The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (39 page)

       “Well young Mr. Wilder. Not used to seeing a crowd transform into a mob?” Burr had put on a sad, wise face. “The Duke’s message has gotten to the streets…and Georgetown’s citizens don’t seem to be taking it well. They’ll disperse, though, once word filters down that Andy will answer the Duke on Monday.”

      “Answer him, Sir?”

       “Certainly, young man. Whatever do you think we talked about in there for almost three hours? Come now, if you’re an intelligence aide to General Scott, you already know the gist of Wellington’s lecture, err, address to Congress. I was simply helping the Governor-General formulate his response. Of course, it’s still an early draft. We’ll have another session tomorrow afternoon, once he’s spoken with the Congressional leadership.”

        For the first time, the old man looked grim. “And after I’ve spoken to the Duke. And General Scott…”

___________

The Capitol

4:45 p.m.

      If the House Chamber had looked
funereal
, then the reception room resembled a huge Irish wake. Groups of mostly four or less; some loud, some somber, all with glasses in their hands; all talking at once.

       Lt. Robert E. Lee was standing with Angeline and Lucille Latoure when he saw the huge bulk of General Scott across the room studying him carefully. The General seemed to grimace slightly; then turned to face Senator Tyler, who had pushed his way through the guests. The Senator began talking rapidly, accentuating his emotions with thrusts of his hands and forearms. To his left, Lee could see Senator Troup of Georgia with his index finger in Henry Clay’s chest.
A not-so-gentile riot could break out in here any minute
, Robert thought.
I hope the bartenders are watering down the liquor
…

      Mrs. Latoure was addressing him over the ever-increasing noise: “So, Robert. We understand from Thomas that Mary did not take the news well. Had she adjusted any by the time you rode down this morning?”

     “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Latoure. I tried to assure her that whatever London was proposing would not mean the end of Arlington House, but she is still extremely upset. How can anyone blame her? The plantation is not just her home, it is her life.” He paused. “Am I right in assuming you ladies will be staying the night in Georgetown? If so, could I impose upon you to stop at Arlington tomorrow? I have to leave early in the morning to catch my boat back to Norfolk. Even though we’ll have the evening, I know she’d appreciate having you to discuss this with tomorrow.”

      “Certainly, Robert. We’re attending a dinner-party at Mr. Van Buren’s house tonight, but we’ll be on the road by late morning. We’ll certainly stop.”

      The first real smile of the day broke out on Lieutenant Lee’s face as he turned to the daughter: “The new Vice G-G’s, eh? Make sure Tom’s boots are buffed and buttons are shining, Lucille. We want him to make his best impression in front of his fellow New Yorker’s other distinguished guests.”

      “Why Robert,” she purred, “and what makes you think Lieutenant Wilder was invited? Or has he been demoted to social aide to the Vice G-G? Oh dear!”

       She curtsied and moved away, leaving her mother to shake her head in dismay. The chagrined Lee watched her disappear into the crowd.

       “And so Robert, what was
your
reaction to the Duke’s announcement?”

___________

       The Southerners were drinking more heavily and talking more loudly. Daniel Webster pulled Ohio’s Ewing aside: “I’ll take care of my people if you see to yours, Senator. These damn Southerners get any more liquored up and a civil war could break out right here…”

      “What we need, Daniel,” said Ewing slowly, looking around at the red-faced and increasingly boisterous Dixie lawmakers and guests, “is a series of caucuses early tomorrow: Western; MidAtlantic and New England. Bipartisan. Then, we should meet later in the day and send a representative delegation to The Residency. Old Jack had to have some word this was coming…even if he received it in just the past few days.

       “We need to isolate the Southerners for the moment; at least until we determine how the rest of us feel.”

        Webster looked warily at the Ohioan: “Feel about what, Senator?”

         Ewing was direct: “About London suddenly charging in here and upsetting the apple cart, so to speak! Damn it, Daniel, I thought the unwritten article in the Compact which made all this work was the provision that London would allow us to iron out our own problems. Not just walk in and announce they’re ramming this down our collective throats!”

          The senior Senator from Massachusetts nodded in agreement: “It would seem, Senator, that London has forgotten that unwritten directive. Or has been suddenly endowed with such a sense of self-righteousness that it has overlooked our half-century of autonomous, democratic-style government.”

        He paused and smiled ironically: “Or still believes that we of the USBA are not qualified to discuss or decide the major issues facing us…”

      Ewing nodded. “Agreed. However…”

      His expression slowly changed as he coldly looked Webster in the eye: “…I do not think I will be alone, Senator, once today’s remarkable address is reviewed overnight, in seeing the fine hand of Quincy Adams somewhat and somehow behind all this.

      “I pray, Sir, for the sake of non-Southern Dominion unity that Mr. Adams has kept his own counsel in this. My Western associates would not be pleased to learn that New England had prior knowledge of the Duke’s announcement and kept it from the rest of us.”

         The Ohioan broke eye contact and walked away.

          This Irish wake, like any and all others of its kind, went on long after the scheduled 5 p.m. ending.

         By then, the leading Southerners had adjourned to Troup’s townhouse.

___________

Georgetown

March 2-4, 1833

     Jurgurtha Numidia had been stunned Saturday night as he rode back over Long Bridge from the Arlington House wedding. But his potential jubilation was muted by the thought that Sebastian, in his own excitement, might either have exaggerated the fragments of overheard conversation in his own mind or had misinterpreted what this Army officer had said.

     While Jurgurtha knew a growing number of British Americans considered slavery to be either morally wrong or increasingly economically impractical---an “anachronism”, he had heard it described as recently---he believed the struggle to be far from over. Now, if Sebastian was reporting correctly, the British Crown itself was stepping in to put an end to the abomination…

    By the next afternoon, Jurgurtha had confirmed that Sebastian had gotten it right: emancipation was on the table!

    The issue now was what to do concerning runaways already in the system and how to pass on the runaways most quickly to Boston and the New England Abolition Society. At this most sensitive time, Jurgurtha did not want a failed escape to lead to an expose of
Exodus
. Not only could such an expose fatally hurt the emancipation cause…but it would make he himself look bad…
For Jurgurtha, in addition to his commitment to abolition, knew how to look after his own best interests
. Quickly adapting to the startling new day would inevitably enhance his own standing with the Society…

     This Sunday evening, religious services completed, Jurgurtha was back inside his quarters above the stable when Tousaint walked in, from appearances directly after a long sojourn at that old woman’s saloon the boy and his friends frequented.

     “Boy, the Sabbath is for celebrating and worshipping the Lord Our God Himself, not some false god of pleasure. Don’t you spend enough time kneeling before the altar of Bacchus during the week that you can’t give Our Lord Jesus Christ your Sunday?”

    Jurgurtha glared at his son, who smirked and wiped his hand over his mouth. “Wasn’t Bacchus I was worshipping tonight, old man. But Bibesia sends you her warmest greetings…”

   In spite of himself, the father grinned through his grumble: "Four years of ancient history at that log cabin college of yours and all you retained was an appreciation of the Roman wine goddess?"

     "Maybe if you sent me to Harvard Yard, I'd have learned the name of the Greek wine goddess. Or the Babylonian. Or the Egyptian... At any rate, there are some very fine young waitresses and such at Monticello. You really ought to get out more yourself, Reverend. Unless that Melissa of yours is spending more of her time at the Samples townhouse..."

     This time, Jurgurtha's grumble was real. But as he reached for the neck of the backstepping, grinning son, the solution to the
Exodus
problem flashed into his mind.

     "Sit down boy. We got something more important than female pulchritude to discuss. Haven’t you heard the news from Capitol Hill? Or have you been chasing skirts since yesterday morning?”

     “Heard it all right, old man. Not worth celebrating, though. Some old Englishman says the King wants to free our people. In seven years or so! You really think all the massas from here to Mississippi are just going to sit back and let some fat little bastard 3000 miles away in London tell
them
what to do? I don’t see it…”

     Jurgurtha managed…barely…to keep the lid on his temper: “Boy, you may have a college education…but sometimes I doubt you have a shred of common sense. Forget the damn white men’s politics. Just concentrate on how this will affect
Exodus
…and us.”

     Tousaint respected his father, even as he considered him too cautious. So he listened and accepted Jurgurtha’s directive, even as he began to formulate plans that diverted from the older man’s orders.

     Before leaving the stables the next morning, he sent word via a young urchin who frequented the place that Marion Motley was to come to the Hill as soon as possible. When the big man arrived, nursing a sore head from his own Monticello Sabbath overindulgence and grumbling about being awaken on his day off, young Numidia was brisk: Get ahold of Doby and Donfield. They were all to meet at Monticello at 7 p.m.

    "How's I supposed to get in da Spanish house? Gettin' Doby ain't goin' be no problem. But I ain't guarenteein' nothin’ 'bout Crispus.."

     "Do the best you can. Tell Ugene its important. I'll brief you all tonight."
If Crispus missed the planning session, it really wouldn't matter. He could
bring Donfield up-to-date later...

   
Tousaint, meanwhile, had already carried out his father's orders regarding
Exodus
…and Daniel Webster. The Senator arrived---spright and spiffy---at exactly 9 a.m., much to the surprise of his small staff, who never knew if-or-when the playboy orator would make his first post-weekend appearance. He listened carefully to Tousaint's relay of Jurgurtha’s message: all
Exodus
operations would be frozen until Boston assessed the changing situation. Those runaways now in flight would be stopped and hidden along the route.
Exodus
would not be the cause of any backlash against the emancipation plan…

     Webster nodded and issued his instructions: sit tight. Let the legislative process take its course.

___________

Van Buren Home

March 2, 1833

7 p.m.

        It was obvious to Tom that some of Van Buren’s guests had come straight from the post-speech reception. Certainly Daniel Webster had; or else had continued to imbibe elsewhere. He was now eloquently if somewhat boisterously speaking with an enthralled circle about the need for “bipartisan cooperation in support of this just crusade.”

        Henry Clay, however, had apparently limited his legendary intake. He, too, was the center of a small circle of guests. And yet despite Tom’s efforts to shield Burr from view, the Kentuckian spied the old man coming down the stairs. He quickly moved to intercept them by the front door. “By God Colonel Burr, it is you!” he said quietly. “Haven’t seen you since the trial, but I’d know you anywhere. What the devil are you doing here?”

        Burr flashed his mischievous grin but Clay wasn’t ready for an answer as yet: “And with a uniformed officer as an escort, no less! So you’re here officially…

         “But not staying for the dinner-party, I see. So where are you off to? The Residency, by chance, under cover of darkness?”

          The Colonel modestly shook his head: “Now Harry, why would I need cover of any kind? I’ll wager there aren’t five people in Georgetown who remember, much less recognize, me. As for The Residency…”

         The conspirator’s grin broke out: “...Tennessee mash is not recommended for people my age after 5 p.m. A shot or two of good Irish whiskey, however, is another matter… Enjoy the evening, Harry. Matty Van sets the best table of anyone I know.”

         Clay’s jaw dropped as Tom opened the door for the Colonel. When the Lieutenant looked back after assisting the old man into the War Department rig, he was still staring after them.

           Burr was chuckling. “Well Mr. Wilder, I would rather have escaped unseen, but it was worth it to see Harry speechless. Poor Matty, though; Clay will pester him no end to find out why I’m here…and where I’ve gone.” He laughed again. “Perhaps it is for the best. Matty promised the Duke last night he’d enlist Harry to rally the West. This will provide the perfect entrée to the conversation. Not that Matty needs help, but …”

            But the Lieutenant was no longer listening. As he escorted the Colonel to the carriage, they had passed a trio of arriving guests. With Lucille and her mother was the bachelor political chief of the Liaison Office, Sir John Burrell.

___________

Long Bridge over the Potomac

7 p.m.

    Robert E. Lee dismounted near the Virginia side of the Bridge and looked up the hill to the lights of Arlington House.
Could it be just 24 hours ago that I rode up the long driveway so eagerly anticipating a joyous homecoming
?