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.
CHAPTER VI
Revolutionary New York was enveloped in an atmosphere of sombre unrest. The English had driven out the patriot families; some loyalists, however, who were persecuted in other colonies sought refuge in New York, but they simply became hangers-on at a huge military camp.
Gayety was forced. The monotony of military cares bore heavily upon the British leaders and at length desperation was traced upon their faces. There was no enterprise. Something must be done or the spirit of militarism would die.