The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (50 page)

          Now Calhoun carried the amazing correspondence as he entered the ballroom of the beautiful, multi-storied brick building with the ‘1814’ logo above the front doors, though he had not disclosed its contents to anyone, including his young aide, Munroe.

            Although they had been formally introduced in Georgetown, Senator Calhoun and the Duke of Wellington---whom the South Carolinian had come to regard as his
real
opponent in this crisis (Jackson being old and on-the-fence)---had never actually discussed or debated the merits of the issue.

       What Calhoun held in his pocket, however, he now considered the trump card: not to be fully disclosed---though hinted strongly at---until the moment when its enormous significance would virtually ensure the exemption he demanded…

        For his part, the Duke looked forward to a face-to-face with the fire-eater; it reminded him of when his pickets had first clashed with Bonaparte’s scouts south of the Waterloo battlefield.
We’ve got to get a taste of the man’s mettle.  Let’s determine whether he has the intestinal fortitude to play this game to its potential finale
…

         The original purpose of the formal, state-sponsored celebration had been to commemorate the laying of the cornerstone. That had now been eclipsed by the collision of the two giants: the states-rights apostle, John C. Calhoun; and the guardian of the Empire, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.

         Raleigh had never seen the like…and held its collective breath.

___________

         As Governor Swain had predicted, Calhoun behaved as the Southern gentleman he was.  The Senator waited his turn to be introduced to the guest of honor and congratulated Wellington on his health before proposing that, “if Your Grace can find the time before the evening is complete, perhaps we could talk privately.”

          The Duke was immediately agreeable: “Certainly Senator…and if such an opportunity does not materialize, without question before we both depart this lovely city.” Studying his face once again, Wellington was reminded of Scott’s original description of the South Carolinian: ‘…burning with the fanaticism of an Old Testament prophet…’
Well, Winfield, you certainly had this one pegged correctly.  My God, the man reeks of self-righteousness…

         Calhoun passed through the receiving line to quickly become the center of a large circle of admirers. Though the noise emanating from the circle grew ever louder, Harry Bratton, standing alone near a well-stocked (and well-frequented) bar, could see that the fire-eater himself rarely said more than a few words at a time. Wellington, for his part, played the role of honored guest, flirting with the ladies and conversing in generalities. Repeatedly, he countered questions and opinions from well-wishers with a broad smile: “Tonight is a celebration of your city and state. We shall leave the politics at the construction site…”

     It was past 9 p.m. as Calhoun made his way through the ballroom once again, escorted by Bedford Brown into the Governor’s study.  The dallying guests then being ushered out by Mrs. Swain and the mansion’s servants last saw the Duke in earnest conversation with the city’s beloved Intendant of Police, Joseph Gales, Sr.

     “‘Intendant of Police,’ Mr. Gales? I say: and what precisely does the ‘Intendant’ do?”

       “It’s a term the founders of our city apparently borrowed from the French, Your Grace. For all intents and purposes, I’m the mayor…and have been since 1819.”

        Policeman or politician, Gales was not, however, asked into the study moments later when Governor Swain came over to escort the Duke. In fact, only Calhoun, standing by the unlit fireplace, and the two seated Senators awaited Wellington as Swain closed the door behind them. The Governor quickly offered Sir Arthur use of his desk, but Wellington preferred to remain standing.

        “Well Senator Calhoun, I am glad to see that your state has not followed North Carolina’s example and ruled mature men ineligible for high political office.”

        The fire-eater looked nonplused as the three young North State officials joined in a nervous laughter somewhat heartier than the mild joke occasioned. It was Governor Swain who explained: “Upon his observations last evening on our relative youth” (with a broad wave he indicated the two Senators and himself), “I informed His Grace that, as gentlemen of North Carolina reach a certain age, they abandon this childish game in favor of more intellectual, adult pursuits…”

         Not even the outline of a smile managed to crack Calhoun’s stone-cold features. Instead, the South Carolinian was typically grim, blunt and straightforward: “On the contrary, Sir, I believe the elections of you three splendid young men demonstrate the faith the older generation has in you all to maintain and promulgate the policies, traditions and institutions so vital to the South’s well-being.”

          The clearly enunciated phrase ‘policies, traditions and institutions’ crackled across the room with an intensity that left Wellington with the clear mental image of Calhoun wielding a whip snatched from the hand of his own plantation’s overseer. He recalled Captain Bratton’s prediction of the previous evening:
“No compromising…a fanatic…beyond the limits.”

          Calhoun’s impatience at small talk was obvious, as was his purposeful single-mindedness:

         “The hour is late so I suggest we dispense with further jovial frivolities and get to the point.” The fire-eater’s eyes blazed as he glared directly at the Duke. “The message of your speech today, Sir, is unacceptable to the South. Slavery was a long-established institution in the South, a bulwark of our prosperity, long before the Colonial Compact or the Dominion Constitution.

         “We reject the hypothesis that the Crown or any of its governmental units---either in Georgetown or London---can legally force us to give up our institution. Nor will we be bribed into doing so…at any price!”

          The silence in the study at the conclusion of Calhoun’s outburst was so total that Swain, for one, could hear the carriage wheels creaking down the circular driveway on the opposite side of the house, as well as the incessant chirp of the ever-present crickets.

          If Wellington---after all the conqueror of Bonaparte as well as a former British Prime Minister---was offended by Calhoun’s tirade, thought Senator Person---
and how
could he not be
---the Duke was giving no such indication. His color remained the sun-burned red he had arrived with but had not deepened to a blood rush-induced scarlet. His hands, stuck in his pockets since entering the room, did not seem to be trembling.  Except for a slight, almost unnoticeable pursing of the lips, even his facial features had not changed.

         The silence threatened to extend into minutes when at last Wellington opened his mouth:

           “Our’s is an empire of laws, Senator. Some formulated and approved in Parliament; some likewise passed by the Congress of which you and your esteemed colleagues are members. These laws may be tested, as it were, by challenge and appeal to the appropriate courts-of-law.

          “I submit that the bill to emancipate the Empire’s slave population will without question be approved by both houses of Parliament before summer’s end. You are welcome, indeed encouraged, to challenge the bill, either through your elected members of that august body, or in the Empire’s highest courts. But you will not win.

         “Further, you will have the opportunity for debate in your own legislative arenas in Georgetown. Based on my extensive conversations in other sections of the Dominion, I am comfortable in stating my confidence that you will lose there, also. Once again, you may challenge in your Supreme Court. Justice Marshall, however, has been quite explicit in stating that your Court will also rule in the Crown’s favor.”

           Swain and Brown exchanged worried glances as the Duke paused briefly.
My
God
, thought the Governor
, Calhoun looks ready to take the fireplace utensils to Wellington!
And the Duke seems intent on enticing him to try!

         Wellington continued: “As for your position of prior existence, I’m told by Justice Marshall that this has no legal merit on either side of the Atlantic.

           “Finally, Senator, I do not believe that you---and you alone---speak for the South. Views more moderate than your own may yet be expressed by Southern voices, including possibly some present here tonight.”

             The lumps of burning coal masquerading as Calhoun’s eyes seemed to blaze even brighter. “I would not be so presumptuous, Sir Arthur, in counting Southern votes---or determining who speaks for the South---on this issue.” He turned and glanced meaningfully at the other two Senators before pausing.

         A strange smile, to the on-lookers’ amazement, seemed then to break out on Calhoun’s face though it by no means reached his still-blazing eyes.

           “Even if all you claim is true, Sir Arthur, and I am in no way acknowledging that it is, the South will in the end proceed unabated with our ‘peculiar institution.’ And with your blessing and that of your Government, I might add.” The South Carolinian’s smile had evolved into a near-smirk visible to all.

         “For what Congress will vote on next month will not pertain to the abolition of slavery. Instead, it will vote---and approve---an exemption to Parliament’s measure. An exemption that you, Sir, will work out with the Governor-General and which he will then submit. Once passed, you will return to London to shepard it through Parliament. I have no doubt that you will be successful in this endeavor.”

            The three North Carolina officials’ mouths were now all ajar, while Wellington, while maintaining his stiff upper lip, had in fact blinked rapidly and repeatedly.

            Regaining the small measure of self-control he had momentarily let slip, the Duke quietly asked: “Is that so, my dear chap. And what on earth could lead you to that remarkable conclusion?”

           Calhoun, his long hair providing a frame for the gaunt face now completely dominated by the fiery eyes, raised his right arm and pointed the extended index finger at Wellington.

          Even the crickets seemed to have ceased their repetative chirping in order to listen in:

           “Because, Sir, the Empire can not afford a crisis here in the USBA. Not when you are facing such a serious one in Europe…”

            He paused and looked at the younger men. “…or, to be more precise, in Asia Minor.”

           The fire-eater looked back in triumph at the Duke, who was now conducting a protracted interior battle to maintain his composure:

          “After all, Sir, as righteous as your Parliament may consider emancipation of
our
slaves, it considers the security of
your
own British India to be just as righteous. So that John Company can continue its own righteous work of merrily looting that fabled subcontinent...to the benefit, of course, of King, Country and Empire.”

            Calhoun moved past Wellington and across to grasp the study’s door handle before pivoting. “Think on it, Sir Arthur. The Empire does not need a truly unnecessary and avoidable crisis on one side of the world while you have to deal with a very necessary and unavoidable one on the other. And the only price to make your American crisis disappear is one small exemption.”

             The other four men were still staring as Calhoun’s face relaxed into its first complete smile of the evening.

         “Until June 4
^th
, gentlemen, in Georgetown. Good evening.”

          The door closed gently behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Liaison Office

Georgetown, D.C.

May 23, 1833, 10 a.m.:

      The Duke had returned to the capitol on Monday, just in time to experience the lovely Georgetown spring turn equatorial overnight. He had hastened his return to determine if anyone in Georgetown was aware of the Russian incursion into Syria…and to determine how Calhoun had discovered it!

        Captain Bratton immediately, of course, had jumped to the conclusion that this Russki secret chap---whatever his name really was---had informed the fire-eater.  “Not only is this the sole plausible way Calhoun could have gotten the information, Your Grace, but it confirms that Karlhamanov actually is Count Ignatieff!”  Thus Bratton’s argument on the ride back to Wilmington after being briefed on the private meeting in the Governor’s study.

         Wellington had not discounted the validity of Harry’s theory, but wondered aloud how, if the Russian had been in the USBA since February, he could know much about the Syrian crisis. “And how, and how much, information could have been conveyed to Calhoun?”

         The Duke had paced worriedly throughout much of the pleasant voyage back to Georgetown. He braced himself for the worst: had
The Times
published stories about the Syrian crisis in issues one or more of which might have survived an Atlantic crossing? And had knowledge of the incursion already been absorbed and factored into the emancipation business over here? What did Jackson know? And how, if he did, is he reacting?

          Now that he was back in the capital, Wellington assessed the situation and found it less volatile than feared: while the upcoming special session---with all its increasingly-frightening implications---was on everyone’s minds, there was no mention of the Syrian affair, either among their American contacts or in diplomatic circles.

        Nor did the G-G appear to have any knowledge when they breakfasted yesterday. (Jackson had apparently been enjoying an extended weekend at Frank Blair’s Silver Spring country mansion when the Duke and Bratton arrived back early Monday afternoon.) The talk, of course, had been dominated by emancipation…and by Jackson’s adamant refusal to reveal his position: “I stand by my Inaugural speech: I am waiting to hear the people’s voice as conveyed by their elected representatives. I’ll make my decision then and only then…”