At this time, 1727,
the Spaniards were determined to wrest Gibraltar from its English
defenders, and were sending thither a powerful army under the command of
Los Torres. The Duke had tried many trades with more or less success,
and now thought that a little military glory would tack on well to his
highly honourable biography. At any rate there was novelty in the din of
war, and for novelty he would go anywhere. It mattered little that he
should fight against his own king and own countrymen: he was not half
blackguard enough yet, he may have thought; he had played traitor for
some time, he would now play rebel outright--the game _was_ worth the
candle.
So what does my lord duke do but write a letter (like the Chinese behind
their mud-walls, he was always bold enough when well secured under the
protection of the post, and was more absurd in ink even than in action)
to the King of Spain, offering him his services as a volunteer against
'Gib.' Whether his Most Catholic Majesty thought him a traitor, a
madman, or a devoted partisan of his own, does not appear, for without
waiting for an answer--waiting was always too dull work for Wharton--he
and his wife set off for the camp before Gibraltar, introduced
themselves to the Conde in Command, were received with all the
honour--let us say honours--due to a duke--and established themselves
comfortably in the ranks of the enemy of England.
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