by James Devine
That was not the only surprise to come from the cozy little supper at which Maria Scott had fully participated. The Duke had also disclosed that he was considering, now that he understood the political ramifications of the slavery issue in the USBA, altering his original plans.
Instead of touring the Dominion and briefing the political and economic leadership in each state as to the Parliamentary emancipation bill, he now thought he might begin by addressing a joint session of Congress. He would announce the legislation at that time and meet with the various leadership groups later.
The idea of such an address had been raised at the Cabinet meeting Wellington had attended earlier Tuesday, before his afternoon dinner with the Vice G-G elect (“an even slipperier eel than I had been led to expect,” the Duke had confided to Winfield and Maria). Van Buren had in fact brought up the idea of such a speech, apparently still focused on the ‘slavery tax’ concept.
“Of course he broached the joint session speech at Cabinet as a ceremonial one lacking in substance, but he told me privately, in that whispery voice, looking at me most earnestly, that if I had ‘anything of importance to discuss with the British American people,’ this was a proper forum.
“Ha!
“A political animal, through-and-through…not a Lion nor an Eagle…just a bloody eel. He’ll need some growing into, as we say, if he’s ever to live in that lonely old mansion.
“Speaking of which, I say: who’s to blame for that place? Can’t be Washington. I’ve always heard how beautiful his home is, to this day.”
The Scotts smiled at Wellington’s candor. “Well, Sir Arthur, when you suffer through as many changes-of-occupancy as that house has experienced in the past 30 years, you begin to look your age,” the General said. “Jefferson was a born tinkerer, always building and tearing down. The Madisons rebuilt it after a fire some 20 years ago, but Quincy Adams tore the top floor apart to make bedrooms for his rather extensive family…”
“Oh, Win, tell the Duke the truth.” Maria was laughing. “The fact is, Sir Arthur, the poor place still hasn’t recovered from the night of Andy’s first inauguration.”
Scott, too, was laughing. “Well, Duke, the Vandals’ sack of Rome was a tea party compared to what the Tennesseans did to The Residency that night. Good thing Adams had already left town. He’d have had apoplexy…”
Wellington joined in the laughter. “Pompous old Quincy! I must confess, I do enjoy bringing him down a peg. Winfield, Maria, you should have seen his face at the last meeting of the Palmerston committee before I sailed. He and I had just had a rather nasty exchange over the self-righteousness of the New Englanders toward abolition. Then the Colonial Secretary presented a breakdown on the number of slaves per state. ‘And in Massachusetts, there are four... all, apparently, female!’ Thought he’d keel over on the spot!”
As the laughter subsided, the Duke’s face grew more serious. “So, Winfield. Tell me what you think of my idea to announce the emancipation bill before Congress. I’ve not discussed this with anyone, including Captain Bratton.”
Scott rolled his wine glass between his gun barrel-sized fingers as he considered the proposal. “That’s still almost a month away, Sir Arthur, which gives you plenty of time to get the lay of the political landscape here. I hadn’t seen any need for this special session before your arrival, but perhaps its fortunate the G-G has called it after all. The fight over the Bank bores the few citizens it doesn’t immediately put in a deep slumber. This issue should wake everyone up, by the Eternal!
“Yes, I think hearing this directly from you, as London’s official voice, will have an impact. Even the most outspoken of the fire-eaters will have to concede that the bill is the result of much sober research, analysis and planning. Not that the concession will change their minds, but it will, perhaps, lift the debate to a more dignified level.”
Scott glanced across at Maria, who was listening tensely, staring directly at her husband, before continuing.
“You’ll have to inform Jackson before you address Congress, you do understand. That’s one reason I’m suggesting you visit Richmond later this week. Governor Floyd will come at you from a unique direction. He wants an end to slavery, but not for humanitarian reasons. Simply thinks its staggeringly inefficient. Yet, he’ll denounce the abolitionists for seeking a Dominion-wide legislative solution. Believes whole-heartedly in states rights.
“It is a different perspective than you’ve come across before. And it’s important you hear it first-hand because, Sir Arthur, Virginia is the key.”
The General glanced again at his wife. “Militarily, politically and economically: any way you wish to consider it. Without Virginia, there’s no rebellion. Just a glorified riot. South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. They wouldn’t stand a chance. With Virginia would, in all likelihood, come North Carolina, Louisiana, perhaps Tennessee and those border states we spoke of yesterday. Then, we’d have a problem on our hands.
“So you need to sit down with Floyd and their two Senators, Tyler and Rives. Get their perspectives before you walk into The Residency and drop this on Andy. And before you start drafting your speech to Congress.
“And you also need to sit down with Calhoun. I expect he’s on his way up here for the special session even now.” Scott grinned. “I hear the G-G was livid when he found out old John C. has been returned to the Senate!”
Maria, smiling at the Duke, broke in. “I don’t know why, Winfield. Everyone knew he would be back! Floride herself told me when they left last summer they’d see us again when the new Congress formed…”
Scott looked fondly at his wife. “Well, apparently someone forgot, or more probably, didn’t have the nerve to inform Jackson. That reminds me, Duke. Of all the men around him, Frank Blair is the smartest and best. He should be there when you present the emancipation bill to the G-G.”
Wellington was lighting another cigar but nodded in agreement. “Yes, Blair seems especially sharp. Don’t think he bought my story of a private ‘tour’ at all. Now! What can you tell me about Calhoun and these South Carolina chaps? Nullifying any laws they don’t like. Demanding new territories be opened to slavery. They sound collectively mad!”
Scott sipped his Port before answering. “We have a saying about South Carolina, Sir Arthur. Some think it’s humorous:
“‘South Carolina: too small to be a nation. Too large to be an insane asylum.’” There was no humor in the General’s voice and the guffaw that was rising in Wellington’s throat died there.
The talk had then shifted to the probable invitation list for the state dinner. Wellington had left soon thereafter.
___________
Scott had been tied up on War Department business yesterday--an Indian tribe called the Sioux was raiding into the Minnesota territory, while there was a ridiculous catfight up in Portsmouth, N.H., where the Royal Navy and the Coastal Guard uneasily shared the Naval Station--and had not had time to concentrate on the emancipation problem.
Now he thought back over the long, enjoyable yet important supper with Wellington and reviewed the issues that had come up. For some reason, the disappearance of Captain Bratton kept running through his mind. Wellington had airily said that Bratton had “left town for a few days” but had failed to mention where the man had gone. Scott, who was one of the few British American officials who had known of Bratton’s ‘under the rose’ work back in the ‘20s, doubted it was a pleasure trip…
The Duke has grasped the importance of Virginia in this whole situation. His decision to announce the abolition bill before a joint session, rather than in a series of private meetings, will indicate London’s determination to see this thing through. And it is indicative of Wellington’s own political acumen that he had already targeted the damn South Carolinians as the problem children, even as I was broaching the subject in my usual clumsy way…
The Residency had sent a rider down to Richmond Wednesday with the news that the Duke would be arriving late Friday for a tw
o-day stay with the Governor. Apparently, Jackson, who was already showing signs that he wasn’t comfortable with Wellington in town, had accepted the trip as the first in the ‘tour’ the Duke had announced. What Frank Blair thinks is another matter.
But then, The Residency, according to Lieutenant Wilder, was most concerned with this upcoming state dinner. It was one thing, Scott thought with a wry grin, to get ‘Old Hickory’ to entertain his fellow citizens. Putting on a banquet to impress a man who regularly dines with Kings and Emperors--that’s something else!
Looking out his window toward The Residency, Scott could now see Wilder trudging through the slush that yesterday’s thaw had made of the weekend’s snowstorm. This damn swamp can’t make up its mind about the weather. A near blizzard on Saturday, then the high 40s three days later. I’d like to take Maria and get out of here for a few days, but that’s out-of-the-question right now. Still, better get some leave before Wellington’s speech. It’ll be too late after that!
Scott crossed his office in three long strides and stuck his head out the door. “Tell Lieutenant Wilder to come in here as soon as he’s hung up his cloak,” he ordered his secretary. Trust Tom to have the latest from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue…
___________
The General was moving back behind his desk when the realization hit him: Bratton and Candice! Hadn’t there been rumors, back when Charles Samples was still alive, that Candice had added a young Liaison Office man to her list of ‘admirers?’ Yes, during the ’28 campaign, while Charles was traveling extensively working for Jackson, he vaguely remembered Maria mentioning that Candice was spending an inordinate amount of time at the Samples’ Georgetown townhouse. Especially considering the capitol’s equatorial August weather. Then Charles returned and Candice was back at Twin Peaks…where she stayed, in seclusion, after the accident. And Bratton had been transferred back to England about the same time…
Great God, the General thought as Thomas came hurrying into the office, you don’t suppose that’s where Bratton went? Twin Peaks? I must have a talk with Maria tonight. Both of these ‘Romeos’ are too essential to what’s coming up to be diverted by a love triangle, damn it!
From the fearsome glare on the General’s face, Tom thought he was in for a royal dressing-down. Though for what, he had no idea, frantically backtracking mentally over events and orders of the past few days. Instead, the General motioned him to a chair. “Sit down, Lieutenant. How are things across the street?”
Thomas relaxed somewhat, watching as Scott’s ever-present mug of coffee disappeared inside his huge right paw. I swear, the General could palm a pumpkin with those hands.
“Well, Sir, plans for the state dinner have been finalized, though there could be some last minute tinkering with the final guest list. General Jackson and Sir Arthur went over it Wednesday before the Duke left for Richmond…”
“Wellington is on his way, eh? Taken Major Layne with him?”
“Yes Sir. Apparently Captain Bratton left Georgetown early Monday morning on undisclosed business…”
“Any idea where he went, Lieutenant?”
“No Sir. But from the timing, it would appear premeditated. I mean, Sir,” Tom was surprised at the quizzical look in his boss’ eyes, “that he arrived Saturday afternoon and departed less than 48 hours later. He’s on an errand for the Duke that was planned before I finished escorting them here…possibly before they even landed.”
To meet with someone who will not be here in Georgetown anytime soon, Scott thought. Who has Wellington mentioned that would fit that category? Scott nodded his huge head affirmatively and his aide was further surprised as the big, beefy face seemed to settle into lines of relief. “Well, see what you can find out. Most of these Liaison boys are so inept I don’t bother about them. But Bratton is a different story. It won’t hurt to determine what ‘errand’ he’s running for the Duke…or how long he’ll be gone. Speaking of Sir Arthur, he and Layne are definitely on the road to Richmond you say?”
“Well Sir, the Major appeared at The Residency around 8:30 yesterday. He and the Duke rode out less than 30 minutes later. That should put them around the North Anna River crossings about now. They should make Richmond by noon.”
Scott got up and stretched, flexing his tree trunk-like neck. Two days with Floyd and the Virginia ‘nobles’ and Wellington will have a new perspective on the situation here. “What else is going on across the street? What’s this about the guest list?”
The Lieutenant dug into a folder in his ‘G-G’ pouch. “They’re following your suggestion to keep attendance to, uh, ‘official Georgetown,’” he said, reddening slightly.
A smile began to play at the corners of the General’s mouth just as a name popped suddenly into his brain. He remained silent, however, staring at the aide.
“The trouble is that the Congress has begun slipping back into town. There may be some late invitees based on arrival times.”
“That’s fine. Just no ‘planter aristocracy’ this time. What else?”
Thomas was glad to have the subject changed. “Well General, mostly the Bank.” He paused. “If I may be so bold…”
“According to the Duke, you usually are unusually so, Lieutenant.” Scott softened the shot with a smile. “But go on.”
“Uh, yes Sir. General Jackson is a bit ‘monomaniac’ on this subject, if you will...”
“Actually, Lieutenant, I believe ‘feisty’ is the term Sir Arthur used to describe you. But you are correct. The G-G is obsessed with stopping the Bank. However, that issue is not on our agenda.
“Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you recall about a man named Aaron Burr?”
Thomas looked at the General with true surprise. “Aaron Burr, Sir? The old lawyer on Reade Street in Manhattan? Who was once Vice G-G and killed Hamilton? That Aaron Burr, Sir?”
Scott was laughing. “Well, it appears you know quite a lot, Lieutenant.” Again he looked quizzical: “How’s that?”
“My family has used the Burr law firm for as long as I can remember, General. Even though we live in Brooklyn, we do a lot of business in New York City. My father and his brother are members of Tammany, have been for years.”
Scott looked puzzled, so Wilder started to explain. “Tammany is the Democratic political organization in New York…”
“I know that, Lieutenant, and I know that’s where Matty Van got his start. But what does that have to do with Burr? And your family’s ties to him?”
“Sir, Aaron Burr was one of the founders of Tammany, back in the ‘90s. My grandfather joined soon after for both political and business reasons. As far as I know, Shamrock Shipbuilding has retained the Burr firm ever since, even when the Colonel himself, ah, traveled in Europe 25 years ago…”
“You mean when he left the USBA after the treason trial.”
Now it was Wilder’s turn to be impressed. “Yes, Sir. And while that illegal murder charge still hung over his head.”
Scott’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Illegal, Lieutenant?”
Wilder was firm: “Sir, the ‘interview’ between Colonel Burr and General Hamilton took place at Weehawk, on the Jersey side of the Hudson. Charges in New Jersey were dismissed. The murder indictment in question was handed down by a New York County grand jury.”
Scott smiled. “I see your point. Obviously, New York County did not have jurisdiction. Now then: do you, personally, know the old man?”
“No Sir. I was introduced to him once, when I was a kid. And I saw him on the Broad Way, when I was home on leave after you brought me back from Arkansas. As I said, my family retains him for the firm.”
Scott was direct: “Then he’s still sharp? Still have his wits about him?”
“As late as last year, yes. I can discreetly inquire, ask my father...if you so wish, General.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, Write your father a ‘discreet’ note to that effect and send it off today.”
“Yes General. Ah, one other thing, Sir?”
Scott had begun to
shift through papers, a sure sign their meeting was over. He lifted his head and stared at his aide.
Wilder hesitated but, thinking that information was why the General had him on staff, decided to plunge forward: “Sir, this may seem to be gossip, and, actually is pure hearsay coming from me but…” He stopped in mid-sentence.
Another small smile began to break out on Scott’s face as the familiar red crept onto the Lieutenant’s cheeks. “You were about to add something, Lieutenant?”
To hell with it. “General, I have been told, in fact most of New York believes that…that Aaron Burr is the natural father of the new Vice Governor-General.”
Scott nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that rumor also, Lieutenant. Many times.
“And, having observed each of them at roughly the same time in their lives, I tend to give it credence. Now, send off that damn note!”
Slack-jawed and open-mouthed, Thomas rose, saluted and left. Unbeknownst to the Lieutenant, Scott was grinning as the door closed behind him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
New York City
February 8, 1833:
A clear, cold dawn was breaking as Count Nicholas Ignatieff stood with other early risers of the steerage section, watching what appeared to be church spirals become visible directly ahead as The Pride of the Hudson sailed past several small harbor islands and one rather large one to the left.
Even further left rose the cliffs of what Ignatieff would soon be told was New Jersey, while to the immediate east appeared more developed land. The Count could see what appeared to be a fort protruding out from this land mass, a massive pitchfork into the belly of the bay. Other ships and smaller boats cruised peacefully throughout the busy harbor area, moving in all directions. A huge British warship was visible where the north side of the pitchfork was separated from the bottom of the long, narrow church spiral-dominated port by a channel of no more than half a mile.