‘How is the wind for the King?’ was the popular query at the time of this voyage; and the popular answer was, ‘Like the nation--against him.’ And when men who disliked him because of _his_ vices or of _their_ political hopes remarked that the Sovereign had been saved from drowning, they generally added the comment that ‘it was God’s mercy, and a thousand pities!’ The anxiety of Caroline for the King’s safety had, no doubt, been very great--so great, that in it she had forgotten sympathy for her daughter in her hour of trial. Lord Hervey will not allow that the Queen had any worthier motive for her anxiety than her apprehension ‘of her son’s ascending the throne, as there were no lengths she did not think him capable of going to pursue and ruin her.’ She comforted herself by declaring that, had the worst happened, she still would have retained Lord Hervey in her service, and have given him an apartment in her jointure house, (old) Somerset House. She added, too, that she would have gone down on her knees to beg Sir Robert Walpole to continue to serve the son as he had done the father. All this is not so self-denying as it seems. In retaining Lord Hervey, whom her son hated, she was securing one of her highest pleasures; and by keeping Sir Robert in the service of the prince, she would have governed the latter as she had done his father. Gross as the King was in his acts, he was choice and refined, when he chose, in his letters. The epistle which he wrote, in reply to the congratulations of the Queen on his safety, is elegant, touching, warm, and apparently sincere. ‘In spite of all the danger I have incurred in this tempest, my dear Caroline, and notwithstanding all I have suffered, having been ill to an excess which I thought the human body could not bear, I assure you that I would expose myself to it again and again to have the pleasure of hearing the testimonies of your affection with which my position inspired you. This affection which you testify for me, this friendship, this fidelity, the inexhaustible goodness which you show for me, and the indulgence which you have for all my weaknesses, are so many obligations, which I can never sufficiently recompense, can never sufficiently merit, but which I also can never forget.’ The original French runs more prettily than this, and adapts itself well to the phrases which praised the Queen’s charms and attractions with all the ardour of youthful swain for blushing nymph. The Queen showed the letter to Walpole and Hervey, with the remark that she was reasonably pleased with, but not unreasonably proud of, it. The gentlemen came to the conclusion that the master whom they served was the most incomprehensible master to whom service was ever rendered. He was a mere old cajoler, deceiving the woman whom he affected to praise, and only praising her because she let him have an unconstrained course in vice while she enjoyed one in power.