Two o'clock in the morning, May 26th, 1801.
In Windsor Palace, King George III struggled to find sleep. No matter how much time he spent lying in bed with his eyes closed, sleep eluded him. The reason? He had learned the news about the French landing at Romney Marsh and was fighting there to gain a beachhead.
The news was three hours old, and he had no idea what was currently happening on the front. Did the British soldiers successfully defend Romney Marsh or did the French already take control of it?
Suddenly—there was a knock on the door.
King George rose to his feet and quickly crossed the room. He opened the door to find his Prime Minister, William Pitt, standing there.
"Your Majesty, I have something to talk to you about. May I come in?"
King George's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Prime Minister Pitt at his door at this hour. The seriousness etched on Pitt's face told him that this was a matter of great importance. He stepped aside, allowing Pitt to enter.
"Of course, Prime Minister. Please, have a seat," King George said, gesturing toward the chairs by the window.
Pitt nodded his thanks and entered the room and took his seat. King George closed the door behind him before walking over to William Pitt.
"So, Prime Minister, what news do you bring?"
"I've just received an update from General Wellington at Romney Marsh," Pitt began and continued. "The French have managed to secure a beachhead, and our forces are engaged in heavy fighting to push them back."
King George clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. The news wasn't unexpected, but hearing it confirmed still struck him like a blow. He had hoped that his troops would hold the line, but the reality was that they were facing a formidable foe.
"The casualties?" King George asked, his voice softer than he intended.
Pitt sighed, his gaze steady as he met the king's eyes. "Casualties on our sides are significant, Your Majesty."
"I see…but Prime Minister, we cannot let them gain a foothold on our land. We must do whatever it takes to repel their advance."
"Your Majesty…the thing is," Pitt sighed. "With our current forces, I don't think we can push the French out of the island. Their numbers are growing as more of their troops arrive at the shores. We can only prolong the inevitable."
"What are you saying, Pitt? Are you insinuating that we surrender?" King George's voice wavered in disbelief.
"Your Majesty, I think it's time that we explore even the worst outcome of this scenario. If we continue to fight, then tomorrow, I'm afraid that the French might take London."
"Surrender is not an option," King George replied firmly. "I won't bow down to those atheist Republicans. There is simply no way I would allow myself to be defeated by the French!"
"But Your Majesty, let's be real here. There's really no way we can defeat the French on land. Our only advantage over them is our navy, which was defeated—"
"Don't speak that navy to me again!" King George snapped. "They were useless! They allowed this to happen! That was their only job and they FUCKING FAILED AT IT!"
Pitt's expression remained calm, despite the king's outburst.
"So, Your Majesty, despite the odds that we are facing, you still want to fight the French, huh?"
"You have a problem with that, Pitt? And watch your tone…I don't like it," King George retorted,
Pitt shook his head slowly. "No, Your Majesty. I don't have a problem with it. I understand your determination to defend our land and sovereignty. I just want to make sure that we're aware of the reality we're facing."
"I am aware," King George said.
"In that case, we'll have to move you out, Your Majesty. There is a high chance that the French are targeting London and they'll want you to capture you. We want to prevent that so that the people and troops' morale remains strong," Pitt said.
King George's expression hardened as he absorbed Pitt's words. "You think I should flee my own palace?"
Pitt nodded solemnly. "Your safety is of utmost importance, Your Majesty. We need to ensure that you are out of harm's way so that you can continue to lead and inspire our people."
The king's jaw tightened as he contemplated the weight of the decision ahead. Leaving his own palace, his capital, felt like an admission of defeat. But he also knew the responsibility he held for his people's well-being.
"Very well, Pitt. If it's what must be done to protect our nation, then I will go along with it," King George conceded.
Pitt inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We will make the necessary arrangements and ensure your safety."
"Where are you planning on relocating me?" King George asked.
"We are thinking of Edinburgh, Your Majesty," Pitt answered. "The members of the parliament will also come with you, and continue to govern the country from there."
"Edinburgh it is, then," the king finally said with a sigh.
With that, King George III prepared to evacuate the Windsor Palace along with his wife and children.
"Is it true, George," Queen Charlotte asked. "Are we really going to Edinburgh and fleet the capital?"
"We have no choice but to ensure the safety of our family and our nation," King George replied heavily. "It's a temporary measure, my dear until we can regroup and reclaim what is rightfully ours."
Four o'clock in the morning, the royal carriage took the royal family towards the train station where a steam locomotive was awaiting to transport them to Edinburgh. As the carriage moved through the darkened streets of London, King George looked out of the window, a scene caught the king's attention. Despite the early hours, the streets were not deserted. Londoners, regular citizens, were out in force, working alongside the military and the militia to set up barricades, fortifications, and makeshift defenses.
King George leaned closer to the window, his heart swelling with pride. These were the people he swore to protect, the people he led. And here they were, standing united in the face of adversity, contributing their sweat and toil to safeguard their city.
He watched as women handed tools to soldiers, children carried sandbags, and men labored side by side to construct defenses. It was an indication that the British people were going to fight to the end to repel the invaders.
"Who is the enemy of your happiness?!" shouted one of the men.
"Napoleon! First Consul of France!" The people roared a reply.
"And what is Napoleon's origins?"
"From evil!" the people cried out.
"If you can see this, Napoleon, you will come to learn that Great Britain won't surrender to you so easily."
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