“Your Majesty, I am informed that the French monarch has decided to
recognize the independence of the Americans and put all the resources
of France against Great Britain.”
“Whence comes your information, Mr. Prince?” asked George III, as he
sat in his private study of St. James’s, October, 1777.
“Your Majesty, the secret service of the Bank of England has kept
Roderick Barclugh in the French Court. He is on terms of intimacy with
Louis XVI. He associates with Benjamin Franklin and the Colonial party;
he keeps us informed as to every phase of their affairs.”
George III rubbed his hands in each other and looked impatient but
gracious, yet his eyes had an anxious gleam as he nervously asked:
“Is the recognition of the independence of the Colonies possible and
has it come at last? What shall we do about it then, Mr. Prince?”
“There is but one way to reconcile the Americans, since Burgoyne’s
surrender, your Majesty,” replied the Bank Governor. “We must convince
the leaders of the army and the men of substance in the Colonies,
that a long-drawn-out war will ruin the country--that the return of
peace will establish commerce and prosperity; and that allegiance to
your Majesty’s person and crown will give the protection that a young
commonwealth needs.”
“Very well, very well, sir, but what means are you going to use to
convince these rebels?” queried the monarch, impatiently, as he began
to comprehend the undertaking that began to develop.
“Not by warlike means, your Majesty, which has cost your exchequer
twenty thousand pounds sterling for each and every rebel so far killed,
but by the most subtle subjection--that of diplomacy and finance,”
replied Mr. Prince (who knew that the King had used this policy to
carry his desires through Parliament).
“Ah, that is good,” exclaimed the King. “But whom can we trust with
such a delicate mission? I have learned to depend upon the wisdom
of your money, but not upon persons. Can you lay a plan that will
accomplish the result? I have so few men of the genius that you
display, Mr. Prince.”
Mr. Prince now had the ear of the monarch, and as George III showed
his abject helplessness, the holder of England’s purse-strings took
advantage of the situation to carry out the plot planned in the “Old
Cock” Tavern:
“Your Majesty, we must send a Commission to treat with the Colonists
on the spot, when we have turned the men of substance to a desire for
peace. We must send a skilled diplomat among the Colonists, who will
keep us informed as to what the Colonists will do for peace if we
were to grant all their demands except independence. This undertaking
will be dangerous and delicate. Our agent must gain the confidence of
the leaders within the rebel lines. He must be one who can go without
the least suspicion. If he succeeds we must reward him by making him
Viceroy (an echo of the conspirators in the ‘Old Cock’ Tavern) and by
granting him a peerage and a landed estate befitting his dignity of
office.”
“Agreed, Mr. Prince, but whom can you recommend for such delicate
commissions?” asked the King, as he grew enthusiastic over the plot,
for George III loved intrigue.
“Ah!” exclaimed “the arbiter of the power of the purse” (the one great
security of the rights of Englishmen), as he bowed very low to the
monarch:
“May it please your Majesty to entrust your humble servant with so
much privilege as to name the one who is to save your Colonies. There
is no one that will respect your royal will with as much diligence as
your faithful diplomat, Roderick Barclugh. Then for the commissioner to
conclude your terms of peace, I would humbly beg that you entrust such
matters of importance to your Lord Carlisle.”
“Excellent! Excellent! Sir,” exclaimed the King, “but where are these
gentlemen? Command them into my presence. My plans shall be carried
out at once. All that was needed was to have a suggestion, for these
have always been my ideas, I now stand firmly on this idea since you
have seconded me; I have always stood for it; England shall not lose
her Colonies. I am not to be outdone by the French. Where are these
gentlemen, sir?” asked the subtle monarch of the President of the Bank
of England.
Mr. Prince bowed and left the King, for he knew his character so well
that there was nothing more for him to do. He had carried his plans,
although His Majesty had finally claimed them as his own.
However, when the King asked for Roderick Barclugh and Lord Carlisle,
these worthy gentlemen were close at hand (not by accident) but by
means of the finesse of the worthy George Selwyn, who was a courtier
of no mean order. He had his pawns ready for the next move on the
checker-board.
The King had now grown more self-conceited, and when these worthy
gentlemen came into his private audience and both approached and knelt
in obeisance to his commands (for Mr. Prince had given the cue of what
was to happen when he passed out), the King arose and said:
“Lord Carlisle, arise. Mr. Barclugh, arise. It is at your Sovereign’s
commands that you shall proceed to the shores of his rebellious
Colonists and use your persuasion to insure their allegiance to the
British Realm. Gentlemen, no means must be spared to preserve the
integrity of the British Empire. May the blessings of God pursue your
endeavors. Follow the plans that hath pleased the Almighty to have your
Sovereign prepare.”
At the conclusion of this inspired speech, His Majesty stepped toward
Lord Carlisle and Mr. Barclugh, and shook each by the hand and
spoke of the great pleasure that his duty gave, whereupon these two
representatives of royalty retired in due form and respect from his
royal presence.
When our commissioner and our secret agent emerged from the august
presence of George III, they made straightway to the chariot of Lord
Carlisle and were driven post-haste to Brooks’ Club. Carlisle alighted,
but Barclugh went to the house of his chief, Mr. Prince, for he was in
London incognito.
Fox at the head of the faro table was banker, and Selwyn sat opposite,
in the great green room at Brooks’. The play was highly interesting
when Carlisle entered the room. The Bank was two thousand pounds
sterling to the good and the night was but begun. Lord Carlisle went
to the side of Fox and spoke to him, who turned the deal over to Gilly
Williams. Selwyn arose at a sign from Fox, and the three conspirators
left for a private room to discuss the new phase of American politics.
Fox, who was easily the leader of the Whig coterie that centered in
Brooks’ Club, opened the discussion by remarking:
“Has the ‘lunatic’ (George III) carried out the plan?”
“He has,” replied Carlisle, who had just left his Majesty.
“But who is this Barclugh? Can we depend upon him? His task is almost
superhuman,” commented Fox to his cronies.
“Barclugh is the grandson of Sir George Barclugh of the plot to murder
William of Orange,” remarked Carlisle.
“He will do, then,” assented Fox. “For the followers of the Stuarts
were the most remarkable zealots of any age.”
“Yes, and Barclugh has been the secret agent of Mr. Prince, the
President of the Bank of England, at the court of Louis for five years
past. His reports have been reliable and I can vouch for anything that
he undertakes,” contended Selwyn, who was the balance-wheel and the
diplomat of these choice spirits of Brooks’ high play.
“Very well, very well,” exclaimed Charles, “you and Carlisle fix up the
details; I must be back, Gilly will ruin me. You and Carlisle fix up
these matters--whatever you do will suit me. You know I must not leave
the game,” contended Fox, as he nervously spoke and returned to the
green room and hurried to his seat at the head of the table where the
banker sat turning the cards for the coterie of gamesters.
Selwyn now had an opportunity to go calmly over the points at issue
with Carlisle.
“This war must be ended, my Lord,” said Selwyn. “Give Barclugh every
opportunity to win the leaders. Keep the army, under that drawing-room
general, Sir Henry, at a respectful distance from the wily Washington;
let Barclugh ply his arts among the substantial Colonists, and you will
return as the savior of the Colonies and a Parliamentary grant will
await you.”
“But suppose the plans fail, George, what then?” anxiously queried
Carlisle.
“Nothing fails that Britons put their hands and hearts to,”
expostulated Selwyn. “Start to-morrow; be on the scene--Barclugh will
follow. Nothing daunts the ambitious Briton; we must succeed, or ruin
stares us in the face. The continuous drain upon our resources at
the gaming-table has sapped our substance,--we must have funds from
government or give up our life at the Club. Carlisle, the game depends
upon you.”
Thus reasoned Selwyn, for he knew that the select few who practised
high play at Brooks’ had exhausted the resources of their set, and the
only legitimate prey at hand was the funds of government to be won at
the game of Colonial politics.
Carlisle left on the first ship for New York, and Barclugh was to leave
as soon as Lord Germaine could fix up the funds and credentials for him
to carry to the scene of war in America.
Roderick Barclugh was fitted by environment and education to become
a diplomat of no mean order. Born in 1749, his parentage a Scotch
father and a French mother--the rare combination of shrewdness and
finesse--whose traditions on one side led back to the cause of the
Stuarts, and a line of court favorites of the French monarch on the
other--distinguished him for a life of bold intrigue.
His grandfather, Sir George Barclugh, quit his native land with the
Pretender, James II. His father was reared in Paris, and married the
French Queen’s lady-in-waiting, Marie La Fitte. The union was happy
and two sons were the issue. The older was named George Barclugh and
the younger Roderick. The boys grew up surrounded by all the elegant
manners of the French Court at this period.
At twenty-two years of age Roderick Barclugh could speak English,
French and Spanish. He was tall and vigorous in constitution; endowed
with shrewd, steely-blue eyes and a prominent aquiline nose. Firmness
and fortitude were in every expression of his eyes and mouth. His hair
was reddish-brown in color--partaking of the auburn locks of his Scotch
grandfather, and the black of his mother’s race.
He was faultless in his easy manner when in society of ladies, and
when among men inclined to be brusque and haughty. His eyes had a
merry assurance of good will; yet therein could be found firmness,
determination and passion. His voice was trained for the dulcet tones
of persuasion, and, at will, he could command the robust tones of his
father’s race.
Without effort Roderick Barclugh could control his feelings and be
nonchalant to sentiment, and on necessary occasions be frivolous and
gay. His composition had all the artful diplomacy of a French courtier
and the canny ways of an ingenious and bold Scotsman--altogether, a
brilliant and dangerous being.