Philadelphia was in a curious state of unpatriotic sentiment during
the winter of 1778. The merchants, the Quakers and wealthy landowners
(whose fortunes were established) had sentiments that were decidedly
pro-English. Only the leadership and influence of such men as Franklin,
Mifflin, Thomson and the influx of patriotism from other Colonies
through such men as Patrick Henry, Samuel Adams, Jefferson, Livingston,
and the peerless actions of Washington alone saved the least spark
of independence among the leading citizens. Philadelphia reeked with
Loyalists. After the evacuation of the town by the British army, it
was impossible for the Whigs to celebrate such a glorious event by an
exclusively Whig ball. All the belles of the town embraced a list of
those who had attended every social function of the British officers.
They dined where the King was toasted; attended theatricals where our
native land was ridiculed. Even the glorious heraldic pageant of the
Meschianza claimed homage, from the belles of the leading families.
The meekness of the Quakers and their horrors of war (upon religious
principle) were changed to loud acclamations of joy when the British
occupied their town. Quakers shook their heads and looked religiously
solemn whenever the patriots asked for money and provisions; but when
the British presented their demands for supplies, the Philadelphia
Quakers smiled graciously and gave without stint. The actions of many
of these good people were very questionable during the trying times of
the Revolution.
Into this atmosphere of Toryism Roderick Barclugh arrived from New
York. Besides the secret instructions of the Governor of the Bank
of England and the King’s Minister of War, Lord George Germaine,
Barclugh brought with him a passport into the confidence of the leading
patriots. The British secret agent had secured a letter of introduction
to Charles Thomson, Secretary of Congress, from Benjamin Franklin. The
French monarch had secured these credentials for Barclugh on account of
the former fidelity of his family to the Pretender.
The letter was addressed as follows:
“Paris, Nov. 20, 1777.
“My dear Sir:
“With much personal satisfaction, the interests and influence of
our friend M. Roderick Barclugh have been enlisted in our cause. He
comes to us with the best of credentials of the French Monarch.
He will represent the interests of some of France’s leading men of
wealth, and is desirous of securing Letters of Marque and Reprisal
from our Congress for the purpose of engaging in privateering.
“Your cordial co-operation in his affairs is solicited.
“Believe me, sir, with sentiments of unabated esteem,
“Your most obedient servant,
“B. Franklin.
“Mr. Charles Thomson,
“Secretary of Congress,
“Philadelphia, Pa.”
Thus protected with the best passport obtainable, a representative
of the Bank of England and of the War Lord took up his abode in
Philadelphia.
Roderick Barclugh was at once introduced to the leading firm of traders
and privateersmen, Milling & FitzMaurice. They received him very
cordially, especially when he asked them if they would honor his drafts
on account of his Bills of Exchange on the Bank of Amsterdam for twenty
thousand pounds sterling. The senior member of this firm, Mr. Thomas
Milling, was very gracious at once. He invited Roderick Barclugh to
make any convenience out of his compting-rooms, at least, until such
times as he could settle himself in his own quarters.
In 1777 Philadelphia contained about thirty thousand souls. Front
Street, which ran parallel with the Delaware River, and Market
Street, which ran at right angles to the river, were the principal
thoroughfares for both business and residence. The merchants, traders,
lawyers and doctors were principally to be found on Front Street and a
few on Market Street. There were no banks in Philadelphia at that time.
All the merchants had strong boxes of their own.
Roderick Barclugh engaged a house on Front Street near Market Street,
one of those commodious Colonial houses used by traders at that time
for both business and lodging purposes. The room on the first floor
fronting on the street was used as an office for general business; and
immediately in the rear of this room was the private office of Roderick
Barclugh, wherein all the infamy of commercialism that “excludes alike
the virtues and the prejudices that stand in the way of its interest,”
held sway.
The second story of this building contained the sleeping apartments
of the British agent. He had a clerk for his compting-room and a
man-servant to be general lackey. He maintained no household as his
meals were served him in a private dining-room at the Boar’s Head
Tavern, next door. All of his affairs were maintained in great privacy.
Therefore, the clerk and servant performed their daily services and
lived apart from their master.
Thus situated, business began to open up for Roderick Barclugh,
Financier. Characters through whom negotiations were to be developed
were not lacking. Philadelphia society rankled with Toryism that threw
itself into the dust at any pretext for aristocratic government. Even
some of the leaders in the Whig party of the town openly supported
Congress because it was to their interest, but privately could see no
good in the advanced theories of democracy as upheld by Samuel Adams.
The merchant princes who had privateers scouring the seas for booty
had reason for the war to continue and give them license to prey
on commerce, but when order should be re-established, wished an
aristocratic government for the enjoyment of their gains.
Roderick Barclugh was soon a high favorite among the merchants. Robert
FitzMaurice was the Financier General of Congress, and his commercial
house of Milling & FitzMaurice was being enriched in every possible
channel. The credit that this public position gave him, advanced
his gains in trade and privateering. His credit allowed him to build
ships. Nearly every week a privateer of his commission was bringing in
a richly-laden merchantman as a prize to his wharves in the Delaware.
These cargoes enriched Milling & FitzMaurice to the amount of 800,000
pounds sterling while the war lasted. Is it any wonder that this firm
should make loans to the Continental Congress since they were merely
putting capital into their stock in trade?
One man at this time standing in the light of public opinion as the
antithesis of Thomas Paine in his philosophy of _Common Sense_, was
James Wilson, a leading lawyer of Philadelphia, and a writer of no mean
abilities. He was the intimate friend of Robert FitzMaurice, and an
adviser in the aristocratic plans of the financier. Whatever were the
plans of the men of substance for monarchial forms in government, this
clever lawyer was ever ready to advocate these principles by means of
pamphlets and after-dinner speeches. He was making a fortune in the
practice of law when the country was in the very throes of despair, but
this Scotchman knew wherein his fat fees lay.
But Roderick Barclugh did not confine his attention to the merchants
and lawyers alone in pursuing his plans. One of the channels through
which he pursued the objects of his mission was a fishmonger of the
town,--Sven Svenson.
In a raging snowstorm of the winter of 1772, a small Norwegian bark was
making its course to the Swedish settlements of the Delaware, with a
company of Swedish emigrants. The ship met an undeserved fate on the
sands of the Jersey Coast. The whole ship’s company perished in the
frigid blasts of a northeast gale in January, save one,--Sven Svenson,
a young and vigorous Swede, eighteen years of age. He was found numb,
and almost exhausted, by a party of Jersey fishermen. They cared for
him and took him to their homes.
These fishermen plied in the oyster trade of Philadelphia with
the oysters at that time found in the estuaries of the mouth of
the Delaware River. Two trips a week with a sloop were made from
Philadelphia to the oyster beds and back. In this trade, Sven at once
turned his hand. He was a handy sailor-man,--industrious and saving.
At the time when Roderick Barclugh arrived in Philadelphia, one of
the best known and happiest men in the town was Sven Svenson. He
had taken hold of the responsible end of the oyster trade himself.
Any day, in oyster season, one could find this flaxen-haired Swede
pushing a wheel-barrow up and down Market Street and through Front
Street,--opening a dozen here and a dozen there for passers-by.
Everybody ate them on the half-shell, tempered with a squirt of
pepper-“sass” from a three-cornered bottle having a goosequill through
the cork. Every one liked Sven; not alone for the happy smile with
which he opened you an oyster; but he gave it with a sly wink and an
extra squirt of “sass,” that pleased.
The mistresses of the best households held Sven as a prime favorite,
since, whenever they gave an order for a feast, they could depend upon
having their orders filled. He also supplied their tastes with the best
in the market.
There were no family secrets but Sven heard them through the servants,
or else he happened upon those little wordy duels which occur in the
best of families. Moreover, as many Swedish girls were in domestic
service it was an easy matter for Sven to hear all the choice gossip of
the town.
After settling himself into his bachelor quarters, one of the first
things that Roderick Barclugh undertook was to take early morning walks
all over the town for knowledge of the people. On several of these
observation journeys, he had passed this pumpkin-faced Swede, who, on
general principles, saluted every person of note with a most gracious
courtesy and removal of his hat.
Barclugh, noticing how good-naturedly everybody stopped Sven’s
wheel-barrow, and how many patronized his fresh oysters, recognized
in this guileless vender of shellfish a master-key to all the town’s
frailties. Following up his observations, the next day when he met
Sven on his morning rounds,--merrily pushing his wheel-barrow up
Market Street, dressed in leather breeches, white cap and apron,--the
fishmonger stopped and bowed low, half recognizing Barclugh’s desire to
speak.
“How do you sell your wares, my good man?” spoke Barclugh.
“Sax pence ahl vat you eet, sahr,” was the prompt reply.
“All right, let us have some of the smallest, with no pepper-sauce, my
man. I like them briny. Are these from the deep salt water?” continued
Barclugh, thus to draw out Sven, who bustled around to please his new
customer.
With a jerky motion he opened a choice bivalve and held it up for
Barclugh to eat on the half-shell.
A roguish twinkle gleamed in his eye when his customer had taken the
oyster with a smack of his lips. Sven held out the other half of the
shell and with his oyster knife pointing to the fine purplish coloring
of the inside, said:
“Das wass a he-oeystar, and ahl maan got some by me. Van maan eet
plaanty he-oeystar and papper-saass he feel strang ahl daay. Das wass
samting vat halps fadder and strangtans modder.”
The Swede could have gone on about his oysters at any length as long
as his customer would eat, but getting enough “he-oysters,” Barclugh
handed him a sixpence and at the same time slipping a crown piece into
his hand, asked:
“Do you know General Arnold?”
“Yah,” replied Sven, who looked startled and astonished as he grasped
the coin, and squared himself up to tell _all_ that he knew.
“I haf baan in dis kontry sax yahr and sax monts. My name is Sven
Svenson, and my brodder’s garl varks for Mrs. Arnold. Ganral Arnold
eats plaanty he-oeystar and owes me tan pound starling. Mrs. Arnold haf
a strang tongue and talks to the Ganral to yump his yob and vark for
dee Angleesh.”
Barclugh smiled and left Sven still eager to tell more, showing
unconcern by hastily departing, yet when walking briskly along he
thought to himself:
“The Swede loves money and his knowledge must be mine. Arnold can not
long resist his wife and my offers too.”