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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 211
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 19:01:01 +0000 UTCChapter 211: The Traditional Craft of the British Empire
"Ah, thank you for saving Britain up to 40,000 pounds in expenses!"
As the most formidable voice of the opposition—Charles James Fox of the Whig Party—he let out a cold snort, rose to his feet, and spoke with a sharp tone, "But this 'contribution' is far from compensating for the strategic blunders committed by you and the Prime Minister, which have led to our significant losses in North Africa."
He gestured to the hundreds of MPs seated behind him. "I believe the Tory Party must provide Parliament with an explanation!"
The Tory Party was currently the ruling party in Britain.
However, their support was only marginally stronger than that of the Whigs, largely due to King George III's special favor towards William Pitt the Younger, who had been propelled to the position of Prime Minister through royal influence.
The Whigs were dissatisfied with this arrangement and had seized every opportunity to attack the Tories since Pitt's rise to power.
The Duke of Leeds took a deep breath. It seemed that what he feared had finally come to pass. Fortunately, he had discussed countermeasures with the Prime Minister yesterday. Now, it was time to put on a performance.
He cast a subtle glance at the head of the intelligence department nearby, then raised his hand to interrupt Fox:
"Honorable MP Fox, before you rush to accuse me, I suggest you first get your facts straight."
"The facts?"
"Indeed." The Duke of Leeds nodded confidently. "The current situation in North Africa is entirely under the control of the Prime Minister and myself. We had long received reports and are fully aware of the French activities in Tunis. Is that not correct, Mr. Butler?"
The intelligence chief immediately rose to his feet:
"Absolutely. We discovered French movements several months ago."
The MPs began murmuring among themselves.
Of course, in truth, the Duke of Leeds and his colleagues knew nothing of France's strategy in Tunis and had only recently learned of the developments from French newspapers. Still, for politicians, lying was a basic skill.
"Control?" Fox sneered dismissively. "Are you referring to sitting idly by as the French reap tremendous benefits in Tunis?"
The Duke of Leeds immediately responded in a raised voice:
"No, why would you assume the French are profiting? Quite the opposite—Tunis's current state is the opportunity I have been waiting for!"
Fox rolled his eyes. "Did you have a drink before coming here? You're spouting nonsense."
Unperturbed, the Duke of Leeds raised his fists, declaring passionately, "At this moment, we have the chance to repay the French for everything they did to us in North America!"
"No one understands better than us the catastrophic consequences of colonial unrest. Tunis is like a treacherous swamp teeming with hidden crocodiles, and the French, like inexperienced hunters, have foolishly wandered in.
"They only have 3,000 troops in the area. All we need to do is stir the beasts, and they will be devoured!"
An MP named James instinctively asked, "What are you planning to do?"
The Duke of Leeds spread his hands. "I cannot disclose operational details at this time. You may apply to the Prime Minister for authorization if you wish to know more."
This was standard procedure. The British could acquire details of French cabinet meetings attended by only a few ministers, while the French could easily gather intelligence from the hundreds of MPs in the British Parliament. Hence, specific plans were rarely discussed openly.
Fox shouted, "I don't care about the plan's specifics. I just want to know: how long will your grand Tunisian scheme take, and what results can we expect?"
"A year. No, perhaps just a few months, and the French will be driven out of Tunis," the Duke of Leeds said confidently. "Alternatively, the French government will pour an enormous amount of funds into Tunis, ultimately leading to their financial collapse."
The British MPs understood—administering colonies was a massive drain, especially in the case of insurgencies. These endeavors yielded no returns and required constant investment. The British had faced such difficulties during the American Revolution, and now it was time for the French to taste similar hardships.
The Whigs finally paused their onslaught. Fox delivered a final threat:
"I expect your success. But if the Tunisian problem remains unresolved, I believe you should resign."
The Duke of Leeds smiled easily. "Of course, but that would depend on Mr. Hollis's performance."
George Hollis was the British Consul in Tunis and a Whig himself.
Before Fox could respond, the Duke of Leeds continued, "Oh, and to better counter the French in Tunis, we require additional funding—approximately 300,000 pounds..."
…
Southwest of Tunis, Gafsa.
"Those bastards!" George Hollis, draped in a white turban and clad in a light yellow Arab-style robe, muttered curses under the blazing sun. "You fight for power in London while gambling with my career!"
"Consul, what did you say?" Sitting across from him in an open carriage, a tall middle-aged Briton similarly dressed leaned forward, asking.
"Ah... I meant that fortunately, the Tunisians are wary of Europeans, so we should have no trouble convincing them to oppose the French."
"Indeed, that's true," the middle-aged man nodded. "And their guard corps recently suffered a defeat at the hands of the French—they must be harboring resentment."
"And that new Bey of Tunis who recently took power—he clearly lacks any real authority. This could work in our favor."
The two chatted casually as their carriage rattled along the rugged road for another half hour, eventually stopping in front of a domed mansion on the southern outskirts of a small town.
After receiving a few silver coins from Hollis, a Berber servant enthusiastically led them into the villa.
There, Hollis met the highest-ranking commander of the Tunisian Guard in the area, effectively the town’s mayor—Eucuz.
Sitting on an intricately woven wool carpet in the villa’s reception room, Hollis exchanged pleasantries with Eucuz in fluent Arabic before cutting to the chase:
"Pasha, nearly 10,000 brave guards of Tunis were disarmed by the French outside Tunis. This is a blatant humiliation to the entire Tunisian Guard! We cannot let this stand!"
Eucuz nodded indifferently, mostly swayed by the silver coins Hollis had brought. "The navy provoked them, but they retaliated against the Guard—it's outrageous!"
"Exactly! That is why we must strike back at the French!"
Eucuz immediately shook his head. "How can my men possibly take on the French?"
Hollis quickly replied, "You don't need to confront them directly. Just ambush their caravans from time to time, burn their factories and homes under the cover of darkness, and so on.
"If the French send troops, simply feign ignorance and pretend to cooperate in hunting down the culprits. They’ll soon give up. After all, they only have 3,000 soldiers here and can’t handle all this chaos."
He outlined the very tactics the British had suffered from during the American Revolution.
Eucuz still looked uninterested. "But this still carries significant risks..."
Hollis, seeing Eucuz’s hesitation, pulled out his trump card: “To support the Guard in their retaliation, I can provide 2,000 riyals in funding.”
The riyal was a gold coin slightly smaller in value than the pound, with 2,000 riyals equaling approximately 44,000 livres.
Noticing the Guard officer’s interest, Hollis gestured to the British man who had accompanied him. “This is Mr. Robert. He will regularly evaluate the results of your resistance efforts and deliver a monthly stipend of 500 to 1,000 riyals.”
Eucuz immediately broke into a smile, pumping his fists. “I’ve long found those French unbearable! Rest assured, I’ll make sure they regret it!”
After leaving the Guard officer, Hollis headed directly to a nearby village to visit a large Berber tribe.
“Honored chieftain, you cannot let the French deceive you,” Hollis said earnestly. “They claim to be purchasing land, but they will never pay for it.
“Moreover, the French practice a kind of sorcery that allows their farms to drain the vitality of nearby lands. If they start farming here, within a few years, your surrounding fields will yield nothing.”
The brown-skinned Berber chieftain frowned. “Are you speaking the truth?”
“Absolutely!” Hollis assured him. “For the future of your tribe, you must drive out any French settlers by any means necessary.
“I understand this may bring trouble to your people, but a benevolent Pasha has offered 200 riyals to compensate for any losses caused by conflicts with the French.”
“But I’ve heard the Bey has already ordered cooperation with the French...”
“Don’t worry,” Hollis replied. “The Bey’s Guard has already been defeated. You need not fear them.”
Before long, the British consul left the Berber tribe and headed to the next city to continue his work of “stirring the pot.”
...
Tunis.
The French consul to Tunis, Joan, adjusted his hat as he stepped into the Kahil Palace.
Upon seeing him, the current Bey, Hajji, greeted him enthusiastically. “Mr. Joan, your prediction has come true! The Yunis rebels were completely crushed a few days ago, and Koja has pursued the remnants, fewer than a hundred men, deep into the southern desert.”
“Congratulations, Bey,” Joan said, unsurprised.
Once the rebels’ supply lines of ammunition and funding were cut off, their numerical and terrain disadvantages became glaringly apparent. Within a month, Koja’s forces had worn them down.
Nearby, Hafsa, beaming with joy, instructed her maids to serve fruit and refreshments. A few days earlier, she had officially married Hajji, and the two had finally become husband and wife.
After delivering the good news, Hajji began consulting Joan on tax collection and the appointment of officials. Lacking personal ability or political support, Hajji relied heavily on French military backing; even his palace guards were cadets from Paris’s police academy. For any significant matter, he sought Joan’s advice.
It was not until dusk that Joan left the Kahil Palace. As soon as he stepped outside, he was met by Ametti, the newly appointed immigration officer, who hurried over with a troubled expression.
“Do you have something urgent?” Joan asked.
Ametti tipped his hat in a brief salute and said quickly, “Baron Joan, a newly built workshop southeast of Bizerte was burned down, and three people were killed.”
Joan frowned. Recently, there had been dozens of attacks on French interests in Tunis. These were the major incidents; smaller, unrecorded ones were likely far more frequent.
“Do we know who’s behind it?”
“Not yet... As you know, we’re severely short-staffed. By the way, I’ve heard rumors that the local Guard may be planning retaliation against us.”
The two men continued their conversation as they crossed the street toward Joan’s residence. As they reached the door, Ametti’s assistant hurriedly handed him a letter, forgetting even to bow. “Sir, it seems a caravan near Susa was raided. Seven Frenchmen and three Sardinians were killed...”
Joan’s expression grew solemn. “It seems I must report this to the homeland.”
...
Paris.
In the corridors of Versailles, Joseph listened with a grim face as Joan described the situation in Tunis. Given the escalating chaos, Joan had returned to Paris the previous day to deliver his report in person.
“The Tunisian Guard has threatened to attack all French nationals?” Joseph asked, frowning. “Have they started mobilizing troops?”
“Not yet.”
“Who is leading this effort?”
“There doesn’t seem to be a clear leader.”
“Oh?” Joseph was intrigued. “Without a leader, how are the Tunisian Guard’s actions so coordinated? From what you’ve said, attacks are happening almost everywhere in Tunis.”
Joan replied with a bitter expression, “Your Highness, it’s not just the Guard. It appears that Berber tribes have also started attacking French farmers.”
“Hasn’t the newly appointed Bey issued decrees to prohibit attacks on the French?”
“Well... Your Highness, his decrees only carry weight within Tunis itself, and that’s largely because Colonel Berthier’s forces are stationed there.”
“This situation is troublesome,” Joseph muttered, shaking his head. It sounded as though Tunis was on the verge of a full-blown insurgency.
That didn’t add up. He quickly reasoned that if Tunis’s rulers lacked authority and the region had yet to experience a national awakening, it would be nearly impossible for such widespread resistance to emerge organically.
This strongly suggested that someone was orchestrating the unrest.
Who could it be? A high-ranking officer in the Tunisian Guard? Agents of the Ottomans? The British? Algerians?
He rubbed his temples. Regardless of the instigator, the first priority was to stabilize the situation in Tunis.
Joseph asked Joan a few more questions about Tunis before they arrived at the gilded doors of the council chamber.
The guards on either side quickly opened the doors and stood at attention.
Inside, several cabinet ministers were already murmuring about the situation in North Africa.
Before long, Queen Marie Antoinette entered the room. Once everyone had risen to greet her, the council meeting on Tunis officially began.
The first to speak was Mirabeau, responsible for Tunisian immigration affairs. “It is clear that news from Tunis has already spread domestically. In the past week, almost no one has applied to go to Tunis. Some who had already arrived in Marseille to await departure have even chosen to return home...”
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