The general tried the power of another proclamation on the Spaniards, in which he announced that we only came in the interest of Spain and King Charles, and for ourselves wanted to make no conquest nor settlement in Spain at all.  But all this eloquence was lost upon the Spaniards, it would seem:  the Captain-General of Andalusia would no more listen to us than the Governor of Cadiz; and in reply to his Grace’s proclamation, the Marquis of Villadarias fired off another, which those who knew the Spanish thought rather the best of the two; and of this number was Harry Esmond, whose kind Jesuit in old days had instructed him, and now had the honor of translating for his Grace these harmless documents of war.  There was a hard touch for his Grace, and, indeed, for other generals in her Majesty’s service, in the concluding sentence of the Don:  “That he and his council had the generous example of their ancestors to follow, who had never yet sought their elevation in the blood or in the flight of their kings.  ‘Mori pro patria’ was his device, which the Duke might communicate to the Princess who governed England.”

Whether the troops were angry at this repartee or no, ’tis certain something put them in a fury; for, not being able to get possession of Cadiz, our people seized upon Port Saint Mary’s and sacked it, burning down the merchants’ storehouses, getting drunk with the famous wines there, pillaging and robbing quiet houses and convents, murdering and doing worse.  And the only blood which Mr. Esmond drew in this shameful campaign, was the knocking down an English sentinel with a half-pike, who was offering insult to a poor trembling nun.  Is she going to turn out a beauty? or a princess? or perhaps Esmond’s mother that he had lost and never seen?  Alas no, it was but a poor wheezy old dropsical woman, with a wart upon her nose.  But having been early taught a part of the Roman religion, he never had the horror of it that some Protestants have shown, and seem to think to be a part of ours.

After the pillage and plunder of St. Mary’s and an assault upon a fort or two, the troops all took shipping, and finished their expedition, at any rate, more brilliantly than it had begun.  Hearing that the French fleet with a great treasure was in Vigo Bay, our Admirals, Rooke and Hopson, pursued the enemy thither; the troops landed and carried the forts that protected the bay, Hopson passing the boom first on board his ship the “Torbay,” and the rest of the ships, English and Dutch, following him.  Twenty ships were burned or taken in the Port of Redondilla, and a vast deal more plunder than was ever accounted for; but poor men before that expedition were rich afterwards, and so often was it found and remarked that the Vigo officers came home with pockets full of money, that the notorious Jack Shafto, who made such a figure at the coffeehouses and gaming-tables in London, and gave out that he had been a soldier at Vigo, owned, when he was about to be hanged, that Bagshot Heath had been his Vigo, and that he only spoke of La Redondilla to turn away people’s eyes from the real place where the booty lay.  Indeed, Hounslow or Vigo—­which matters much?  The latter was a bad business, though Mr. Addison did sing its praises in Latin.  That honest gentleman’s muse had an eye to the main chance; and I doubt whether she saw much inspiration in the losing side.