A Woman's Estate (47 page)

“Oh, those fools! Those thick-headed asses!” she exclaimed,
tears of fury rising to her eyes. “They knew it was coming and did nothing.”

Thrown off balance by Abigail’s unexpected response, Arthur
was driven to defending the Americans. Everything he had planned to say in
defense of the British action was now useless and, worse, might sound like
crowing over a defenseless enemy. “They are not so foolish as it might look,”
he soothed.

“How can you say that,” Abigail raged, “when—” She stopped
abruptly, realizing she had been about to admit that she herself had warned
Gallatin that an attack on Washington had been planned. To cover the lapse, she
stamped her foot as if anger were choking her, then added, “Is not the aim of
every conqueror to take the capital city of the enemy?”

“It is a convenient symbol,” Arthur agreed, “but only
practical when the place can be held, which is clearly impossible with
Washington.”

“Impossible?” Abigail echoed, forgetting the rage that had been
partly born of fear for her friends. “Why?”

Arthur explained about the forces necessary to hold a
hostile city and the problems of supplies and communications. As he spoke, a
frown gathered, and finally he growled, “God, it was a stupid thing to do. There
cannot be the slightest military advantage, aside from looting, which I fear
may have been one of Cochrane’s purposes. We will be called barbaric and
vindictive. This will only make more trouble in Vienna.”

Abigail took hope from Arthur’s remarks. She had been wrong,
apparently, in thinking that the attack on Washington would have catastrophic
effects. And from further discussion she learned that because the Russians
desired to make Poland part of their nation and the British opposed this plan,
the tsar was using every event in the war with America and every article in the
peace proposal to show that England also had territorial ambitions and had no
right to criticize Russia’s.

“Actually,” Abigail said to Gallatin when she met him the
next day, “that is not really fair. Britain does not covet American territory.”

“No?” he replied with a sardonic lift of his brows.

But Gallatin’s sarcasm was muted by the easing of his
depression. He had been nearly hopeless when he came to meet Abigail,
reflecting the emotions of the entire American delegation. All of them expected
a total rejection of the last note they had submitted and a renewal of demands
that they would consider even more outrageous than those first proposed.
Abigail had assured Gallatin that was not the purpose of the British
government, but that they were still hoping to obtain some advantage in a
different way.

She grinned. “It is not the
territory
that they want.
They call it a frozen wilderness. But the government does hope to restrain
American expansion and, of course, to protect the fur traders. Don’t worry too
much, Albert. When all is said and done, they are far, far more concerned with
the balance of power in Europe. A few do fear the growth of the United States
and predict that it will be a rival in maritime power and trade in the future,
but most are contemptuous.”

“And this shameful victory will make them more so,” Albert
responded, shaking his head. “Are you
sure
, Abigail, that they will not
reject our note outright and make greater demands?”

“I suppose the note may be rejected—they have rejected all
the others—but Arthur told me that Bathurst’s letter specifically said no new
demands would be made. I personally think they will try to rush you into
signing an agreement, perhaps on the basis of
uti
possidetis
.”

Gallatin nodded. It was reasonable enough if the British
expected to make military gains to suggest an agreement where each side would
keep whatever territory it possessed on a particular date. However, in the case
of a great maritime power and a nation with an enormous and unprotectable
coastline, such an agreement was out of the question. The British might take
and hold for a brief time, just long enough to meet the terms of the agreement,
some or all of the great seaports of the United States. Not that they would
intend to remain in possession of those cities. They would use them as
bargaining counters to gain other territory.

Meanwhile, Abigail glanced up at the sky. It had been gray
when she started out, and it had darkened progressively until now there were
imminent signs of rain. She had delivered her news and should go, she thought.
She did not want her husband to connect her with what she was sure would be
unexpected resistance in the American commissioners. There had been several gray
days so that Arthur probably would not question her going out, but he would
certainly wonder what could have been important enough to keep her out in the
rain.

“I must go,” she said.

“Of course,” Gallatin exclaimed, waking from his
abstraction. “You must not be wetted.”

She smiled at the odd usage. Although he had been speaking
English for over thirty years, Albert had not lost the foreign lilt in his
words and an occasional peculiar way of saying things. They shook hands, and
Abigail hurried back along the canal to the small cafe where she had parted
from her footman, whom she had sent on an errand. When he returned, he obtained
a vehicle to transport them back to their lodgings.

Actually, it would not have mattered if she had come back
drenched to the skin, for Arthur did not return until late that night. The
British commissioners had received the government’s draft answer to the latest
American note, and Arthur intended to be with them while they reworked it. As
Abigail had warned Gallatin, Bathurst and Liverpool were willing to abandon the
proposal about the Indians, except for a face-saving mention, in order to
obtain a signed agreement that each side retain the territory it possessed at
the termination of hostilities. Arthur was eager to state this in the gentlest
language possible, but wanted to include a pressing demand that the agreement
be signed immediately and hints that refusal to do so would result in a
stiffening of the terms as British military successes continued.

The reworked note was delivered to the Americans on 8
October, but the information that there were no new demands in the light of the
victory at Washington was not received with the humble gratitude the British
expected, nor did the demand for an immediate agreement produce much response.
On 13 October the Americans submitted their reply, and it was just as
unyielding as ever. True, they agreed to “restore the Indian nations to all the
rights, privileges and territories” they enjoyed before the war, but such a
vague commitment was meaningless. If the Indians were returned to the prewar
condition for a week or a month, the terms of the treaty would have been
fulfilled.

Arthur was infuriated by the Americans’ stubborn refusal to
give an inch, particularly as the reactions from the European community were
just what he had guessed. Word that a peace was agreed upon would have muted
much of the criticism. As it was, newspapers in France and other nations had
called the burning of Washington an act of wanton barbarism, and general opinion
had swung even more to favor the underdog. Under the circumstances, Abigail did
not want even a shadow of suspicion that she had done anything to stiffen the
American delegation’s resistance. She confined her few outings to genuine
shopping. It was not a great hardship, since the weather was dreadful and she
had nothing worthwhile to tell Albert anyway.

A week later, there was a drastic change, however. Arthur
returned to their lodging less than an hour after he had left it. Abigail was
not surprised, since there was little to do until Liverpool and Bathurst had a
chance to examine the American note and reply, and Arthur did not find
Goulburn, Adams and Gambier scintillating company. She looked up and smiled
welcomingly, but there was so odd an expression on her husband’s face that she
hastily put down her book and went toward him.

“Something has happened,” she said, putting out her hand to
take his, “but I cannot guess whether it is good or bad.”

“Neither can I.” Arthur sighed and then laughed, adding, “It
seems that we should not have crowed so loudly over our ‘victory’ at
Washington. The Americans have redeemed themselves. Cochrane landed Ross and
his troops for a similar raid on Baltimore, and they were driven off with
considerable loss. Ross is dead.”

“I am sorry for that and for the men,” Abigail said,
squeezing Arthur’s hand sympathetically.

His lips twisted. Abigail was both tactful and honest. She
was sorry for the killed and wounded, he was sure, but she was not sorry for
the British loss. Then he shrugged. The truth was that he had never approved of
the coastal raids Cochrane planned. If they had intended to hold the cities,
they could have been exchanged for more useful territory in Canada, but
occupation was not planned. That reminded him that he had not given Abigail all
the news, there had been an even more unwelcome loss.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Arthur continued. “Our
squadron on Lake Champlain was defeated, and Prevost retreated without any real
battle from an American force a quarter the size of his at Plattsburg.”

“Good heavens!” Abigail exclaimed.

She was obviously surprised, and as Arthur gave her what
details he had, he could see she was not really pleased, either. Abigail
herself was too puzzled by her own feelings to try to hide them. Hearing that
the raid on Baltimore had been beaten back had given her a sense of
satisfaction. Overtly the raids were supposed to strike terror into America and
prove the helplessness of the United States in the face of superior British
naval and military forces, however, Abigail suspected the real object of the
raids was looting.

The fiasco at Plattsburg was different. Abigail did feel
pride in the tiny American fleet that had fought so doggedly on Lake Champlain
and felt proud too, of the American troops that had stood their ground against
an obviously superior force. But she did not like hearing that the British had
retreated, either. Her emotions showed clearly on her face, and Arthur leaned
forward suddenly and kissed her.

“I’ll make a good Briton of you yet,” he said, laughing.

Abigail shook her head and sighed. “I wouldn’t have wanted
Prevost to win,” she confessed, “but to run away… Oh, I’m being ridiculous. I
hate the thought of a battle and people getting killed and maimed. You would
think I would be glad of Prevost’s retreat, but I’m not.”

Arthur laughed again, understanding the dichotomy in her
emotions, and then asked curiously, “Was it luck, do you think? I mean beating
Ross at Baltimore and the business on Lake Champlain. Are the Americans better
soldiers and sailors than we think?”

“Why are you asking me? What does a woman know of war?”
Abigail looked and felt astonished.

“Because you were there for the first year of the war, and
you are not the kind—woman or not—to ignore so desperate a matter,” Arthur
replied a trifle sharply, but he saw her question meant more than it asked, and
he went on to explain. “Bathurst wants the delegation to propose
uti
possidetis
formally for setting territorial claims, and I want to argue
against it if it is likely we will lose more land than we gain.”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of losing much land,”
Abigail said slowly. “I’m sure President Madison has abandoned any notion—if he
ever had any—of taking Canada. The army is not good enough. Even the generals are
volunteers, and the troops are no more than plowboys or city apprentices. But
they will fight to defend their own property. Anyway, isn’t it odd to be
proposing
uti possidetis
after a loss?”

“I suppose Bathurst expects better news. An attack on New
Orleans is planned, and—”

Abigail clapped her hands to her ears. “Don’t tell me what
military actions are planned. I don’t want to know.”

It was Arthur’s turn to be astonished, but he was instantly
contrite. It must be dreadful, he thought, taking Abigail in his arms and
holding her comfortingly, to know that your friends might be subjected to the
violence of war and not be able to help them. Sensibly, he did not offer
sympathy, other than his embrace, realizing that he would only be dwelling on
the subject and making her feel worse. Instead, he pointed out that Bathurst
had dropped a number of demands in this latest note, thus improving the
possibility of peace—and, if peace were signed, there would be no more raiding.

Abigail found a smile for him, and soon after, a messenger
came bearing a note from Admiral Gambier to say that Goulburn had decided to
prepare Bathurst’s note to be delivered to the Americans the very next day. “He
does not say so,” the admiral wrote, “but he hopes the American commissioners
will not yet have heard the news about Baltimore and Plattsburg and thus be
more amenable to reason.”

Since Arthur’s opinion was very different from
Goulburn’s—Arthur felt it slightly more likely that
uti possidetis
would
be accepted while the Americans felt they were winning—he asked Abigail whether
she would mind if he left her. She assured him vehemently that the negotiations
came first, repeating with a smile that once peace was agreed upon, she would
have no further worries. His mind on how to manage the intractable Goulburn,
Arthur gave no more thought to Abigail’s reaction to the proposed raid on New
Orleans.

The American answer came quickly—a flat and absolute
rejection of
uti possidetis
, coupled with an infuriating reminder that
Britain persistently claimed no territorial ambitions. Thus, the American reply
stated, as far as the question of territory was concerned, they would agree
only to a mutual restoration of whatever territory had been taken by either
party.

The British commissioners were furious at this intransigent
rejection of a proposal so moderate compared with their earlier demands.
Goulburn wished to break off negotiations. Arthur himself was angry enough to
agree with him but was restrained by his knowledge of Abigail’s bitter
disappointment should that happen. He could not prevent Goulburn from hinting
in the letter he sent to Bathurst with the American note that further
discussions would be useless, but his own letter suggested a new approach
rather than a rupture. The British government, he pointed out, had made all the
proposals thus far. Why not ask the Americans to state
their
ideas? At
worst, the British commissioners could have the pleasure of writing haughty
rejections for a change; at best, some reasonable ideas might emerge.