by James Devine
So ended the first battle.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Residency
Georgetown, D.C.
August 19, 1833, 4:15 p.m.:
“Major Daley will be mourned throughout the North as the first fallen hero of the struggle.”
Scott snorted. “That may be, Sir. But if he had lived, I’d have cashiered the damn fool. Three shifts instead of two…and a majority of the guards, apparently, along the riverbanks! What the hell was he thinking? That they’d sail up the Shenandoah and try an amphibious landing?”
The report had come in around noon from an exhausted USBAA messenger dispatched after the rebel cavalry vacated the Ferry late yesterday afternoon. The arsenal and its artillery park had been striped clean. Moments after the firing ended, wagons had appeared from Bolivar Heights. The Virginians had piled in muskets, side arms and boxes of ammunition and had seized enough Dominion wagons and carriages to carry the overflow. Casualties had been relatively light: 19 USBAA, including six dead; the raiders had 14 dead, mostly in front of the Wager House, and carried away several wounded.
Scott glanced at the report. “Our wounded are being cared for at the Dispensary and in several of the local churches…”
Burr looked over gravely: “Their wounded won’t get far…”
“They won’t have to. I’m betting they’ve already been left with local farmers along the way back.”
The G-G was shaking his head. “I actually didn’t believe, deep down, that this day would come.” He sighed and pulled out a paper that had been locked in a desk drawer.
“I had Mr. Donelson prepare this proclamation some days ago, after your initial report on officer resignations, General. It authorizes and calls for the 30,000 volunteers projected in your contingency plan.
“I will issue it tomorrow morning. I’m also ordering you to activate the remainder of the contingency plan. Including putting a garrison around this city…”
“I’m putting together a makeshift garrison now, Mr. Governor. We’ll utilize the 4th Artillery, the other Army troops in and around Georgetown and the ceremonial Marine detachment. Additionally, I’ve sent a rider to Fort McHenry. By tomorrow afternoon, Major Judge and most of his command will be on the march here.”
A-G Butler’s eyebrows rose questioningly.
“The Royal Navy at RNS Baltimore will augment the skeleton force Judge is leaving behind. I don’t expect any trouble there…”
“But you are worried about Georgetown, General.” Colonel Burr’s tone indicated a statement of fact rather than a formal question.
Scott’s face was hard. “Until Colonel Thayer gets here with the Corps of Cadets---whom I’ve already ordered down---and we receive those battle-hardened Illinois and Ohio volunteers the plan calls for, yes.”
Van Buren turned to look out the window toward the Potomac as if he expected to see rebel forces poised on Arlington Hill. “What’s the likelihood of a rebel attack in the next week or so, General?”
“This morning I’d have said negligible, Mr. Governor. But that was before this came in.” He indicated the Harper’s Ferry report he still clutched in his huge paw. “I must admit they’ve surprised me: that raid seems to have been professionally organized and commanded. Didn’t think Gaines was capable…”
Cass was startled: “Gaines? You think Gaines is commanding the rebels?”
“Not enough time for any of the other possibilities like Zach Taylor or Davy Twiggs to have gotten up to Richmond yet. Twiggs, to the best of my knowledge, is still at Fortress Monroe, wearing a blue uniform. No, it’s Gaines.” He paused. “And, Mr. Secretary, this raid was commanded by someone you may also recall, if vaguely.”
He looked down at the report once more. “Their commander identified himself as ‘Major Beaufort.’ You may remember my secretary, Lt. Luke Beaufort of Mississippi. Resigned August 1st. When I called him to Georgetown, he was serving in Bull Sumner’s Dragoons. Seems his new command is something called the 1st Virginia Cavalry.”
The G-G was grave: “How many more of these, shall we say, ‘instantaneous’ regiments can they field, General?”
The leonine head shook and the blue eyes seemed to frost. “None, I pray, Mr. Governor. At least till Brian Judge gets here. Even then, it will be dangerous for some weeks.”
The General paused and glanced toward the Potomac himself. Speaking softly, almost as if to himself, he continued: “I expect they’re slapping other units together now, but my belief is it will take several weeks to put together enough to threaten us. My guess is this 1st Virginia Cavalry raid was a one-shot deal: the best riders and marksmen available, under crack professional officers. It will take time to duplicate. Also, to form up and train infantry.
“Any attack would be little more than a nuisance raid; conducted for its shock value…”
Van Buren had sat back behind his desk. Now he jumped to his feet again. “Militarily perhaps simply a ‘nuisance,’ General. Politically, a disaster of the gravest consequences. If nothing else, think of the ramifications. Think of London’s view. We must demonstrate to the British our ability to put down this apparently all-too-real revolt. Harper’s Ferry can be explained away: a surprise attack, etc. Losing the capital, now…” He looked around the room. “Gentlemen, we simply can not allow it. Georgetown must be held…at all costs!”
___________
War Department
August 22nd, 1833, 2 p.m:
General Scott had been clear: there were to be no interruptions during his conference with the Duke. But the sudden appearance of a grim-faced Lt. Robert E. Lee was enough for Tom to risk the General’s wrath. He knocked on the closed door and awaited the expected explosion:
“This had better be damn impor…” General Scott stopped, his mouth open, and stared out the office door and over Tom’s shoulder to Lee. He automatically grasped the seriousness of the situation, whatever it was. “Come in Lieutenant Lee.” The door closed behind them, leaving Tom to turn and shrug wordlessly at the unspoken questions on the faces of the Department clerks.
Inside, Scott quickly identified Lee to Wellington. Then: “Your report Lieutenant.”
Robert had been labeled the “Marble Monument” by his West Point classmates for many reasons besides his unfathomable, awe-inspiring perfect conduct record. Among them were his emotional self-control and military bearing. He needed both to deliver the shocking news.
“Sir, I have come from Hampton Roads by Coastal Guard sloop to deliver this pouch to you.” Still at attention, he handed Scott a slim leather packet and continued: “Sir, it is my duty to inform you that yesterday morning at 6 a.m. Colonel Twiggs turned over Fortress Monroe and the Norfolk CG yard to General Gaines. The General informed the assembled garrisons that he was assuming command in his capacity as chief-of-staff of the Confederate States Army.”
Scott, who had begun opening the pouch’s ties, quietly placed the packet on his desk and glanced at Wellington. A quick pursing of the lips was Wellington’s only immediate response though the eyes seemed to brighten considerably. The old warhorse has caught the scent of battle, Scott thought. He’s ready to pick up a sword right now…
Scott looked back at the ramrod-straight Lee: “Take it from the beginning, Lieutenant. Exclude nothing…”
It was not a particularly long report: General Gaines, in civilian clothes, had arrived two evenings ago with a small party of similarly clad aides. He had immediately gone into the Colonel’s quarters; the Lieutenant had been about his own business and had not known of the conference until the next day. Yesterday at morning reveille, Gaines, now in a grey uniform of sorts, had addressed the troops. Fortress Monroe, due to its very location on Virginia soil, obviously was the property of Virginia. As commander of Virginia’s army, now a part of the new CSA army, he had requested Colonel Twiggs to cede possession. The Colonel had agreed and CSA guards were now patrolling the walls. On behalf of Governor Floyd and acting head-of-state Calhoun, he assured the USBAA garrison
of safe passage ‘back’ to the Dominion; however, all troops are encouraged to resign and join the CSA.
“I was then sent for. With Colonel Twiggs, who was dressed in a grey military jacket somewhat the color of General Gaines’, and with Gaines himself was Captain Savage, CO of the infantry at the Fortress. Captain Savage, now the ranking USBAA officer at Monroe, ordered me to deliver the pouch. CGS Albany, Sir, was the only Coastal Guard vessel at the base when I arrived. I am told that when word reached the anchorage that…” Lee paused, obviously embarrassed, “…a ‘force’ had occupied the base, the other ships pulled anchor and sailed for Baltimore. Albany was apparently dockside and unable to flee in time.”
Scott stared hard. “That all, Lieutenant?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Your uniform is a bit muddy Lieutenant. I assume you were rowed in from the Potomac?”
“Yes Sir, forgive me, but the marshes…I felt it my duty to deliver this pouch and my report immediately…”
“Then I can also assume that you are reporting as an active officer in the USBAA? That you have not, as they are calling it, ‘gone south?’”
If it is possible for a monument to stiffen, Lee appeared to do so. “At this moment, Sir, I am reporting as a Lieutenant in the USBAA.”
Scott and Wellington exchanged looks. “Do you have any questions of this officer, Your Grace?”
“Just one, if I may. Lieutenant, ah, Lee, how many officers and men took the rebel Gaines up on his, ah, ‘suggestion’ that they, in General Scott’s apropos term, ‘go South’?”
“Captain Savage told me privately, Your Grace, that he expected to march about 90% of the men and…” he paused, again of apparent embarrassment, “…approximately half the officers North. He said to tell you, General, that he expected to move out this morning. My apologies for neglecting to include that information earlier.”
Scott nodded. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant. Report back here at 0800 tomorrow.”
___________
Scott was rising from his desk even before the door closed behind Lee. He indicated the pitcher of icy water on the credenza and poured tall glasses for both the Duke and himself. Wellington accepted wordlessly and watched Scott walk slowly across the room to the big window. The General turned and sipped his water.
“This has been in the works for sometime, I believe. They waited to see if the Harper’s Ferry raid would be successful, then struck. I imagine Sumter in Charleston, Mobile, all the Southern forts will fall like dominos.”
“Its my fault. I believed Twiggs was honorable; would do the honorable thing and resign. It never occurred to me that his particular brand of treason would extend beyond his own person. To arrange the surrender of his entire command…unprecedented perfidy!”
He turned back to the window and spoke over his shoulder to the still-sitting Duke. “Lee didn’t mention it, but they must have overpowered the guards; Twiggs couldn’t have managed to have them all pulled. Must have been some casualties. Must have been some subterfuge, too, getting the rebels inside in enough force to take even a skeleton guard detachment.”
“Your security directive was disobeyed, General Scott. That’s obvious. This man Twiggs brazenly cooked this up. Well, let’s turn to the estimate of the situation: what does this mean in a military sense? Is Fortress Monroe vital to your plans?”
“Not in an immediate tactical sense, Your Grace. Only if we were scheduled to land an army on the Tidewater Peninsula, which we have no plans to do. No, the immediate value to the rebels is in terms of artillery. When completed, the Fortress is designed to boast 300 guns of up to 32-pounds. About two-thirds are already in place. The rebels took Monroe for two reasons: because their sense of honor demanded it; and because of those guns.”
Scott grimaced: “That’s a lot of artillery our boys will be running into when we move to take Virginia back…”
___________
The White House
Richmond, Virginia
August 30, 1833:
“Sir, there is a gentleman here asking to see you.” Jefferson Munroe was hesitant as he stood in the doorway of John C. Calhoun’s makeshift office in the mansion vacated by the president of the Bank of Virginia. It was locally referred to as ‘The White House.’
The newly installed president of the Confederate States of America looked up from the piles of paper littering his desk. “General or cabinet officer?” The sarcasm was heavy but on-target: the President’s secretary spent much of his time shooing away office- and commission-seekers.
Munroe smiled. “Not this time, Sir. This one is a bit different. He announces himself as the official representative of His Imperial Majesty, Nicholas I, Czar of All the Russias…”
The President’s eyes began to shine.
“…Says his name is Count Nicholas Ignatieff. However…”
Calhoun sat staring. “Go on, Jefferson, you have more…”
“Yes, Sir. I…I believe we met him in Alabama some months ago. Under a different name. His appearance is also somewhat altered.”
“Well, by all means, Jefferson. Bring in the ‘official representative of the Czar of All the Russias.’”
Ignatieff strode confidently into the room and bowed his head formally. “Excellency, it is good of you to see me on such short notice. I am aware how busy you must be.”
Now on his feet, the President briefly flashed his dark smile: “’Mr. President’ will suffice, sir.” He rocked back gently on his heels and studied his guest intently. “Count…” He looked over at Munroe.
“Ignatieff, Sir.”
“Thank you. Yes, Count Ignatieff. Welcome to Richmond, sir. I understand you claim to be the ‘official representative’ of your Czar? In that case, sir, I assume you have papers to that effect so identifying you? If that is the case, you may present them now…”
Ignatieff ‘s smile did not reach his eyes, which remained locked with Calhoun’s. If the President was surprised by the oddity of the right eye’s dual colors, he did not betray it, surprising the Count. Well, Nicholas thought, if he demands we play this diplomatic farce, I shall acquiesce…
“Obviously I carry no papers from the Foreign Ministry in St. Petersburg---or from the Czar himself---addressed to the ‘Government of the Confederate States of America.’ However, I do possess credentials. Unfortunately, they are written in Russian. While I would be happy to have them examined by anyone you should so designate, I give you my word of honor as a gentleman that they do in fact instruct me to make contact with the leader of the Southern people.”
Calhoun leaned back against the front of his desk and glanced briefly at Munroe, who was staring at the Russian dubiously.
“You will understand, Count Ignatieff, my aide’s skeptical attitude, in that you have previously presented yourself, apparently fraudulently, as Mr…Karlhamanov…I believe it was? If your previous persona was indeed a charade, what evidence other than an apparent document, as yet unpresented, in a language few here in Richmond could decipher, would lead us to accept your bonafides as the Czar’s man and not an imposter of acknowledged skill and daring?”
Ignatieff again smiled, though with a lack of humor obvious to the Southerners. “When you have my direction from the Czar…” he tapped his jacket pocket in apparent indication of the paper’s location, “…’deciphered’…you will see that my orders are also to ascertain the strength of the Southern independence cause and to assist it in the event such a cause is viable.
“Certainly you can see that the initial phase of my mission could be carried out more effectively in the guise of a common, though prominent, ‘exile’ than as a ranking member of His Imperial Majesty’s service. In that persona, I analyzed your chances for success…and assisted you with certain information. Information that I assume helped you arrive at the momentous decision that has led us both to Richmond.
“Here in your new capital, such secrecy and deception is unnecessary.”
Calhoun’s dark face was now hard and h
is words direct: “And how do you propose to assist us now, if we choose to accept you in your latest persona?”
“Initially, your acceptance of my presented credentials amounts to my country’s formal recognition of the Confederacy as an independent country. A major diplomatic coup that opens many possibilities throughout Europe. My instructions are also to investigate the possibility of direct financial and military aid. In other words, an alliance of our two beloved countries. If such an alliance, Mr. President, would be helpful to you…”
___________
The Deerhead Inn
Georgetown, D.C.
August 30, 1833, 8 p.m.:
Capt. William Savage was not surprised by his promotion to lieutenant colonel of volunteers. Like all USBAA regulars, he had known the huge expansion of the Dominion’s forces in light of the South’s secession would mean early jumps in rank and responsibilities.
“Didn’t expect it just now, that’s all,” he said over a celebratory beer in the taproom with Lt. Col. Brian Judge. Judge, too, had received word of his promotion directly from General Scott upon arriving with his Fort McHenry garrison. “Considering I was caught flatfooted when the damn rebels took over Fortress Monroe and all…”
“Hell, Billy, you weren’t caught flat-footed. The rebels caught you sound asleep…”
“Thanks a lot, Colonel Judge…” The two old friends---they had served together in the Southwest and in Quebec---grinned at each other.
“Actually, Colonel Savage, the Old Man couldn’t hardly hold it against you personally. I mean, I hear tell he would have court marshaled that poor bastard Daley, had he lived. But you weren’t in command down there. They say Twiggs turned traitor overnight, though Lieutenant, err, Captain Wilder says the General believes Twiggs and Gaines started cooking that up last month…”
“No doubt about that. It was too slick for a spur-of-the-moment thing. The two sons-of-bitches… Even some of the Southerners were embarrassed. Lieutenant Lee…”