The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (14 page)

        “You’re correct, General Scott. The military forces of the USBA have no role to play unless and until a political crisis does develop; and then it will be a limited one just as occurred last year when I was forced to send the Coastal Guard to Charleston Harbor over the ‘Nullification’ issue. Just have the Coastal Guard keep an eye out for any Royal Navy vessels coming into Baltimore in the next few weeks. You are otherwise excused.” Scott rose, glanced at the Lieutenant with an odd gleam in his eye and left the room.
        The G-G turned to Thomas. “Mr. Wilder, have the chief usher find you my secretary. Wake him up, if necessary. Then you can go. Tomorrow, you will assist Mr. Donelson in making the arrangements for an emergency Cabinet meeting. When did you say that ship might be back?”
        “The earliest is about February 1
^st
, Sir. That’s given that it reached London safely by the 5
^th
or 6
^th
, then 72 hours-to-96 hours for refitting. More realistically, about the 5
^th
of February.”
        “Tomorrow’s January 20
^th
. Lewis, we’ll meet formally on the 27
^th
. One more thing, Lieutenant. On your way out, also have the chief usher send servants to find Mr. Van Buren and across the way to Frank Blair’s house. I want to see both of them tonight.”

      Jackson tuned to the Secretary of War:  “Mr. Cass, the four of us have a lot to discuss. I’m determined to shut down this damn Bank of the USBA. I thought that had priority. But now this, too.  It will be a long night.”

___________

      It was almost 9 p.m. when Thomas finally left The Residency. Andrew Jackson Donelson, the G-G’s secretary, had left the mansion to supper with friends and had to be tracked down. Francis P. Blair, a prominent member of the ‘kitchen cabinet,’ had been at home, but the Vice G-G to-be had also been dining, with a delegation of fellow New York Democrats.

       The Lieutenant sighed as he glanced at his pocket watch. 
I don’t think it would be a good idea to show up on 10
^th
Street at this hour,
he thought, ruefully
. That’s if she hasn’t
already torn the townhouse down…I’ll wait and send her a note tomorrow, after she’s had a chance to cool down. Meanwhile, I might as well join Harps at the Golden Eagle after all. That is, if he and that ‘older woman’ of his aren’t
dining privately
…

     I don’t like or trust that Joanne, but she does run a nice establishment (at least, on the ground floor). And I do need a few beers and maybe some stew while I try to sort out today’s turns-of-events. All of them…

CHAPTER TEN

Georgetown, D.C.
January 31, 1833:
    Like most British Americans, Winfield Scott had long since become bored with the ceaseless arguing over the Second Bank of the USBA. Like most, he didn’t see it as the threat to individual liberty that it’s most vehement critics, led by Jackson, charged that it was. (Scott’s attitude about the USBA Bank---and all other banks---could be expressed in one sentence: ‘The only time banks will loan you money is when you no longer need it.’) And how the Bank exposed the Dominion to control by ‘foreign interests,’ as the G-G had claimed in his message to Congress vetoing its re-charter last year, Scott, like most others, was at a loss to understand.
    And now the G-G has called a special session of Congress for early March to deal with the Bank issue! Thought we’d have them out of our hair until next December... That’s when the Constitution calls for the new Congress to convene. Now Jackson wants them back here just months after the last Congress adjourned. I just don’t
understand the need for it!
     What he did understand, however, was that while Jackson recognized the potential crisis looming if a bill to put some sort of tax on the USBA’s slave population passed Parliament, the G-G was still undecided as whether to support or oppose it. ‘Oppose’, the General thought grimly, as in ‘refusal to enforce.’ The Cabinet had met throughout the 27
^th
and 28
^th
, and Jackson had been locked in The Residency with his other advisors---the so-called ‘kitchen cabinet’---almost constantly since the morning after Scott’s own meeting with the G-G. How much time was being devoted to the separate issues, he could not tell. (Wilder, of course, had no entry into that circle, while he and Cass were barely on speaking terms.)
     Speaking of Wilder, he had sent the young man to Baltimore yesterday to await the possible return of
Irresistible
. A short change of scenery was something the Lieutenant seemed to require; he had been depressed for days. At first, Scott had assumed it had to do with the potential upcoming crisis; only in casually remarking on his aide’s low spirits to Maria a few nights ago had he learned another reason: apparently their grueling session at The Residency after the G-G first learned of
Irresistible’s
voyage had forced Wilder to miss a previously-scheduled private supper with Miss Latoure. That high-spirited young lady, in Georgetown to attend Mrs. Scott’s monthly ladies-only dinner party the next afternoon, had not taken Tom’s unintended and unavoidable snub lightly; she had refused to accept his increasingly-desperate explanatory notes before heading back to her plantation in a huff a day or so later. At least, that was how Maria understood the situation.

      The fact that Candice Samples, who had an open invitation to the monthly get-togethers, had unexpectedly made an appearance had simply added wood to the Latoure bonfire.
     His aide’s romantic misadventures provided some much-needed comic relief for the General, whose intuition told him that more than Imperial revenue enhancement was at the bottom of the
Irresistible
mystery.

    Even a sales tax of two USBA dollars per head annually--the average selling price of a slave was less than $800--would generate only a few thousand pounds sterling, gross, if that. An annual tax of two dollars per slave would also amount to about four million pounds, if collectable. After the collection overhead was deducted, was the net high enough to justify the effort? Or the controversy? After all, hadn’t ‘taxation without representation’ been at the heart of the troubles back in the ‘70s?
    And there was still no word out of The Residency about Houston. Sam had simply vanished.

     
If he went back to Tennessee, I would have gotten word by now. He looked during
that Residency Christmas reception as if his Cherokee phase is
finally over, so
I’m betting he’s on his way to Texas. Zach Taylor won’t get my message for a few days yet; if Houston slipped out of Georgetown to head straight to Texas, he’ll have too big a head
start for Zach’s people to catch up to him. Damn Jackson! First the nullification nonsense, now the Bank battle and, possibly, something to do with slavery. This is no time to go Empire-building on your own.  Just remember the last time you went near that golden apple!

      Only this time, it won’t be Aaron Burr who’ll be up on charges: it will be
you!
     Scott had been at the Burr trial in Richmond those many years ago…

    
I was still undecided between the Army and the law
, he thought with a grin
. Some fool of a lawyer I’d have made… But the array of legal talent on both sides was awesome. The Chief Justice, John Marshall himself, presided. The case collapsed because Jefferson never presented any real proof of Burr’s wrong-doing.

    
But I still wonder what Burr---and Jackson---was up to… I’ll bet Matty Van knows. But he’d just smile and act as if he never heard the question if I ever asked him. Interesting, Jackson’s Vice G-G is assumed by many people to be Burr’s bastard son…

___________

Ft. McHenry
Baltimore, Maryland
February 1, 1833:
  
    Lieutenant Wilder was awakened by a brisk knocking on the door of a chilly visiting officer’s cubicle. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he was doing in the small, cell-like room, but his head quickly cleared. “Yes, coming…” He looked at his pocket watch. It was 5:42 a.m.
     He opened the door to the salute of a young private. “Sorry to wake you at this hour, Lieutenant, but Captain Judge thinks you should get up to the seawall as soon as possible. Looks like an incoming Royal Navy ship.”
     “Tell the Captain I’ll be right there. And thanks for waking me.” The private saluted again and left. Thomas saluted back, thinking what a damn-fool thing to be doing, dressed only in a pair of USBAA pants.
Well, that’s the Army for you.
The Lieutenant quickly threw water over his face, pulled on boots and a uniform top and made his way across the Fort’s main yard to the wall facing out into Chesapeake Bay. The ship, whatever kind it was, was still too far away to see with the naked eye, but Captain Brian Judge, second-in-command of the Fort, held a telescope in his hand as he conferred with a grizzled sergeant. He looked over as Thomas inexpertly pulled himself up the ladder to the deck that ran around the inside of the Fort.
     “Can’t tell for sure, Lieutenant,” he said, ignoring the formality of a salute (to the disgust of the veteran non-com). “Sergeant Potts here spotted something out there about 20 minutes ago. Looks like it’s riding too high for a merchantman or a fully-armed warship. Big enough, though, that’s why there’s a chance it could be
Irresistible
.”
     Wilder and Judge had supped the previous night at one of Baltimore’s famous harbor seafood houses and Thomas had learned, to his amazement, that the Captain hailed from Schraalenburgh, the same sleepy North Jersey town as David Harper. Judge, a six-foot-five, lanky man whom later generations would have described as a ‘tall drink of water,’ remembered a “skinny little kid whose folks owned The Midway,” but the Captain, who had finally been promoted to that grade just last year after 17 grueling years as a junior officer, hadn’t been back to Bergen County in over a decade. He and his wife, Susan, also from Schraalenburgh, maintained a home on Long Beach Island, on the Southern New Jersey coast. “And I’ll be retiring there 29 months from tomorrow,” he had said over last night’s grilled shrimp and crab cakes. Despite the age difference, he and Wilder had hit it off. Both were West Pointers who liked to have a good time and didn’t consider the USBAA regulations to be a replacement Bible.
     “How long before we’ll know for sure?” Wilder asked. Judge turned to Potts. “She’s coming on strong, but it’ll be about 6:30 before she can be definitely identified, Sir,” Potts said, taking the telescope from Captain Judge for another look.
      Wilder and Judge exchanged looks. “I think we should signal harbor side for a rider to stand by, Captain. Do you agree?”
      The Captain nodded and turned to call for an aide in the yard.
      General Scott’s orders were to send a messenger to Georgetown the moment
Irresistible
was identified. Another messenger was to leave as soon as the ship docked and Wilder could ascertain if any important news or papers had been carried across the Ocean. Even if the Royal Navy, which tended to look down its collective nose at the ‘colonial’ Army, refused to disclose what was in the news or papers, Scott still wanted to know as soon as possible that something of importance was on its way to the Liaison Office. Wilder borrowed the telescope from Potts for a moment and walked quickly around the deck until he was facing the inner harbor.
    He searched the entire dock area, including the still-closed inns. No sign of any Liaison-like figures: just a few dockworkers and stevedores yawning and sipping from flasks. He heard Judge coming up behind him. “Doesn’t look like the Liaison Office is expecting anything this morning, Captain,” he said, handing the telescope back to Judge, who took a quick visual tour.
     “No, Lieutenant, it doesn’t. And, as you’re quite aware, once you know what to look for, those Liaison people stand out like a sore thumb.” The two ‘colonial’ officers grinned at each other. “Sergeant Potts has the best eyes on the Fort. Let’s get back and see if he’s identified her yet.”
     The Sergeant was squinting out to the Bay and nodding to himself as the two officers made their way back to his post. He took the offered telescope again, looked quickly and grunted. “That’s her, Captain. That’s
Irresistible
. I thought so, the way she cut through the water. I’ve been watchin’ her come and go for more than 18 months now and she just moves more smoothly than the other ships…”
       “I need a visual, Captain, before I send a messenger towards Georgetown. General Scott likes facts, not hunches.”
       Potts turned and gave the Lieutenant the peculiar puckered-lip look that veteran NCOs have been utilizing to voicelessly express their frustrations with young junior officers since the Pharaohs first sent armies north to battle the Assyrians. “Got that too, Lieutenant. Right up by the bow in big letters. See for yourself,” he said, handing Thomas the telescope and adding, helpfully, “the bow’s the front end of the ship, Sir.”
        The Captain seemed suddenly to have something caught in his throat but said nothing as a red-faced Thomas pulled the telescope out of Potts’ oversized hand and looked out into the Bay.
        Thomas put down the telescope and looked at Judge. “I’m convinced. That’s her. Let’s get that message off to General Scott…”
        Less than three minutes later, they could see a USBAA rider mount his horse and begin making his way from the harbor area. He carried a note transcribing Thomas’ flashed message:
       ‘Ship identified as
HMS Irresistible
sighted off harbor at 6 a.m. Anchorage anticipated by 8 a.m.’
        Captain Judge looked down at the Lieutenant. “Well, Mr. Wilder, as it seems Major Porter is under the weather again this morning, I suggest you and I make ourselves presentable and then row over to the dock area. Looks like we’ll be the only greeting party.” Judge had inferred the previous night that the Fort’s commanding officer had a drinking problem. His non-appearance now seemed to confirm it. As did the ‘frog’ that suddenly caused Sergeant Potts to loudly clear his own throat…
        Ninety minutes later, the duo, attired in formal dress uniforms, was standing on the east side of the inner harbor, watching as
Irresistible
tied up and prepared to drop her gangway.  Although they could see an RN officer Captain Judge identified as Sir Stephen Richards, captain of
Irresistible
, talking with two other men on the quarterdeck, neither USBAA officer had any idea of their identities.
    Not even General Scott had expected
Irresistible
to bring the Duke of Wellington into Baltimore Harbor.