The Surinam Spy

 Game of Secrets

Paris, December 1776. The air was crisp with winter’s chill, and the Tuileries Gardens lay shadowed, their neat paths empty except for a single figure moving purposefully. Edward Bancroft, a doctor, scientist, and man of letters, slipped through the darkness, his breath fogging in the cold. In his coat pocket, a rolled letter to “Mr. Richards” rested, its ink written in a special code only the right eyes could decipher. To the world, Bancroft seemed to be a loyal American, a trusted aide to Benjamin Franklin. Still, tonight, as he approached a twisted box tree and slipped his message into a hollow, he played a different role: a spy for King George III.

Tuileries Gardens

New England Student

Born in Westfield, Massachusetts, in 1744, Edward Bancroft moved to Connecticut with his widowed mother after she remarried David Bull. There he was tutored by none other than Silas Deane, the schoolteacher who would become our Deane of Spires—America’s agent in Paris.

Home in 18th-century Massachusetts

Fake Physician

Young Bancroft was a quick study, but he was restless. At sixteen, he gave up an apprenticeship with a doctor in Killingworth to seek adventure in Dutch Guiana or Suriname. There, he assumed the mantle of a physician, treating plantation workers while pursuing his study of the natural world. A fateful acquaintance was made when Paul Wentworth, a wealthy plantation owner, hired Bancroft to survey his land. While there, Bancroft penned a semi-biographical novel as a homage to his employer, detailing the life of a planter.

Surinam: Dutch Guiana 

Celebrated Scientist

He made his way to London, where in 1769, his Essay on the Natural History of Guiana earned him recognition. He began calling himself “Doctor,” despite having no formal degree. He made the rounds in coffeehouses and intellectual salons, where he met Doctor Benjamin Franklin, the American colonial representative in London. Franklin recognized potential in Bancroft’s wit and worldly charm, and they soon became close friends. As the colonies moved down the road to rebellion, Bancroft’s pro-American writings—like his 1769 Remarks on the Review of the Controversy between Great Britain and Her Colonies—enhanced his patriot bona fides. 

Ben Franklin: Mentor and Mark?

Family Man

In 1771, Cupid’s arrow struck, and Bancroft married young Penelope Fellows, daughter of a prominent Catholic family. Ironic as Bancroft was, at best, a Deist. A son, Edward, was born in 1772, and the couple went on to have six more children.

Loyal Secretary

In 1776, Silas Deane arrived in Paris to seek French aid, as Congress’s representative (using a cover), he tapped his former student to help. Franklin, now an American commissioner, soon arrived, appointing his London acquaintance as secretary to the American delegation. To Deane and Franklin, Bancroft was a trusted employee, copying letters, translating dispatches, and organizing supplies for American ships. But beneath this front, a darker loyalty simmered—Bancroft was, in actuality, now a mole.

Silas Deane

What Went Wrong?

Before Bancroft left London for France, Paul Wentworth, now a recently recruited agent of the British Secret Service who ran a spy ring, approached him. Wentworth was an American-born loyalist who ran a British spy ring and had employed Bancroft when they were both living in Dutch Guiana. A meeting was arranged with William Eden, the head of the Secret Service, and a deal was struck. For $ 200 a year—later increased to $500, then $1,000—Bancroft agreed to betray his fellow Americans. 

William Eden

His motives were a mix of loyalty to the British Empire, financial ambition, and doubt about the chances of American independence. Believing that the colonies’ best future was within the Empire, he began a life in the shadows, engaging in a risky game—secretly passing information to the British while working for Franklin and Deane. In the spy parlance, he had perfect placement and access.

Dead Drops in the Dead of Night

On Tuesday nights, Bancroft carried out his secret routine. Using the alias “Edward Edwards,” he penned reports to a “Mr. Richards,” using invisible ink while cleverly disguising his intelligence reports within stories of romantic escapades. Details about American negotiations with France, troop movements, and Franklin’s personal thoughts would be slipped into a bottle, tied with a string, and hidden in a hollow in a Tuileries tree after 9:30 p.m. When Bancroft cleared the area (departed), a British agent from the embassy would make the pickup, leaving new orders, which Bancroft would gather later that night. America’s secrets were in the hands of William Eden and King George III just two days later.

George III 

Suspicious Colleague

Yet Bancroft’s game was filled with danger: Arthur Lee, an American diplomat, suspected betrayal. Of course, the prickly Virginian suspected everyone! Lee saw Bancroft’s stock speculations and rumored mistress as a red flag.  He warned Franklin and Congress in 1778, claiming there was evidence of Bancroft’s treachery. “I consider Dr. Bancroft a Criminal concerning the United States,” Lee wrote. But he had no proof. Franklin remained loyal to his friend and dismissed them. 

Arthur Lee

Sly Deception

Bancroft caught wind of these accusations and warned his friends. To avoid suspicion, the British staged a fake arrest of Bancroft, accusing him of aiding the rebels—a ruse that kept his cover intact. Lee’s warnings diminished, and Bancroft’s deception remained hidden.

Astounding Success

Bancroft’s actions were remarkable. He translated the commission’s correspondence, repaired American ships, and even advised John Paul Jones, all while passing secrets to London. In 1781, he stole Deane’s private letters, which revealed despair over America’s prospects and called for peace with Britain. Published in New York after Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, the stolen letters damaged Deane’s reputation, calling him a traitor. 

John Paul Jones

Post War Laurels

After the war ended, Bancroft’s reputation continued to grow. In 1783, he moved to England to secure his British pension, while continuing to correspond with Franklin. Bancroft’s scientific work thrived; his 1794 book, Experimental Researches Concerning the Philosophy of Permanent Colors. This earned him a fellowship at the Royal Society, and his patents for quercitron dye made him a wealthy man. Our secretary, double and triple agent, mole and scientist, died on 7 September 1821, at Addington Place in Margate.

Edward Bancroft

A Riddle

Was Bancroft a traitor to America or a patriot to Britain? The question hangs like fog over the Tuileries. Some historians suggest he was a British loyalist who truly believed in the Empire’s unity. Bancroft’s betrayal, though daring, did not destroy the American cause. Ironically, his intelligence, though detailed, often went unused by the British, who did not utilize his reports effectively. Why not? Did they suspect him of being a triple agent? Some speculate Franklin knew of his duplicity but let him operate under the adage of keeping friends close and enemies closer. 

A Spy at Work?

And an Enigma

Whatever the truth, his espionage activities remained hidden until 1891, when British archives revealed his treachery, shocking historians and damaging his legacy. Regardless of who he betrayed, Bancroft’s spying, though daring, did not destroy the American cause. That might just provide our answer—or not. Such is the dilemma of traversing the wilderness of mirrors.

Deane of Spies

City of Lights

July 1776. The Seine shone under a summer moon, its ripples hiding secrets as Silas Deane stepped onto the cobblestones of Place Louis XV. He looked back to see if he was being followed. Not this time. The Connecticut merchant-turned-diplomat, Deane’s role was crucial to the young rebellion—securing badly needed aid from France. Although not a polished diplomat, the Yankee trader, a skilled negotiator, was up against a city full of spies and schemers. He would have to wage a secret war for America’s survival, with betrayal waiting at every turn. Though only a passing figure in my novel, The Reluctant Spy, it’s important to understand Deane’s role, as he set the stage for much that followed.

Paris: a Maze of Intrigue

Young Yankee

Who would have thought a young Connecticut Yankee would be drawn into the world of global espionage? Silas Deane was born in Groton in 1737. Fortunate enough to attend Yale, he eschewed the typical graduate’s career as a cleric, schoolmaster, or lawyer. Connecticut’s access to the sea and its favorable rivers made it a hub of trade, and Dean earned a fortune in trading timber and rum. As with all of his class and status, Deane was drawn into politics as the colonies slid toward revolution and was a stalwart member of the Continental Congress. His talent got him named America’s first envoy to France during the early days of the struggle. America needed everything: money, supplies, weapons, and munitions. And America needed them quickly. Armed only with a letter of introduction and a seasoned dealmaker’s grit, he sailed off on this desperate venture in March 1776.

Silas Deane

Covert Envoy

Aware of the intrigue awaiting him (the canny Benjamin Franklin likely briefed him), he posed as a merchant in a modest apartment in a quiet part of Paris, not Versailles. From there, he undertook the daunting task of convincing France to throw in with the Americans, at a time when British General William Howe was unleashing a sea and land campaign that would drive the Americans from New York and the Jerseys. Neutral France would prove a hard nut to crack, officially. His task was complicated by the fact that the spy services of both France and Britain were watching this obscure American.

Rodrigue y Hortalez, Et Cie

Dean hit pay dirt when French Foreign Minister Charles Gravier, Comte de Vergennes, connected Deane with a pesky clockmaker and renowned playwright, Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais. Beaumarchais secretly approached Vergennes about taking action to aid the Americans' struggle, but Vergennes would not risk British ire—at least not yet. 

Beaumarchais

The roguish Beaumarchais had set up a front company, Rodrigue y Hortalez, a Spanish company, to smuggle goods to America. Dean jumped at the opportunity, negotiating the transfer of 200 cannons, 25,000 uniforms, and ammunition that kept the Continental Army alive through 1777. Ships slipped from Le Havre to American ports, their cargoes disguised as commercial goods. Each shipment was fraught with danger, as French ports swarmed with British spies, spreading gold to detect evidence of French perfidy. Exposure, being caught in flagrante delicto, could cause Vergennes to close the operation, leaving the American cause in mortal peril.

Covert Shipments Nurtured the Rebellion

Insider Threat

But the threat, as usual, was from within. Edward Bancroft, a former pupil of Deane, became his secretary, privy to all aspects of the operation and everything else Deane was up to. The problem was that Bancroft was a British agent who clandestinely fed information to the British embassy, ensuring details would arrive on King George’s ministers’ desks within days.

Edward Bancroft

Enter Big Ben

The Cause was looking weak, very weak, in late 1776, and the need for a formal alliance was growing increasingly separate. The Continental Congress decided to up the ante by sending a former American representative in London to help Deane. Benjamin Franklin was not just another envoy—he was possibly the most renowned man of the era and soon eclipsed Deane, who was more of a back-office operator. Franklin would soon take the lead in dealings with the French.

Talent Scout

But Deane was doing much more than kibbitzing with the aristocracy. He actively recruited talent for the Cause, sending large numbers of experienced (sometimes, not so) officers to serve in the Continental Army. Among them were the Marquis de Lafayette, Baron De Kalb, Casimir Pulaski, Baron von Steuben, Thomas Conway, and Philippe du Coudray. The latter brought heat on Deane when he ticked off Congress with demands for money and rank, and Conway would be controversial in many ways. Still, they did provide a shot of Vitamin B-12 in the butt of an Army struggling for experienced leaders. Deane also helped John Paul Jones, arranging the initial French support for Jones’s first raids in European waters.

Lafayette

Another Enemy Within

When an American planter and scion of the aristocratic Lee family of Virginia entered the scene, clouds darkened over Deane. Newly arrived diplomat Arthur Lee distrusted Deane, accusing him of profiteering from supply contracts. Lee’s suspicions had some merit; Deane’s merchant instincts did lead him to dabble in stocks, blurring public duty and private gain. These accusations, though unproven, were a blight on his record. When the American victory at Saratoga in October 1777 made a formal alliance just a matter of time, Deane’s welcome had worn out. Congress took Lee’s allegations seriously and recalled the man whose efforts kept the Cause alive in its darkest hours.

Arthur Lee

Not Sunny in Philadelphia

When Deane arrived at the nation's capital in 1778, he was unprepared for the deluge. He had anticipated praise, but instead faced a grilling from Congress over his accounts. Unprepared, with incomplete records, he faltered. It worsened for him in 1781 when his private letters, expressing doubts about America’s chances and urging peace with Britain, were published. 

Philadelphia Was Unwelcoming

Branded a traitor, Deane fled to Europe, living in exile in London and Ghent. Who stole them? Some point to Bancroft, but Lee cannot be ruled out. Deane’s final years were grim. In 1789, he died suddenly aboard a ship bound for America, possibly from poisoning. It was not until the 19th century that documents exonerated Deane from the charges against him, but by then his grim legacy was sealed in the minds of most Americans.

Meeting De Kalb and Lafayette

Grim Legacy?

Deane, thrust into the shadowy world of diplomacy and skullduggery, did quite well until inside forces, a spy and an implacable political foe, undid him. Yet the record is clear. The canny businessman initiated the supply chain that would feed the Cause, recruited (mostly) good talent, and set the stage for Franklin, Adams, Jay, and others to complete the work of making Paris a second front in the war against Britain. Bancroft’s treachery, Lee’s vendetta, and Congress’s ingratitude crushed his legacy, but Deane’s work in Paris kept the American Revolution alive. As he stood by the Seine in 1776, gazing at a city that could make or break a nation, he could not foresee the cost—only that freedom demanded it.

The French Fox

Although action and intrigue are the hallmarks of the Yankee Doodle Spies series, the war was, in fact, mainly won through the latter. Intrigue, fortified by no small dose of guile, enabled the rebel American colonies to throw off the yoke of the British Empire. They also received a little help from their friends, particularly a Frenchman who played the great game of international diplomacy through a mix of statesmanship, espionage, and deception. 

Charles Gravier, comte de Vergennes

 Charles Gravier, Comte de Vergennes, was a shrewd statesman who orchestrated a complex diplomatic strategy against France’s despised enemy, Great Britain. He maintained a calm and accommodating demeanor with his opponents and even kept his friends and allies on their toes.

Burgundian Roots

It is almost ironic that this relentless foe of Britain originated from an ancient ally of the English and an adversary of France, the Grand Duchy of Burgundy. However, when Charles Gravier was born in Dijon on a chilly December day in 1719, the region was merely a province of France. Gravier’s father was a local magistrate, respectable but not particularly high in the French social hierarchy.

Dijon, Capital of Burgundy

Following in his father’s footsteps, young Charles studied law. Eschewing the military or clergy that ensnared so many sons of the elites, he entered the French diplomatic service at the age of twenty. Soon, his patience, intellect, and knack for intrigue set him on a lifetime trajectory that would change the world.

A Diplomat’s Rise

 Vergennes’ early posts provided the training of a diplomat and a spy. His apprenticeship began in Lisbon in 1740 during the heated years of the War of the Austrian Succession. He learned to read a room, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of couriers and diplomats—and their true intentions.  Postings in Bavaria and the Palatinate followed. More challenging was the 1755 plum posting as ambassador to Istanbul (formerly Constantinople), where the Ottomans and diplomats of the Russian Empire tested his wiles.

Istanbul

Experience in the Byzantine world of the formerly Byzantine Ottoman Empire prepared him for later challenges, like Sweden in 1768. There, he faced his Russian adversaries once more, employing a mix of charm, persuasion, espionage, and gold to keep the court’s pro-French party in power and the Swedes who favored Catherine the Great's Russia out. 

Gravier: Ambassador to the Sublime Porte

These posts schooled Vergennes in the art of high (and low) diplomacy, and foreshadowed what the mastermind could do when he reached the next level in the diplomatic corps.

Catherine the Great, Czarina of Russia

The next level emerged when Louis XVI ascended to the throne in 1774. Now a seasoned diplomat, Gravier would take on the challenge of a lifetime, guiding a France weakened by the Seven Years' War back to the center of the world stage as foreign minister. A year later, events across the ocean would provide that opportunity.

Exploiting Revolution

In the spring of 1775, the slow-burning insurrection in the American colonies erupted into a powder keg of revolutionary warfare. Even from far-off Versailles, the canny Vergennes could smell opportunity, if not the gun smoke. The catastrophic treaty ending the Seven Years’ War had torn away France’s most valued colonies—Canada was gone, India had been diminished, the West Indies islands were lost, West Africa had been lost to Britain, and Louisiana was given to Spain as compensation. France might not regain any of its lost colonies, but it sought revenge. The prickly American colonists now allowed Vergennes to bleed Britain dry.

Action at Lexington Brings War to America

Vergennes was no friend of liberty. He played a power game, using the Yankees as his baseball bat. While Britain’s army and navy were bogged down, France had a chance to regain its power and prestige. He dispatched agents to investigate the rebels. Were they tough enough to endure? Could they fight the world’s most powerful military? Vergennes wanted answers before he risked his nation.

Black Operations

When America’s first envoy, Silas Deane, turned up in Paris in 1776, with his hand out, looking for aid. Vergennes kept it low—he was not ready to connect France to the rebellion. But a covert op might buy him time. When Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, a playwright with a sideline in skullduggery, approached him with a secret scheme to help America (and harm the Anglais), Vergennes consented.  With Vergennes looking the other way, he set up a fake trading outfit called Roderigue Hortalez et Cie. This front company shipped muskets, powder, and cannons across the ocean with tobacco and other cash crops sailing to France, where they'd sell and the profits then used to replace the French munitions and ordnance.  At the same time, France had plausible deniability (it was a Spanish firm). The ports of France became smuggling hubs, with crates marked for “private merchants” ignored by French customs officials.  

Beaumarchais: Playwright and Schemer

Enter Doctor Franklin

The stakes grew higher when the most famous American in the world, Benjamin Franklin, wandered into Paris in December 1776. Franklin’s fur cap and homespun wit charmed and disarmed everyone from salon ladies to shopkeepers. Vergennes wisely let Franklin-mania work the crowd but kept the serious business behind closed doors. Despite Franklin's charm offensive, Gravier remained adamant. He would not risk an open alliance until the Americans produced a major battlefield victory.

Benjamin Franklin

 Turning Point

That happened in October 1777. A British invasion from Canada was defeated in two fierce battles, leading to the British surrender at Saratoga, New York. Paris was in chaos when news of the victory arrived. For his part, Vergennes now had proof of success and began persuading the still-antsy King Louis XVI to officially support the American cause.

Turning Point: Saratoga Surrender

On 6 February 1778, France and the United States signed two treaties. The Treaty of Amity and Commerce primarily aimed to promote trade and commercial relations between the two nations. The Treaty of Alliance established military cooperation against Great Britain during the American Revolutionary War. Just like that, France was at war with Britain, and Vergennes was all in. But the ever-cautious King Louis delayed a public proclamation until Late March.

Signing the Treaty of Amity

This war would be expensive, and Vergennes secretly pursued support from Spain and the Netherlands. Despite diplomatic and secret maneuverings, Spain did not join until 1779, with the stated goal of reclaiming lands lost to the British, specifically West Florida and Gibraltar, rather than aiding the upstart Protestant rebels. Although they had been secretly lending to the Americans, the Dutch did not join until 1780. Vergennes’ diplomatic tour de force had finally paid off.

City of Spies

Paris during the Revolution rivaled Cold War-era Berlin as a hub of intrigue. Spies lurked in every tavern and salon, the British sniffing out American plans, the French tracking British agents, and Spain’s agents gathering on behalf of His Catholic Majesty. Vergennes’s counterintelligence was everywhere: surveilling diplomats, intercepting letters, and planting false leads. One wolf in sheep’s clothing was Edward Bancroft, Franklin’s secretary, who was feeding secrets to London. Despite his agents’ best efforts, Vergennes did not uncover Bancroft’s treachery, which stayed hidden till later. Some believe Franklin was in on the treachery and exploited it.

Spy: Edward Bancroft

France at War

Versailles was replete with naysayers on the alliance (perhaps persuaded with British gold), and they yapped at the always wobbly Louis. However, the Foreign Minister was now fully aligned with the Americans, ensuring that the flow of aid never stopped. But America’s real need was French military might, especially its navy. Despite some early fits and starts, when it came, it proved decisive.

Chesapeake: The French Fleet Played a Decisive Role

Now was the time for the vengeance Vergennes struggled so long to achieve.  Troops and ships sailed to the New World to join the Americans and exact that vengeance. Franco-American efforts faltered at Newport, Rhode Island, and Savannah, Georgia. Still, the 1781 Yorktown campaign, where French troops and ships under Rochambeau and de Grasse sealed Cornwallis's troops on the York River in tidewater Virginia, was the brainchild of Vergennes.

A Separate Peace

The surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown convinced the British that the game was over. But what they could not win on land and sea, they would try to win at the peace table. The spy-versus-spy atmosphere in Paris intensified further when the British and American peace commissioners began sparring over the details, such as boundaries, fishing rights, trading rights, western land ownership, and Indian affairs.

French Support Made Yorktown Possible

Vergennes worked to align the interests of France, Spain (a French ally, not an American one), and the United States during peace negotiations. He pushed for a unified approach to ensure that the Americans coordinated with French interests.  However, the Americans sometimes acted independently, to Vergennes' frustration.

Peace of Paris

Vergennes spent most of his time on the broader peace process. The Treaty of Paris was part of a series of agreements collectively known as the Peace of Paris. That resolved the global conflicts among Britain, France, Spain, and the Netherlands. He negotiated terms for France, securing minor territorial gains (like Tobago and parts of Senegal) and protecting French interests in the West Indies and India.

Celebrating the Treaty of Peace with Britain in Paris

Vergennes was leery of American commissioners skirting French guidance.  And with good reason. They signed a preliminary peace agreement with Britain in November 1782 without consulting France fully and violating the terms of the 1778 alliance. Despite this, Vergennes accepted the outcome, recognizing that American independence aligned with France’s overall goal of weakening Britain. Vergennes signed his own treaty with Britain the following year.

Cost of Empire

Vergennes' service came at a cost. In 1781, King Louis appointed him as his Chief Minister, combining the roles of Foreign Minister and Prime Minister. Long days and nights of toil and the pressure of orchestrating financial, diplomatic, intelligence, and even military affairs strained him mentally and physically to the point where, on February 13, 1787, he keeled over at 67. He passed away just as France’s war debts started fueling talk of revolution. Some say Vergennes’ great gamble on America bankrupted France, which eventually led to the French Revolution in 1789. 

But hindsight is fifty-fifty. Charles Gravier’s goal was to check British hegemony and restore French glory. To that end, he succeeded. As for the French Revolution? Even the greatest and most perceptive minds cannot see the future. Who in 1778 would have thought King Louis's support for America would ultimately result in a trip to the guillotine? But one might speculate that with him guiding the vacillating King Louis, the nation and the monarchy might have avoided the chaos of the French Revolution and the carnage that it brought to France and the world.

King Louis XVI

Americans owe a debt to Charles Gravier, Comte de Vergennes—the man who viewed a ragged revolution as France’s opportunity. His cunning and insight were instrumental in America’s founding alongside the Minutemen and Continentals. Lauded neither in France nor America, the diplomat from Dijon played a pivotal role in the birth of a nation and changing the world like few others have.

Alliance Rosette Worn By Continental Army Officers

 

 

 

 

Lord in the Shadows

In the waning years of the 18th century, as the fires of rebellion blazed across the Atlantic, William Eden, 1st Baron Auckland, stood at the apex of Britain’s clandestine war. From his unassuming office in London, hidden behind the façade of bureaucratic mundanity, Eden orchestrated a web of espionage that stretched from the drawing rooms of Westminster to the muddy battlefields of the American colonies. He was not a man of the sword, but of the quill and the whisper, a master of secrets whose name was known only to a select few, yet whose influence shaped the course of empires.

Privileged Youth

Born in 1744, the son of a Durham baronet, William Eden’s early life was one of privilege and education. He became a legal scholar at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford. In 1771, he published Principles of Penal Law and became a recognized authority on commercial and economic questions. Yet his keen mind for strategy drew him into the shadowy world of intelligence. By the time the American colonies began their murmurs of discontent, Eden had already proven his worth in diplomatic circles, but it was his appointment as the head of the British Secret Service in 1776 that would define his legacy.

Eton College

Spy Master

The American War for Independence was not just a war of battles and maneuvers but also an intelligence war. Eden understood this better than most. While Secretary of State for the Colonies Lord George Germain plotted grand strategy and generals like Sir William Howe and Lord Charles Cornwallis planned campaigns, Eden waged a silent war, fought with coded letters, double agents, and quiet betrayals. His office, tucked away in a nondescript building near St. James’s, was a nerve center of espionage. Maps of the colonies, intercepted dispatches, and lists of suspected rebel sympathizers and agents lay stacked on his desk. Each provided a clue in the vast canvas of rebellion he sought to undo. To accomplish this, the intelligence budget soared to some £200,000 during this period! That’s about £40,706,380 in 2025 money, adjusted for inflation.

George Germain

Reading “Traffic”

Eden began his mornings reviewing reports from his network of spies, many of whom operated under the cover of merchants, clergymen, or even Loyalist sympathizers in the colonies. Spies embedded deep within the Continental Army could feed details of troop movements and supply shortages that would make their way to London. Spies in the rebel capital worked in the social circles of Philadelphia and developed political information through elicitation and observation. Eden read dispatches with a meticulous eye, his quill scratching notes in the margins, decoding the hidden meanings behind their carefully chosen words.

 

Reading Traffic

The Cocktail Party Circuit

Eden’s evenings were spent in the company of the powerful, attending dinners and balls where the fate of the empire was often decided over port and cigars. He was a master of subtlety, his conversations laced with double meanings, his questions probing yet innocuous. At one such gathering, hosted by Lord North, Eden overheard a whispered conversation between two French diplomats, hinting at their plans to escalate support for the rebels. The next day, a coded message was dispatched to a British agent in Paris, tasked with uncovering the details of the French plot.

Diplomats Sharing Confidences

Politico & Envoy

In 1778, Eden, as a Member of Parliament, introduced an Act to improve the treatment of prisoners of war, which caused some controversy as American captives were often regarded as traitors, not war prisoners. He also organized, arranged, and accompanied the Earl of Carlisle as a commissioner to North America in a failed attempt to end the American War of Independence through negotiation. On his return in 1779, he published his widely read Four Letters to the Earl of Carlisle.  This work discussed the ongoing war with the American colonies, France, and Spain, advocating for continued military efforts to crush colonial resistance. Eden also examines public debts, credit, and supply-raising methods, alongside Ireland’s push for free trade, reflecting on economic and imperial policies.

The Earl of Carlisle

A Spy’s Home Life

Yet, for all his successes, Eden was not immune to the weight of his responsibilities. The war was a personal and political struggle, and the constant stream of betrayals, failures, and losses took their toll. He wed Eleanor Elliot, of the influential Elliot family.  She and their six sons and eight daughters provided some solace, but even in the quiet moments at home, his mind was never far from the war. Eden would sit by the fire, a glass of Madeira in hand, his eyes fixed on the flames as he pondered the next move in the deadly game of chess he played with the rebels.

Eden's First Daughter, Eleanor Agnes

The Great Game

But Eden’s most significant challenge was collecting intelligence in the one place the war would be won or lost—Paris. The British orchestrated intelligence operations against the American commissioners, the French government, and the Spanish and Dutch representatives. While British diplomats and agents were also active in all the major European capitals, Paris was the political center of gravity in the game being played out. Spies were recruited and “run” against all parties, with the American Commission in Passy and Benjamin Franklin himself a target. His agents spread disinformation to undermine French confidence in the American cause or delay their military commitments, though with limited success given France’s strategic commitment.

Benjamin Franklin

Eden tracked negotiations between French Foreign Minister Charles Gravier, Comte de Vergennes, and American representatives like Benjamin Franklin. The goal was to influence the French and Spanish from officially joining the Americans in war with Britain. But in 1778, France threw her hat into the ring and signed a formal treaty of Amity and Alliance with the United States. Britain did manage to slow Spain’s entry into the conflict, but eventually that too would fail.

Spies Among Us

One of the darkest moments of Eden’s tenure came in 1781, as the war neared its climax. The British surrender at Yorktown was a blow to the army and Eden’s carefully constructed network. Many of his agents were exposed or captured, their identities betrayed by a mole within the Secret Service itself. Eden’s investigation into the breach was ruthless; his interrogations were conducted in the cold, stone-walled chambers beneath his office. The traitor, a junior clerk with gambling debts and a taste for French gold, was quietly dealt with, his fate sealed in a manner that left no trace.

Surrender at Yorktown

Managing Defeat

Once defeat was inevitable, the British went to work managing it. Eden’s role shifted from espionage to diplomacy. In 1783, he was appointed as one of the negotiators of the Treaty of Paris, tasked with salvaging what he could from the wreckage of Britain’s colonial ambitions. He approached the negotiations with the same cold pragmatism that had defined his intelligence work, securing favorable terms for Britain despite losing the colonies. For Eden, it was not a defeat but a strategic retreat, a chance to preserve the empire’s strength for future battles along the lines outlined in his Letters to the Earl of Carlisle.

Treaty of Paris Negotiations

Spy Turned Statesman

In the following years, Eden continued his excellent service as a member of Parliament, a diplomat, and Governor-General of Ireland. In 1789, William Eden was raised to the Peerage of Ireland as Baron Auckland. In 1793, he retired from public service but was further honored when he was raised to the Peerage of Great Britain as Baron Auckland, of West Auckland in the County of Durham. But his time as the head of the Secret Service remained his defining chapter—and few knew of it. Eden was the silent architect of Britain’s covert resistance, the man who had fought not with a sword but with secrets, wielding information like a blade in the dark.  

William Eden, 1st Baron Auckland

William Eden died on 28 May 1814 at 69 in Beckenham, Kent. The 1^st Baron Auckland remains the shadow warlord who had guarded Britain through its darkest hour. Despite his public honors, the real hallmark of his life was duty and sacrifice as the silent watcher who had stood between order and chaos, waging unseen battles that shaped the course of history.

 

The Sailing Irishman

This special Saint Patrick's Day installment celebrates Commodore John Barry: The Irish lad who became the father of the US Navy.

John Barry

1745—Ireland. In a small tenant farm along a windswept coastline in County Wexford, a boy named John Barry is born into a family of poor Catholic farmers. Life under the English penal laws ground Irish spirits into the sod. Like many Irish families, the threat of eviction always loomed, and one day, the landlord forced them off their meager piece of land. Homeless, the Barrys moved to the rugged seaside village of Rosslare. The luck of the Irish—hardly, but it did offer young Barry a way out. He learned the ropes on his uncle’s fishing skiff, and sailing it through choppy waves was the lad’s first call of the sea. Who could predict that someday he’d make the Royal Navy tremble at his name and build what would eventually become the world’s most powerful navy?

Cabin Boy to Captain

Barry’s no stranger to hard knocks. As a lad, he barely had shoes, but he’s got grit. By his teens, he was aboard ships, starting as a cabin boy—fetching water, scrubbing decks, and dodging the mate’s boot. The sea is a brutal school, but Barry is a quick study. With broad shoulders and a cool head that marked him as a natural leader, he quickly climbed the ranks. The 1760s found him in Philadelphia, a bustling port on the Delaware River, becoming wealthy through trade. By twenty-one, Barry was a merchant shipmaster, captaining vessels for big names like Reese Meredith. With his impressive height—over six feet—he was burly, yet calm and composed even in raging storms and churning seas. Soon, he was in high demand as a skipper. “Big John” Barry was the man owners wanted at the helm of their ships.

Citizen of Philadelphia

He spends years hauling cargo across the Atlantic, dodging icebergs and setting speed records—such as the fastest day of sailing in the century aboard the prestigious Black Prince. By the 1770s, John Barry had reached the pinnacle of his fortunes. However, storm clouds were gathering on the horizon—tension between the colonies and British authorities. Soon, Barry would exchange merchant manifests for cannonballs.

Merchant Captain at Sea

From Merchant Navy to the Continental Navy

When the First Continental Congress gathered in 1774, Barry was already friends with future Revolutionary War financier Robert Morris. When the Second Continental Congress opted to create a navy in 1775 using merchant vessels, Barry’s Black Prince was transformed into the USS Alfred, which raised the Grand Union flag—America’s first naval ensign. Barry advocated for a naval command and was appointed captain of the USS Lexington, a 14-gun brig, that December.

Command of USS Lexington

He was the first army or navy officer to receive a Continental commission, signed by none other than John Hancock, President of the Continental Congress, on March 14, 1776. History is about to be made!

First Fight

Barry’s first action occurs on April 7, 1776, off the Virginia Capes. Barry proves his resolve. The Lexington engages with the British tender Edward, a spirited ship serving HMS Liverpool. Broadsides are exchanged—cannonballs flying, wood splintering—for an hour and twenty minutes. Cool as ever, Barry shows his fortitude, issuing orders, and when the smoke clears, Edward strikes her colors—the first British ship captured by a Continental vessel. Barry sails his prize into Philadelphia—the American navy’s first!

Fighting Captain

Warrior on Land and Sea

By late 1776, the Cause was at its lowest point. Washington’s dwindling army was reeling from New York, retreating through New Jersey. What could Barry do? His next assigned ship, the frigate Effingham, was still in the shipyard. Eager to join the fight, he gathers sailors, marines, and heavy artillery, forms an ad hoc naval brigade, and marches to Washington’s aid. At Trenton, his crew transports artillery through snow and ice, pounding the Hessian lines. His brigade performs again at Princeton. Washington personally thanked Barry before charging him with escorting wounded prisoners to British General Cornwallis under a flag of truce. A fighting Irishman on land or sea!

Commanding Guns at Trenton

Back on the water in 1777, Barry commanded the brig USS Delaware and began raiding British shipping in the river of the same name. Like shooting ducks in a barrel for the seasoned naval leader, he took over twenty prizes, including the armed schooner Kitty. In 1778, Barry took command of the frigate Raleigh, seizing three more prizes before she ran aground during a skirmish with British warships. Barry was forced to scuttle his ship but quickly took command of another vessel, the USS Alliance, the fleet’s fastest ship. In 1780, he was given a secret mission: to take Colonel John Laurens to France. That mission—obtaining loans and supplies—helped secure Washington’s victory at Yorktown in October 1781. To top it off, Barry captured a few British prizes on the return trip—just because he could.

Secret Mission to France

The Final Fights

Barry’s most brutal fight occurred on 29 May 1781. Standing tall on the quarterdeck of the Alliance, he faced the struggle of his life. Two British sloops, the HMS Atalanta and HMS Trepassey, pounced on him. All hell broke loose as they closed in—broadsides shredding sails, grapeshot tearing through flesh. Barry sustained an awful wound when a piece of grapeshot tore through his shoulder. He remained at his station, rallying his crew and shouting commands, but the "effusion" of blood eventually forced him below deck. Ultimately, both British warships struck their colors—a double surrender. Now, even British captains concede that he’s an American sea captain to reckon with.

Taking on a Brace of Warships

Fittingly, on 10 March 1783, Barry fought the war’s last naval battle off Cape Canaveral. His Alliance squared off against HMS Sybille and a squadron. Barry is in a bind as he is convoying the Duc de Lauzane, loaded with cash and supplies from the West Indies. Barry outguns Sybille, but the rest of the squadron is on him. He abandons this newly won prize, Sybille, opting to save the convoy and get Duc de Lauzane safely to port. With the war coming to a close, Barry had made his mark as a fighting captain.

Final Fight

Father of the Navy

Our Celtic commodore quickly returned to merchant sailing, making a historic voyage to China in 1787—opening trade with the “reclusive empire.” However, in 1794, with the U.S. Navy forming under the Naval Act, Barry was asked to serve his nation once more—as its first commodore! President Washington himself presented Barry Naval Commission Number One. Barry began overseeing the construction of the 44-gun frigate USS United States, his flagship.

USS United States

During the Quasi-War with France (1798–1801), Barry returned to work, capturing French merchantmen in the West Indies while training the next generation of naval leaders—future legends like Stephen Decatur and Richard Dale.

The Final Watch

Despite increasingly worsening asthma, Barry continued to sail. But on 6 March 1803, United States slides into port with Barry on the quarterdeck for the last time—his sea duty done.  He may have given up his ship, but not the Navy, staying on as its head until he died on 13 September 1803 at his Strawberry Hill home near Philadelphia. The first commodore was buried with full honors at St. Mary’s Churchyard. While happily married, Barry died childless. But his legacy lives in the Navy he shaped and with the men he mentored.

John Barry Gravesite

Legacy of a Legend

Some random shots about John Barry: Author of a signal book for better fleet communication, early advocate for a standalone Navy Department (it happened in 1798). Barry was a man of God—he began each day with a Bible reading. He was a brilliant leader of men—he cared for his crew, keeping them fed and fit. Wise practitioner of discipline— quelled three mutinies with a firm hand and a fair heart, earning lasting loyalty from his men.

Barry's Advocacy Paid Off in 1798

Many tributes came: four destroyers were named USS Barry, Barry statues stand in Wexford and D.C., and the Commodore Barry Bridge. Rhode Island celebrates September 13 as “Commodore John Barry Day.”

John Barry statue in Wexford, Ireland

Who's the Best?

Though not as well-known as John Paul Jones, Barry excelled in war and peace. Starting as an Irish cabin boy and rising to American commodore, he fought on land and sea, built a navy from the ground up, and created a blueprint for courage. Historians often refer to John Barry as the “Father of the American Navy,” a title many attribute to John Paul Jones. Jones's post-Rev War contributions were uneven, with him accepting a commission in Czarina Catherine the Great's navy (see my blog, Yankee Doodle in the Crimea). However, unlike Jones, Barry's legacy includes longevity and institution-building. Jones had flair, while Barry made a lasting impact.

John Paul Jones as Russian Admiral

Next time you hear “I have not yet begun to fight,” tip your hat to Jones—but raise a glass to the quiet giant who led the Revolution to victory and beyond. Fair winds to you, Commodore Barry. 

John Barry in His Office