When the British fleet arrived off Havana on June 6, it caught the enemy entirely by surprise, a tribute to British maritime skill. The main British force had approached Havana through the poorly charted and dangerous Old Bahama Channel, rather than the usual route from the west by way of the Gulf of Mexico. Dispatches alerting Havana that Spain was now at war with Britain had been intercepted by the British, so Cuba’s Spanish governor thought the fleet was just passing through when it was first sighted. The illusion did not last long, of course; the usual arduous struggle to land the troops ensued, with nasty piecemeal skirmishes for control of the surrounding countryside; the fortress would not fall until August 14.
Just as the frigid climate was a force to be contended with in Canada, the tropical Caribbean was notorious as a graveyard for British soldiers because of disease. William’s regiment, the 58th, reached Havana from New York in August, much later than he did, along with a contingent of colonial troops. By then, Lieutenant General the Earl of Albemarle, commanding the land forces, was desperate for healthy troops to replace the sick and dying. By the campaign’s end, the 58th regiment lost 40 percent of its men, most from disease.107
William, however, was spared, and led a diversionary expedition of eight hundred marines and two thousand light infantry, landing at the mouth of the Chorrera River in an effort to draw Spanish troops away from the defense of their El Morro fortress. Two days later, he was reinforced by a company of “free Negroes and mulattoes.” From his camp, he organized transportation of water to the men digging in for the siege, who were almost dying of thirst while building fortifications and hauling artillery. William’s force also undertook dangerous reconnoitering expeditions, repelled enemy attacks, kept their supply lines open, and relentlessly struck at the Spanish in a series of sorties. On July 30, an eyewitness described William’s unit as prepared to assist in the reduction of the city, despite the fact that by now, “Colonel Howe, whose numbers had proportionally decreased with the rest of the army, had only been able to hem in the town, to keep his own position, and to cover the watering of the navy in the Chorera [sic] River.”108
Yet even while operating in a burning maelstrom, William found time to perform acts of kindness for the men who served under him. Francis Browne, a young officer in his regiment who was dangerously ill, recalled that Howe, “hearing that the Captain Lieutenancy of our Regiment was to be sold, purchas’d it for me for £300 and the first thing he did on my going to him after my recovery, was to present me with my commission, telling me at the same time I was appointed Captain Lieutenant.” “Such an act of friendship as this,” asserted the newly made Captain Browne, “in advancing so much mony [sic] without being ask’d, or without letting me know any thing of the matter ’till he gave me my new Commission, is rarely to be met with.”109
The siege at Havana was one of the closing campaigns of the war. The Peace of Paris was signed in February 1763. France effectively gave up her pretensions to establish a rival New France in America, and Great Britain emerged as a world power, with vast acquisitions in North America, including Canada, Florida, and the disputed hinterland east of the Mississippi. Britain retained conquests in the Caribbean and Africa and also became the dominant European colonial presence on the subcontinent of India. National pride was mollified with the restoration of Minorca. If Pitt and his friends in the City of London thought the treaty conceded too much to France, others, including Bute and the king, were insistent on achieving peace. Eighteenth-century diplomacy ruled that it was bad policy to have an overly successful victory, maintaining that it would result in humiliated enemies who would inevitably seek revenge.
And the nation was war-weary. It had been a long struggle, and those at home had not been immune to the hardships. There were shortages, high taxes, and invasion scares.110 The fighting men destined to face the enemy had been highly visible on English soil, as the regiments of the regular army performed exercises on Salisbury Plain and the heaths near London; county militias drilled; and the presence of unpopular Hanoverian soldiers aroused controversy. As the war came to an end, bands of demobilized soldiers—ragged, tired, maimed, or wounded—became common sights around the metropolis.111 The veteran foot soldiers came from the laboring classes, but the aristocracy, too, had visibly thinned its ranks in support of the cause.
The Howe family provides a cameo of the impact of Britain’s first world war on its wealthy families, the sacrifices it extorted reminiscent of the world wars of the twentieth century. George had given his life, as had Mary’s fiancé, Sir John Armytage. With one exception—that of Caroline’s husband, John, the most senior among them—every male member of the Howe family served in the war effort. In addition to the four brothers, sister Charlotte Howe’s husband, Robert Fettiplace, enlisted. Charlotte had married Robert Fettiplace, from a landed gentry family in Oxfordshire, in 1752.112 Although he preferred to spend his time hunting or betting on racehorses, during the Seven Years’ War he became a lieutenant in the Marquess of Granby’s Royal Foresters.113
And even at home, nothing escaped being touched by the conflict; John Howe’s favorite club, the Society of Dilettanti, shut down because so many of its members were in military service. In January 1763, nine Dilettanti members were present for the first meeting in years, “an intimate but celebratory affair.”114
Despite the hardships, the victorious British nation was swept up in a surge of patriotism. Popular nationalism and pride swelled, grounded in the novel sensation that the emergent British empire was saving the world from French tyranny. National self-belief was restored, as not only the French but also the Spanish had been driven back from their aggressions. This “populist, conservative patriotism,” aroused by the war, would be embellished by even greater future conflicts—notably the struggle thirty years later against revolutionary France and dictator Napoleon Bonaparte.115 The British nation was finding its modern identity as a major military power.
The Howe men entered the pantheon of British war heroes in 1762 with the installation in Westminster Abbey of a monument to George. Paid for by the grateful and admiring General Assembly of Massachusetts, it was unveiled in July. Richard oversaw the work; it included the Howe coat of arms and the figure of a graceful woman in mourning, intended to represent the colony of Massachusetts. “He lived respected and beloved,” read the inscription, “the publick regretted his loss; to his family it is irreparable.”116 Indeed it was. The monument must stand duty in place of a grave, for George’s body never returned home. Feelings ran deep, and the Howes were to sustain a sense of attachment to Massachusetts and America that would have important consequences in a little more than a decade.
The Howes, like their nation, came out of the war with a distinct identity. The brothers came to represent a new generation of British heroes, men of action rather than speech, “strong, silent types” who got on with their duty. To contemporaries, they looked the part; the surviving portraits of the brothers suggest rugged good looks and the dark complexion that characterized the whole family.117 Shortly after George’s death in 1758, Horace Walpole, the self-appointed pen portraitist of his generation, spoke of “the hot-headed and cool-tongued Lords Howe.”118 Both George and Richard were comprehended in the tribute. Walpole, who had known the Howes all his life, always described them thus: “those brave and silent brothers,” courageous, daring, but of little speech. Richard was “undaunted as a rock, and as silent: the characteristics of his whole race.”119 Even Thomas was known for his “coolness of Temper.” The successful clash of his armed East Indiaman the Winchelsea with a French frigate off Bengal in the final days of the war was pronounced hardly an extraordinary event for a Howe.120 And the acclaim was extended to the women. The widowed Lady Howe was compared to a Roman matron. Caroline all her life was said to have had the stoical nature suited to a sister of warriors—a “Virago,” as Horace Walpole once called her.121
This engraving shows the monument to Viscount Howe where it was originally installed, in the
south nave aisle of Westminster Abbey. Above the white marble inscription and mourning female figure was placed an obelisk embellished with the Howe coat of arms and crest, featuring three wolves’ heads. Behind the obelisk were military trophies and flags. Today the monument stands in the northwest tower chapel in the nave of the abbey. The obelisk and trophies have been removed.
Richard and William, much like their brother George, earned reputations not only as brave commanders but also as considerate and popular officers. It was during these years that Richard earned his well-known sobriquet, “the sailor’s friend.” He showed active concern for the living conditions of his crew, personally visiting the wounded below decks after each battle and contributing to their comfort with delicacies from his personal stores. In a day when sailors were rigorously confined aboard while in port to prevent desertion, Richard won the gratitude of the crew of the Magnanime by trusting them to take shore leave. It was said that he never lost a man thereby.122
But behind the stereotype of fortitude, the Howes had strong feelings. Not only George, but also Caroline, William, and Richard had hot tempers. Although so often described as reserved, they could also be engaging. Caroline was a popular figure in high society. George had also possessed a notable social charm. William resembled him in this respect, but without the ingrained sense of responsibility. Of all of them, it was middle brother Richard who most aptly fit the family image, appearing unapproachable or cold to those who did not know him well.
Yet all of them had one thing in common: They did not share their inner intentions and motives readily with anyone outside of the family circle. “It’s the Howe fashion to be silent,” as a longtime friend put it. Even Aunt Juliana was closemouthed about family matters.123 This was no doubt an attribute born of their early hardship, when the loss of their father had bonded them together. By 1763, after service in two wars, the Howes had lived through great adversity and suffered grievous losses. These were things that they did not mention. “She covers up the wound from the sight of others,” wrote Caroline with insight of a young kinswoman who, many years later, seemed in good spirits after suffering a bereavement.124 The public image of the Howes was a caricature, but they did know how to keep their secrets. And this would become a recurring motif in the history of the dynasty.
For now, though, the war was over; the nation was in the mood to celebrate, and so were the Howes. Stopping by the London home of Lord Howe near Whitehall Stairs on a visit in April 1763, Caroline was surprised by the proposal of a party to Ranelagh Gardens. Ranelagh was one of London’s famous pleasure gardens—a place where, for a small entrance fee, visitors could stroll the acres of avenues lined with verdure, enjoying refreshments, music, fireworks, and other entertainments. This was a public space that drew Londoners of all ranks together to celebrate the peace. Spring was coming, troubles were at bay, and young Lady Howe sent a spontaneous invitation to Mary and Julie. “We all dined together,” wrote Caroline happily, and at nine o’clock in the evening Richard and his wife, William, Caroline, and her two youngest sisters “rushed into the Ranelagh Mob.”125
Five
The Peaceful Years
The end of the war in 1763 was greeted with a sigh of relief by a nation eager to return to normalcy. London leapt over its old boundaries as postwar prosperity brought in a phase of intensive building for the middling and wealthy ranks of society, now seeking to enjoy the fashionable lifestyle of the metropolis. Restrictions on travel were lifted and British tourists flocked to Paris, Italy, and other celebrated attractions on the Continent.1 An ambition to cultivate the arts, spurred by national pride, led to the foundation of the Royal Academy of Arts in 1768. The capital saw its first-ever purpose-built exhibition rooms, and the English public discovered a new taste for viewing art galleries.
Peacetime brought an unaccustomed and welcome domestic focus to the lives of the Howe siblings. Richard became a parent. He was at sea when his daughter Sophia Charlotte was born in February 1762. By early June, he was back ashore to see his long-awaited offspring, calling on his mother and sisters Julie and Mary at Richmond to show her off. “She is grown a great Girl, & will be 16 weeks old next Friday,” wrote the Dowager Lady Howe proudly of her first grandchild.2 If Richard was absent for the birth, he was around when his daughter took her first steps in the London home where he and the young Lady Mary Howe had settled a few months after the conclusion of the peace. “My Brother & Lady Howe are much pleased with their new Habitation, they have got little Charlotte with them who trots about all day long,” wrote Caroline, happy in her role as aunt.3
Richard’s days as an impecunious naval officer were a thing of the past. The title and income of the Langar estate, although heavily encumbered, was his to make use of since the death of George. Also, less than a year later, in 1759, Lady Mary’s father, Chiverton Hartopp, died, leaving his considerable wealth to his two daughters.4 Richard could afford to take his family to Bath, the famous spa town, by then at its height as a fashionable resort where the aristocracy mixed with England’s burgeoning middle classes. Assemblies, balls, promenades, and concerts were put on for the wealthy clientele, who came on the pretext of poor health and stayed to be entertained. Richard’s complaint, however, was genuine—gout that would afflict him for the rest of his life.
It was in Bath just after the war that Richard and his wife sat for their famous portraits by Thomas Gainsborough. One of the preeminent British portrait painters of the century, Gainsborough had moved to Bath during the war.5 The sittings for Lord and Lady Howe began in July 1763, at a time when Caroline Howe and her husband John were also staying in the spa town. The separate full-length portraits of the couple capture the spirit of these first months of peace, when prosperity, romance, and success were emerging from the preceding years of tragedy, danger, and hardship. Richard poses in the everyday uniform, or “undress,” of a commodore.6 After the dare-devilry of bombarding the fortifications on the Île d’Aix and the risk-taking at Quiberon Bay, he has an insouciant air that befits an English hero. Barely forty, he has the strong features suggested by Horace Walpole’s well-known characterization, “undaunted as a rock.”
Richard’s wife, Lady Mary Howe, looks both beautiful and contented. After all, her celebrated husband has survived the war, she has a new child, and she is a wealthy titled lady, charmingly attired and mixing in the highest circles. Her unusual, forthright stance, seemingly about to step forward from the canvas, achieves a sense of movement, creating the feel “of a breezy summer day whipping forward her skirts.” Countess Howe is among the most inspired of Gainsborough’s portraits of English ladies. Her pink taffeta dress and luminous pearl necklace and earrings bring out her delicate English complexion.7 But she does not look delicate; she is a Howe woman, and Gainsborough has taken her measure.
The couple’s portraits were intended to hang together, but there is a separateness about them that is emphasized by their contrasting backgrounds. Richard is positioned against a dark, rather stormy scene, “almost abstract” in its inclusion of unadorned barren rocks and a remote expanse of water. Absent are the ships or stirring battle scenes that so often appear in the portraits of naval officers. Instead, Gainsborough chose to lavish detail on the surroundings of the hero’s wife: the park that represents aristocratic pride of ownership, the path that suggests forward motion, and the breeze that the artist has, curiously, chosen to ruffle the dress of the lady on a country walk, rather than the naval hero on his quarterdeck.
The lack of integration between the two portraits was almost certainly intentional, and not, as has been suggested, the accidental result of sittings done months apart.8 Victory in war for Richard was not a matter of unmixed glory and happiness. The conflict had made him a national hero and a viscount, but it also had cost him his beloved brother. It is appropriate that the picture reveals a tinge of sadness. This was an age well aware of the unattractive sibling competition fomented by patrilineage, whereby a younger brother might be suspected of rejoicing
at the death of the eldest son and heir.9 If Richard looks every inch the warrior-aristocrat as he looks out on us, behind him lies a shadow that any contemporary gazing at the portrait would understand. In a reversal of the usual roles, happy triumph was reserved for the Lady Howe, not her victorious husband, and it is her portrait that is most redolent of the couple’s future prospects.
The end of the war ushered in new prospects of happiness for yet another Howe, youngest sister Mary, who became engaged to Colonel William Augustus Pitt. The young colonel was a distant relation of the great William Pitt, but Mary almost certainly met him through her kinsman Sir John Mordaunt, in whose regiment Colonel Pitt had served since before the war.10 Caroline wrote of him, “[H]is Character is a very good one, his Constancy very particular indeed, I wish his Fortune was equal to either of them, but such as it is, they both make no doubt of their living happily & comfortably upon it.”11
Caroline’s reference to “Constancy” suggests that Colonel Pitt had been in love with Mary for some time. He was wounded and taken prisoner in October 1760 at the Battle of Kloster Kamp in Germany, but he was home before Christmas.12 Perhaps a wounded officer who was in need of her care and attention gave Mary something to distract her from the death of Sir John Armytage, whose loss she had been visibly mourning for some time. In any case, she and Colonel Pitt came to an understanding almost as soon as the war was over; they were married on June 21, 1763, only seven weeks after Caroline had first learned of their engagement.13 “Mary & her William seem perfectly content & happy,” reported Caroline five months later.14 The third of the Howe sisters, Julie, who had always been close to Mary, added a note of worry. “My Dear Mary is very happy with her Husband, but very poor!, that misfortune was in our family.”15
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