence of the paragraph in text does not occur.

[58] Some went so far as to suppose, that Lord George, concluding the Prince would be beaten, had a mind to have the honour of saving the Cavalry--but I know nothing to confirm that opinion.

[59] Charles Spencer, second Duke of Marlborough. He died between the expedition to St. Cas and the battle of Minden.

[60] John, younger brother of James, Earl of Waldegrave (the author of the Memoirs), whom he succeeded in the title in 1763, died Oct. 15, 1784.

[61] Lord Chesterfield wrote and published a letter to expose that infamous conduct.

[62] Barbara, a Princess of Portugal.--E.

[63] His name was Serras. He urged, “That the Prince was not an incurable changeling; and that age, strengthening his constitution, might strengthen his intellects.”

[64] The rejected Prince lived several years after at Naples, but never attained any degree of understanding. He was allowed to take the air in his coach constantly and publicly, and every body could perceive his insensibility. The next Prince, become Prince of Asturias,[65] was violent and brutal. The third, King of Naples, was not void of symptoms of the malady of his family, though it was doubtful whether his intellects were weak or deranged. Like his father, he was indefatigable in hunting, and passed many more hours of every day with his dogs than with his Ministers--such a sinecure is royalty! Had the eldest Prince been capable of passing his whole time in hunting, he might have been King.

[65] And afterwards Charles IV. of Spain. He never renounced his right to the kingdom of Naples; and though he acquiesced in his brother’s possession of it, always disputed his title, which, as it was in violation of the law of primogeniture, was never distinctly admitted by any government of Spain till the revolution of 1820.--E.

[66] Our author treats Charles III. with undue severity. He was no hero or statesman, but yet not devoid of good qualities. Probity, justice, consistency, and humanity, were among his virtues. On his accession to the Crown of Spain he submitted to great inconvenience, from a principle of honesty--he deemed it wrong to divert any portion of the treasure of Naples from the service of that kingdom; and he adhered so religiously to his scruple, that he not only left the public funds untouched, but divested himself of all private wealth, even to pictures, gems, and rings, considering them as the property of the people whose resources had enabled him to purchase them. He engaged, indeed, in two wars--one manifestly unjust, and both perhaps unnecessary; but he protected literature and the arts of peace. Though a bigoted Catholic, he suppressed the Jesuits, abolished, or at least discountenanced, torture, and mitigated religious persecution by his neglect and dislike of the Inquisition. In short, few absolute Kings, and none of his race and country, have been more free from the reproach of extravagance, injustice, or inhumanity. His reign was less oppressive and less inglorious than any under which Spain languished during the long suspension or evasion of her ancient free institutions.--E.

[67] Edward Boscawen was second son of Hugh, the first Viscount Falmouth.

[68] Jeffery Amherst, afterwards Knight of the Bath, and made a Peer and Commander-in-Chief in the next reign.

[69] The affair of Lord Ravensworth and Fawcet.