“No, thank you. I’ve just come from 10 Downing, and I thought it appropriate, Mr. Solicitor, to let you know formally who will soon be a prisoner in the Tower.”
“I already know. My sources told me early this morning he had been captured. But I was not aware until now where he would be imprisoned. If it is to be the Tower, we will soon add General Washington to the other American rebel who is now held there.”
North tried to cover up his surprise. “How did you know that Washington has been captured, if I might ask?”
“I am friends with a man who is friends with the Admiral who superintends the Portsmouth naval base.”
“I see” was all North said out loud. To himself, he praised God he had gotten to the King before the news had spread all over London, as it must already be doing. Or maybe the King had in fact heard it all before North got there. Although if he had, he had certainly given no sign of it. It also reminded him, as if he needed reminding, that there were no real secrets in London.
North tried to turn the conversation back to where he wanted it to go—delay, including the time and effort that would need to be expended on the Gordon Trial. “Mr. Solicitor, as you well know, Lord George Gordon is also a prisoner in the Tower.”
“That he is. We will be trying him very soon for high treason for his role in fomenting the terrible riots and the resulting fires of this last June. And, I devoutly hope, escorting him shortly thereafter to the gallows at Tyburn.”
“Yes, that is to be hoped,” North said. “Lord Gordon is a traitor, not only to his King, but to his class.”
The Solicitor General, though, was not yet ready to discuss the Gordon trial. He was instead intent on learning more about Washington. “I am most curious to know, my Lord, how Washington’s capture was accomplished. I assume that he was not taken on the high seas like the hapless Mr. Laurens. Was it Clinton or Cornwallis?”
“Neither. I went outside the procedure by which orders are usually given in the military. With the aid of a certain Admiral and a certain General whom I will not name, I got it accomplished, complete with arrest warrant.”
Mansfield chuckled. “I see. Why did you feel you even needed a warrant?”
“Because when I looked into it, Mr. Solicitor, I was surprised to find that although the colonies had been declared in a general state of rebellion and sedition in 1775, only two arrest warrants had ever been issued for any of the leaders of the rebellion, Washington not amongst them. I wanted to give no one the idea that Washington, once captured, would be a prisoner of war rather than an arrested traitor.”
“When did you set this all in motion, my Lord?”
“A little over a year ago I sent a mission to start the arrangements, involving Loyalists, of course. And then I sent another mission after that one to finalize things, and this final time, a specially trained man—a Colonel in the army—who carried out the plan.”
“You were at the time not sanguine about our prospects?”
“No. We are spending vast sums of money on the effort and copiously shedding the blood of our young soldiers. We’d had almost ten thousand deaths to that point.”
North paused, surprised at himself for needing to push back tears.
“I know the war has been a heavy burden for you, my Lord.”
“Yes, it has. I thought that having Washington in our hands would make it a great deal easier to bring the rebels to the bargaining table and work out a reasonable peace short of full independence.”
“I don’t mean to be unkind in saying this, my Lord, but that is something which you’ve so far failed to accomplish, despite several attempts.”
“Two more or less serious attempts before I conceived this latest mission, yes. Although they were both badly bungled by those sent to carry them out.”
“But now, my Lord—” Mansfield paused and his face lit up “—I have heard we are on the verge of winning, and we can transport all of the rebel leaders here in chains, try them for treason and hang them high.”
He raised his hand in front of his face, pointed it downward and waggled his first and middle fingers back and forth, clearly intending to imitate a man’s legs kicking as he strangled on the rope.
North did not respond.
Mansfield, perhaps realizing that North was not all that pleased with his finger puppetry, said, “My Lord, I assume that you must have a purpose in coming here, else you would simply have let me know of Washington’s capture through one of your assistants. You must want something.” He paused. “I should be inclined to provide it. So long as it is just.”
“I do want something.”
“What might that be?”
“Before Washington can be charged, there must be an investigation. I would like it to be thorough...and slow.”
“I’m not sure what there is to investigate. All we need do is read the jury their bloody independence declaration, in which they insult the King personally, make many false allegations against him, call him a tyrant and declare they are independent.”
“Washington didn’t sign that document.”
“But he has conspired with those who did to carry out its purpose.”
“Then, as you can see, Mr. Solicitor, there is something complicated to investigate. This conspiracy you mention, plus your work on the upcoming Gordon trial.”
“Well, it’s true that I am right now very busy finishing the preparation for Lord Gordon’s trial, which is to start shortly in the Old Bailey. The preparation is a great deal of work because the mob he encouraged to burn the better part of Westminster, in supposed protest of the relaxation of restrictions on Catholics, had many rioters in it. Some are now imprisoned, some not, and interviewing them and preparing them to be witnesses at his trial has proved time-consuming and complicated.”
“I can understand, Mr. Solicitor, that that might consume you for many weeks.”
“Yes. I suppose that our work on the Gordon matter could indeed delay the investigation of General Washington. Is that all you want for him, a slower walk to the gallows?”
“Certainly.”
“There is something else I should tell you, then, my Lord,” the Solicitor General said.
“What is that?”
“Despite my earlier statement, the trial of Washington may not be so simple. We will need witnesses to his treason.”
“Surely there are plenty of officers here in London who served in America and can testify to his efforts to defeat His Majesty’s Army, the very essence of treason.”
“Well, this morning I managed to talk to two who happen to be resident here of London and live quite nearby. They are reluctant—deeply reluctant—to testify against Washington.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First, they respect him greatly. They did not when he assumed command in ’75, but they do now that he has fought them to a stalemate.”
“And the second?”
“They insist he is a prisoner of war and nothing more, as they say they would be if captured by the Americans. That status would, of course, mean imprisonment until the war’s end, but no punishment as such.”
“How will we overcome that?”
“There may be officers here in London who have different attitudes. Or if not, there may be some officers still serving in America who do. But we will have to send someone over there to look for them and bring them back.”
“Which means Washington’s trial cannot take place for months.”
“Exactly.”
“Will you undertake the effort to find the appropriate witnesses?”
“Yes.”
North stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Solicitor. I very much appreciate your assistance in a matter of such high importance to King and country. Now I must go to the Tower to inform the Warder of the arrival of his new prisoner.”
As his carriage rolled toward
s the Tower, North could not help but wonder if, in seizing Washington, he had not been far too clever. What if the rebels did not come to the bargaining table, but Cornwallis went on to win decisively and defeat the rebellion? And what if Washington and the other leaders ended up being executed, as both the King and Mansfield wished? The King would have triumphed.
“And then?” he asked himself and knew the answer: the constraints that bound the King to behave like a monarch of limited powers, subject to an elected government, might well be loosened for good. Which meant that instead of being remembered as the man who lost America—a thought that often kept him up at night—he would instead be remembered as the man who lost English democracy.
25
As North approached the Tower walls, with the White Tower looming above them from within, he thought, as he did every time he saw it, about all those who had died inside, from the two young princes murdered by their uncle, Richard III, to Henry VIII’s wife of three years, Anne Boleyn, and many others, before and since. North’s enemies, for whom he was a man lacking in emotion, would have been surprised to know that he shivered slightly every time he laid eyes on the place. Once at the Tower, North located both the Governor, Major Gore, who oversaw the Tower’s operations, and the Warder, who was charged with the well-being of those who were staying there. Both men were clearly astounded to see him. First Ministers did not usually visit.
“Gentlemen, I will soon be sending you a special prisoner,” he said. “Someone suspected of high treason, but not yet indicted.”
“May we know his name?” the Governor asked.
“You will learn his name when he arrives, which will probably be within two days, maybe sooner.” Although North well knew, of course, that they would probably read it in the newspapers within the day.
“I understand, Excellency,” the Warder said. “I will not enquire further for now. Is the man to be treated as a prisoner or a guest?”
“I do not understand the difference.”
“We have some sections of the Tower containing rooms which are more like apartments. They have no bars and the people living in them are accused of no crime. They are simply living here, day in and day out. We might better call them residents.”
“And others?”
“There are prisoners who are given more or less the run of the Tower, except that they may not leave entirely freely, or are restricted only to certain areas. They are locked in only at night. Still other sections have cells, with bars, in which the prisoner is more closely guarded and sometimes not permitted to leave the cell at all. This man Laurens, of whom I trust you are aware, is in two small rooms, formerly an apartment, to which we have added bars. They overlook the parade, where he may be stared at by those who walk by. He is largely confined to the rooms.”
“Those in the first group you call guests?”
“It is more my own term to help distinguish one from the other, my Lord.” He grinned.
“I see. I think the King would like to see him treated more as a guest for now, with some possible restrictions I will later suggest to you.”
“If I might ask, my Lord, if the man who will shortly be delivered here is suspected of high treason, why is he to be treated as a guest of any kind?”
“I didn’t mean that he is to undergo no stresses. He should be permitted, for example, to walk about, but only where people can see him and jeer at him. My goal is to humble him. Also, we can perhaps influence him later by taking away some of the liberties he comes to enjoy.”
“The King giveth and the King taketh away?” the Warder asked.
“Precisely.”
“Is he to be permitted visitors? Lord Gordon, for example, has been permitted visitors from time to time, although Laurens’s visitors are very restricted.”
“Yes, we may learn important things by seeing who comes to visit him.”
“All right, my Lord, we will put him in a room with bars, as we have done with Laurens, but not restrict him so much. Are people to be permitted to throw things at him? Offal and rotten fruit and eggs and the like? There is a building on the parade to which the public might be given access during the day. If the prisoner—excuse me, the guest—could be restricted to walking only upon that area of the parade, he might be a target of items thrown from the windows of that structure.”
“Is that something that has been done here in recent times?”
“Not that I know of, my Lord, but it is done in other places in England, and if you wish him to be humbled...” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.
North thought a moment. “All right, but only with small, soft things. With larger things, there would be too much chance of injury.”
“We will see it done properly.”
“And there is one other thing, Governor. Do you have a room from which the prisoner will be able to see the stone on which Anne Boleyn lost her head?”
The Governor gave him a strange look. “I have never heard that we still have such a stone, if it even was a stone rather than a wood block. But I think it was more likely a block. A stone would dull or break the executioner’s sword.”
“Well, nevertheless, find a big, flat stone and put it someplace where the prisoner can see it. If he asks, tell him it’s where the Queen lost her head. The King wishes it done.”
“And if the prisoner doesn’t ask?”
“Tell him nothing.”
“All right, my Lord. I will be sure to do so.”
He bid them good afternoon and walked to his carriage, which was waiting in a courtyard. He glanced up and saw three ravens peering down at him from a high wall. It did not seem a good omen.
He climbed into the carriage and bid his driver take him back to Number 10. When he arrived there, it was already late in the day. With the exception of Hartleb, the staff had gone, his wife was out of town and the two of his children who still lived with them, ages fifteen and twenty, were out and about. He felt the fatigue and despondency from which he sometimes suffered coming upon him and wandered into the garden at the back of the house. The garden was still very much in winter, but nevertheless a place he liked to go and sit and think. His favourite spot was a weathered oak bench built around an old holly tree. He sat there and let the usual thoughts run through his head: that he was stuck in a life he increasingly found not to his liking and wished fervently to cease being First Minister if only the King could be persuaded to let him go. So far His Majesty had not agreed.
He had been active as a young man and enjoyed clubbing and playing at sports. Now, although he was only forty-eight, he felt like an old man, and he had become increasingly inactive and, as the kinder opposition papers described him, corpulent. He rarely got to go out and do anything, let alone observe anything first-hand or close-up. Instead, he spent his days listening to the Members of Parliament whine and his ministers complain.
He had even tired of meeting with the King, whom he had known since childhood, when his father was the King’s tutor.
Next month would mark the tenth anniversary of his accession to his current office. At first, meeting one-on-one with George III about affairs of state had been fascinating. But the King’s idiosyncrasies—including his constant desire to shape political events and, since the revolt in the American colonies began, his desire to win the war no matter the cost—had begun to wear on him.
From the bench he could see the small wooden door that led through the garden wall into an alleyway. He had often thought of just walking through it and leaving it all behind.
He suddenly had an idea. He heaved himself up from the bench and went to find Hartleb to see if they could make it happen.
* * *
Several days later, in the afternoon, Hartleb approached North and said, “We have received word that the marines and their prisoner have reached the south side of London Bridge and await instructions.”
“Very good. Send a messenger to let them know that when the sun has just begun to set they should start to proceed across the bridge and then to the Tower. Is there any other information?”
“Yes. Crowds have begun to gather. Word has spread that someone important is being brought in. But there are different rumours as to who it is. They are shielding him with a hood, so no one is certain.”
“Let them know to take the hood off when they proceed across the bridge and let people know who it is. But have him gagged. I’ve heard that he doesn’t speak often, but when he does, he has a silver tongue.”
“Your Lordship, is that not risky? Ruffians may hurl stones at him.”
“I earlier thought that risk too great to take, but I think I will take it for now in order to enjoy the humiliation he is certain to feel by being paraded in public like a common criminal. We can take greater precautions later, when he is in the Tower.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“If Colonel Black is there with his prisoner, as I suspect he must be, ask that he call on me first thing tomorrow morning at Number 10.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“And when you return, let us put our plan in motion.”
26
North’s first thought had been that they should station themselves directly across from Traitors Gate, the main entrance into the Tower, which a military contingent would need to use to get inside. In the end, he had chosen to be taken, along with Hartleb, to the front of the church of St. Magnus the Martyr, which faced the road that led directly to London Bridge. The sun was just setting when they arrived.
“Wait behind the church for us,” he said to the coachman. “We will return to you within the hour.”
“Of course, my Lord. But perhaps it would be better if you were to wait with the carriage over there.” He pointed to an archway just up the block. “It would be safer. This is not a genteel neighbourhood.”
“Thank you,” North said. “But I prefer to remain here by the church.”
The Trial and Execution of the Traitor George Washington Page 13