The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (51 page)

          
Jackson could be sly and tricky---as a hapless French army at New Orleans once discovered
---Wellington thought,
but he is not devious
.
The G-G,
the Duke determined with relief,
is unaware of the Syrian complication.

         General Scott, after being appraised of the situation over dinner at his home Monday evening, had been adamant: the European crisis was not yet known to official Georgetown. “I’ll grill Lieutenant Wilder tomorrow morning, Sir Arthur. But I’ve no doubt The Residency is unaware of this. The Lieutenant would have observed any increase in excitement or intensity and reported it, even if he did not have the details.”

          (Winfield had sent Wilder to the Office yesterday: to the best of the Lieutenant’s knowledge and observation, no information of a foreign nature was being assessed at The Residency. Based on his faith in Scott’s evaluation of talent, the Duke accepted Tom’s assessment as accurate.) 

           All was also quiet at the neglected State Department, which was the Administration’s principal, though mostly ignored, liaison with the consulates. So Burrell, whose job included monitoring bureaucratic Georgetown, reported.

          Now the Duke was convening a meeting with Bratton, Sir John and Major Layne to consider the situation--and their options:

        
Do we abduct this Russian and grill him here in the Office basement? At what point do the Extremity Provisions---Harry, trust him, had brought them up on the voyage from Wilmington---come into play? 

         If-and-when is the Jackson Administration entitled to a briefing on Syria?

         Most importantly, if-and-when do we inform our political allies in the North---from the Vice G-G on down---of the Syrian problem? And its potential impact on the emancipation question
?

           Wellington shook his head wryly.
Who would have thought the advance of some upstart Gypo Pasha into Palestine could affect the freedom of some 2,000,000 Godforsaken darkies in America?

___________

Asheville, North Carolina

May 23, 1833:

    Despite his farewell at the Governor’s Mansion, John C. Calhoun did not leave Raleigh until three days after the cornerstone-laying ceremony, long after the Duke himself had ridden east.

     He in fact met with Senators Magnum and Brown the following day; as a Dominion-Republican (and thus considered ‘soft’ on slavery), Governor Swain was pointedly not invited. The fire-eater put off their questions concerning his, as Brown called it, ‘Asia Minor riddle’: “In due course, gentlemen. First, let’s observe its effect on the great man. All will become clear once the Congress convenes.”

      And that was all Calhoun would say on the subject. The two young North Carolinians were too much in awe to press him further, despite their curiosity. “That damn old man acts as if he’s operating on a higher plane than the rest of us,” Magnum fumed privately later. “He expects us to toe the line…but won’t say where the line leads.”

        “Obviously, to a confrontation with Wellington and perhaps Jackson in Georgetown,” Brown replied. “One in which he believes he holds all the aces. I’m not happy either, but for the sake of the South, we must go along for now. If he’s overplayed his hand, there’ll be time for compromise up there. At least, I pray to God there will be…”

___________

    Senator Calhoun had delayed leaving Raleigh ostensibly because he received several invitations to speak over the weekend at various Democratic rallies in the capitol city. More importantly, having digested the contents of the amazing letter while still on the road, he had sent word to Congressman Polk to meet him in this small Blue Ridge town almost equidistant from Raleigh and Polk’s east Tennessee plantation.

    The Senator had checked into the Wolfpack Inn late Monday but Polk, along with his young law partner, Gideon Pillow, had not shown up until the following evening. Calhoun wasted no time once young Pillow was banished to the bar to join his own aide, Munroe, in briefing Polk on the letter at a back table.

      The Tennessean was astonished, as Calhoun knew he would be; and also immediately grasped the implication; which is why he had been shown the letter. “Speak of this to no one, James,” Calhoun directed, staring at Polk’s still-dropped jaw. “Digest it, and we’ll speak on it again in the morning. You can see now why I had you come to Asheville. This is much too valuable to chance having fall into the wrong hands.”

         Calhoun’s coal-black eyes began to blaze anew. “Before I tell you of my meeting with Wellington, and hear your news from Tennessee, let’s be clear why I’ve shared this with you: You are our best conduit for information in and out of The Residency. You’re the only member of our inner group who’s also an advisor to Jackson. We need you back in Georgetown post-haste. So you must head back to your plantation immediately after our talk tomorrow morning, collect Sarah and start out for the capital.

        “I am headed directly back to Fort Hill. There I will pick up Floride and McDuffie and sail for Georgetown myself. We must organize for the special session as soon as possible, counting on whatever information you obtain concerning Jackson’s leanings or decision.”

     Though stunned by the contents of the letter, the Congressman was marveling at its potential power: “I understand completely, Senator. The information contained,” he tapped at the letter before handing it back to Calhoun, “if true, puts the entire situation in a new perspective.”

      He paused and shook his head while fingering the half-empty whiskey glass in front of him. “Obviously you believe this Russian’s news...”

     Calhoun nodded affirmatively.

      “…I tend to concur. Why would he---or anyone else---make up such an astounding story? This letter may give us the upper hand in this crisis…and checkmate the damn abolitionists once and for all.”

           Calhoun smiled his dark smile. “My thoughts exactly, Congressman. Now let me relate my ‘interview’ with His Grace, the great man himself…”

___________

        Early this morning when the two met again privately, their two baffled aides at a separate table, Calhoun returned to the letter over their bacon and eggs:  

      “At some point Wellington will have to brief Jackson on the Syrian adventure. That’s why I showed you the letter, so you’d know in advance of walking up The Residency’s steps. This may be the weight that tips the G-G’s scale in our favor. That damn old man has enormous prestige in the North and West. If we can fix things behind-the-scene so that it appears that
he
has arranged the exemption as a compromise---without anyone knowing what
really
caused Wellington to cave in---the other sections will, reluctantly, go along.

       “Otherwise, I fear Wellington’s visit and news of Parliament’s emancipation debate may give the abolitionists too much momentum, especially in the North.” Calhoun paused to take a small bite of his rapidly-cooling eggs and looked over at his colleague.

       Polk was nodding his head in agreement as Calhoun summed the situation up:

       “Without the exemption, the South has but one option, as acceptance is intolerable.”

        This time it was the Tennessean’s eyes that glowed: “Senator, I have always anticipated and feared a political compromise would be ultimately unfavorable to the South. Yet our chances for independence-by-arms or -threat have likewise seemed improbable at best.

         “If I have correctly grasped the overall implications of this remarkable Syrian news, the Empire will have its hands full in the eastern Mediterranean for quite some time. An armed insurrection over here---even if eventually quelled---would be an unacceptable drain, both in money and manpower.”

          The South Carolinian’s fork paused halfway toward his mouth and he silently nodded affirmatively.

         “Now then,” Polk continued, “I believe the Russians have fortuitously made our threat viable. The game is still a series of inter-locking gambles, but now the odds have lessened: London is more likely to give in here than risk an insurrection; and, if it does, the North is equally unlikely to press for emancipation without London’s backing. As those Yankees might say, ‘it simply isn’t good business.’”

          The Congressman motioned toward their empty coffee cups. As Calhoun nodded, the dark smile breaking out around his taut mouth, Polk called to the waiter for more. Once delivered, he proposed a toast:

         “To our Russian ally, whatever his real name and title. No matter his motives, the South owes him an enormous debt of gratitude.”

        Calhoun softly tapped his cup against Polk’s in smug satisfaction: “To our Russian ally.”

___________

Russian Consulate

Georgetown, D.C.

May 25, 1833, 11:00 a.m.:

      Countess Caroline Renkowiitz was out-of-sorts.

      The Countess’ weekly Sunday afternoon ride with David Harper (which now began in mid-morning and extended, with the help of a picnic basket, through late afternoon) was scheduled for tomorrow.

      Caroline had come to value these outings, both because of her growing affection for the witty and handsome young American and because they provided an escape from the increasing tension inside the Consulate. But she was dreading tomorrow.

       Count Ignatieff’s on-going presence, though no one at the Consulate ever knew when he might suddenly appear, had everyone on edge. But Caroline carried a special burden: only she was aware of the amazing news from St. Petersburg concerning the Ottomans.

       Ignatieff had confided in her for a basic yet astute reason: while he himself was fluent in English, his ability was verbal. The Count knew he could not afford to make the slightest error or misrepresentation in his letter apprising Calhoun of the Syrian situation. So he had been forced to bring Caroline in, knowing of her impressive fluency in the language. And, he had said, he was “impressed with your splendid grasp of the USBA domestic political scene.”

      So Caroline, soon after the Count’s return from the South, had been told of the departure of the Imperial Black Sea Fleet---and a 10,000 man army---for Syria. Together, they had drafted the letter that Captain Drago had then been entrusted to hand-deliver to Calhoun in South Carolina.

        Caroline had since become increasing uncomfortable in talking about the crisis with David. This after all being Georgetown, politics invariably wound its way into every conversation (as her thus-far platonic admirer’s very secret and very carnal relationship with the beautiful Madame Jean-Claude could have demonstrated). She had turned the conversation to other things the last few Sundays, out of a vague sense of guilt.

        Now, however, she knew that a second letter with updated information had been written. General Mikailov had landed on the Syrian coast and was planning an advance into Lebanon or Palestine (depending on where exactly he located the Pasha’s army). It had once again been dispatched, utilizing Drago, to South Carolina.

       What could---should---she say when David inevitably turned the conversation to the crisis? She felt ashamed to mislead him, but…

       It was not just her growing attachment to the Interior Department official that had the Countess feeling confused.

       Caroline had come of age in stuffy, rigid Russian consulates in such autocratic strongholds as Belgrade, Prague and Buenos Aires. She had never before been exposed to the heady air of freedom one breathed so effortlessly in Georgetown. She liked British

America. Somehow, she had become party to a plot to destroy it…

___________

Brown’s Indian Queen Hotel Taproom

Georgetown, D.C.

May 25, 1833, 2:30 p.m.:

        Tom Wilder was both furious and determined as he sipped a much-anticipated cold beer: he had learned during the General’s usual late Saturday morning stop-bye at the Department that the Scotts were scheduled to attend a dinner party for the Duke this evening at Justice Marshall’s home with a guest list that included Miss Latoure.

    The General had actually seemed taken back---his massive forehead had reddened---when Tom had informed him that: “I’m sorry, Sir, but I have no invitation to dine this evening with Miss Latoure. At Justice Marshall’s or elsewhere…I will be on call, however, if my presence is required…”

        While the General simply shook his leonine head and retreated to his own office, his aide made a quick decision: calling one of the few enlisted men present on this balmy Saturday, he entrusted him with a short answering note informing Candice that he would indeed be available after approximately 5 p.m.

        Let Lucille talk politics---or flirt---with Sir John, Joe Johnston or whoever else appears at the damn dinner party! He’d be ensconced between the biggest pair of lungs in British America…

___________

Chief Justice Marshall’s Home

Georgetown, D.C.

May 25, 1833, 7:15 p.m.

       Maria Scott had straitened her husband out on the carriage ride over from their townhouse: Lucille Latoure was not playing Tom for the fool once again! The invitation to dine had actually been extended to Mrs. Latoure, an old friend of the Marshalls. Lucille was in fact escorting her mother…

       That minor annoyance cleared up, the General was now concentrating on the important issue. Wellington had sent a brief note to the townhouse late this afternoon alerting Scott that ‘news from abroad’ had arrived at the Liaison Office this morning. They would need to excuse themselves for a few minutes tonight and speak privately.

        “Whatever the ‘news’ is, it can’t be positive,” the General told his wife, “or Wellington wouldn’t have referred to it in such a stealth manner.” He sighed as Maria glanced at him worriedly.