“That game, Charles, last night, upset our plans, and we must recoup
our fortunes from government,” suggested young Lord Carlisle bitterly,
on the morning after he had lost ten thousand pounds sterling at a
single cast at hazard in Brooks’ Club.
He was addressing his two cronies, Charles Fox and George Selwyn. Both
were members of Parliament and included within the inner Cabinet and
Councils of the government of Lord North. Both were powerful in the set
that obtained favors (for the chosen few) from the monarch, George III.
In order that no one might observe them, the three were alighting
from the chariot of Lord Carlisle and entering the “Old Cock” Tavern,
a resort for literary drudges and solicitors of Temple Court. They
entered at the side entrance in Apollo Court, just off Fleet Street.
They had come directly from the gaming-table, dejected and desperate
from heavy loss, to a place where they could retire securely to one of
the cosy corners for breakfast and repose.
Having been all night in the great room at Brooks’, nerved to high
tension at the hazard of great stakes, this sorry set of cronies sought
refreshment and a reckoning of their shattered fortunes. One of those
reposeful havens for the “weary and heavy laden,” in old London’s jaded
life, now appealed to these gaming spirits and leaders of government.
The “Old Cock” boasted of a respectable antiquity even at this time,
1777. The old gossip, Samuel Pepys, had graced its haunts in the time
of the Stuarts; it survived the ravages of the Plague, and even the
great fire of Old London; the entrance was a passageway that passed
a flight of stairs and a bar into a large, well-lighted coffee-room.
Skylights furnished air and sunshine whenever London could lay claim
to the latter. Bright sea-sand glistened on the faultless floor. Rows
of mahogany boxes, formed by high-backed seats on three sides and open
toward the center, surrounded the entire room, except where the huge
fireplace added good cheer in its restful, blazing wood.
In one of these boxes a party could be quite secluded. The tops of
the settles were higher than one’s head and a bandy-legged table of
mahogany sat between the benches. The mantel of the fireplace was
massive oak, carved after the fashion of the Elizabethan age, and the
atmosphere of the place was presided over by a heroic representation of
an “Old Cock” perched high at the farther end in the act of hailing the
morn.
Noted for its wine and for those “who knew what was good and could
afford to pay for it,” the “Old Cock” was justly celebrated for the
solace within its walls.
Life swirled in Old London, around the young bloods at Brooks’. The
great room where hazard ran riot beheld noted encounters between Fox,
March, Burgoyne, Carlisle, Rodney and Selwyn. These revels afforded
gossip in coffee-houses, taverns and drawing-rooms. Many a bottle
of good, old port tickled the cockles of a Londoner’s heart, while
Fox’s debts, Carlisle’s losses and Selwyn’s witticisms afforded old
London-town an excuse to gossip about people to one’s heart’s content.
A reckoning, however, was sure to come. No bulls and bears were in
existence then, but their progenitors revelled in high play at the club.
“Charles,” began Carlisle in a cozy nook of the “Old Cock,” “you know
that Burgoyne’s return from his disaster affects our situation most
seriously. What can be done to meet our disappointments? If Burgoyne
had simply reached New York, the King would have elevated him to the
vacant peerage of S---- as was promised us; and Parliament would have
voted him one hundred thousand pounds sterling so that he could have
paid me his debt of twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Fox, who had been in Lord North’s cabinet, and as Junior Lord of the
Treasury had opposed the estrangement of the Colonies, foresaw the
disaster in war as carried on by Lord North. His powerful influences
were directed to stop the war more by diplomacy than by force. But
his gambling proclivities kept all of his friends in jeopardy. Now
something must be done to stop the disastrous war and at the same
stroke recoup the waning fortunes of himself and his cronies.
Therefore, turning to his two friends in distress, he mildly argued:
“Well Carlisle, I shall go to my friend, Mr. Prince, Governor of the
Corporation of the Bank of England, and ask him to insist with that
old fool, Lord North, that if our soldiers can not whip the Colonists,
we must _buy_ the leaders. We can appoint a commission with yourself,
Carlisle, at its head to go to America and settle the conflict with a
_coup d’etat_.”
Selwyn listened most eagerly to whatever Charles advised at all times,
but now he smiled graciously as he exclaimed:
“Zounds! that’s good! My Lord, if you once get to America to show your
bags of gold to the hungry dogs, the woods will ring with the yelps
of the hungry pack. They would give up the chase and devour the bones
that you might throw to them,” exclaimed Selwyn, who sat in the corner
sipping his well-brewed coffee.
“Such a stroke,” continued Selwyn, lazily, “to win the Colonies, would
bring us the King’s favor and two hundred thousand pounds sterling by
Parliament, my Lord; and we would once more recoup our fortunes. Then
Charles could satisfy the Shylocks and kick them down the stairs.”
While these gentlemen of plots on the government exchequer were
scheming in their corner, the rest of the coffee-room of the old tavern
was humming with groups of customers, who were drinking, smoking, and
eating to their hearts’ content.
Lingering over tankards of ale, or puffing at long pipes of tobacco,
tables were surrounded by wise-visaged solicitors discussing the
possible phases of the trial of the Duchess of Kingsley, who was on
trial for bigamy.
Having married, clandestinely, the second son of Lord Ker, and the
marriage being disowned, the Duchess had lived publicly with the Duke
of Kingsley, and finally married him during Mr. Ker’s lifetime. But
at the death of the Duke, proceedings were instituted by which she
was found guilty of the crime charged, and thus lost all the property
left her by the Duke. If such subjects did not afford gossip at the
coffee-houses others did.
In one corner were the literary characters, among whom was Dr. Johnson,
and, of course, his friend Boswell,--surrounded by a company of
satellites, all of whom paid court to the old autocrat, the leader of
all criticism, and the arbiter of all opinions on the passing literary
productions.
Oh, how the “old growler” delighted in a pint of port! When his soul
grew mellow how that charmed circle delighted to hear him repeat for
the five hundredth time those favorite lines from rare old Ben Jonson:
“Wine, it is the milk of Venus,
* * *
That cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker,
Pays all debts, cures all diseases,
And at once three senses pleases.”
Selwyn was a great admirer of Fox, and was one of his life-long
friends, but a courtier first and last.
His friendship for Lord Carlisle also was of the most tender nature.
He stood between his two friends as the adviser of Carlisle and
the guardian of Fox. The latter was a brilliant politician, and a
passionate gamester, who needed the good offices of a diplomat like
Selwyn.
Yet Selwyn’s most concern was to keep Fox within a sphere of
usefulness, in order that Fox could pay back to Carlisle money that was
loaned at the gaming-table. The interests of the three were so involved
that one had to maintain the other in order to preserve himself; they
repeated the story of Cæsar and Pompey.
“I have the scheme,” ejaculated Selwyn, who was by this time growing
enthusiastic over the idea of stopping the American War with the
English valor that wins their battles when bayonets fail. “I am
acquainted with a young man who is the secret agent of the Bank of
England in France and has brought us the innermost information from the
French Court by reason of his skill as a diplomat, and his pretended
friendship for the American cause.
“He is a personal friend of Dr. Franklin. In America he could be
recognized as a supporter of the cause of independence while he kept
your Commission informed as to the weakness within the American ranks.
“You could induce him,” continued Selwyn spiritedly, “to undertake
the mission by promising the highest position, that of Viceroy in the
Colonies. You could also offer a peerage and vast landed estates in
America for his success.”
“No man could resist such inducements,” concluded Carlisle, as he drank
in the plans with evident satisfaction.
Fox sat there unconcerned as to details, but awakening out of a reverie
on last night’s game remarked to Selwyn:
“George, I am agreed. You talk well, but what is the man’s name?”
As a matter of fact, Fox did not have so much concern about the
Colonies, as he did about the vast sum of money that he owed Carlisle.
He was ready for any expedient to pacify his creditor and give some
excuse to put off demands on his depleted fortunes.
If Carlisle should succeed in retaining the Colonies within the
empire, and at the same time receive great personal treasures from
the government, Fox’s personal obligations would be cancelled and a
disastrous war would be ended.
Selwyn, replying to Fox’s question, said persuasively:
“His name, my dear Charles, is Roderick Barclugh, but for purposes
of state it must be withheld until the plans are working. If you are
agreed you can submit your plan to the King through the bank. I am sure
that the King will take up your ideas as his own. Then he has to listen
to those people that control his purse-strings, anyway.”
Lord Carlisle, young and ambitious to recoup his severe losses, arose
from the breakfast and said decisively:
“Gentlemen, the plan is well conceived. If it fails to subdue the
rebels, my name will sink to the depths of ignominy; but if it
succeeds, I shall have the honor of serving my King as well as Warren
Hastings at all events.”
Whereupon the three plotters departed for their lodgings, to be ready
for the game at Brooks’ that night.
Selwyn, the diplomat of the trio, set the plans to working. He
interviewed Mr. Prince, the Governor of the Bank of England, who
consented to influence the King.