The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (91 page)

        The Compact clearly entitled the Crown’s Government to intervene as a last resort in a Dominion domestic crisis, including the authority to remove from office democratically-elected officials, and equally clearly mandated that the USBA government implement Parliamentary-approved legislation of an Empire-wide scope. No such intervention nor implementation, however, occurred in the 57 years following the adoption of the Compact by both Parliament and the Continental Congress.

       In early January 1833, however, the Duke of Wellington was dispatched to the USBA by Lord Grey’s Government to inform the citizens of the Dominion, represented by their elected Congress and elected Governor-General Andrew Jackson, that such a piece of Empire-wide
legislation, with anticipated overwhelming bipartisan support, would soon be introduced in Parliament: legislation that would abolish the institution of slavery throughout the Empire.

      While Wellington’s instructions called for him to utilize his enormous personal prestige to convince the USBA to accept Parliament’s plan for a seven-year, phased-in emancipation with financial compensation for all slaveholders, he was authorized to take whatever steps, up-to-and-including the removal from office of the sitting G-G, he judged necessary to ensure compliance.

     Wellington had hardly departed England by fast Royal Navy frigate when the Government found itself distracted by an unanticipated, perplexing and potentially catastrophic European
crisis: the landing of a Russian army, at the request of the Sultan, in Ottoman Syria to confront the powerful forces of a rebellious Egyptian vassal. Czarist forces suddenly were in position to cut the Empire’s vital land route to British India.

     While London struggled to solve this crisis peacefully, the slavery powder keg exploded in Wellington’s face in America. This disastrous explosion was caused in varying degrees by the incredulous fury of the Southern slavocracy, guided by Calhoun; the diabolical instigations of a ruthless Russian secret agent; the laissez-faire attitude of the non-slaveholding sections of the USBA towards the ‘peculiar institution’ and a sudden shocking leadership crisis in the Dominion capital, Georgetown, D.C.

       These---and other---factors and events had led to a brutal confrontation between ill-prepared, and in some cases badly-led, forces of the USBA and the breakaway
‘Confederate States of America’ on the banks of a Virginia stream called Bull Run in
early November, 1833.

___________

The Residency

Georgetown, D.C.

November 4, 1833, 4 p.m.:

      The Kitchen Cabinet had still been in session when the Duke of Wellington appeared about 7 a.m., although the G-G had given orders for a bath and bed for Captain Goodwin before 5. After a brief rest, the Captain had taken another Marine squad back across the Long Bridge shortly after 8 a.m.

     Wellington had listened gravely to the second-hand account of Goodwin’s report, shaking his head sadly at the news of I Corps’ apparent collapse in the face of minimal enemy pressure. “It seems clear the Southerners were more prepared for battle. They apparently confounded your generals with their, shall we say, ‘offensive-defensive strategy.’ I say: how was such a state of affairs possible?”

      Cass, who had been imbibing steadily since being awakened by Captain Goodwin’s arrival, reddened even beyond the glow of the whiskey but remained silent. The others looked at the G-G, who simply shook his head in a show of mystification. The newspaperman, Blair, finally ventured an opinion.

    “The Southerners have a martial tradition, Sir Arthur, which has been passed down the generations in the coastal states and of course among those who have recently settled in Alabama and Mississippi. On the other hand, it is a long time since anyone east of the Ohio has seen an Indian in war paint…”

     “Yes, I can understand that. But the Devil I say, there simply must be more to the thing than that!”

    As usual, it was Colonel Burr who cut to the chase. “Face it, gentlemen. They demonstrated better leadership. As Sir Arthur said, they confounded our apparent battle plan by enticing our generals to take the offensive, only to counter-attack when our advances reached open ground.”

     Now the group was gathered again, joined by Attorney-General Benjamin Butler. Maj. Robert Layne, R.A., the Liaison Office military chief who had barely succeeded this morning in convincing Wellington not to go to Centreville himself, waited outside, near The Residency Portico.

   
Some days later, after hearing the Army’s ranking British half-pay officer’s account of the Bull Run fiasco, the Duke privately expressed regret that he had not assumed command at the time of Gen. Winfield Scott’s wounding. General Scott, the USBAA commanding officer, had barely survived an assassination attempt just days before he had planned to lead the Army against the Confederate position west of Manassas. In attempting to foil the assassination, a top British ‘diplomatic,’ Capt. Harry Bratton, had been murdered. The assassin, assumed to be a Russian count featuring a multi-colored right eye, was also believed to have orchestrated the earth-shaking assassination of then Governor-General Jackson in the Capitol Rotunda in June. As in that case, the Russian had seemingly vanished into thin air after wounding Scott and thereafter putting a pistol ball into Bratton’s chest.

    They were now anxiously awaiting the arrival of Captain Goodwin with an updated report. (Thayer had sent sketchy messages throughout the night that gave little real update. The lack of a reliable account of the current situation “was maddening and intolerable,” according to the Duke.)

    “Thank God we never announced publicly that the army was moving on Richmond,” said Blair. “There have been a thousand rumors, but the lack of hard news has lulled the people to sleep. If in fact General Worth has established a defense at Centreville, we can reveal that in a quiet announcement tomorrow.”

     “Word is spreading quickly that Long Bridge is closed to all but military traffic. The people will be demanding the reason soon enough,” said Cass, in a whisper, a cold towel lodged against his aching head.

     “What’s to keep Rebel cavalry from skirting around Worth’s lines--assumi…Ah…” Colonel Burr, who had been standing guard at the office door, turned to the others. “Captain Goodwin is coming through the gates. Or so Major Layne appears to be signaling.”

       The Marine was in the office minutes later, dirty, his eyes blood-shot, though the Colonel could not tell if that was from fatigue or anger.

        “Your Grace, Mr. Governor, gentlemen. General Thayer wishes to report that the…
redeployment
…to Centreville has been successful. Second Corps is in its lines on the heights to the south of the town. Cavalry patrols report the Rebels setting up their own lines about five miles south, at a junction less than two miles north of Bull Run.”

         “And I Corps?” Burr asked.

         Goodwin ground the toe of his right boot into the carpet. “First Corps is strung out from Centreville to Alexandria. They’ve got the Turnpike so clogged I had to lead my squad off to the west just to get through.” He paused and looked around the room. “Unarmed, mostly. Wagons spread out, too. That’s the main source of the congestion.” He paused and grimaced.

      “Most of the transportation is breaking down, too. Looks like the teamsters just bolted at the first sound of the guns, drove hell-bent back towards Centreville. That may account for your question last night, Mr. Secretary, as to why I Corps never brought up its artillery.” He paused again and shook his head in disgust before continuing:

     “I ran into Captain Wilder at Thayer’s headquarters. Said there’s a trail of muskets, ammunition and other supplies clear along the route I Corps took to Sudley Springs. Said the Rebs are scooping it all up…”

        “What is General Thayer’s estimate of the situation? Will the Rebels attack and, if so, can he hold?” Wellington was brisk and professional.

         “Both General Thayer and General Worth are confident II Corps can withstand any Rebel attack, Your Grace. But, General Thayer does not believe any Rebel movement towards Centreville is likely in the foreseeable future…”

         “Did the Acting Commanding General offer a reason for his optimistic forecast?” Matty Van’s voice was soft but icy.

          “General Thayer is basing his…
optimism
…on the cavalry reports, Mr. Governor. It appears the Rebels are pretty banged up…”

           “Stands to reason. It was their first battle, too, you know.” Colonel Burr was nodding his head. “But General Thayer’s report is incomplete, isn’t it, Captain?

          “What happened to I Corps’ artillery? Is it, too, clogging the Warrenton Pike?” The old man shot Goodwin a shrewd look.

           “No Sir. It is believed that the I Corps artillery has now been…
incorporated
…into the Confederate Artillery. The commander of II Corps’ artillery was with General Worth when I spoke with him. A Colonel Buford, I think.” The captain paused and shook his head.

           “According to Colonel Buford, Zach Taylor presently has the USBAA outgunned significantly.” The lines around Goodwin’s mouth were taut.

          “The Colonel says that if the Rebels can find enough ordinance---enough shells, cannon balls and the powder to set them off---Centreville may become untenable.”

___________

    There was sudden commotion in the hallway. As the group turned its attention towards the open door, the entrance was suddenly blocked out. General Scott, in full dress uniform, right shoulder bandaged and arm tied tightly to his chest and bulging against the tunic, stepped into the room.

     He crossed in three strides and, nodding “Your Grace” to Wellington, came to attention in front of Van Buren’s desk. “Mr. Governor-General, I am reporting for duty. I regret the length of my convalescence, but I am now fit to resume command.”

     The first smile in three days broke across the G-G’s small pale face, which began to glow from ear to ear. He came around the desk and took the enormous left paw in his own tiny hands. “Thank God, Winfie…General Scott. The situation is critical. Your return is not a moment too soon.”

      “And, if I may be so bold, Mr. Governor,” Scott said, looking around at the others whose faces ranged from the Duke’s sincere delight to Cass’ pained expression (which may or may not have been attributable solely to his hangover), “what is the situation? The city is alive with rumors…”

      Two hours later, having absorbed Goodwin’s report and studied maps brought over from the War Department, he closed a lively, free wheeling discussion with Wellington and the Marine by addressing the G-G:

     “With your permission, Mr. Governor, I will leave immediately for Centreville to inspect the defenses and assume tactical command. I believe General Thayer is right: a battle of this scope and intensity must naturally exhaust both sides. The Rebels will need time to rest and refit.

      “But I share Colonel Burr’s concern about Rebel cavalry on our flanks. I believe it was a mistake to split our own cavalry. I intend to utilize it as a separate, independent force, operating as it did during the march down from Carlisle. It will guard the flanks, which I will gradually lengthen as various I Corps units are reorganized.”

      The relief of the men in the room was palatable, their relaxation visible. The Duke was nodding approvingly:
the warhorse is back
…

       As Scott turned to leave, Colonel Burr stopped him: “One piece of encouraging news, General. In all the chaos and catastrophe, I nearly forgot…”

       All eyes turned questioningly to the old man, who grinned his youthful, mischievous grin. “The weapon that fiend Ignatieff used to wound you. It’s a fascinating piece of machinery, quite unlike any firearm seen on these shores before. French markings. A three-shot
‘repeating’
rifle.  I had it sent to Baltimore. The gunsmiths there, you know, are our finest. A young man named Colt, from Connecticut, the son of an old friend, has been working with them on something somewhat similar,
a ‘revolving’
multi-shot pistol.

      “Young Mr. Colt has sent me encouraging reports. He believes we can replicate this three-shot weapon in volume. Says if he can obtain War Department backing, he can have the initial production ready in the early part of next year.”

       The Colonel’s eyes were twinkling as he looked from Scott to Wellington and then, significantly, from the G-G to the suffering Cass. “In time for a spring offensive.”

        Scott’s brilliant blue eyes began to glow in a way the observant newspaper editor, Blair, never forgot.  He nodded, pivoted and strode from the room.

___________

USBAA Lines

Centreville, Virginia

November 8, 1833:

     The dramatic appearance of General Scott last Monday evening had boosted morale on the Centreville Heights. The mood of the II Corps and the survivors of I Corps’ lead brigade---mainly Ohio and Brooklyn men---had turned sullen once they had filed into the lines and it became evident the Rebels were not pursuing.

   
What the hell happened? Why did we retreat this far? Why didn’t we make our stand on the north bank?
  Having tasted Rebel lead and returned the compliment in kind, these men could not understand I Corps’ collapse, either.
We gave the Southerners better than we got for almost eight hours, but most of I Corps ran away without ever
engaging?  Without ever firing a shot?

     Yes, they knew about the vicious fight put up by the Ohioans near the Pike. And, they were beginning to hear that the 2
^nd
Regular Infantry had been virtually wiped out…but not before they had taken most of a Confederate division with them.
But the others turned
tail at the first sight of the damn Rebs? And now they’re back in camp in Alexandria, warm and comfortable with hot food and fires and tents on dry ground while we’re out here shivering behind these makeshift barricades, without even any damn blankets?