she had gained in Russia and Spain.  Even in America no one doubted the earnestness of England’s wish for peace; and if Madison and Monroe insisted on her acquiescence in their terms, they insisted because they believed that their military position entitled them to expect it.  The reconquest of Russia and Spain by Napoleon, an event almost certain to happen, could hardly fail to force from England the concessions, not in themselves unreasonable, which the United States required.

This was, as Madison to the end of his life maintained, “a fair calculation;” but it was exasperating to England, who thought that America ought to be equally interested with Europe in overthrowing the military despotism of Napoleon, and should not conspire with him for gain.  At first the new war disconcerted the feeble Ministry that remained in office on the death of Spencer Perceval:  they counted on preventing it, and did their utmost to stop it after it was begun.  The tone of arrogance which had so long characterized government and press disappeared for the moment.  Obscure newspapers, like the London Evening Star, still sneered at the idea that Great Britain was to be “driven from the proud pre-eminence which the blood and treasure of her sons have attained for her among the nations, by a piece of striped bunting flying at the mastheads of a few fir-built frigates, manned by a handful of bastards and outlaws,”—­a phrase which had great success in America,—­but such defiances expressed a temper studiously held in restraint previous to the moment when the war was seen to be inevitable.

The realization that no escape could be found from an American war was forced on the British public at a moment of much discouragement.  Almost simultaneously a series of misfortunes occurred which brought the stoutest and most intelligent Englishmen to the verge of despair.  In Spain Wellington, after winning the battle of Salamanca in July, occupied Madrid in August, and obliged Soult to evacuate Andalusia; but his siege of Burgos failed, and as the French generals concentrated their scattered forces, Wellington was obliged to abandon Madrid once more.  October 21st he was again in full retreat on Portugal.  The apparent failure of his campaign was almost simultaneous with the apparent success of Napoleon’s; for the Emperor entered Moscow September 14th, and the news of this triumph, probably decisive of Russian submission, reached England about October 3d.  Three days later arrived intelligence of William Hull’s surrender at Detroit; but this success was counterbalanced by simultaneous news of Isaac Hull’s startling capture of the Guerriere, and the certainty of a prolonged war.

In the desponding condition of the British people,—­with a deficient harvest, bad weather, wheat at nearly five dollars a bushel, and the American supply likely to be cut off; consols at 57 1/2, gold at thirty per cent premium; a Ministry without credit or authority, and a general consciousness of blunders, incompetence, and corruption,—­every new tale of disaster sank the hopes of England and called out wails of despair.  In that state of mind the loss of the Guerriere assumed portentous dimensions.  The Times was especially loud in lamenting the capture:—­