ATTEMPTS TO DELIVER FERDINAND. OVERTURES FOR A NEGOTIATION MADE THROUGH HOLLAND. PROCEEDINGS IN PARLIAMENT CONCERNING PORTUGAL. REFORM OF THE PORTUGUEZE ARMY.

The regency was acknowledged without hesitation in those provinces which were not yet overrun by the enemy, and every where by those Spaniards who resisted the usurpation; yet with the authority which they derived from the Supreme Junta a portion of its unpopularity had descended upon them. The necessity of their appointment was perceived, and the selection of the members was not disapproved: in fact, public opinion had in a great degree directed the choice; nevertheless, when they were chosen, a feeling seemed to prevail that the men upon whom that unfortunate body had devolved their power could not be worthy of the national confidence. Like their predecessors, they were in fact surrounded by the same system of sycophancy and intrigue which had subsisted under the monarchy. The same swarm was about them: it was a state plague with which Spain had been afflicted from the age of the Philips. Hence it came to pass that the national force, instead of being invigorated by the concentration of legitimate power, was sometimes paralysed by it. For if a fairer prospect appeared to open in the provinces where the people had been left to themselves and to chiefs of their own choosing, too often when a communication was opened with the seat of government, this unwholesome influence was felt in the appointment of some inefficient general, who was perhaps a stranger to the province which he was sent to command.

A central government was, however, indispensable, as a means of communication first with England, and eventually with other states, but more especially as keeping together the whole body of the monarchy both in Europe and in America. The Spanish nation was not more sensible of this than the British ministry. The French, and they who, like the French, reasoning upon the principles of a philosophy as false as it is degrading, believe that neither states nor individuals are ever directed in their conduct by the disinterested sense of honour and of duty, supposed that the continuance of these temporary administrations must be conformable to the wishes of the British cabinet, whose influence would be in proportion to the weakness and precarious tenure of those who held the government in Spain. But that cabinet had no covert designs; they acted upon the principle of a plain, upright, open policy, which deserves, and will obtain, the approbation of just posterity; and so far were they from pursuing any system of selfish and low-minded cunning, that at this time, when the regency was formed, they were taking measures for effecting the deliverance of Ferdinand from captivity.

Montijo, before his hostility to the Junta was openly declared, had proposed a scheme to them for this purpose; but he was too well known to be trusted, and when he required as a preliminary measure that 50,000 dollars should be given him, Calvo, who was the member appointed to hear what he might propose, plainly told him that his object was to employ that sum in raising a sedition against the government; upon which Montijo told him that he had a good scent, and thus the matter ended. A similar proposal was made by some adventurer in Catalonia; the provincial government was disposed to listen to it, but they referred it to General Doyle, and he soon ascertained that the projector only wanted to get money and ?Baron de Kolli’s attempt.? decamp with it. Meantime the British ministers had formed a well-concerted plan, but dependent upon some fearful contingencies, ... the fidelity of every one to whom in its course of performance it must necessarily be communicated, and the disposition of Ferdinand to put his life upon the hazard in the hope of recovering his liberty and his throne. The Baron de Kolli, who was the person chosen for this perilous service, was one who in other secret missions had proved himself worthy of confidence. He took with him for credentials the letter in which Ferdinand’s marriage in the year 1802 had been announced by Charles IV. to the King of England, and also letters in Latin and in French from the King, communicating to the prisoner the state of affairs in Spain, and saying how important it was that he should escape from captivity, and show himself in the midst of his faithful people. A squadron, commanded by Sir George Cockburn, landed Kolli in Quiberon Bay, and to that part of the coast Ferdinand was to have directed his flight, for which every needful and possible provision had been made, measures having also been devised for sending the pursuers upon a wrong scent. The scheme had been well laid, and with such apparent probability of success, that it is said the Duke of Kent requested permission to take ?Kolli’s Memoirs, 39.? upon himself the danger of the attempt. The squadron was provided with every thing which could conduce to the convenience and comfort of Ferdinand and his brother; with this view a Roman Catholic priest had been embarked, with a regular set of ornaments and consecrated plate for the Romish service.

Kolli made his way to Paris, completed his arrangements, and was arrested at Vincennes within a fortnight from the day whereon he landed. He had been betrayed by a pretended royalist in the pay of the British government, and by the Sieur Richard, whom he had trusted because he had served bravely under the unfortunate ?1810.
March.? Prince de Talmont in La VendÉe. His credentials and his other papers were seized; and when he was examined by FouchÉ, who was then minister of police, he had the mortification of being told that the character of the person for whose service he had thus exposed himself had been entirely mistaken, for that no credentials would induce Ferdinand to hazard such an attempt. It was afterwards proposed to him, that as his life and the fortune of his children were at stake, he should proceed to ValenÇay, and execute his commission, to the end that he might hear from Ferdinand’s own lips his disavowal of any connexion with England, ... or that if that prince really entertained a wish to escape, an opportunity might be given him of which the French government might make such use as it deemed best. Kolli rejected this with becoming spirit; and the purpose of the police was just as well answered by sending Richard to personate him. But Ferdinand no sooner understood the ostensible object of his visitor, than he informed the governor of ValenÇay that an English emissary was in the castle.

It is very possible that Ferdinand may have perceived something in Richard’s manner more likely to excite suspicion than to win confidence; for the man was not a proficient in villany, and not having engaged in it voluntarily, may have felt some compunction concerning the business whereon he was sent. His instructions were, if he should succeed in entrapping Ferdinand, to bring him straight to Vincennes, there probably to have been placed in close confinement: the supposition that a tragedy like that of the Duc D’Enghein was intended cannot be admitted without supposing in Buonaparte far greater respect for the personal character of his victim than he could possibly have entertained. An official report was published, containing a letter in Ferdinand’s name, wherein the project for his escape was called scandalous and infernal, and a hope expressed that the authors and accomplices of it might be punished as they deserved. Other papers were published at the same time, with the same obvious design of exposing Ferdinand to the indignation or contempt of his countrymen and of his allies. There was a letter of congratulation to the Emperor Napoleon upon his victories in Austria; an expression of gratitude for his protection, and of implicit obedience to his wishes and commands; details of a fÊte which he had given just before this occurrence in honour of the Emperor’s marriage with the Archduchess Maria Louisa; and a letter requesting an interview with the governor of ValenÇay upon a subject of the greatest moment to himself, being his wish to become the adopted son of the Emperor, an adoption which, the writer said, would constitute the happiness of his life, and of which he conceived himself worthy by his perfect love and attachment to the sacred person of his majesty, and entire submission to his intentions ?1810.
April.? and desires. But it was so notoriously the system of Buonaparte’s government to publish any falsehoods which might serve a present purpose, that these letters, whether genuine or fabricated, obtained no credit9.

As soon as the official report appeared in the English newspapers, Mr. Whitbread asked in the House of Commons whether the letter purporting to be written by his Majesty to Ferdinand VII. was to be looked upon as a document which had any pretensions to the character of authenticity? a question which Mr. Perceval declined answering. Of course this afforded a topic for exultation and insult to the opponents of the government. The Spaniards felt very differently upon the occasion. Whether those who were desirous of forming a new constitution for Spain, or even of correcting the inveterate abuses of the old system, thought it desirable to see Ferdinand in possession of the throne, before their object was effected, may well be doubted; but whatever their opinions might be upon that point, the attempt at delivering him excited no other feelings than those of gratitude and admiration towards Great Britain. ?EspaÑol, t. i. 120.? “With what pleasure,” said the best and wisest of their writers, “does the good man who observes the mazes of political events, behold one transaction of which humanity alone was the end and aim! With what interest does he contemplate an expedition intended, not for speculations of commerce, nor for objects of ambition, but for the deliverance of a captive King, in the hope of restoring him to his throne and to his people!”

The British cabinet was sounded to see whether it would offer such compensations and exchange of prisoners as might extricate Kolli from his perilous situation. This curious proposal was connected with some insidious overtures for peace made then, partly for the purpose of deceiving the French people into a belief that the continuance of the war was owing alone to the inveterate feeling of hostility in England; but more with the design of preparing the Dutch for the annexation of their country to the French empire, an intention which was first avowed in these overtures. Louis Buonaparte was drawn into this transaction by a solemn assurance that no such intention was really entertained; but that it was held forth merely as a feint, in the hope of alarming the British government, and inducing it to make peace, for the sake of averting a political union, which of all measures must be most dangerous to England. The overture was properly rejected upon the ground, that it would be useless, or worse than useless, to open a negotiation when it was certain that insurmountable difficulties must occur in its first stage. A few weeks only elapsed before the purpose which had been solemnly disavowed by Buonaparte’s ministers to Louis was carried into effect, by a compulsory treaty, in which that poor king ceded to France the provinces of Zealand and Dutch Brabant, the territory between the Maas and the Waal, including Nimeguen, together with the Bommelwaard and the territory of Altena, inasmuch as it had been adopted for a constitutional principle in France that the thalweg or stream of the Rhine formed the boundary of the French empire. About two months after this act of insolent and wanton power an army was ordered into Holland to complete the usurpation, and Louis, giving the only proof of integrity and courage which was possible in his unhappy circumstances, abdicated the throne, and retired into the Austrian dominions, leaving behind him a letter to the Dutch legislature, which contained a full vindication of his own conduct, and an exposure of Napoleon’s traitorous policy, which, given as it was in the most cautious language, and with a remainder of respect and even brotherly affection, might alone suffice to stamp the character10 of that brother with lasting infamy. During his short and miserable reign Louis had done what, considering in what manner he had been placed upon the throne, it might have seemed almost impossible that he should do, he had gained the affections of the Dutch people; not by any good which he did, for his tyrannical brother neither allowed him time nor means for effecting the benevolent measures which he designed, but by the interest which he took in their sufferings, and by his honest endeavours to prevent or mitigate those acts of tyranny which were intended to increase the distress of a ruined country, and prepare it for this catastrophe.

The conquest of Holland had been an old object of French ambition; but wider views than Louis XIV. entertained during the springtide of his prosperity were at this time disclosed ?Feb. 17.? by Buonaparte. A senatus consultum appeared early in the year, decreeing that the Papal States should be united to, and form an integral part of the French empire. The city of Rome was declared to be the second in the empire (Amsterdam was named the third); the Prince Imperial was to take the title of King of Rome, and the Emperors, after having been crowned in the church of Notre Dame at Paris, were before the tenth year of their reign to be crowned in St. Peter’s also. The measures that were designed to follow upon this decree were unequivocally intimated, in that semi-official manner by which Buonaparte’s schemes of ambition were always first announced. “The Roman and German imperial dignity,” it was said, “which, with regard to Rome, had long been an empty name, had ceased to exist upon the abdication of the Emperor Francis; from that time, therefore, the great Emperor of the French had a right to assume the title. Napoleon, who revoked the gifts which Charlemagne made to the bishops of Rome, might now, as legitimate lord paramount of Rome, like his illustrious predecessor, style himself Roman and French Emperor. He restores to the Romans the eagle which Charlemagne brought from them, and placed upon his palace at Aix la Chapelle; he makes them sharers in his empire and his glory; and a thousand years after the reign of Charlemagne, a new medal will be struck with the inscription Renovatio Imperii. After ages of oblivion, the Empire of the West reappears with renovated vigour; for Napoleon the Great must be looked on as the founder of a revived Western Empire, and in this character he will prove a blessing to civilized Europe. The peace of Europe will thus be completely re-established. The great number of well-meaning people, to whom Napoleon’s power seemed oppressive, while they considered themselves as exempt from any engagement towards him, will fulfil their new duties with inviolable fidelity. Considered in this point of view, the re-establishment of the Western Empire is a duty which Napoleon owes not less to the law of self-preservation, than to the repose of Europe.”

No opposition to this project could have been offered by the continental princes; the yoke was upon their necks: it only remained for him to complete the subjugation of the Peninsula, and this appeared to him and his admirers an easy task, to be accomplished in one short campaign. There was no longer any Spanish force in the field capable of even momentarily diverting the French from their great object of destroying the English army, and obtaining possession of Portugal, and to that object Buonaparte might now direct his whole attention and his whole power.

Lord Wellington had foreseen this, and clearly perceiving also what would be the business of the ensuing campaign, had prepared for the defence of Portugal in time. It was necessary that we should carry on the war in that country as principals rather than as allies, and for this full power had been given by the Prince of Brazil. As yet little had been done toward the improvement of the Portugueze army; like the government, it was in the worst possible condition; both were in the lowest state of degradation to which ignorance, and imbecility, and inveterate abuses ?Money voted for the Portugueze army.? could reduce them. Early in the session, parliament was informed that the King had authorized pecuniary advances to be made to Portugal, in support of its military exertions, and had made an arrangement for the maintenance of a body of troops not exceeding 30,000 men. Twenty thousand we already had in our pay, the sum for whom was estimated at 600,000l.; for the additional ten, it was stated at 250,000l. to which was to be added 130,000l. for the maintenance of officers to be employed in training these levies, and preparing them to act with the British troops. This led to a very interesting ?Marquis Wellesley;? debate in the House of Lords. Marquis Wellesley affirmed, “that Portugal was the most material military position that could be occupied for the purpose of assisting Spain: great disasters, he admitted, had befallen the Spanish cause, still they were far from sinking his mind into despair, and still he would contend, it was neither politic nor just to manifest any intention ?1810.
February.? of abandoning Portugal. What advantage could be derived from casting over our own councils, and over the hopes of Portugal and Spain, the hue and complexion of despair? To tell them that the hour of their fate was arrived, ... that all attempts to assist, or even to inspirit their exertions in their own defence, were of no avail, ... that they must bow the neck and submit to the yoke of a merciless invader, ... this indeed would be to strew the conqueror’s path with flowers, to prepare the way for his triumphal march to the throne of the two kingdoms! Was it then for this that so much treasure had been expended, ... that so much of the blood had been shed of those gallant and loyal nations? Whatever disasters had befallen them, they were not imputable to the people of Spain. The spirit of the people was excellent, and he still ventured to hope that it would prove unconquerable. All their defeats and disasters were solely to be ascribed to the vices of their government. It was the imbecility, or treachery, of that vile and wretched government which first opened the breach through which the enemy entered into the heart of Spain; that delivered into hostile hands the fortresses of that country; and betrayed her people defenceless and unarmed into the power of a perfidious foe. Let us not contribute to accomplish what they have so inauspiciously begun! Let not their lordships come to any resolution that can justify Portugal in relaxing her exertions, or Spain in considering her cause as hopeless. Yet what other consequence would result from prematurely withdrawing the British troops from Portugal, or retracting the grounds upon which we had hitherto assisted her?”

Lord Grenville replied. “He felt it,” he said, “an ungrateful task, ... a painful duty, ... to recal the attention of their lordships to his former predictions, which they had despised and rejected, but which were now, all of them, too fatally fulfilled. His object, however, was not a mere barren censure of past errors, but rather, from a consideration of those errors, to conjure them to rescue the country from a continuance of the same disasters, and to pay some regard to the lives of their fellow-citizens. Were they disposed to sit in that house day after day, and year after year, spectators of wasteful expenditure, and the useless effusion of so much of the best blood of the country, in hopeless, calamitous, and disgraceful efforts? It was a sacred duty imposed upon them to see that not one more life was wasted, not one more drop of blood shed unprofitably, where no thinking man could say that, by any human possibility, such dreadful sacrifices could be made with any prospect of advantage. Was there any man that heard him, who in his conscience believed that even the sacrifice of the whole of that brave British army would secure the kingdom of Portugal? If,” said he, “I receive from any person an answer in the affirmative, I shall be able to judge by that answer of the capacity of such a person for the government of this country, or even for the transaction of public business in a deliberative assembly. By whatever circumstances, ... by whatever kind of fate it was, I must say, that I always thought the object of the enterprise impossible; but now I believe it is known to all the people of this country, that it has become certainly impossible. Was it then too much to ask of their lordships that another million should not be wasted, when nothing short of a divine miracle could render it effectual to its proposed object?” In these strong and explicit terms did Lord Grenville declare his opinion, that it was impossible for a British army to secure Portugal; and thus distinctly did he affirm, that the opinion of a statesman upon this single point was a sufficient test of his capacity for government.

After touching upon the convention of Cintra and Sir John Moore’s retreat, he spoke of the impolicy of our conduct in Portugal. “If those,” he said, “who had the management of public affairs had possessed any wisdom, any capacity for enlightened policy in the regulation of a nation’s interests and constitution, any right or sound feelings with regard to the happiness of their fellow-creatures, here had been a wide field opening to them. They had got possession of the kingdom of our ally, with its government dissolved, and no means existing within it for the establishment of any regular authority or civil administration, but such as the British government alone should suggest. Here had been a glorious opportunity for raising the Portugueze nation from that wretched and degraded condition to which a lengthened succession of mental ignorance, civil oppression, and political tyranny and prostitution had reduced it. Was not that an opportunity, which any men capable of enlarged and liberal views of policy, and influenced by any just feelings for the interests of their fellow-creatures, would have eagerly availed themselves of? Would not such men have seized with avidity the favourable occasion to rescue the country from that ignorance and political debasement, which rendered the inhabitants incapable of any public spirit or national feeling? Here was a task worthy of the greatest statesmen; here was an object, in the accomplishment of which there were no talents so transcendant, no capacity so enlarged, no ability so comprehensive, that might not have been well, and beneficially, and gloriously employed. It was a work well suited to a wise and liberal policy, to an enlarged and generous spirit, to every just feeling and sound principle of national interest, ... to impart the blessings of a free government to the inhabitants of a country so long oppressed and disgraced by the greatest tyranny that had ever existed in any nation of Europe.”

Then after arguing that time had been lost in arming and disciplining the Portugueze, he relapsed into his strain of unhappy prophecy. “He did not,” he said, “mean to undervalue the services or the character of the Portugueze soldiery, whom he considered as possessing qualities capable of being made useful, but he would never admit that they could form a force competent to the defence of the kingdom; they might be useful in desultory warfare, but must be wholly unfit for co-operation with a regular army. He was not afraid, therefore, of any responsibility that might be incurred by his stating, that if the safety of the British army was to be committed on the expectation of such co-operation, it would be exposed to most imminent and perhaps inevitable hazard. But if these 30,000 men were not composed of undisciplined peasants and raw recruits, but consisted of British troops, in addition to the British army already in Portugal, he should consider it nothing but infatuation to think of defending Portugal, even with such a force. Against a power possessing the whole means of Spain, as he must suppose the French to do at this moment, Portugal was the least defensible of any country in Europe. It had the longest line of frontier, compared with its actual extent, of any other nation; besides, from its narrowness, its line of defence would be more likely to be turned; and an invading enemy would derive great advantages from its local circumstances. As to the means of practical defence afforded by its mountains, he should only ask, whether the experience of the last seventeen years had taught the world nothing; whether its instructive lessons were wholly thrown away? Could it be supposed that a country so circumstanced, with a population without spirit, and a foreign general exercising little short of arbitrary power within it, was capable of any effectual defence?” Lord Grenville concluded this memorable speech, by moving, as an amendment to the usual address, “that the house would without delay enter upon the consideration of these most important subjects, in the present difficult and alarming state of these realms.”

“It was not the fault of ministers,” Lord Liverpool replied, “nor of the person whom they had sent thither as his majesty’s representative, if the exertions of the Portugueze government were not correspondent to the dangers of the crisis. The state of the country must be recollected, which might truly be said to have been without a government; all the ancient and established authorities having disappeared with the Prince Regent. But, under these unpromising circumstances, every thing was done which could be done. There was no time lost; there was no exertion untried; there was no measure neglected. Never were greater exertions made to provide a sufficient force, and never were they more successful. The noble baron had triumphantly asked, what have we gained in the Peninsula? We have gained the hearts and affections of the whole population of Spain and Portugal; we have gained that of which no triumphs, no successes of the enemy could deprive us. In Portugal, such is the affection of the inhabitants, that there is no want of a British soldier that is not instantly and cheerfully supplied. Look to Spain! What is the feeling of the people, even in this awful moment of national convulsion and existing revolution? It is that of the most complete deference to the British minister and government; and so perfect is their confidence in both, that they have placed their fleet under the orders of the British admiral. Would a cold, cautious, and phlegmatic system of policy have ever produced such proofs of confidence? Would indifference have produced those strong and signal proofs of affection? Whatever might be the issue of the contest, to this country would always remain the proud satisfaction of having done its duty. He trusted we should never abandon Spain, so long as any hope remained of the possibility of ultimate success. We were bound by every sentiment of honour and good faith to support a people who had given proofs of honour, of good faith, and of bravery, which have never been exceeded by any nation.”

Earl Moira replied to this, by delivering opinions which, as a soldier, he would never have conceived, if he had not been possessed by party spirit. “Every thing which the ministers attempted,” he said, “betrayed, as the universal opinion of the public pronounced, a total want of judgement, foresight, and vigour; and, as the climax of error, they now seemed resolved to defend Portugal, ... according to a plan of defence, too, which was perfectly impracticable. For it was utterly ridiculous to suppose, that the ideas of Count La Lippe, as to the practicability of defending Portugal from invasion, could now be relied upon. We should be allowed to retain Portugal, under our present system, just so long as Buonaparte thought proper. The administration of these men had been marked by the annihilation of every foreign hope, and the reduction of every domestic resource; they who vaunted of their resolution and power to protect and liberate the Continent, had only succeeded in bringing danger close to our own shores? And why? because they sacrificed the interests of the nation, and violated every principle of public duty, to gratify their personal ambition and personal cupidity. He was speaking the language of ninety men out of a hundred of the whole population of the country, when he asserted, that they deserved marked reprobation, and exemplary punishment.”

Viscount Sidmouth regretted the opportunities which had been lost, but, with his English feeling and his usual fairness, insisted that it was incumbent upon us to stand by our allies to the uttermost. The Marquis of Lansdown objected to the measures of ministry more temperately than his colleagues in opposition, maintaining that it was bad policy to become a principal ?Lord, Erskine;? in a continental war. Lord Erskine spoke in a strain of acrimonious contempt, mingled with irrelevant accusations and unbecoming levity. “There really,” said he, “seems to be a sort of predestination, which I will leave the reverend bench to explain, that whenever the French take any country, or any prisoners, they shall have some of our money also. I can hardly account for the infatuation which possesses those men, who suppose they can defend Portugal by sending a supply of British money there. It might as well be expected to accomplish that by sending over the woolsack, with my noble and learned friend upon it.”

The ministers must have been well pleased with the conduct of their opponents; they could not have desired any thing more favourable to themselves than the intemperance which had been displayed, and the rash assertions and more rash predictions, which had been so ?Lord Holland.? boldly hazarded against them. Lord Holland upon this occasion made a remarkable speech, observing, in allusion to Lords Sidmouth and Buckinghamshire, that “he could not understand how these lords could give their confidence to ministers without being assured that their confidence was deserved. We were obliged in honour,” he said, “to do what we could for Portugal, without injury to ourselves, ... in honour, ... for that was the only motive that ought to interest the feelings, or excite the hearts of this or any other nation. But if we were to embark in the cause of that sinking people, we were not to load them with our imbecility, in addition to their own weakness. A great plan was necessary; nothing neutral or narrow, nothing minute, nothing temporary, could enter into it; but for this qualities were requisite which no man could hope for in the present ministry. Where was the address, the ability, the knowledge, the public spirit, that were the soul of success in such a cause? He found them shifting from object to object, and hanging their hope on every weak and bending support, that failed them in the first moment of pressure. He thought, that for defence no government could be too free; by that he meant too democratic; the words might not be synonymous, but it was in such governments that men felt of what they were capable. There was then the full stretch of all the powers. There was a great struggle, a great allay of the baser passions; but there rose from them a spirit vigorous, subtilized, and pure; there was the triumph of all the vehement principles of the nation; the rapid intelligence, the bold decision, the daring courage, the stern love of country. It was in the hour of struggle that men started up among the ranks of the people; those bright shapes of valour and virtue that gave a new life to the people; those surpassing forms of dignity and splendour that suddenly rose up, as if by miracle, among the host, rushed to the front of the battle, and, as in the days of old, by their sole appearance turned the victory. But where was the symptom of a love for free government in the conduct of the ministry? The government of Portugal had been absolutely in their hands; had they disburdened it of its obstructions to freedom? Had they pointed its aspect towards democracy? Then as if the cause had been rendered desperate because the British ministry had not introduced democratic principles into the governments of Spain and Portugal, he supported the opinion of his party, and maintained that it would be criminal to force a nation to a defence which might draw down ruin on them. But if we were to withdraw from the contest, it was possible for us to do so without degrading the country by any base avidity for little gains, by seizing upon any of those little pieces of plunder, which were so tempting, and apt to overpower our resistance to the temptation. We might leave the country of our ally with the spirit of friendship and the purity of honour. It was of great moment to us, in even that meanest and lowest view of policy, to leave the people of the Peninsula our friends; but we must be actuated by a higher principle, and be regretted and revered by those whom we were forced to abandon. He could not expect this from his majesty’s ministers, and therefore could not think their hands fit to wield the resources, or sustain the character of the British empire.” Lord Holland therefore voted for the amendment, the object of which was, that the cause of the Peninsula should be given up as hopeless.

The debate was not less interesting in the Lower House, when Mr. Perceval moved for a sum not exceeding 980,000l. for the defence of Portugal; “a vote,” he said “so consistent with the feelings which the house had professed on former occasions, that he should not have expected any opposition to it. He reminded the house how those who opposed it had been always of opinion that it was impossible for Spain to hold out so long; that if she succeeded at all, she must succeed at once; but that she could never maintain a protracted contest against the disciplined armies and enormous resources of France. This was their declared and recorded opinion; but what was the fact? Spain had continued the struggle. France might occupy the country with an army, but her power would be confined within the limits of her military posts, and it would require nearly as large an army to keep possession of it as to make the conquest. There never had existed a military power capable of subduing a population possessing the mind, and heart, and soul of the Spaniards. The very victories of their enemies would teach them discipline, and infuse into them a spirit which would ultimately be the ruin of their oppressors. Under these circumstances, would it be wise to abandon Portugal? The last Austrian war had arisen in great measure out of the contest in the Peninsula; and during the progress of that war, however calamitous the result had proved, it would be in the recollection of the house, that one other day’s successful resistance of the French by the Austrians might have overthrown the accumulated power of the enemy. Such events might again take place, for no man could anticipate, in the present state of the world, what might arise in the course of a short time; but be that as it might, as long as the contest was, or could be, maintained in the Peninsula, the best policy of this country was to support it.”

To this Sir John Newport replied, “if any question could provoke opposition, it must be that which would make them continue efforts in a cause which every one but the ministers considered hopeless. As for the recorded opinion of parliament, parliament was pledged to support the Spaniards while they were true to themselves; but that they had been true to themselves he denied.” Then assuming that the French must necessarily drive us out of Portugal, he asked what was to be done with the 30,000 Portugueze soldiers? “Were they to be brought to this country, and added to the already enormous foreign army in its service? Or were they to be sent to Brazil? Or to be left fully equipped, and ready to add to the military force of Buonaparte?” In the course of his speech Sir John Newport endeavoured to show that the Portugueze levies had not been ?Mr. Villiers;? expedited as they ought to have been. Mr. Villiers, who had been our minister in Portugal, made answer, “that the government there was administered with great vigour; large supplies of money had been raised to meet the public exigencies; the old military constitution of the country had been restored: the finances were ably administered and well collected; and the war department conducted with energy and ability. If Spain,” he said, “had done its duty equally with Portugal, in supporting the efforts of Great Britain, its cause would already have triumphed, and there would not now have been a Frenchman upon the Spanish territory.”

Mr. Curwen said, “that as the Portugueze people had suffered a French army to overrun their country without any resistance, he was not for placing much reliance upon the Portugueze troops. If the enemy could point out what he would wish that we should undertake, his first wish would be, that we should attempt to defend Portugal. Buonaparte,” he said, “could not receive more cheering hopes of ultimate success, than he would derive from learning that the present ministers were to continue in office, and that the House of Commons still persisted in placing a blind confidence in them, and enabling them to enter upon measures which, in their inevitable result, could not fail to answer all his purposes. The vote of the house this night, if it should decide against attempting the defence of Portugal, would be more important than if we were to take half the French army prisoners.”

Mr. Leslie Foster then rose, and his speech, in the spirit which it breathed, and the knowledge which it displayed, formed a singular contrast to the harangues of the opposition. “The present proposition of his majesty,” said he, “is partly connected with his past conduct towards the Peninsula; it is but a continuance and extension of the same spirit of British resistance. It is now, however, open to the reprehension of two classes of politicians; those who think we never ought to have committed ourselves for the salvation of Portugal and Spain; and those who, having approved of that committal while the event appeared doubtful, think that the overwhelming power of France has at length brought this tragedy so nearly to a close, that nothing is left for us, but to escape if possible from being sharers in its catastrophe. Hope, they contend, has vanished; there is no longer room for prediction; history has already recorded, in letters of blood, the fate that awaits our perseverance. To me the aspect of the Peninsula appears an enigma, which it is no reflection on any ministers not perfectly to have understood; a revolution bursting out at a period the least expected, exhibiting events in its progress the most singularly contradictory, and pregnant with results which I still think no man living can foresee. If, on the one hand, we are referred to the apathy of Gallicia during the retreat of Sir John Moore, ... if we are desired to remember OcaÑa and Tudela, and all the other defeats which the Spaniards have endured, and endured without despondency, ... must we not in candour remember that there was a battle of Baylen? Are we to shut our eyes to the extraordinary phenomenon, that in Catalonia, the very next province to France, the French, at this hour, appear to be as often the besieged as the besiegers? and can we forget Zaragoza and Gerona? But above all, shall we not do justice to that singular obstinacy, to give it no more glorious a character, which has sustained their spirit under two hundred defeats, and which, in every period of the history of Spain, has formed its distinguishing characteristic? The expulsion of the Moors was the fruit of seven centuries of fighting uninterrupted, and of 3600 battles, in many of which the Spaniards had been defeated. In the beaten but persevering Spaniards of these days we may trace the descendants of those warriors, as easily as we recognize the sons of the conquerors of Cressy and of Agincourt in the English who fought at Talavera. We may trace the same fortitude and patience, the same enthusiastic superstition, the same persevering insensibility of failure, and, I will add, the same absolute indifference as to liberty, constitution, or cortes, that distinguished the expellers of the Moors. Because we feel that freedom is the first of blessings, it is too much to say that other nations are to be raised in arms by no other motives than its influence. History should have taught us, that there is another spirit prompting men to war, and which once poured all Europe forth in the Crusades; and however we may pronounce on the motives of our ancestors, the fact we cannot deny, that the greatest spectacle of embattled nations ever exhibited on the theatre of war was under governments and systems which indeed were not worth the defending. I believe we may consider the inhabitants of the Peninsula, first, as a multitude of hardy and patient peasantry, buried in ignorance and superstition, and accustomed from their cradles, by the traditions and the songs of their ancestors, to consider the sword as the natural companion of the cross; and almost inseparably to connect in idea the defence of their religion with the slaughter of their enemies; and with these predispositions goaded into madness by ecclesiastics, as ignorant almost as their flocks; but without an idea or a wish for freedom; with Fernando Settimo in their mouths, as a watch-word, and fighting, if you will, for the continuance of the Inquisition. And with these qualifications it is my most firm conviction, that they would have overwhelmed all the armies of France, but that it was their misfortune to be cursed with a nobility in all respects the opposite of the peasantry, differing from them, not merely in their moral qualities, but even in their physical appearance; a nobility of various degrees of worthlessness, but with a few brilliant exceptions, generally proportioned to the rank of their nobility; and further cursed by a government (I speak not of their kings but of the Junta) both in its form and in its substance the most abominable that ever repressed or betrayed the energies of a nation; hence desperate from repeated treason, destitute of confidence, not in themselves but in their commanders, unable to stand before the French in battle, but still more unable to abstain from fighting. One rare and unquestionable feature they presented, ... a nation that would fight with France; and certain I am, that if we had not tried the experiment of fighting by their side, these very men, who now most loudly condemn the course we have pursued, would be calling for the impeachment of these ministers, who had neglected such glorious opportunities; who, in the crisis of the fate of France, had shrunk from the only field where there was a prospect of contending with success; who had coldly refused our aid to the only allies who were ever worthy of British co-operation. It is too much a habit to call for the fruits of our battles, tacitly assuming that nothing but the absolute and complete attainment of our object can justify having fought them. I never can agree to measure the justification of a battle by the mere fruits of victory! yet even on this ground I must contend, that never were there laurels the more opposite of barren, than those which have been reaped by our countrymen in Spain. We, indeed, wanted not to be convinced that our army, like our navy, equalled in science, and exceeded in courage, that of any other nation in the world: but if we have any anxiety for our character with other armies, if reputation is strength, and if the reputation of a nation, as well as of an individual, consists not in the estimation in which it holds itself, but in the estimation in which it is held by others, it is a false vanity that causes us to shut our eyes and ears to the opinions of other nations. Spain at least had been convinced by the exertions of her government, misrepresenting our failure at Buenos Ayres, and other scenes of our misfortunes, that Great Britain, omnipotent by sea, was even ridiculous on land. So much so, that when the army of General Spencer was landed near Cadiz, than which a finer army never left the English shore, it was the wonder as well as the pity of the Spaniards, that such noble-looking soldiers should be so absolutely incapable of fighting. The ‘beautiful’ army was even the emphatic denomination by which the British forces were distinguished; and when Sir John Moore was known to be at length on his march, that the beautiful army, the ‘hermoso exercito,’ was actually advancing, was a subject of Spanish surprise, at least as much as of Spanish exultation; but when that army had commenced its retreat, old impressions were revived with tenfold force, ‘hermoso’ was no longer the epithet bestowed on it, but one which it is impossible for me to repeat. Nor let it be said that CoruÑa was a full vindication of its fame! We indeed know that British heroism never shone more conspicuous than on that day; but the ray of glory which illuminated that last scene of our retreat, was but feebly reflected through the rest of Spain from that distant part of the Peninsula. The French returned in triumph to Madrid, and boasted that they had driven us into the sea; ... it was certain we were no longer on the land; ... and under such circumstances it is not surprising that Spain should have declined to have given to us all the credit which we really deserved. Some gentlemen, I see, are of opinion that it is no great matter what the Spaniards thought about us; but are we equally indifferent to the opinions of the French? Let us not too hastily conclude that they did full justice to our merits. We are told, indeed, that at Maida and in Egypt we had set that point at rest. Of Maida, I shall only say, that within the last month it has been, for the first time, mentioned in any newspaper of France, and that I believe nine-tenths of the French soldiers have never heard either of the battle, or of the existence of such a place; and as to Egypt, their opinion is universally that which General Regnier, in his most able, but untrue representation, of those events, has laboured to impress, namely, that the treachery of Menou, and the detestation in which the army held the service in Egypt, and their anxiety to return to France, were the real causes of their expulsion; and that an overwhelming force of ninety thousand men, of English, Turks, and Indians, which he says, and which they believe, we brought against them, furnished a decent excuse for their surrender. Let us remember too, that it was after these proofs of British military excellence, that Buonaparte, on the heights of Boulogne, parcelled out in promise to his soldiers the estates of the ‘nation boutiquiere:’ let us remember also our own opinions in those days, how general engagements were to be avoided; ... how a system of bush-fighting was to be adopted in Kent; ... and our hopes that England might be saved after London might be lost, ... or what inundations we should make to protect it. Such language was then termed ‘caution:’ but on the proud eminence on which we are now placed, we may afford to acknowledge there was in it some mixture of distrust in the good old bayonet of Britain. Where are the promises of Buonaparte now? The very ridicule of such assertions would render it impossible for him to repeat them. It is these guilty ministers who have taught to him, and what I think of much more consequence, have taught to England, another style of conversation. They have fairly tried that point, so carefully avoided by their predecessors; they have brought our armies to a meeting with the finest armies of France; and have added more to our strength, as well as to our glory, by fighting in Spain, than their predecessors by abstaining from it in Poland.... Such is the view which I take of what is past: With respect to the second point, whether the time is indeed come, when our further assistance can only be destruction to ourselves, without being serviceable to our allies, a very little time must show us that; and if there are indeed good grounds of hope, any premature expression of our despondency will certainly extinguish them. The Junta is at length demolished. The French are again dispersed over every part of the Peninsula: the people are still every where in arms. Let us not damp that spirit which may effect much, and which must effect something, ... which must at least give long employment to the forces of our enemy. If, indeed, it depended solely upon us, whether our allies should continue that sacrifice of blood which they have so profusely shed, I should not think us justifiable in purchasing our quiet at such a price: but convinced as I am, that whether we stand by them, or forsake them, those gallant nations will still continue to bleed at every pore, our assistance assumes a new character; and independent of the advantages to be derived to ourselves, ... independent of 200,000 Frenchmen already fallen, ... independent of not less than 300,000 more required even to preserve existence in the Peninsula, ... independent of Brazil and South America, for ever severed from our enemies, ... and independent of the fleets of the Peninsula, I trust, rescued from their grasp, ... independent of these gains to ourselves, there is another feeling binding upon a nation, as well as upon an individual, not to forsake our friend because he is in his greatest danger!... Still, however, I acknowledge a limit there must be, beyond which we cannot go, and whenever we can agree in declaring that

Funditus occidimus, neque habet Fortuna regressum,

then, indeed, the first laws of self-preservation will call on us to discontinue the contest. But surely Great Britain will not utter such a sentiment until her allies shall be disposed to join in it. They do not despair, and I will never despair of them so long as they do not despair of themselves, ... so long as I should leave it in their power to say to us at a future day, ‘Whence these chains?... If you had stood firm a little longer, ... if you had not so soon fainted, ... we should not at this day be in the power of our enemies!’”