by James Devine
Wilder was now on his way across Pennsylvania Avenue to see Scott, although what the summons was about he had no real idea. Thinking it might have to do with the upcoming Christmas reception, he carried with him the list of military and naval invitees, both Royal and USBA. The combined list was slight, as, subtracting the Royal liaisons to the USBAA and the Coastal Guard, there were few senior Royal military and naval officers in-and-around the Georgetown area. Most senior USBAA and CG officers were also assigned elsewhere. Scott ran a tight ship and he wanted his officers---for the CG was also under his nominal command---out where the action was, not holed up in the capital. Well, whatever is on the Old Man’s mind, I’ll soon know, thought Wilder as he climbed the War Department steps. Despite the raw, wet weather---Georgetown was equatorial in summer and damp and dismal in winter---the Lieutenant paused to clean the Pennsylvania Avenue mud off his boots and straighten his uniform. They don’t call the General ‘Old Fuss and Feathers’ for nothing. He’s a spit-and-polish tyrant who would chew a soldier out if he came in out of a blizzard with a button missing. But the old-timers say his men would follow him to hell in battle…
Wilder opened the main doors and walked briskly down the hall to the Commanding General’s office, pausing only to exchange greetings with the few clerks and other officers situated outside. The General’s secretary, Lieutenant Beaufort, looked up from papers spread out on his desk, rose and saluted. “I’ll let the General know you’re here Lieutenant.” But Scott himself was now filling the doorway. “Come in Lieutenant.” Turning to his secretary, Scott ordered: “No interruptions.” The General eased his bulk back behind his desk after indicating Wilder to a chair in front of him. “So Lieutenant, is the Governor-General set for his annual Christmas reception this Sunday?” The blue eyes began to twinkle. “I know how much he enjoys entertaining.”
“Well sir, I think he’d be happier if the guest list was limited to Tennesseans, but he’s resigned to hosting the Congress, the Cabinet, the Court, the diplomatic corps and the other guests. At least, those members of Congress and the Court who are still in town. Though I doubt he’ll be wishing M. Jean-Claude a particularly Merry Christmas…”
“No the Governor-General does not care much for the French, that’s true enough.” Scott’s heavy eyebrows rose with amusement. As a teenage prisoner, Jackson had suffered a merciless beating from a French officer for refusing to clean the man’s boots. The beating had left him with scars on his head and left hand. He and his brother, Robert, also taken prisoner in the endless, faceless skirmishing of the 1780s, both contracted small pox. Robert died soon after their release. The incident left the G-G with a lifelong hatred for the French.
“As for the guest list, you should have been here when he was inaugurated. The Tennesseans were all over The Residency. Wrecked everything. Good thing Mr. Adams left town immediately after the swearing-in. He would have been outraged…”
John Quincy Adams, the previous G-G, had been mortified when “that frontier barbarian,” as he invariably referred to Jackson, trounced him in the 1828 plebiscite. He had had to be persuaded from leaving Georgetown even before the inauguration.
Wilder began to wonder whether he had been summoned simply to help the General pass a few unscheduled minutes. Scott, however, began shuffling papers on his desk and his tone became more businesslike.
“As you are no doubt aware, Mr. Wilder, the results of the recent plebiscite were officially tallied and published two days ago. The previous night, however, a Royal Navy frigate,” he glanced down at the paper in front of him, “the Irresistible, left Baltimore unannounced and unscheduled. I am told she had been stripped of her weaponry and other equipment unneeded for a quick crossing of the North Atlantic and was headed for London. Does that strike you as unusual, Mr. Wilder?”
“Sir, I must admit I am only vaguely aware of Royal Navy procedures…”
“Mid-winter North Atlantic crossings are not normal Royal Navy procedure, Lieutenant, nor is stripping down one of the Royal Navy’s most powerful warships and risking it on such a crossing. Why do you think the Admiralty would sanction such a risky journey?” Scott’s eyes were now focused directly on the Lieutenant, who could feel the drill grinding through him.
“I would venture that the Admiralty---or someone in Lord Grey’s government---wanted someone or something pretty badly, Sir. Though what or who it is, I have no idea.”
Scott drummed his thick figures impatiently on the polished desktop. “Lieutenant, what have I been trying, apparently unsuccessfully, to train you to do this past year? Analyze odd, disjointed pieces of information to determine if they fit together. In the intelligence business, there is always a ‘who,’ a ‘what,’ a ‘when,’ a ‘where,’ a ‘how,’ and a ‘why.’ The first five can usually be identified rather quickly. Correctly identifying the sixth is what I’m attempting to train you to do.”
Wilder’s face was flushing and he squirmed anxiously in his seat. “Sir, we have a ‘when,’ the 15th of December, two nights ago. And a ‘what,’ the departure of a Royal Navy warship stripped to its essentials for a peacetime North Atlantic crossing…”
“Let me stop you there, Lieutenant. The voyage is the ‘how.’ The ‘who’ or the ‘what’ is the person or information London wants. And wants in a hell of a hurry, by all indications. If we know which it is, we can move forward to the all-important ‘why.’ Any ideas?” The fingers resumed their drumming.
Wilder was silent as he thought back over the beginnings of the conversation. “Sir, we know the warship.”
“Irresistible.”
“Yes sir, HMS Irresistible left Baltimore the night before the plebiscite results were publicly announced and is reported to be on her way to London. London has traditionally stayed out of plebiscite campaigns. How quickly have the results been reported to England after previous plebiscites?”
“With the first departing merchantman, Lieutenant. Even in ’28, when London was clearly concerned that General Jackson might get hold of the Residency, there was no RN vessel standing by to speed the results to England.”
“But General, it doesn’t make much sense. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that the Governor-General would win again. London must have known that.”
Scott nodded. “Yes, all indications were that Andrew Jackson would win again. And I’m certain our friends over at the Liaison Office have been informing London of that fact since early summer. So that still leaves us with the ‘why,’ Lieutenant. Why is London so impatient to get the news?
“I want you to go back over all the correspondence we have on file from and to the various military ministries in London. Do the same across the street. Analyze anything that appears the least bit odd, or different. Somewhere, there may be a request or order that will tie in to this puzzle. I want you to find it and bring it to me post-haste. Is that understood?” Scott looked directly at the younger officer, who nodded his head vigorously.
“Yes, General. I’ll begin reviewing all correspondence, both here and at The Residency. If there’s anything there, it will come out.” He stood, saluted, turned and headed out. Scott smiled to himself. That boy has the makings of a fine officer. Even if I doubt he’ll ever figure out how to properly sight a cannon…
___________
THE COLONIAL COMPACT OF 1776
Washington’s stunning victory at Boston in early 1776 astounded the British populace and led to the immediate fall of Lord North’s government. The Earl of Chatham, William Pitt the Elder, who had led the call for reconciliation with the Colonies, was the obvious choice to reoccupy #10 Downing Street. King George III, not yet fully in the throes of the mental illnesses that would eventually destroy him, reluctantly sent for Pitt. The Earl had been in regular contact with Benjamin Franklin, who until the previous year had been in London as the agent (later generations would have described him as the “lobbyist”) for Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and a number of other rebellious American colonies. Franklin had finally thrown up his
hands in disgust at the autocratic attitude of the North government and returned to North America, where he had taken his seat in the Continental Congress.
Pitt had immediately rushed Edmund Burke, the outspoken orator and colonial proponent, to Philadelphia by fastest naval transportation, with a stunning secret compromise proposal for Franklin. The ship docked on June 3, 1776.
Burke and Franklin hammered out, over a period of several days’ intensive negotiation, the document that became known as the Colonial Compact. Burke had arrived in Philadelphia as the Continental Congress struggled with the truly unthinkable concept of separation from the Mother Country and---always lurking in the background---the question of slavery. With a collective sigh of relief, the majority of the delegates---John and Samuel Adams of Massachusetts not among them---grasped eagerly at the Compact, when Franklin presented it in secret session, as a way out of the dilemma. They quickly agreed to the armistice offered by the Pitt government. By the fall of ’76, Washington’s army, which had marched south to New York in anticipation of a British invasion, had been demobilized.
In March 1777, a constitutional convention called by the Congress had met in Philadelphia. Under Washington’s guidance---Franklin had returned to London with Burke as intermediary to Pitt’s government---a tentative constitution for the new “United States of British America” slowly evolved. Washington himself, along with the principal authors, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison of Virginia and the youthful prodigy from New York, Alexander Hamilton, sailed for London in the spring of ’78 to present the document for ratification by Parliament and the signature of the King.
It was the proposition that the British American states would have direct representation in Parliament that was to be the chief obstacle to ratification, of course. The diehard Tories in both Houses could not conceive of ‘colonials’ on their benches. But the logic in Pitt’s argument that the Empire had very nearly lost its crown jewel over ‘taxation without representation’ in the end won the day. The “colonials” would be permitted one delegate from each ‘state’ to the House of Commons. The new USBA would have limited self-government, in that London would continue to set foreign policy and have oversight of the elected USBA government.
The Crown, in turn, would accept the principle that only native born British Americans could serve as candidates for the Governor-Generalship and the various state governorships. The USBA would maintain an organized defense force in view of the threat from then-Spanish Louisiana and the increasingly difficult Indians, as well as a small naval force to help patrol the coasts. The appropriate military ministries in London would oversee both forces. Tariffs and other taxes on various products would fund the Dominion---for that was the newly-coined term for the USBA’s status in the Empire---and state governments. An initial plebiscite for the Governor-Generalship and the two houses of the first USBA Congress was scheduled for the fall of 1780. The King would then officially approve the plebiscite’s winner as G-G for a term of four years, with the potential for succeeding terms. (The principle of the King’s final veto power over the Governorship was a key element in the final agreement designed by Burke and Franklin.)
Franklin returned home once again to a tumultuous welcome and near-unanimous approval for the Governor-Generalship. Washington was the overwhelming choice for Vice Governor-General and was in fact actually responsible for much of the evolution of the new Dominion government during a period later affectionately labeled the ‘Era of Reconciliation.’
It was during the Washington Administration that began in 1789 that the ‘factions’ in Dominion political life---agrarian/weak central government versus manufacturing/strong central government---began to evolve into the two-party political system that continued through the plebiscite of 1832, which the Democratic candidate, Andrew Jackson, won convincingly over his Dominion-Republican rival, Henry Clay, garnering some 765,000 of the approximately 1,325,000 votes cast. Two minor candidates had no effect on the outcome. It was of course the State Legislatures that alone had the power to elect the Governor-General. Their refusal to choose Andrew Jackson even after he had convincingly won the plebiscite in 1824, placing Quincy Adams in the Residency, had created much of the bitterness that still dominated political life in the USBA.
CHAPTER THREE
Georgetown, D.C.
December 20, 1832:
Tom Wilder glanced at his pocket watch and shook his head. Twelve noon. He had spent the better parts of three mornings shifting through all the correspondence between The Residency and London dating back six months. Mention of the plebiscite, when discussed at all, was prima forma: the Dominion’s plans for organizing and securing the vote in the various states; dates of the voting in each state, plans for the official tallying and subsequent announcement. The on-going controversy over the increase in tariffs---the issue which had caused the bitter “nullification” split between Jackson and his first Vice G-G, John C. Calhoun of South Carolina---dominated the correspondence, along with the usual traffic concerning Indians and the sullen French Canadians in Quebec. The fight over the Bank of the USBA, which bored Wilder as much it bored the great majority of the Dominion’s citizens, seemed of major interest to London, however.
From the perspective of this correspondence, London’s interest in our affairs is more financial than political, Wilder thought as he wearily rubbed his eyes. As long as we contribute our fair share to the Empire’s profitability, it doesn’t seem like Buckingham Palace, Parliament or Downing Street really cares who runs what over here. Maybe the Treasury Department has come up with a new tariff proposal. Looks like our masters across the water would be very interested in that…but enough to strip down a frigate for a mid-Winter run? I doubt it.
Well, there’s nothing more here. I’d better get over to the War Department and finish checking those files. Though I’m fairly certain the Royal Army is more interested in the winding down of the Black Hawk War out in Illinois.
Wilder was still envious that his friend and classmate, Joe Johnston, had seen action in that campaign with the 4th Artillery. He, meanwhile, had languished on the Arkansas frontier until rescued by General Scott upon the General’s return from leading the successful campaign.
As Wilder walked down The Residency steps, he saw a familiar figure emerge through the front gates and begin walking toward the building. David Harper was a career Interior Department official, a born bureaucrat, but nevertheless a hit with the ladies that Wilder ruefully conceded he himself was not. Tom had seen Harps in action in both polite society and in some of the District’s less reputable back alleys. Slight but handsome, with wavy brown hair and a quick wit, Harper charmed all kinds of women effortlessly.
I wish some of that charm would rub off on me, especially when Lucille Latoure is around…as she will be at the G-G’s reception two evenings from now.
Harper saw Wilder coming and grinned. “Well, Thomas, thought I’d find you here when you weren’t across the street.” The Interior and War departments were housed in the same makeshift ‘temporary’ Georgetown building. “I’m dropping some documents off here with the G-G’s secretary. Won’t take a minute. How about joining me at the Golden Eagle?” The Eagle was a prominent gathering place for the younger Executive Department officials. It had recently been purchased by a former barmaid, Joanne Casgrave, who was rumored to have funded the purchase through profits from services of a more private sort. Services now apparently readily available on an upper floor…
Wilder hesitated only briefly. “All right, Harps. I was on my way back to the Department, but I could use a bowl of soup and a beer. Didn’t take time for breakfast this morning.”
Ten minutes later they were comfortably seated at a back table near the Inn’s roaring fire. “God, that feels good,” Harper said. “This damn Georgetown weather goes right through you.” The Lieutenant nodded his agreement as a barmaid arrived to take their orders.
Winter in Georgetown was unlike the exhilarating cold of Wilder’s Brooklyn ch
ildhood, or even the more bitter bite of West Point’s under-heated barracks and classrooms. Here, the damp chill invaded the chest, sinuses and bones in November and took up residence till spring arrived in early March. Two months later, of course, the blast-furnace heat and oppressive humidity made any normal---Northern---person long for January. Harper, being from Northern New Jersey, had much the same opinion of the capital’s climate.
“Tom, your eyes are blood-shot. Have you been lighting the social candle at both ends without me? Or does ‘Old Hickory’ have you burning the midnight oil at The Residency?”
Wilder smiled wearily. “Neither, Dave. General Scott has me looking for some elusive information which may or may not exist. I was on my way over to continue the search at the War Department when we bumped into each other. But tell me, how do the plebiscite results affect your Department?”
“Hell, hardly at all, Lieutenant. Both Jackson and Clay were in favor of ‘internal improvements’ to the Dominion, so it really didn’t matter who won as far as the day-to-day workings of the Department were concerned. Clay might have put one of his own people into the top position, but my job was pretty secure, either way. Since Mr. Van Buren was Jackson’s running mate, we were certain to get a new boss, whoever won. Rumor has it old Livingston will keep the job, or maybe Louis McLane will move in. I doubt it will make much difference. They’re both close allies of Matty Van. How about you?”