Secrets and Spies:
Intelligence Gathering During the Napoleonic Wars.
When
we talk of espionage today, we think of James Bond action heroes, or perhaps
the quiet, outwardly-unremarkable characters of a Le Carré novel. But spying
isn’t a new phenomenon - governments have been collecting information and
intelligence on their enemies for hundreds of years. There is evidence to
suggest that as early as the 1330s, King Edward III of England had a secret
intelligence system reporting to him on foreign commerce and shipping. But it
was during the Napoleonic Wars that intelligence gathering in Britain developed
into something resembling the modern secret service we know today.
In
1797, the Secretary of State for the Home Office, Henry Dundas, who was later
created Viscount Melville, commissioned a report to be circulated only to
Cabinet members, which amongst other things, stressed the importance and
necessity of up-to-date intelligence.
Good and reliable information about the enemy was beginning to be
regarded as a crucial element in winning the war against Napoleon. Wellington,
in particular understood its importance; during the Peninsular Wars he employed
code breakers to reveal the secrets of captured French dispatches, helping him
to
plan
his campaigns.
We
know government funds were being allocated for the payment of spies from the
paperwork left behind. The Civil List for 1786 shows that approximately
twenty-five thousand pounds was allocated for foreign secret service
operations. Furthermore, the money for intelligence work was not restricted to
foreign fields, it was also used at home to deal with perceived threats to the
status quo. Payments were made from the fund to subsidise friendly elements of
the British press and clergy in return for their help in combatting domestic
radical movements, and it was reported that Catholic priests and seminaries
received Secret Service Fund monies.
In
1804, a secret treaty with Sweden enabled the establishment of a British
military base there, as well as allowing British merchants to operate. The
Swedes were initially reluctant to agree to the treaty, fearing reprisals from
the French. However, a large payment of sixty thousand pounds persuaded them to
change their minds and the treaty was eventually signed. So bribery to attain
desired political ends was also considered a valid use of the Secret Service
Fund.
Another
use for Secret Service funds was the payment of informers. Reports from British
diplomats in Europe dwindled with Napoleon’s expanding empire, therefore making
recruited paid informants the main source of information in countries under
French rule.
The
Royal Navy too, played its part, and received money from the Secret Service
Fund. Inactive British naval officers, and even smugglers, were employed as
informants; their knowledge of shipping and ports enabled them to send back
useful information about French fleet movements. It was suggested, after Nelson’s
death, that Lady Hamilton should be paid a pension from the Secret Service Fund,
in recompense for her diplomatic and translation services while she was acting
as a de facto ambassadress at Naples. This was refused.
You
may also be surprised to learn that the British Post Office was a hub of
information gathering. Through its staff, local offices, and large fleet of
packet ships, it collected, processed, and transmitted intelligence. Around the
country and the colonies, postal staff sent in reports on both civil and
military matters, reporting on suspicious persons and activities, collecting
shipping news and lists of passengers on merchant vessels.
The Post Office Act of 1711 gave the Post Office the legal right to intercept mail. Once opened, letters would be read, analysed and if thought useful, copied, before re-sealing and forwarding to their intended recipients. The copies would be sent to the relevant secretaries of state. In London, foreign correspondence was opened in a special office, known as the ‘Secret Office’. Created in 1653, the Secret Office had a staff of ten by 1801, and cost around five thousand pounds a year to run.
Many
intercepted letters were written in code; these were sent to the ‘Decyphering
Branch’.
This
department, the creation of an Oxford don, the Reverend Edward Willes, was set
up in 1703. Some codes were easy to crack, and it was sometimes possible for
coded letters to be deciphered and read by the King within a day of them being
written. Others proved more difficult and then the race would be on to crack
the code and re-seal the letter before its intended recipient grew suspicious
about the delay in delivery.
Operatives
were employed who were skilled in opening and closing correspondence without
leaving any trace; they were able to produce meticulously accurate copies of
seals, so that the recipient would never know that they were not the first to
read a letter’s contents. Despite the use of seals, ciphers, and invisible ink,
a wise man would avoid sending anything by post that he did not want to become
public knowledge.
Another
major institution involved in intelligence gathering was Lloyd’s. Established
in 1688, this association of merchants, bankers, ship owners, and insurance
underwriters, whose knowledge of international shipping and naval affairs was
unsurpassed, meant that the news of the Battle of Trafalgar was posted at Lloyd’s
before the British newspapers got wind of it.
While
not an actual government department, Lloyd’s shared with Whitehall important
information on naval and military matters. In 1790, Lloyd’s had about
thirty-two port correspondents sending back this information. In return for
this assistance, the Government
reciprocated by occasionally
providing protection to merchant ships at risk from privateers, or
ordering Royal Navy ships to keep a look out for merchant ships reported
missing.
The
value of all this information gathering was immense, especially with regard to
the formulation of foreign policy and particularly in times of war. The Government often received information that
gave useful insights into foreign affairs and clues to impending hostilities.
In
my latest novel, An Officer’s Vow, my two main characters unwittingly
become involved in espionage when they stumble into… well that would be
telling!
Sources
Urban,
Mark: The Man Who Broke Napoleon’s Codes, 2001, Faber and Faber
Maffeo,
Steven E: Most Secret and Confidential: Intelligence in the Age of Nelson,
2000, Chatham Publishing
Images
Post
Office - Lewis Walpole Library
Lloyds’
Subscription Room - Lewis Walpole Library
Board
Room of the Admiralty- Lewis Walpole Library
The future looks bleak to Major Nate
Crawford. Depressed after being sent home from the Peninsular Campaign as unfit
for service, he contemplates ending it all. Then an unexpected opportunity for
adventure beckons in the shape of a delightfully intriguing runaway heiress. He
will prove his worth as an officer and a gentleman by offering his help. He has
a plan…
Lottie Benham is desperate. Her life is in
danger and she needs a place of safety until her next birthday. The unexpected
proposal from this attractive, but intimidating officer could be the answer to
her prayers. Not normally a risk-taker, she decides to gamble all by placing
her trust in this charismatic gentleman, who she suspects might be more in need
of help than she.
But the best laid plans…
Caught up in conflict, danger, and
deception, will Lottie and Nate survive to find the perfect solution to their
problems?
Penny Hampson
Having worked in various sectors before
becoming a full time mum, Penny Hampson decided to follow her passion for
history by studying with the Open University. She graduated with honours and
went on to complete a post-graduate degree.
Penny then landed her dream role, working
in an environment where she was surrounded by rare books and historical
manuscripts. Flash forward nineteen years, and the opportunity came along to
indulge her other main passion – writing historical fiction. Encouraged by
friends and family, three years later Penny published her debut novel A
Gentleman’s Promise.
Penny lives with her family in
Oxfordshire, and when she is not writing, she enjoys reading, walking,
swimming, and the odd gin and tonic (not all at the same time).
Thank you for hosting me on your blog, Mary Anne.
ReplyDeleteInteresting article - I hadn't realised opening letters was an official thing!
ReplyDelete'Fraid so, Jayne, it apparently was the norm. Intercepting letters has a long history and not just in Great Britain. Alexandrine, Countess of Taxis was Postmistress of the Holy Roman Empire in the 1600's, following the death of her husband; she ran a spy network that sold information to the highest bidder (see:Invisible Agents by Nadine Akkerman)
DeleteReally good article, I’ve done some background reading on this, but didn’t know how heavily the post office were involved.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Lynn. Yes, I was surprised too.
ReplyDelete