Part 9

The road between St. Amand and Tournay was covered with baggage waggons and troops. In the dark, about 8 o’clock, I had an alarm that produced a sensation of terror far beyond any power of description to express. Just upon the plain where the battle of Fontenoy was fought, I saw about a quarter of a mile before me ten or twelve horsemen gallop across the road and range themselves under the trees of the avenue. They came from the French side of the road, and in the dusk and indistinct manner in which I saw them more than satisfied me that they were French hussars. I gave myself up for lost, and in an agony of silent despair hid my head. We approached, when, lo!--my hussars proved to be gleaners. The immense bulk of them on the horizon and their quiet motion, aided by imagination, made me see an enemy instead of a harmless band of suffering countrywomen. When we reached Tournay we found the inn full of English soldiers. Lord Huntley in the house very dangerously ill.

[Sidenote: MOVEMENTS OF THE ALLIES]

It is very true that the nearer one approaches the scene of action intelligence becomes more imperfect and contradictory. Every other man we met gave us a different account; some said the D. of York was at Ypres, others that he was at Furnes, and yet it is possible that he has been at neither place. We met the Dutch troops who ran away on the 18th; they are going to garrison towns, as they cannot be trusted in the lines. At Menin I saw Colonel Doyle walking upon the Grande Place. He has a deep wound in his arm and a contusion on his knee. An old Dutch acquaintance of Pierrôt’s[93] caressed him, the _greffier_ Fagel’s son, a great friend of Ld. Henry’s. The officers advised us against going on to Ypres, as a severe cannonade had been heard that way the whole morning, but we must either have returned or gone on: I felt _queer_, not to say frightened. We passed within _two_ miles of the French lines, and that is the distance for half a dozen desperate hussars to gallop to plunder. We met a Mr. Lodge, an Englishman; he has just left Furnes, near which the armies are encamped, but he reported that they were filing off to lay siege to Dunkirk. I hear the Cabinet of Vienna are displeased at the D. of York’s terms of capitulation for Valenciennes, especially as he gave up two of the deputies who had voted for the King’s death, and the troops, they say, so far from abiding by their engagement of not serving again, are hurrying down towards Dunkirk. At Ypres the Austrians brought in twelve French prisoners, chiefly lads from 14 to 20; one of them was quite a stripling, he had been a button-maker at Lyons, but was forced to serve as a _Volunteer_. It is astonishing when we see their troops how it is they contrive to fight so well, against the bravest and best disciplined armies in the world. From Ypres the road to Furnes is within 100 yards of the French territory. We went close to the advanced Dutch pickets; their disposition to run away did not allow me to rely much upon their protection. At Rousbrugge, a small village, whilst we were in it, the drum beat to arms for an outpost being driven in, and the alarm spread of the enemy. In an instant all the soldiers turned out; a fine regiment called Loudohn Verts [_sic_].

At Furnes the town was so full that I was obliged to sit in the carriage in the middle of the Grande Place, and had no prospect of other shelter for the night. Fortunately, however, a charitable old woman who kept a little tallow-chandler’s shop agreed to let me pass the night in a little sandy parlour, that literally had no other furniture than a walnut great chair and a cupboard decorated with Delft cups. There was a _bedroom_, but to keep my companion from becoming outrageously discontented I yielded it to him, and lay upon blankets, etc. upon the floor. The room was really so small that when I was extended my maid could not sit in the great chair; she therefore passed the night in the carriage.

The evening was very agitating: we heard very plainly the roaring of the cannon at Dunkirk; couriers were perpetually arriving with some intelligence. The whole day had been passed in attempting to dislodge the French from a wood just before the town. The news came of the death of General Dalton and Col. Elde. At night I mounted the belfry of the church; the light from the cannon at Dunkirk was very strong, no less than five villages near it were in a blaze, the horizon was deeply dyed with a mixture of deep red flames and smoke. I never passed a more wretched night; the idea of the bloody tragedy near, the recollection of the haggard countenances of the dying soldiers, and the possibility, even probability, that many of my friends were expiring, made me so nervous that I could not obtain a wink of sleep. I got up unrefreshed and weary both in mind and body.

[Sidenote: THE BRITISH CAMP]

Major Doyle and all the officers I have seen express themselves with discontent at the prospect of the campaign; they think the measure of acting without the Austrians very injudicious.[94] They much doubt the practicability of the capture of Dunkirk. With the utmost difficulty we procured a vehicle, and with as much we waded through the deep black sand to the British camp. The distance was about six miles in all. The road is a high, narrow _chaussée_ with the dunes between it and the sea. The first encampment is that of the artillery, prettily placed on each side of the canal. Thirteen dead horses lay stretched upon the road, victims of the engagement of the day before; we were obliged to stop till they were dragged away, to let the carriage pass. It was just thereabouts where Dalton fell; he was endeavouring to take a well-defended redoubt. The English camp is making; they only took the ground yesterday. I slept in the tent of Capt. Cerjat, of the Blues. I went to see the corpse of Dalton: he was lying on his side with one pale hand upon his head and the other upon his bosom, great expression of placid benignity on his countenance.

The Duke of York, on hearing of my arrival, sent to beg me to go to his tent and dine with him at headquarters. I saw poor Malbrouk, who was looking mighty well. I dined with the Duke; I felt odd being the only female among such a party of men. All the staff dined with him. The place we dined in was a large grange; his own tent he kept for his private use. He is highly incensed against the D. of Richmond[95] for not sending the ordnance, and to complete his vexation the artillery officers at Ostend have sent down the canals the carriages in one vessel, and the cannons in another, so that they do not arrive together. His language of censure is unqualified, and he is never much disposed to praise the D. of Richmond. After dinner I attended with H.R.H. the funeral of Col. Elde: it is an affecting sight. I was at first startled at the firing in platoons over the grave, but after the first discharge I did not mind it. There was another English officer buried, but I was low-spirited and would not go.

The Duke bid St. Leger show me the different camps, and sent me in one of his light cabriolets. In the course of the drive we were overtaken by the chaplain, who galloped and called as fast and as loud as he could. It was to make us return, for we had passed by several hundred yards the spot where a Hanoverian _vedette_ had been killed by a shell, a proof that we were within reach of danger. We returned as fast as we could, and were grateful to him for his friendly interposition. We got out and walked upon the dunes, but were speedily recalled, as the _vedette_ advised me not to venture, the French riflemen being such excellent shots that I might be aimed at. I should not have dreaded French cruelty to a woman, had I not the melancholy instance of the poor Queen.

[Sidenote: DUKE OF YORK’S KINDNESS]

I went and sat some hours with the Duke in his tent; M. de Bouillé was there. I heard a pattering noise, like rain, upon the canvas of the tent, but the eagerness of M. de Langereau to tell news soon destroyed that tranquil belief, for he came out of breath to say that the outposts were fighting, and were driven in, and a general attack might be expected. The Duke, who knew perfectly well what was going on, but had prudently and considerately concealed it from me, was quite angry at his indiscretion. I was panic-struck, and fairly clung to the Duke for comfort: I have wondered since how he could endure my tiresomeness. Whenever an officer whispered him and he gave an order I was in a tremor, upon which he said nothing should be done but openly, and he really gave his orders in a way that I might hear distinctly. He asked me to give the watchword, which I declined, and he with great gallantry gave _Elizabeth and Success_, or something to that purpose. The firing continued, and to prevent me listening to every volley, he ordered his band to strike up; they played till I went. He sent me an escort of several light dragoons; I reached Furnes safely some hours after midnight.[96]

_Dover, 1st December, 1793._--Occupation and vexation prevented me from keeping anything like a journal during the whole of my stay in this odious country. I shall collect from memory all I can, whilst I sit watching the weathercock, for we are detained here by adverse winds and waves.

From Furnes we went to Ostend; we embarked with Messrs. Hobart and Meyrick, and had a good passage of about twenty hours. Arrived at Grenier’s Hotel on the 1st of September, and from thence went to my father’s at Windsor. I had the happiness of finding him better, tolerably cheerful, but very weak. After staying a few days with him, I went to my little friends at Bignor,[97] all well, and happy to see me. From thence I went to Stanmer, where I was received with cordiality; Mr. Pelham was there, and of course enchanted at seeing me.

From thence I went across the country to Battle, that detested spot where I had languished in solitude and discontent the best years of my life. I lodged at the Deanery, as I had a superstitious feeling as to passing another night within the same walls which confined me so long. I saw without a particle of satisfaction all the well-known objects, and felt restless until I got out of the place, for I felt half afraid of being detained by some accident. I found Sheffield Place dreary without my old friend; her corner and chair was occupied by her old favourite, Gibbon. The whole family were affected at seeing me; towards evening we grew more comfortable.

Gibbon came out with some of his very tedious witticisms. His joke was that Lady Beauchamp[98] was the most unfortunate woman alive. She was for a day or two wife to the most profligate man in the world, for she was Lady Rochester; she then was wife to a traitor; and was finally become an old German Countess, declared mistress to the King--the Countess of Yarmouth.[99] All these changes arose from Lord Yarmouth finding a difficulty in the choice of a second title upon his father’s being made a Marquis.

[Sidenote: IN ENGLAND]

I went to Brightelmstone; the Prince chose to _combler_ me with every attention and civility. He gave me breakfast in his tent to show me his regiment, of which he is extremely vain. In London I passed all my mornings and evenings with the Duchess of Devonshire. In the morning we attended chemical lectures from Higgins, and in the evening I passed my time at Devonshire House.

I went to Court with Lady George Cavendish. The Queen spoke very crossly when she heard I was going to return to Florence. The King talked about Dunkirk and his son. I dined with Burke at Lady Elliot’s. He was full of delight at the capture of Toulon, and burst forth in a grand strain of eloquence at the prospect of our having again the _Cocarde blanche_ and the standard of royalty raised in one of the chief cities of France. He said the allies were annoyed from a little fort still held by the Republicans, but that once taken they should become masters of the country. This fort was called the Heights of St. Anne’s. ‘Aye,’ said he, ‘St. Anne’s is always in the way,’ alluding to Mr. Fox’s opposition to the war, and his residence being at St. Anne’s Hill, near Windsor.

I heard from Lord Henry, very miserable at not being able to catch me anywhere on my return, but ordered to repair immediately to Stockholm.

Lord Sheffield consulted me about marrying. I recommended him to marry Lucy Pelham; he begged me to sound T. P., who appeared much pleased at the possibility of such an event.[100] I think it will happen. Our parties at Devonshire House were delightfully pleasant. Lady Melbourne[101] is uncommonly sensible and amusing, though she often puts me in mind of Madame de Merteuil in the _Liaisons dangereuses_. The Duke of Bedford is attached to her; he is quite brutal from the _brusquerie_ of his manner. He is magnificently generous to his younger brothers, and indeed to all who are in distress. He is decidedly with Mr. Fox, a circumstance that displeases the staunch courtiers. Mr. Grey is the _bien aimé_ of the Duchess; he is a fractious, _exigeant_ lover. Sheridan has lost his lovely wife. We made friends; he did behave abominably to me without any question two years ago. I lived also a good deal with the Duchess of Gordon; supped with her, and went to the play. I was really very much admired, improved in my manner, and a sort of fashion and novelty by coming from abroad.

[Sidenote: SIR GILBERT ELLIOT]

My old acquaintance Sir Gilbert Elliot[102] is appointed joint Commissioner with Lord Hood and General O’Hara for arranging all civil concerns at Toulon and any other towns that may offer to put themselves under ye protection of the English or allies.[103] This Commission has occasioned much discussion. It is an event to engage the attention of the public, for the surrender of Toulon and the fleet in the harbour gave the allies the entire command of the Mediterranean, and it was the first place in which the standard of royalty has been raised: for at Valenciennes and other places that had been taken by force of arms, there were no declarations in favour of any party or description of that in France.

Sir Gilbert’s former connection with Mr. Fox exposes him to _some_ animadversion upon this occasion, for though I think _myself_ that every person ought to show a readiness to resist innovation, to which Mr. Fox seems disposed to incline, yet such a disposition would be manifested with equal, if not _more_ effect by a disinterested support of Ministers, than adding to that zeal the _encumbrance_ of office. Fox’s friends impute wholly to Sir Gilbert the rupture of the Whig party, as he used the D. of Portland’s name in supporting an opinion that went against Fox; from whence the schism sprung. The D. of Portland assured Mr. Fox that Sir G. was not warranted by his consent to quote what he did. Sir Gilbert, on the other hand, declares that he was expressly desired to do so by the Duke. That there is a lie somewhere is certain, but whether it is from the Duke or Sir Gilbert is only known to themselves. Sir G.’s enemies say that it most probably is in him, as the D. of Portland had his eldest son, Ld. Titchfield, in the House, who had several times spoken the opinions of his father from written instructions, and that in a point of so much importance he would again have been employed in preference to Sir Gilbert, who had no other connection with the D. of Portland than that of belonging to the party as an adherent of Mr. Fox’s; and also that it was so advantageous to Sir Gilbert to usurp the post of delegate from the D. of Portland, as it gave him a weight in the House, and entitled him to a _grateful recompense_ from Ministers, in being the first to announce the disapprobation of the D. of Portland to the scanty Opposition, a point very material to them towards obtaining the public opinion, both in and out of doors. Thus has the celebrated Whig party ended to the ruin of Mr. Fox, and probably to the disadvantage of the country.

[Sidenote: MR. GREY]

Grey is a man of violent temper and unbounded ambition. His connections were Ministerial, but on his return from abroad both parties entertained hopes of him. His uncle, Sir Harry, is a rich, old, positive, singular man, leads a retired life, but was always eager upon politics, particularly against the Coalition--an infamous thing, by-the-bye. His father, Sir Charles Grey,[104] is attached to Government as a military man, and is intimately connected with Col. Barré and Ld. Lansdown, who at that time supported the Ministry. Grey was elected whilst abroad, therefore not pledged to any particular party. The fashion was to be in Opposition; the Prince of Wales belonged to it, and he then was not disliked; all the beauty and wit of London were on that side, and the seduction of Devonshire House prevailed. Besides, Pitt’s manner displeased him on his first speech, whereas Fox was all conciliation and encouragement. Grey’s talents were never fairly tried till the question about the Regency; the speeches he had made before were prepared declamations. He had shown his powers of debating. Fox’s illness prevented him from attending so constantly as he would otherwise have done, and Grey was frequently obliged to enter the lists with Pitt, and on that occasion he showed the strength of his understanding and his powers as a Parliamentary speaker. Notwithstanding this great success, Grey was not generally popular; his manner was supercilious, and like his rival Pitt, they both considered their abilities so transcendent that they seemed to despise experience, and treated their elders with contempt and sarcasm. Grey had often shown his ambition and impatient temper; he grew every day more violent against Pitt, and in 1791 he brought forward his plan of Parliamentary reform, conceiving it to be a measure that would be more peculiarly distressing to Pitt than any other he could bring forward.[105]

Grey had contracted a great friendship with Lord Lauderdale, who is one of those active, bustling spirits that will rather engage in perils, and even mischiefs, than remain in a state of insipid tranquillity. At a dinner at Lord Lauderdale’s, after having drunk a considerable quantity of wine, a sort of roll of enlistment was signed, by which they pledged themselves to bring forward the reform of Parliament. Lord Lauderdale, Grey, Maitland, Francis, Courtenay, Piggott, and others were of the party. This was the origin of the _Friends of the People or Association_. Two or three attempts had been made for a reform; ye first was by Lord Auckland, but his apostacy put an end to it. This society was previously formed upon the same plan as that in which Pitt took such a conspicuous line in the beginning of his political life, at the Thatched House.

Grey was to make the motion for reform in the House of Commons, and was weak and sanguine enough to imagine he was to have the same success; but the times were different. Ye Administration was strong and popular, and the extravagance of French patriots had alarmed all English ones, and Pitt became as popular in resisting Grey’s motion for reform as he had been some years before in proposing one himself. Pitt, who knows what is called the people of England--a very different thing from knowing mankind--better than anybody, did not rest here, but determined to crush his rival by sounding a general alarm and issuing a proclamation, which indirectly was levelled at Grey and the _Friends of the People_. Grey was alarmed and vexed at the failure of this scheme and the loss of popularity. Fox was professedly kept out of all concern in this wild project, under a false and foolish idea, that if it failed he would not be involved in any disgrace that might attend its failure. However, when the motion was made and the discussion upon the Proclamation was brought forward, Grey and his friends were so over-powered in the House, that they were obliged to fly to Fox for protection, and some of them, particularly Erskine and Sheridan, excused themselves from any bad intention by saying they had professed no more than Fox had done on other occasions, and were unfair enough to say that though he had not signed his name with them, he had done more, for he had pledged himself to the public to support their principles.

These debates and those which followed upon the progress of the French Revolution and its effects on the minds of men in England, increased the schism in the Whig party, which Pitt endeavoured to take advantage of by proposing a coalition. Ld. Loughborough and Dundas were the principal negotiators.

[Sidenote: LEAVES ENGLAND]

William Wyndham, by dint of frequent applications to Ld. Egremont to get him a foreign employment, is named to Florence, in lieu of Ld. Hervey. Frederick Hervey[106] is very unhappy at the suddenness and mystery of the proceedings, and has set off to travel by day and night to Florence. He is with us at this moment, and to the full as impatient for a change of wind. I left town on the 29th of November, on Friday. Although I was going to my children, yet I own I felt some severe pangs at leaving behind me many to whom I am most sincerely attached.

_30th._--Dined at Canterbury; Captain Thomas dined with us. Got late to Dover. We hear so much of French privateers that we have sent off an express to Admiral Peyton for a cutter to protect us.

Sailed on Monday, 2nd December, bad wind and bad day. Towards night the sea grew rough and I grew frightened. After a blowing passage, we got safe to Ostend in fifteen hours.

_Tuesday, 3rd December._--Tormented by the impertinence and exactions of the people at the _Douane_. Set off at five in the evening, a _winter night_, for Bruges, which we reached with difficulty very late at night.

_Wednesday._--We dined at Ghent, arrived at Bruxelles at three o’clock in the morning, cold and uncomfortable, and unnecessarily made to travel at these hours. We could get no other accommodations but the same bad ones we had before at the Belle Vue.