The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America

by James Devine

  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.

  “I had hopes that the Russkiis would turn tail and sail back through the Straits once the Royal Navy showed the flag. Well, either the Navy is late in getting to the Syrian coast or the damn Russians have put their army ashore anyway…”

  Much of the capitol’s entrenched, full-time elite was gathering when the Scotts were announced. The Vice G-G, as elegant and formal as ever, greeted them in the parlor. The new Interior Secretary, Louis MacLane, was also on hand, as were the Blairs and several other Supreme Court justices, including Smith Thompson of New York and Massachusetts’ Joseph Story.

  Justice Story was holding forth as the Scotts entered: “…simply no constitutional grounds. Nor covered in the Compact, either. Why, it’s plainly nullification with new wrapping and a bow…”

  Van Buren smiled and, as he took Mrs. Scott’s hand (while warily avoiding the General’s ponderous paw), said softly: “Apparently, the Court is considering Mr. Calhoun’s latest legal invention already. I have labored under the impression that briefs are normally first filed…” His eyes twinkling, he shook his head in mock sadness and moved away to engage his fellow New Yorker, Thompson, in quiet tones.

  Wellington was speaking with the host as General Scott deposited Maria in a group that included the Latoure ladies, Eliza Blair and Mrs. Story. Captain Bratton, he could see, was eyeing Lucille Latoure appreciatively while posed at the Duke’s side.

  “Ah, General Scott. Our host has pointed out the remarkable number of native Virginians regularly in top positions in your Army: Gaines, Taylor, yourself. This chap Harrison who defeated Tecumseh. How is that, eh? Are you Virginians particularly warlike? After all, Washington was one of you also, I daresay…”

  Eyes brightening, Scott smiled as he glanced from Marshall to the Duke: “Well Sir, Virginia produces leaders of all varieties. Our host is of course the Dominion’s leading jurist. And certainly no one would have described Jefferson or Madison as warriors…”

  Both Marshall and Wellington laughed as Scott continued: “…however, the Dominion does produce fighting men from all the states. Two of my leading commanders now are from New York, Colonels Worth and Wool.” He paused and grinned again: “As of course is your new friend, Colonel Burr…”

  The Duke’s laugh could be heard throughout the room; those glancing over saw the Chief Justice shaking his head rather ruefully…

  “Well, on that note, Mr. Marshall,” Wellington said, “I need a few moments privately with the General. If we could borrow your study…”

  Moments later the two were sequestered behind closed doors, Captain Bratton standing guard while attempting to make eye contact with Miss Latoure.

  Wellington was immediately to the point: “A dispatch this morning from Lord Palmerston. That Russki fleet has landed their army on the Syrian coast. Elements of our Mediterranean fleet arrived while they were still disembarking. Our flotilla is shadowing the landing site but hadn’t made contact, on Downing Street’s orders. Seems the Cabinet feels there’s no grounds. To complicate matters further, Admiral Hotham in Crete has taken ill and resigned. A new commander, one…” Wellington reached into his coat pocket for a paper, “…Pulteney Malcolm has been sent out to relieve him.”

  The General remained impassive during the report. Wellington now put the dispatch back in his pocket and stared up into Scott’s face. “You do realize the implication for this domestic problem of yours, Winfield? The Russkiis’ Syrian adventure has plunged Europe into a diplomatic crisis to rival the Greek rebellion some years back.

  “The Foreign Secretary, in his capacity as head of the emancipation committee, writes that, and I quote...Wellington pulled the dispatch out again, “‘…I trust you are realizing success in securing the Americans’ agreement to abide by the emancipation bill…’---which, apparently, is sailing smoothly through Parliament---‘…as the Government will have its hands full in the Near East for some time to come. I pray Quincy Adams’ fears of armed resistance are as overblown as is much other of his rhetoric.’”

  Wellington made a show of folding the dispatch and again replacing it in his coat pocket before staring back up at Scott.

  “In other words, Winfield, this crisis will have to be addressed solely with the resources already on hand here in British America. What spare forces the Empire can muster are already, I suspect, alerted for possible Near East duty.”

  ___________

  As radicalized as Lucille Latoure may have become, a belle she remained. Though balding men physically repulsed---and Brits in general infuriated---her, this tall balding Brit officer who kept looking her way was, after all, the aide to the Duke of Wellington. There might be some interesting information to learn by some harmless flirting…

  And so Lucille allowed the Coldstream Guardsman to escort her into dinner after General Scott and the Duke emerged from their private meeting. After all, no one said learning couldn’t be fun...

  ___________

  Rock Creek Trail

  Georgetown, D.C.

  May 26, 1833, 1 p.m.:

  As a native Northern European, Countess Caroline Renkowiitz, even in her second summer in Georgetown, could not handle long exposure to the tropical weather that had suddenly descended on the capitol. Nor could the Cossack escort that trailed, by now at a more comfortable distance, during her weekly rides with Dave Harper.

  So by mutual, unspoken agreement, today’s ride had mercifully been halted after an hour or so in favor of a tree-shaded picnic. That was fine with Harps, of course, especially as the Co
ssacks maintained their distance while setting up their own meal.

  (Harps actually tended to forget the guards were around: several times he had come perilously close to making a potentially mortal error, he had admitted to a chortling Tom Wilder. “This is crazy, Tom: instead of ‘hear no evil, see no evil,’ this is ‘hear no evil, ‘see everything as evil.’”

  (Tom had put on a formal face: “I’m sorry, Mr. Harper, but I can offer no advice. I, you see, have no experience with nobly-born ladies…”

  (“No, Lieutenant. Only nobly-built ones…”)

  The picnic should make it easier to raise a delicate point than an extended ride would have, Harps thought with some relief.

  Captain Bratton, whom he had not spoken to in more than two months---since passing along the news that Karlhamanov had apparently pulled rank concerning the Inaugural ticket---had asked him to a Thursday noon-time meal at the Liaison Office. The purpose was simple: to have him quietly sound Caroline out about this Karlhamanov.

  (Harps was not surprised that the Brits knew he was still seeing the Countess; he and Caroline had crossed paths with Major Layne last Sunday while riding in this same area.)

  “I need not point out, Mr. Harper, that our interest in this Russian is strictly professional,” Bratton had said, though the thought of Joanne’s deliciously lithe body was instantaneously in the mind’s eye of both as Karlhamanov’s name was mentioned.

  Harps had tried to hide a smile as the Captain, after a quick glance at a Major Layne busily staring at the King’s wall portrait, hurried on:

  “We have reason to believe this Russian has purposefully misrepresented himself here in the USBA.” He paused and looked again at Layne, who was now staring hard at Harps. “That, of course, is privileged information, Mr. Harper. I trust you are aware of the significance and will act accordingly.

  “Now then, when will you ride next with the delightful Countess? This Sunday? I say: that’s terrific. Now what we need to know is this…”

  ___________

  Harps, his amorous instincts for once secondary to the task at hand, now wondered whether to allow the conversation to proceed naturally, or to bring Karlhamanov’s name up himself.

  Though political conversation was as natural and addictive as breathing in Georgetown, and had been a staple of their earliest rides, he could see that Caroline, for some reason, was seemingly avoiding the subject today.

  So, after a second bottle of chilled Crimean white wine had been opened under a copse of shade trees and cheese, bread, fruit and cold chicken partaken, Dave plunged in:

  “As you know, Caroline, I often meet Lieutenant Wilder for an after-work beer and some supper. Among the inns we frequent is one called The Golden Eagle, just a few blocks from the War and Interior Building.

  “One of your countrymen is again many times there after a disappearance of some months. I believe he goes by the name of ‘Andre.’ Are you aware of him?”

  From the suddenly reddened checks and troubled look in her bright blue eyes, he realized he had hit a nerve.

  Caroline sighed and turned to gaze over to where the two Cossacks were enjoying their own Sunday feast. “An expatriate professor of that first name has been in and out of the Consulate in recent months, yes. Apparently, he comes from a rich St. Petersburg merchant family but was exiled for teachings deemed dangerous to the regime…”

  David studied her face closely. She is beautiful… and also uncomfortable talking--lying--of this. Maybe Bratton and Layne are on to something… But she’ll offer no more without further prodding.

  “I only ask, Caroline, because he seems to have won the favor of the owner, one Mrs. Casgrave. Their relationship is the talk of the inn…”

  Caroline’s face, surprisingly, did not again redden. Instead, it indicated only surprise. “I was…unaware of Andre’s…”---she now blushed profusely---“…social life.” She paused and composed herself before continuing. “Well, that is no concern of mine. Nor the Consulate’s, as I do not believe it violates the terms of his exile. At least, I have never heard it mentioned.” She paused once more. I’m not very good at dissembling, am I? Especially to dear David, who, for all his charm, is so naïve about these matters of state.

  “As for his ‘disappearance’: I have no idea or interest in his travel…or his acquaintances, either here or elsewhere in your country. Actually, I have no interest in the Co…M. Karlhamanov at all… It begins to become chilly here, Mr. Harper. Perhaps we should resume our ride…”

  ___________

  War Department

  Georgetown, D.C.

  May 27, 1833, 10 a.m.:

  The Deputy Commanding General of the USBA Army could barely see The Residency from the window of his tiny office. That, Edmund P. Gaines thought, pretty much sums up my job: just close enough to see power, but too far removed to exercise any…

  All that might just be about to change, however, Gaines thought. Lt. Lucius Beaufort had come to him earlier in the month, while Scott was away at The Point playing God, with a startling set of papers. The Commanding General’s secretary had discovered notes---a draft plan, actually---in Lieutenant Wilder’s desk that seemed to discuss a major Army expansion. Other papers reviewed the officer corps…with all Southern-born officers set apart.

  Beaufort had, of course, come to his house at night with the papers; Gaines seldom set foot in the Department. (I’m only here today because Scott’s off attending to some damn problem at Fort McHenry.) First off, Scott refused to delegate any responsibilities to him; secondly, it wasn’t good for staff morale to see the tension between them. Gaines had known Scott harbored a dislike for him stemming from the old days in the Upper Louisiana campaign. But it wasn’t until he arrived in Georgetown that he realized that Scott had only grudgingly accepted his appointment, one forcibly insisted upon by Jackson. Anyway, the dynamite contained in the papers wasn’t something to be openly discussed at the War Department, in any case.

  Luke Beaufort might be Scott’s secretary but the young man hailed from one of Mississippi’s leading planter families. Gaines knew he resented the relationship young Wilder---a typically arrogant New Yorker---had established with Scott. But as Beaufort laid out the papers on Gaines’ own dining room table, he quickly saw that the issue far exceeded personal jealousy.

  “It would appear, Lieutenant, that Mr. Wilder has been working on contingency plans for an all-Northern Army.

  “Now what would possess the Commanding General to order up such a study?” The sarcasm dripped from Gaines’ voice as he and Beaufort stared at one another. “Unless of course he fears the South will stand up for its rights and refuse to be bullied into relinquishing its property without a fight?”

  He had ordered Lieutenant Beaufort to copy the papers and return the originals to Wilder’s desk before Scott and his fair-haired boy returned to Georgetown. Luke had done so and presented him with the copies. They had then turned to the task of preparing a draft report of their own: a capsulated description of the Wilder papers plus a draft plan for a Southern Army, built around the excluded officer corps and utilizing the militia regiments of the Southern states.

  That now-completed secret report rested with the copied papers in a locked safe at home. Also resting in the safe were copies of letters and original communications with such leading Southern officers as David Twiggs and Zach Taylor…though Gaines wondered whether old Zach was smart enough to read between the lines!

  The next step, he reminded himself as he continued to stare out the window, is to meet privately with Calhoun and make a presentation of the facts. That’ll stroke the Senator! Even if Calhoun and Jackson work out a compromise to get the exemption and keep us happy in the Dominion, they’ll never forgive Scott for even thinking about contingency plans for fighting the South…

  And if they can’t get that exemption, well…one way or the other, we’ll see who’s commanding what Army...and who’s retired in disgrace!

  ___________

  Liaison Off
ice

  Georgetown, D.C.

  May 27, 1833, 3 p.m.:

  Captain Bratton and Major Layne were waiting with Sir John Burrell when David Harper was ushered into a spacious conference room decorated with a massive British flag and equally large portraits of the King, his father George IV and the Prime Minister.

  Harps had sent the Captain a short note early this morning and the Colonial Office man had requested his appearance at this hour “if your schedule at the Department permits. Otherwise, please specify a time.” Three o’clock was fine with David: it should leave him free before Interior closed at 5 p.m.. The new Secretary was making a show, he thought with a grumble, of keeping the Department fully manned until that hour, work, or lack of same, notwithstanding.

  The amenities quickly disposed of, the Captain plunged directly ahead: “Well now Mr. Harper. I assume your afternoon with the Countess went well? Good; now what have you got for us?”

  Harper hoped the three Brits would not be upset with the brevity of his report; not much had happened, but he felt it his duty to bring Bratton up-to-date anyhow. He hadn’t expected the entire Liaison upper echelon to be present, however…

  “The Countess is sticking with the official word that Karlhamanov is some sort of renegade son of a rich and influential St. Petersburg merchant family. But it’s easy to see that’s just the cover story…”

  Burrell’s delicate eyebrows went up: “Easy to see…how’s that? What makes you so sure?”

  Harper flashed the grin that had disarmed---and disrobed---so many females before continuing: “I’ve been seeing Caroline…the Countess…almost every Sunday for more than three months now. She’s doesn’t seem to be a very good liar; I doubt she’s had much practice…

  “She turned away before answering my question about Karlhamanov, which was simply if she was aware of a fellow Russian who seems to split his time when in town between the Consulate and the Golden Eagle. Couldn’t look me in the eye. And that’s the first time in our, err, ‘friendship,’ that I’ve gotten such a reaction...”