by James Devine
The fact that Candice Samples, who had an open invitation to the monthly get-togethers, had unexpectedly made an appearance had simply added wood to the Latoure bonfire.
His aide’s romantic misadventures provided some much-needed comic relief for the General, whose intuition told him that more than Imperial revenue enhancement was at the bottom of the Irresistible mystery.
Even a sales tax of two USBA dollars per head annually--the average selling price of a slave was less than $800--would generate only a few thousand pounds sterling, gross, if that. An annual tax of two dollars per slave would also amount to about four million pounds, if collectable. After the collection overhead was deducted, was the net high enough to justify the effort? Or the controversy? After all, hadn’t ‘taxation without representation’ been at the heart of the troubles back in the ‘70s?
And there was still no word out of The Residency about Houston. Sam had simply vanished.
If he went back to Tennessee, I would have gotten word by now. He looked during that Residency Christmas reception as if his Cherokee phase is finally over, so I’m betting he’s on his way to Texas. Zach Taylor won’t get my message for a few days yet; if Houston slipped out of Georgetown to head straight to Texas, he’ll have too big a head start for Zach’s people to catch up to him. Damn Jackson! First the nullification nonsense, now the Bank battle and, possibly, something to do with slavery. This is no time to go Empire-building on your own. Just remember the last time you went near that golden apple!
Only this time, it won’t be Aaron Burr who’ll be up on charges: it will be you!
Scott had been at the Burr trial in Richmond those many years ago…
I was still undecided between the Army and the law, he thought with a grin. Some fool of a lawyer I’d have made… But the array of legal talent on both sides was awesome. The Chief Justice, John Marshall himself, presided. The case collapsed because Jefferson never presented any real proof of Burr’s wrong-doing.
But I still wonder what Burr---and Jackson---was up to… I’ll bet Matty Van knows. But he’d just smile and act as if he never heard the question if I ever asked him. Interesting, Jackson’s Vice G-G is assumed by many people to be Burr’s bastard son…
___________
Ft. McHenry
Baltimore, Maryland
February 1, 1833:
Lieutenant Wilder was awakened by a brisk knocking on the door of a chilly visiting officer’s cubicle. At first, he couldn’t comprehend what he was doing in the small, cell-like room, but his head quickly cleared. “Yes, coming…” He looked at his pocket watch. It was 5:42 a.m.
He opened the door to the salute of a young private. “Sorry to wake you at this hour, Lieutenant, but Captain Judge thinks you should get up to the seawall as soon as possible. Looks like an incoming Royal Navy ship.”
“Tell the Captain I’ll be right there. And thanks for waking me.” The private saluted again and left. Thomas saluted back, thinking what a damn-fool thing to be doing, dressed only in a pair of USBAA pants. Well, that’s the Army for you. The Lieutenant quickly threw water over his face, pulled on boots and a uniform top and made his way across the Fort’s main yard to the wall facing out into Chesapeake Bay. The ship, whatever kind it was, was still too far away to see with the naked eye, but Captain Brian Judge, second-in-command of the Fort, held a telescope in his hand as he conferred with a grizzled sergeant. He looked over as Thomas inexpertly pulled himself up the ladder to the deck that ran around the inside of the Fort.
“Can’t tell for sure, Lieutenant,” he said, ignoring the formality of a salute (to the disgust of the veteran non-com). “Sergeant Potts here spotted something out there about 20 minutes ago. Looks like it’s riding too high for a merchantman or a fully-armed warship. Big enough, though, that’s why there’s a chance it could be Irresistible.”
Wilder and Judge had supped the previous night at one of Baltimore’s famous harbor seafood houses and Thomas had learned, to his amazement, that the Captain hailed from Schraalenburgh, the same sleepy North Jersey town as David Harper. Judge, a six-foot-five, lanky man whom later generations would have described as a ‘tall drink of water,’ remembered a “skinny little kid whose folks owned The Midway,” but the Captain, who had finally been promoted to that grade just last year after 17 grueling years as a junior officer, hadn’t been back to Bergen County in over a decade. He and his wife, Susan, also from Schraalenburgh, maintained a home on Long Beach Island, on the Southern New Jersey coast. “And I’ll be retiring there 29 months from tomorrow,” he had said over last night’s grilled shrimp and crab cakes. Despite the age difference, he and Wilder had hit it off. Both were West Pointers who liked to have a good time and didn’t consider the USBAA regulations to be a replacement Bible.
“How long before we’ll know for sure?” Wilder asked. Judge turned to Potts. “She’s coming on strong, but it’ll be about 6:30 before she can be definitely identified, Sir,” Potts said, taking the telescope from Captain Judge for another look.
Wilder and Judge exchanged looks. “I think we should signal harbor side for a rider to stand by, Captain. Do you agree?”
The Captain nodded and turned to call for an aide in the yard.
General Scott’s orders were to send a messenger to Georgetown the moment Irresistible was identified. Another messenger was to leave as soon as the ship docked and Wilder could ascertain if any important news or papers had been carried across the Ocean. Even if the Royal Navy, which tended to look down its collective nose at the ‘colonial’ Army, refused to disclose what was in the news or papers, Scott still wanted to know as soon as possible that something of importance was on its way to the Liaison Office. Wilder borrowed the telescope from Potts for a moment and walked quickly around the deck until he was facing the inner harbor.
He searched the entire dock area, including the still-closed inns. No sign of any Liaison-like figures: just a few dockworkers and stevedores yawning and sipping from flasks. He heard Judge coming up behind him. “Doesn’t look like the Liaison Office is expecting anything this morning, Captain,” he said, handing the telescope back to Judge, who took a quick visual tour.
“No, Lieutenant, it doesn’t. And, as you’re quite aware, once you know what to look for, those Liaison people stand out like a sore thumb.” The two ‘colonial’ officers grinned at each other. “Sergeant Potts has the best eyes on the Fort. Let’s get back and see if he’s identified her yet.”
The Sergeant was squinting out to the Bay and nodding to himself as the two officers made their way back to his post. He took the offered telescope again, looked quickly and grunted. “That’s her, Captain. That’s Irresistible. I thought so, the way she cut through the water. I’ve been watchin’ her come and go for more than 18 months now and she just moves more smoothly than the other ships…”
“I need a visual, Captain, before I send a messenger towards Georgetown. General Scott likes facts, not hunches.”
Potts turned and gave the Lieutenant the peculiar puckered-lip look that veteran NCOs have been utilizing to voicelessly express their frustrations with young junior officers since the Pharaohs first sent armies north to battle the Assyrians. “Got that too, Lieutenant. Right up by the bow in big letters. See for yourself,” he said, handing Thomas the telescope and adding, helpfully, “the bow’s the front end of the ship, Sir.”
The Captain seemed suddenly to have something caught in his throat but said nothing as a red-faced Thomas pulled the telescope out of Potts’ oversized hand and looked out into the Bay.
Thomas put down the telescope and looked at Judge. “I’m convinced. That’s her. Let’s get that message off to General Scott…”
Less than three minutes later, they could see a USBAA rider mount his horse and begin making his way from the harbor area. He carried a note transcribing Thomas’ flashed message:
‘Ship identified as HMS Irresistible sighted off harbor at 6 a.m. Anchorage anticipated by 8 a.m.’
Captain Judge l
ooked down at the Lieutenant. “Well, Mr. Wilder, as it seems Major Porter is under the weather again this morning, I suggest you and I make ourselves presentable and then row over to the dock area. Looks like we’ll be the only greeting party.” Judge had inferred the previous night that the Fort’s commanding officer had a drinking problem. His non-appearance now seemed to confirm it. As did the ‘frog’ that suddenly caused Sergeant Potts to loudly clear his own throat…
Ninety minutes later, the duo, attired in formal dress uniforms, was standing on the east side of the inner harbor, watching as Irresistible tied up and prepared to drop her gangway. Although they could see an RN officer Captain Judge identified as Sir Stephen Richards, captain of Irresistible, talking with two other men on the quarterdeck, neither USBAA officer had any idea of their identities.
Not even General Scott had expected Irresistible to bring the Duke of Wellington into Baltimore Harbor.
___________
Despite the last four days of cold but calm weather that had restored his appetite and color, Captain Harry Bratton could not wait to get his feet back on dry land. He had vowed, hundreds of times, during the crossing that even if the Duke’s political mission---they had agreed it would be billed publicly as a ‘tour of the Dominion’---ended before summer, he, Harry Bratton, was not making another Atlantic crossing until June, or preferably July, or maybe, never. He had lost at least 1 1/2 stone and knew he would not be himself for close to a week. Bloody nonsense, crossing this damn Ocean in January…
The Duke, on the other hand, had gradually adapted to the Irresistible and had hardly seemed to notice the conditions during the second half of the crossing. He’s eager to get started and actually seems to be relishing the idea of a crisis over here, Bratton thought. Sir Stephen escorted them down off the ship and, barely glancing at the two USBAA officers, quickly looked around the inner harbor. “It appears word of our crossing is as yet unknown on this side of the Atlantic, Your Grace. There is no Liaison Office here in Baltimore, but I’ll send someone to speed the arrival of the Station commandant, whom we signaled on the way in. Our Naval Station is a few hundred yards to the east. You may have noticed it as we entered the harbor.”
“I did, Sir Stephen. And wondered why we were not docking there,” said the Duke.
“The Station returned signal, Your Grace. Their anchorage is filled up. Happens, this time of year. No one really relishes those North Atlantic gales, eh Captain Bratton?”
Now that he was on dry land, the Colonial Office man could, and did, vigorously shake his head in disgust without again feeling sick.
___________
Perhaps it was because he was, in fact, becoming a trained intelligence officer, or, perhaps, because portraits of the Duke hung in various places at the Point and the Department, as well as in The Residency. Then again, there was only one hook nose in the world like the one visible on the older gentleman’s face. For whatever reason, Lt. Thomas Wilder, USBAA, suddenly and firmly realized that he was staring at the world’s foremost soldier.
Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, he breathed to himself. Wait till Scott and the G-G find out about this!
Captain Judge was gazing at the visitors with a distinct lack of love when he heard Thomas’ mutterings. He turned and looked down on the Lieutenant’s excited face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Wilder, or else George Washington. Which is it?”
Thomas looked up at the Captain. “Captain Judge, set yourself. After I finish, I suggest you turn slowly and casually. The older gentleman speaking with the Royal Naval officer is, I am positive, the Duke of Wellington. We wondered what Irresistible was bringing from London! Little did we realize…”
Judge stared down and then slowly turned. “I’ll be damned, Lieutenant, you could be right.” He could also see the younger of the two gentlemen with the naval officer, both in civilian dress, look him and Wilder over. The man, over six-foot and well-built, with a rapidly receding hairline, said a word to the hook-nosed older man and walked toward them.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I recognize the uniform. Are you the official Fort McHenry welcoming committee, or is there another reason for you to be waiting here at the dock?”
As the ranking officer, Captain Judge looked Bratton over. Careful, Brian, this one’s polished, but a hard man at the core. “I’m Captain Judge, second-in-command of Fort McHenry. This is Lieutenant Wilder from Georgetown. And you Sir?” It was a deliberately ambiguous though honest answer. What are we doing at this dock? This is our country, you arrogant SOB…
“I am Harry Bratton, of the Colonial, err American, Office in London. I ask again, are you the official welcoming committee? If not, what are you doing here?”
The tension between the two was thickening, so Lieutenant Wilder decided to defuse the situation somewhat. “Mr. Bratton, I work for both the Governor-General and the USBAA commander, General Scott. I was assigned to meet the Irresistible if and when she landed, and ascertain how I could be of assistance. In the absence of the post commander, who is ill, Captain Judge commands at the Fort. So it is also his duty and responsibility to be here to meet Irresistible.
“Now then, how best can we assist you and the Duke?” Tom was matter-of-fact, though his pulse had climbed rapidly. He had purposely saved the announcement of his identification of the older man as Wellington for last.
Bratton was a professional and thus managed to keep his surprise covered, except for the look in his eyes. “Very good, Lieutenant. Not every USBAA junior officer, on seeing a somewhat elderly gentleman wrapped tightly in his winter cloak, would recognize the Duke himself at first glance. If you gentlemen will follow me, you will discover what, if anything, His Grace, the Duke of Wellington might have in mind for you.”
As they walked, the two USBAA officers exchanged looks of disgust. Upon getting to know one another the previous evening, they found themselves in agreement in their contempt for the English nobility’s titles and airs. The Captain’s people had left Cornwall in the late 1600s because of their refusal to kowtow to the local aristocracy, while Wilder, of course, was Irish Catholic…
Another Royal Naval officer was riding toward Wellington and Sir Stephen from the direction of the RNS as Bratton escorted the USBAA officers to the gangway. Bratton’s group arrived first.
“Your Grace, these USBAA officers are Captain Judge, in command this morning at Fort McHenry, and Lieutenant Wilder, a representatives of the powers-that-be in Georgetown. They were assigned to meet Irresistible if and when she arrived and provide any wanted or needed assistance. Lieutenant Wilder, by the way, recognized you as we came down the plank.”
Wellington looked them over as Wilder supposed he might a pair of carriage horses he was considering purchasing. Peering down his long nose he suddenly snapped: “How is it that Georgetown knew Irresistible was landing today…or coming at all? Or does the USBAA have such an abundance of junior officers that it can assign one to this harbor on the off chance a British man-of-war might sail in? Eh? And how did the Governor-General, or General Scott, know I would be aboard?”
So the Duke possesses a drill about as sharp as General Scott, Wilder thought. Let’s hope he’s as honest and straightforward. “Your…Grace…” Let them think I’m nervous. It’s probably better than them knowing how distasteful that is to spit out.
“…no one in Georgetown had any idea you might be aboard. However, the Governor-General and General Scott, recognizing the, err, ‘singularity’ of Irresistible’s mission to London last December, anticipated an early return. The Coastal Guard projected a possible arrival period of between yesterday and about February 5th.
“I arrived day before yesterday to take up the watch. One of Captain Judge’s lookouts spotted a ship at approximately 5:35 this morning. By 6:30, we had the ship identified.”
“Well Captain, I commend your command on its eyesight.” The Duke was dry. Turning back to Thomas, he demanded: “And why did Jackson and Scott send you in particular? What did Captain Bratto
n say your title was?”
Well, so this hard case from the Colonial Office has a military title, too. “I am an aide at the War Department and at The Residency, Sir. I gather, review and analyze information in both positions, though my official Residency title is that of social aide.”
“A social aide to Andy, eh? Does that mean you keep him from dueling…or do you fight his duels for him? Never mind, I withdraw the question. Come to think on it, I don’t envy you that portion of your job!”
The second RN officer had dismounted, saluted and carried on a brief side conversation with Sir Stephen while the Duke grilled Lieutenant Wilder. Sir Stephen now turned and addressed the Duke: “Your Grace, this is Commodore Jeffrey Fischer, commandant of RNS Baltimore.” The Commodore saluted sharply. “An unexpected honor, Your Grace. However, we are prepared to offer accommodations, transportation or anything else your party requires.”
“That’s a fine animal, Commodore. Do you have two more like him? That and some provisions and we’ll be on our way.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. The Royal Marines keep a fine stable. Ah, provisions for how long, Sir?”
The Duke turned to Lieutenant Wilder. “Well, Lieutenant? How far to Georgetown? You’ll escort Captain Bratton and me. How many nights’ provisions?”
Wilder swallowed both his astonishment and a smile. “If we leave by 10 a.m., Your Grace, we can make Georgetown tomorrow afternoon. As for provisions, well, there are satisfactory inns on the way. Provisions can be limited to something to eat while we rest the horses this afternoon.”
“A good plan, Lieutenant. Commodore, arrange for satisfactory mounts and some light provisions. Sir Stephen, see that our trunks are unloaded and given to a Royal Marine detail that should follow us later today. I’ll expect them at the Liaison Office in Georgetown tomorrow night, Commodore Fischer. Now, Lieutenant, see to your transportation. We will depart this harbor for Georgetown in exactly…” the Duke glanced at his pocket watch, “…86 minutes.”