William Pitt the Younger: A Biography

by William Hague

  The second factor was the prevailing popular view that the country which had held its head high in the world and vanquished its enemies in the Seven Years’ War had now been brought low by the mismanagement and machinations of manoeuvring politicians. Exports had declined during the war with America, and what might later have been called a ‘feel-good factor’ was far from present. There had been a long war against Britain’s American cousins which had ended in total defeat, not only at their hands, but at those of the French. A mighty Royal Navy had at one stage yielded to Continental countries the control of the English Channel. The Dublin Parliament had been given independence simply because it demanded it, and large parts of London had been ransacked by the greatest mob violence anyone could recall. In the aftermath of these disasters it seemed that little had been done to restore the standing of the country, or to rectify the parlous state of its finances. The national debt had mounted to the point where the interest paid on it was taking up most of the country’s taxes. The political leaders in Parliament seemed to be mainly interested in throwing each other out of office, and people simply wanted this to stop. Moreover, many of them regarded the unprincipled alliance between Fox and North as the ultimate demonstration of the political machinations they despised, and thus had little sympathy with complaints from these quarters that the normal rules had been broken.

  The third and crowning factor in the weight suddenly developed by public opinion was that Pitt recognised it and knew how to harness it. Although he had never had much personal contact with the wider populace, he had learnt as a child of his father’s high public reputation in his days as ‘the Great Commoner’, and he had not forgotten it. He knew it was important to ‘have the Impression and Effect of Numbers on our Side’, and was arguably to become the first leader of a government to take some account of public opinion as a matter of course. What is more, Pitt had always known how he wanted to present himself: as a man of independence and integrity, detached from any faction and free of any outside influence, and therefore different from the generality of politicians. Since the impression he wished to convey of himself had always been clear in his mind, he had done nothing as a young MP or private individual which would conflict with it. The image he had crafted for himself seemed the perfect answer to the corruption and venal motives which were thought to have brought the country low, and his disassociation from parties or factions seemed the ideal alternative to the Fox – North coalition.

  However convenient or well-calculated Pitt’s attributes may have been, they would have been little-known beyond Westminster when he became the First Minister in December 1783. As luck would have it, however, even as Fox marshalled his forces for the furious debates of January 1784, an opportunity arose for Pitt to impress indelibly on the minds of a far wider audience the exact image he wished to present. On 11 January Sir Edward Walpole died, leaving vacant the Clerkship of Pells. This position was a classic sinecure, involving no work but paid £3,000 a year for life. Appointment to it was in the gift of the First Lord of the Treasury, now Pitt himself. As he was a young man with negligible means, it was widely assumed that he would appoint himself to it. As Stanhope noted, ‘Such a course would have been in complete conformity with the feelings and the practice of his age,’18 guaranteeing his financial independence in or out of office. Yet instead of taking it, he offered it to Colonel Barré, an MP and a hero of the capturing of Quebec, who had controversially been granted a pension of £3,200 a year under Rockingham and Shelburne, on condition that he give the pension up. At a stroke Pitt maintained the Colonel’s income while reversing an unpopular action of a previous administration and saving the taxpayer £3,000 a year, giving nothing to himself. This decision was widely reported, and made a hugely positive impression. As a display of disinterestedness it was more dramatic and became more widely known than his father’s refusal of the normal perquisites of the office of Paymaster, although it was to contribute to personal debts of similar proportions. People who remembered that Chatham had rescued the country from disaster now began to look to his son, ‘honest Billy’, to do the same.

  By early February, as Pitt prepared for fresh opposition attacks, the emerging trend in opinion in the country was becoming clear, and the House of Lords chipped in by passing a resolution attacking the ‘unconstitutional’ actions of the House of Commons by one hundred votes to fifty-three. This was of little practical import, except to demonstrate that while Fox maintained a majority in the Commons, Pitt had all the other elements of the British constitution, Crown, Lords and public, rallying behind him. He entered the debates of February with confidence, even drawing attention on 2 February to his own calm temperament, another part of his developing public image, by saying in the Commons that he had ‘endeavoured to avoid being caught by the violence of their proceedings, and had preserved as calm and governed a temper as the nature of the case would admit’.19

  In addition to the continued postponement of Commons business by Fox, Pitt now had to deal with the pressure from independent Members who wanted everything to be settled by him and Fox creating a new government together. On 2 February they put forward a motion calling for ‘a firm, efficient, extended, united Administration’ following a meeting at the St Alban’s Tavern in Westminster. Neither Pitt nor Fox could object to this, since, however ridiculous they now believed it to be, they did not wish to offend the independents. Over the following months there were two serious bouts of negotiations. From Pitt’s point of view the second of these, in late February, came perilously close to success. Lord North had offered to step aside to make things simpler, the Duke of Portland as the opposition’s negotiator was happy to make concessions, and conditions set down by George III for the creation of a new coalition in the hope that they would be impossible to satisfy were very nearly agreed to. In the end the talks broke down over the meaning of the word ‘equal’, which Pitt evasively refused to define. As Wraxall put it, ‘with whatever complacency and ostensible alacrity Pitt invariably received the propositions for such a junction, it is difficult to persuade ourselves that he could cordially desire their accomplishment. He beheld the prize for which they were contending nearly attained and secured. His insatiable ambition impelled him to govern alone.’20

  This seems like an accurate assessment. Pitt could now see the light at the end of the tunnel, and had no wish to come to terms with his opponents. The opposition’s majorities in February were generally lower than in January, and in two debates in which Fox seemed to be moving towards ‘refusing the supplies’ his majorities fell to twelve and nine. Pitt noted that ‘the enemy rather flinches’ at postponing the supplies, as it became apparent that Fox could not necessarily carry his supporters with him in cutting off the essential revenue or expenditure of the state. Increasingly, Pitt referred to his own popular support, describing Fox as ‘the champion of a small majority of this House against the loud and decided voice of the people’.21 From now on he even seemed to goad the opposition into attempting to do its worst, calmly and provocatively telling the House on 18 February that ‘the King, notwithstanding their recommendations, had not thought proper to dismiss his Ministers, and that they had not resigned’.22 On 20 February the opposition achieved its last great success by carrying, by a majority of twenty, a motion calling on the King to ‘give effect’ to the wishes of the House. Pitt’s response was utterly defiant: ‘Dreadful therefore as the conflict is, my conscience, my duty, my fixed regard for the Constitution of our ancestors, maintain me still in this arduous post … The situation of the times requires of me, and, I will add, the country calls aloud to me, that I should defend this castle, and I am determined therefore that I will defend it!’23 Five days later the King gave a similar answer, claiming that ‘There is no charge or complaint suggested against my present ministers, nor is any one or more of them specifically objected to; and numbers of my subjects have expressed to me, in the warmest manner, their satisfaction of the late changes I have made in my Councils.’24


  The swelling support for Pitt and the utter frustration of the supporters of Fox finally boiled over in the streets on 28 February. On that day, a Saturday, Pitt was due to receive the Freedom of the City of London from the strongly supportive Corporation. Early in the morning a huge crowd gathered in Berkeley Square, where Pitt was still living with his brother, and formed an excited procession to the City, where Pitt received the Freedom in the Grocers’ Hall, and a speech of praise from none other than the celebrated radical John Wilkes, who spoke of Pitt’s ‘youth, capacity, and firmness’ and his ‘noble act of disinterestedness in favor of the public’.25 Pitt was then accompanied back through London by ‘a great concourse of people’, some of whom took over pulling the carriage in which he sat with his brother and Lord Mahon. Matters now began to get out of hand, as his brother later recalled:

  A Mob is never very discreet, and unfortunately they stopped outside Carlton House [residence of the Prince of Wales] and began hissing, and it was with some difficulty we forced them to go on. As we proceeded up St. James’s Street, there was a great Cry, and an attempt made to turn the Carriage up St. James Place to Mr. Fox’s house … in order to break his windows … which we at last succeeded in preventing their doing … This attempt brought us rather nearer in contact with Brooks, and the moment we got opposite … a sudden and desperate attack was made upon the Carriage … by a body of Chairmen armed with bludgeons, broken Chair Poles – (many of the waiters, and several of the Gentlemen among them) – They succeeded in making their way to the Carriage, and forced open the door. Several desperate blows were aimed at Mr. Pitt, and I recollect endeavouring to cover him …26

  In the ensuing struggle Pitt was finally taken to the safety of White’s, a far more supportive club, whilst his carriage was practically demolished. Lord Chatham mildly concluded his account by saying ‘I never went to Brooks any more,’ but the political consequences were more far-reaching. As news of the events spread across the country, it reinforced the impression that Pitt had become the hero of the people and that the opposition were now resorting to desperate measures to try to unseat him.

  It did not help the public standing of Fox that the alibi with which he demonstrated that he could not have personally been involved in the affray was that he was in bed with his mistress at the time. The contrast between the extremely liberal approach to love affairs and gambling of Fox on the one hand, and the apparently spotless probity of Pitt and indeed George III on the other, added further momentum to the popular tide running in favour of the new government. Fox and North were running out of options, and the resolve of some of their supporters in the Commons was beginning to buckle. Facing hostility from their electors as the loyal addresses poured in, some MPs who had regularly voted against Pitt now switched to abstaining. By the first week of March Fox was still defeating Pitt on the floor of the House, but his majorities were down to single figures.

  Pitt and Robinson continued to chip away at the diminishing majority: they had made a net gain of six in by-elections since the contest began, and the honours were still flowing – one opposition supporter who surprised his colleagues by voting with Pitt in the crucial division of 8 March became a peer two months later. On that day Fox moved a remonstrance to the King arguing that ‘No administration … can serve His Majesty and the public with effect, which does not enjoy the confidence of this House.’27 When the votes were counted he had defeated the government by only one vote (191 to 190). It was all but over. At the beginning of the crisis, Gibbon had predicted: ‘Billy’s painted Galley will soon sink under Charles’s black collier.’ In fact it was Fox’s vessel which was now holed beyond repair.

  The next day, Fox had to let the crucial Mutiny Bill pass through the Commons, lacking the votes to obstruct it. By 10 March Pitt was writing excitedly to the Duke of Rutland, whom he had sent to Ireland as Lord Lieutenant:

  We yesterday were beat only by one, on the concluding measure of opposition … To-day, the mutiny bill has gone through the committee without any opposition (after all the threats) to the duration for a twelvemonth. The enemy seem indeed to be on their backs … but their object is certainly to lie in wait, or at least catch us in some scrape, that may make our ground worse with the public before any appeal is made there. The sooner that can be done I think the better, and I hope the difficulties in the way are vanishing … I write now in great haste, and tired to death, even with victory, for I think our present state is entitled to that name. Adieu, my dear Duke.28

  Tired he must have been after three months of continuous parliamentary struggle, and crisis meetings through every weekend and holiday. Now he could take the time to move back into Downing Street, from where he wrote to his mother on 16 March, possibly for the first time that year.

  Tuesday night, March 16

  My Dear Mother,

  ’Tho it is in literal truth, but a single moment I have, I cannot help employing it to thank you a thousand and a thousand times for the pleasure of your letter. I certainly feel our present situation a triumph, at least compared with what it was. – The joy of it is indeed doubled by the reflection of its extending and contributing to your satisfaction among other benefits. I begin to expect every day a little more leisure, and to have some time for reading and writing pleasanter papers than those of Business.

  Ever, my dear Mother, your dutiful & affectionate,

  W. Pitt29

  The obstacles to an election were indeed now vanishing: candidates were largely in place, the Mutiny Bill would soon be enacted, and opinion out in the country could hardly be more favourable. On 23 March Pitt wrote to Rutland: ‘Our calculations for the new elections are very favourable, and the spirit of the people seems still progressive in our favour.’30 Meanwhile George III had written to the banker Henry Drummond to borrow £24,000 at 5 per cent. The ‘spirit of the people’ would not be the only factor working in Pitt’s favour.

  It was decided that the King would announce the Dissolution of Parliament in a short speech from the throne in the House of Lords on 24 March. That morning Pitt received an unexpected visit from an anxious-looking Lord Chancellor, Lord Thurlow. He reported that in the early hours the Great Seal of England had been stolen from his house. This was of some significance, since the Great Seal was required to authenticate royal commands in Parliament, and an election could not be called without it. To this day no one knows what happened to the Great Seal, and it is very probably lying on the bed of the Thames, James II had dropped an earlier Great Seal into the river as he fled in 1688, in order to inconvenience William III. In any event, Pitt, describing the theft as ‘a curious manoever [sic]’ and refusing to be ruffled, summoned a special meeting of the Privy Council, which issued an order for the minting of a new Great Seal. Craftsmen worked all through the night to complete it so that the Royal Proclamation dissolving Parliament could be issued the following day. The King proceeded to the Lords on schedule, saying: ‘I feel it a duty which I owe to the constitution and to the country, in such a situation, to recur as speedily as possible to the sense of my people by calling a new parliament … I trust that … the various important objects which will require consideration may be afterwards proceeded upon with less interruption and with happier effect.’31 Across the country, the extraordinary mixture of democracy, bribery and skulduggery which came together to form an eighteenth-century general election began in earnest.

  ‘Tear the enemy to pieces,’ Pitt wrote to Wilberforce in Yorkshire on 24 March. This was not an election in which any quarter would be given. The feelings of candidates and voters alike ran particularly high, fuelled by the dramatic events of the preceding months and the record number of caricatures, pamphlets and newspapers which had carried the arguments to the country. Pitt had certainly won the war of the caricatures, appearing as ‘Master Billy’ or ‘The Infant Hercules’, whilst Fox was variously depicted as Guy Fawkes, Satan or Cromwell.32

  While the mood of the nation was clearly for Pitt, it remained to be seen how that would be
translated into parliamentary seats, given the usual importance of local factors in an eighteenth-century election, and the control of so many boroughs by individuals or tiny electorates. It was not normally possible in a general election in this period to ascertain any trend in national opinion at all; nor did any coherent national view about the parties and factions necessarily exist. Even when a government lost support in the open constituencies where general public opinion did hold some sway, it was often able to counteract it through the judicious use of patronage and money in the more closed constituencies. The general election of 1784 is unusual in that large numbers of people were prepared to vote for or against local candidates on the basis of their national loyalties. Pitt enjoyed the upper hand in that battle of loyalties, as well as all the powers of incumbency, and the combination of these two forces would be crushingly decisive.

  That Pitt was gaining strongly was apparent within days of the Dissolution of Parliament. Modern politicians are used to the idea that an election campaign runs for four or five weeks, and is followed by a single day of polling and results. An eighteenth-century election was almost exactly the other way round, with only a few days’ interval after the Dissolution before polling took place, and results flowing in over a five-week period. The poll would be open in some constituencies for a few hours, while in the City of Westminster in this election it would be open for forty days. Voting was often brought to a halt by the withdrawal of a candidate who lost heart, since the open voting (the ballot was not secret) allowed running totals to be continually assessed, or it might last until everyone who could vote or was likely to vote had cast his ballot. There was no national campaign in the sense of politicians travelling around the country: for a Member of Parliament who was unopposed or who enjoyed a safe majority, elections were therefore a time of extended leisure.