Antebellum BK 1

by Jeffry S. Hepple

  She put her hand on the door handle. “Is that all that you called me here to say?”

  “No. I called you here to warn you that the press is not beyond the reach of the law.”

  “Sue me,” she said angrily. “Sue the paper. We’d welcome the opportunity to show the Country how you tampered with the basic premise of separation of powers. The Dred Scott decision will almost surely set the North against the South. What kind of President would foist civil war upon his country? You, sir, are a disgrace to the office and to humanity.”

  Buchanan came to his feet. His face above his high starched collar was nearly purple. “You cannot speak to me that way.”

  “I still have freedom of speech, and as long as I have it I will do my absolute best to shine a very bright light on you, Mr. President.”

  March 10, 1857

  Van Buskirk Point, New Jersey

  Nancy gasped. “And you were fired?”

  Anna nodded. “It really shouldn’t make me feel this bad. It isn’t as if I needed the damned job. Do you think I was right in what I said?”

  “I don’t know, Anna. I’ve never completely understood Dred Scott.”

  “It’s not that complicated, Nancy.”

  “If you want my opinion about what you said to the President, take me through it slowly,” Nancy growled. “I don’t need to be ridiculed.”

  “All right, all right. Don’t get all excited.” Anna sighed. “Dred Scott was born a slave. Sometime around 1830, he was sold to an Army Major named John Emerson. Major Emerson moved around a lot and he took Dred Scott with him to his various duty assignments. While he was stationed at Fort Snelling in the Wisconsin Territory, Major Emerson gave Scott permission to marry another slave that he owned. I think her name was Henrietta.” She shook her head. “No, that’s wrong. Harriet. Yes, I think that’s it, Harriet.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nancy said.

  “I guess not. So, anyway, when Major Emerson was assigned to Jefferson Barracks near St. Louis, he left Scott and Harriet at Fort Snelling. A short time later, the Army reassigned Major Emerson to Fort Jessup, Louisiana where Emerson married Eliza Irene Sanford.”

  “She’s the Sanford in the case?”

  “Her brother. I’ll get to that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Soon after the wedding, Major Emerson sent for Dred Scott and his wife. On the way to join him, somewhere on the Mississippi River between the Iowa Territory and Illinois, Harriet, or whatever her name is, gave birth to a baby girl.”

  “The child was born on the steamer?”

  “Of course. How else could she have been on the river?”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “To make a long story short, Major Emerson died in 1843 and his wife inherited his property, including Dred Scott, Harriet and their child. Scott tried to buy their freedom from her, but she refused. In 1846, Scott sued Mrs. Emerson claiming that his presence and residence in a free territory required his emancipation. He lost based upon a very questionable technicality.”

  “What kind of technicality?”

  “He didn’t produce a witness to prove that he was Mrs. Emerson’s slave.”

  “That’s not questionable; that’s ludicrous.”

  “Do you want to hear this?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “In 1850, Scott was granted a new trial and the jury declared him, his wife and, by now, two children free. At this time, Mrs. Emerson was living in Massachusetts, so she transferred advocacy to her brother, John F. A. Sanford, and Mr. Sanford promptly appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court. The Supreme Court overturned the lower court’s decision and Dred Scott, and his family, were all slaves again.”

  “What a travesty.”

  Anna nodded. “So, in 1853, Scott sued John F.A. Sanford in federal court. At the trial, the judge directed the jury to rely on Missouri law. Since the Missouri Supreme Court had already held that Scott was a slave, the federal jury had no choice but to find in favor of Sanford.”

  “So, Scott then appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court,” Nancy said.

  Anna nodded. “And thanks, in a large portion to our new President, Dred Scott, his wife and his daughters are still slaves.”

  “Those poor people.”

  “It’s not only them that’s been harmed by the Court’s ruling. Chief Justice Taney’s written decision states that slaves and their descendants aren’t protected by the Constitution and can never be U.S. citizens.”

  “What?”

  “That’s not all. The court also holds that the U.S. Congress has no authority to prohibit slavery in Federal Territories and that, because slaves aren’t citizens, they have no right to sue in court.”

  “How does that affect people like Abe?”

  “Good question. By the strictest interpretation I suppose it means he’s not a citizen.”

  “Dear Lord.”

  ~

  From his favorite chair in his parlor, Abraham Van Buskirk watched his nephew Samuel pace the floor. Abe’s sister Ginger was on the couch, knitting and trying to ignore her son’s rant.

  “Calm down, Samuel,” Abe advised. “You’re going to give yourself apoplexy.”

  “Don’t you understand what’s happened, Uncle Abraham?” Samuel raged. “The Supreme Court of the United States decided that we’re not American citizens because Granny Sally was a slave.”

  “That’s yet to be determined,” Abe replied in a soothing tone.

  “The Chief Justice says that we are so far inferior that we have no rights that white men are bound to respect. That’s pretty clear.” Samuel stopped pacing. “I think we should sell this place and buy one-way tickets to someplace in Europe.”

  The clicking of Ginger’s knitting needles stopped. “Sell this place? Have you lost your mind?”

  “No,” Samuel said. “On the contrary. I’ve finally come to my senses. This isn’t our country, Momma; it’s theirs.” He pointed out the back windows toward the Van Buskirk Home Place.

  “Your mother and I are too old to start a new life in a foreign country,” Abe said. “But if you really want to go to Europe, I’ll give you the money, Samuel.”

  May 3, 1857

  Paris, France

  Samuel rang the bell and waited until the door was opened by a woman he had never seen before. “Excuse me,” he said in English. “I hope this is the right address. I’m looking for Nannette Van Buskirk.”

  The woman gave him a blank stare.

  “Nannette Balletti?”

  There was a hint of recognition in the woman’s eyes.

  “She is my aunt,” he said. He looked at his notepad. “Ma tante?”

  The woman looked dubious but stepped back and gestured him in, then pointed down the hall.

  Uncertainly, Samuel followed the hallway to the end where he found a tiny old woman propped up on pillows in an enormous bed. For a moment, he thought that there was a mistake, but then he recognized the hawk-like, green eyes glittering in the ravaged old face. “It’s Samuel Van Buskirk, Aunt Nan. Do you remember me? Ginger’s son? Abraham’s nephew?”

  “Of course I remember you. Come closer and give me a kiss.” She held her skeletal arms out. “Don’t worry, I won’t break. I just look like a big wind might blow me away.” Her English was perfect but the French accent was stronger than Samuel remembered.

  He hurried forward and planted a kiss on her forehead and allowed her to give him a weak squeeze. “Are you ill?”

  “I broke my hip,” she said. “It should be nothing, but at my age it’s going to kill me.” She patted the bed. “Sit and tell me what brings you to France.”

  Samuel sat down. “I felt as if America was no longer my home so I came to the Old World looking for a new home.”

  “Dred Scott,” she said with confidence.

  He nodded. “It really began five years ago when I was shot by slave catchers who were kidnapping free blacks and selling them in the South. The Dred Scott decision was just the last straw.”
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br />   “Thomas Jefferson should have stuck to his guns.”

  “What?”

  “He wanted slavery abolished with the Declaration of Independence but caved in to southern pressure. It made a mockery of ‘all men are created equal’ and left an open wound that’s been putrefying ever since. John Adams fought like a tiger, but Jefferson was too affable. Good looking, though. I always had a weakness for tall men with red hair.”

  Samuel chuckled. “It’s hard for me to imagine that you were there when the United States was being born.”

  “It seems like only yesterday,” she said with a smile. “So tell me about the family.”

  “Where should I begin?”

  “I got a letter from Marina a few weeks ago, but she’s so far out of touch that whatever she says is always old news. Your uncle’s last letter was about two months ago. What’s new since then?”

  “My uncle writes to you?”

  “Didn’t he give you my address?”

  “Yes, but he never mentioned writing to you.”

  “He had a good reason to keep quiet. Maybe he’ll tell you about it some day after I’m dead.”

  Samuel decided not to reveal what he knew about Nanette’s possible involvement in the death of Banastre Tarleton. “I suppose you know that Quincy, Paul and Johnny are all in the army.”

  “I knew that Johnny graduated from West Point but hadn’t heard where he was to be stationed.”

  “He’s in Virginia with Pea. Quincy’s stationed in South Carolina but they sent him to Arizona to train artillerymen. I’m not sure how long that will be.”

  “How far from Marina is he?”

  “Very far. The West is vast.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been as far as El Paso but I don’t know what’s in the Arizona Territory and what’s in the New Mexico Territory now.”

  “I forgot that you’d been there. I’d need a map to show you, and then I wouldn’t be absolutely sure. They keep moving the territorial boundaries.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced.

  “Are you all right, Aunt Nan?”

  She nodded. “Just a pain. They come and go.” She took a ragged breath. “It’s fortuitous that you’ve come now, Sam. In a few days my mind will be gone and by next week, with a little luck, I’ll be dead.”

  “No. Don’t say that. You look fine to me.”

  “Then it’s another case of looks being deceiving because the doctors say that I’m being poisoned by my own bone marrow.”

  “I hope they’re wrong.”

  “I don’t. I’ll be a hundred my next birthday and that’s too old. But you’ve distracted me. I want you to go to town right now and fetch my lawyer. I’m going to leave my estate to you.”

  “No. That’s not right.”

  “It’s perfectly right. The others have Thomas and John’s estates.”

  “I can’t…”

  “With or without your approval you’ll be coming into a fairly large fortune soon. Spend it, or give it away. It matters not at all to me.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just go get the lawyer. Oh. But before you go, I have two requests.”

  “What?”

  “Before you leave Europe, I want you to find yourself a nice white girl and marry her.” She saw the look on his face. “I know what you’re thinking but you’re wrong. There have been Moors with dark skin in Europe for two thousand years. There’s no deep prejudice against people with dark skin and in some places you’ll be seen as exotic.”

  “Do you have a girl in mind?”

  “No. But you should look for her in Amsterdam and Copenhagen.”

  “Are those the places where I’ll be exotic?”

  “Yes, but it’s also where the first Van Buskirks came from. I like the irony of it all. Find a beautiful blonde if you can, flaunt her all over Europe, then take her to America.”

  “We’d be arrested for violation of the anti-miscegenation laws the minute we stepped off the ship.”

  “Money is power. Use it wisely and you can break any law. I’m told that, with enough money, you can get away with murder. Perhaps you can even get away with being black in America.”

  He grinned. “You said two requests. What’s the other?”

  “I want you to have your name changed legally from Van Buskirk.”

  He looked puzzled. “What name should I take?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just make it hard for someone to prove that you’re a descendent of an African slave.”

  “Granny Sally wasn’t African. She was Jamaican or Haitian. I can’t remember which.”

  Nanette looked dubious. “I don’t think that keeps you safe from Dred Scott. Will you do what I asked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now go fetch my lawyer. His name is Jacques Antoine. His office is on the square. Just say his name and someone will show you. Tell him my name and he’ll come.”

  June 12, 1857

  Washington, D.C.

  Phillip Barton Key was watching Anna as she dressed. “You have a remarkable figure for a woman of your age, Anna. Your bare behind is wonderful to behold.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Although I doubt that my behind can compete with the nubile behind of Teresa Sickles. How old is she? Twenty?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” He chuckled.

  “I’m not jealous, Phil. You don’t mean a thing to me except an occasional sweaty afternoon. Congressman Dan Sickles, on the other hand, is a very jealous man. If he finds out about you and Teresa he’s likely to kill you both, and, as usual, you talk too much, so he’s bound to find out.”

  “Sickles has women everywhere. He’d been in a long-standing relationship with the infamous New York madam Fanny White for years when he married Teresa. He still sees Fanny every time he’s in New York.”

  “Speaking of New York, I’ll be leaving for Utah from there in the morning. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “I’ve got a freelance assignment to investigate the rumors that Buchanan’s mobilizing troops to attack the Mormons.”

  “I can save you the trip. Buchanan intends to declare Utah in rebellion against the United States and send the army to quell it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. The order’s been written. As soon as the army’s ready, it’ll be made public.”

  “Where are the troops being assembled?”

  “Fort Leavenworth.”

  Anna shook her head. “My brother’s at Fort Leavenworth teaching a course in modern artillery. He would have told me.”

  “He may not know. Winfield Scott created a new Military Department of Utah on the twenty-eighth of last month.”

  “General Scott would have told Robert.”

  “Buchanan may have specifically forbidden Scott from telling him. There’s a lot of enmity between your brother and President Buchanan.”

  “Because of me?”

  Key shook his head. “When Brigham Young was appointed Governor of the Utah Territory, Robert was very vocally opposed, but since then, he’s been equally vociferous against any military action against Young or the Mormons. Sam Houston’s added his weight to Robert’s arguments as well, so it’s a fairly hot potato.”

  Anna nodded. “Okay. It’s all beginning to make sense now. Thank you, Phil.”

  He beamed. “So you won’t be going then?”

  “Oh, no. I still have to go, but I know what I’m walking into now.”

  He watched her for another few seconds. “Would you marry me, Anna?”

  “Is that a hypothetical question or a proposal?”

  “Hypothetical, unless you say yes.”

  “Why would you want to marry me, Phil? You’re still spoken of as the handsomest man in Washington.”

  “That wasn’t an answer; that was another question.”

  “I’d ha
ve to have a lot of answers to a lot of questions before I could answer yours.” She turned to look at him. “When did your wife die, Phil?”

  “March of fifty-five. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if you were looking for a mother for your children so that you could carouse more.”

  “That’s not a fair question, Anna.”

  “If you don’t think it’s a fair question, we don’t have any more to discuss.”

  “Is Nancy going with you?”

  “Nancy? Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “Since you’ll be gone…”

  Anna giggled. “Yes, Phil. Nancy’s coming with me. But I’ll be sure to tell her that you’re interested.”

  “Do that.”

  “You’re being huffy.”

  “Yes. I’m feeling a little petulant.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He sighed. “How are you traveling, Anna?”

  “On the steamship Central America from Brooklyn to the Isthmus, then on The SS Golden Gate from Panama to San Francisco. I’m not sure how we get to Utah from San Francisco, but I presume it will be by wagon train.”

  “The railroads are so interconnected now; you could go all the way to the Mississippi by rail.”

  “Nancy hates rail travel, and since the water route is as fast or faster I agreed.”

  “I’m told that Isthmus crossing is very dangerous.”

  “There’s a train now.”

  He chuckled. “Have you told that to Nancy, the railroad hater?”

  “No. But once we’re there, she can hardly object to a little fifty-mile train ride.”

  June 22, 1857

  Aspinwall, Atlantic Isthmus of Panama

  Anna was trying to remove a cinder from Nancy’s eye with the corner of an embroidered handkerchief. “Oh by the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you: Phil Key wants to bed you,” Anna shouted, to be heard over the rain pounding on the Panama Railway station’s tin roof, the hisses of steam and the chugs of two coal-fired engines.

  “You could announce it to more people if you’d borrow the station master’s megaphone,” Nancy said, looking around at the other first-class passengers, who were also waiting on the platform with them.