The first acts of the new administration were characterized rather by vigour than by judgment.  Expeditions were sent against different parts of the French coast with little success.  The small island of Aix was taken, Rochefort threatened, a few ships burned in the harbour of St. Maloes, and a few guns and mortars brought home as trophies from the fortifications of Cherbourg.  But soon conquests of a very different kind filled the kingdom with pride and rejoicing.  A succession of victories undoubtedly brilliant, and, as was thought, not barren, raised to the highest point the fame of the minister to whom the conduct of the war had been intrusted.  In July 1758, Louisburg fell.  The whole island of Cape Breton was reduced.  The fleet to which the Court of Versailles had confided the defence of French America was destroyed.  The captured standards were borne in triumph from Kensington Palace to the city, and were suspended in St. Paul’s Church, amidst the roar of drums and kettledrums, and the shouts of an immense multitude.  Addresses of congratulation came in from all the great towns of England.  Parliament met only to decree thanks and monuments, and to bestow, without one murmur, supplies more than double of those which had been given during the war of the Grand Alliance.

The year 1759 opened with the conquest of Goree.  Next fell Guadaloupe; then Ticonderoga; then Niagara.  The Toulon squadron was completely defeated by Boscawen off Cape Lagos.  But the greatest exploit of the year was the achievement of Wolfe on the heights of Abraham.  The news of his glorious death and of the fall of Quebec reached London in the very week in which the Houses met.  All was joy and triumph.  Envy and faction were forced to join in the general applause.  Whigs and Tories vied with each other in extolling the genius and energy of Pitt.  His colleagues were never talked of or thought of.  The House of Commons, the nation, the colonies, our allies, our enemies, had their eyes fixed on him alone.

Scarcely had Parliament voted a monument to Wolfe, when another great event called for fresh rejoicings.  The Brest fleet, under the command of Conflans, had put out to sea.  It was overtaken by an English squadron under Hawke.  Conflans attempted to take shelter close under the French coast.  The shore was rocky; the night was black:  the wind was furious:  the waves of the Bay of Biscay ran high.  But Pitt had infused into each branch of the service a spirit which had long been unknown.  No British seaman was disposed to err on the same side with Byng.  The pilot told Hawke that the attack could not be made without the greatest danger.  “You have done your duty in remonstrating,” answered Hawke; “I will answer for everything.  I command you to lay me alongside the French admiral.”  Two French ships of the line struck.  Four were destroyed.  The rest hid themselves in the rivers of Brittany.

The year 1760 came; and still triumph followed triumph.  Montreal was taken; the whole province of Canada was subjugated; the French fleets underwent a succession of disasters in the seas of Europe and America.