The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (45 page)

      
How did Calhoun phrase it as the meeting was breaking up?

        “The South needs and will welcome the friendship of any like-minded peoples, Sir. While we remain committed to the Dominion and its unique place in the British Empire---with the caveat that our domestic institutions be left sacrosanct---the knowledge that there are other peoples, other governments, other world leaders who believe in and maintain similar domestic institutions of their own will be a comfort to the Southern people in the trying times ahead.”

___________

Tuscaloosa-Huntsville Road

April 3, 1833:

      Calhoun, his young aide and a very hung-over Congressman Clay were the sole passengers on a hot, dusty stage ride north to Clay’s plantation. The great orator planned to rest at the Clay home---and give several speeches in Huntsville---before traveling on into Tennessee. As the carriage thundered north, the Senator was putting the pieces of last night’s strange meeting together in his mind.

       “Are you familiar, gentlemen, with the French term ‘agent provocateur’?”

        He shook his head as Clay winced at a sudden jolt as the stage hit a rut. The Alabaman looked ready to be sick. The aide, Jefferson Munroe, merely looked tired; the young man had escorted them all to various beds the previous night but obviously had delayed retiring himself.

        “The term translates, quite simply, as an agent of ‘provocation;’ one who stirs up existing trouble or conjures up the same where none existed before. An interesting, though dangerous, occupation, would you not say?” He looked thoughtfully at his fellow passengers.

          “Senator, there is a time and place,” Congressman Clay groaned. “While I admit to deficiencies in my French language ability, this does not seem an appropriate time nor place.”

         “Ah, but it is, mine host-to-be.”

          Munroe saw the slightest of smiles break through the dour features before receding like a weak sun on an overcast day. “You see, we were entertained by a skilled practitioner of those arts just last evening…”

         While Clay closed his eyes in agonized exasperation as the stage bounced merrily through and across a seemingly connected series of ruts, ridges and rocky patches, Munroe rubbed his eyes in an attempt to remain alert.

         “That Russian professor Senator Troup endorsed, Sir? I was surprised at the amount of time you spent with him…”

         “Very good, Jeff. Yes, that
professor
is without question an agent of the Czar. I recall McDuffie questioning his bona fides that night at the French Consulate. Thought the Russian C-G deferred a bit too much to a mere ‘professor’…

        “That’s not the telling point, however. I’ve observed these foreigners in action over the years. Never once has a private visitor so bluntly raised the issues this Russian did last evening. More importantly, no private visitor---especially from an autocratic state---would ever dare, on his own, initiate the possibility, however remote, of his country’s intervening in the affairs of the Empire.

         “No, gentlemen. That was an official contact last evening by a duly-appointed representative of Czar Nicholas.”

         Munroe shook his head in disbelief: “But what would the Russians have to gain by intervening in our domestic affair? Surely the Czar isn’t so altruistic that he would risk London’s wrath in a show of sympathy for our somewhat similar institutions of labor?”

         Calhoun nodded his head, the long hair jostling his shoulders. “That, of course is the question, Jefferson. I understood this Russian to be on his way today to visit Congressman Polk in Columbia. Perhaps he will reveal more to James.”

        The Senator looked over at the now-gagging Congressman. “I see however, that conversation concerning such global diplomacy is inflicting considerable pain on my honorable colleague. We will leave the matter in abeyance for now.”

        He looked out the window at the planted roadside acres being tended by dark-skinned field hands. “I have arranged to meet with this ‘Andre’ once back in Georgetown. Perhaps by then the Czar’s motives will be more apparent.”

         The Senator turned and flashed his trademark dark smile at the aide. “Perhaps by then it will also be apparent if the British realize there is a Russian agent on the loose here in our midst.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Cranford Plantation

Alexandria, Virginia

April 7, 1833:

     Lucille Latoure wasn’t formally educated in the sense that her sister, Jaine--who had attended a private institution of higher learning for young women called a ‘female seminary’--was. She did, of course, hold advanced ‘degrees’ in the arts and sciences for which Southern belles were noted: coquettishness; insincere flattery; manipulation of the other sex, as well as dancing, side-saddle riding (though she actually could ride a horse in the regular manner as well as most men) and a more subtle projection of her sexuality than her ‘rival’, Candice Samples, preferred.

       In the month since the tumultuous weekend in which
emancipation
had been transformed from an epithet to a very-real possibility, however, Lucille had sought and absorbed a multi-faceted education in politics, military science and sociology.

       Despite her angry outburst at Lieutenant Wilder the day he had broken the news, Lucille hadn’t really comprehended the crisis he had come to warn of: the retort had been personal in view of his ‘misconduct’ viz-a-vie broken dinner-engagements; that bitch Mrs. Samples; and his general ‘inattentiveness.’ It was actually the casual off-hand comments of Sir John Burrell the next evening during the party at the Vice G-G’s that had radicalized her.

       Sir John---who danced superbly (Tom exhibited the grace of a Cranford plow horse on the dance floor); projected what she imagined a sophisticated European air, complete with a darling thin, drooping mustache (the Lieutenant‘s proverbial “map of Ireland” face came complete with freckles); and was, after all, the King’s top resident political representative in the Dominion (not some sort of military messenger boy)---had been among her Georgetown beaus since arriving in the capitol two years before.

    Though he was a bit old---closer to 40 than 30, she’d guess---with Joe Johnston gone off God-knows-where with a ‘real’ Army unit, he had begun to look more appealing. He had offered tickets to the Duke’s speech; learning that she was already in possession of some but free that evening, he had offered to escort the Latoures to Van Buren’s dinner party.

       In conversation over cocktails with a group that included Senator Clay and the new Interior Secretary, Mr. MacLane, Sir John had expressed the opinion that the seven-year phase-in plan was “extremely liberal, wouldn’t you say?” The “Government,” he continued---with an emphasis that left no doubt that he was referring to London---had obviously drawn up a “careful, meticulous and generous” plan that looked out for the interests of all concerned: planters and their soon-to-be-former slaves alike.

        The Liaison officer’s attitude, to a thunder-struck Lucille, breached her defenses as she later imagined a backhanded slap across the face might: condescending, parental and infuriating.
Do they actually consider us the equivalent of misbehaving children who can be bribed to end their embarrassing conduct much as a parent would promise candy to a group of unruly off-spring?

         Her cherished way-of-life! Subject to the whims of some faceless clerks 3000 miles away?
Perhaps that is what has Mary Lee so fired up!

        She had listened quietly---and for the first time ever with full attention---to the political conversation for the remainder of the evening. The education---the radicalization---of the belle began that night and continued thereafter.

___________

     Lucille had come back to the capitol two days later for Jackson’s inaugural address and, escorted by Senator Webster, had attended several parties (though they had not gone to The Residency, believing the Tennesseans would be reenacting their rampage of ’28). Since then she had remained for much of the time in Georgetown, quietly observing and absorbing as the Administration tried to maintain a semblance of normality. At affairs such as Maria Scott’s monthly ladies-only luncheon, she listened carefully, not for social gossip but for any political news or opinions that might be related.  She took no one into her confidence except Mary Lee.

         On Easter Sunday, she had returned to Cranford. On the way, she had stopped at Arlington House to see Mary and Robert, who had wrangled leave for the holiday. She would be returning to the capital in a day or so, however, she privately informed Mary.  Word that she was staying regularly in the townhouse was beginning to lead to invitations from varied social-and-political circles in Georgetown.

         Both young women hoped---prayed---that a compromise would be worked out. As reports began to trickle in concerning the response in various sections of the country, however, the two had begun to fear for the worst. And to consider how they could be of service…

__________

Latakia, Syria

April 7, 1833:

         General Boris Mikailov, after more than a month cramped up aboard the dilapidated flagship of the Imperial Black Sea Fleet, was happy to set foot on solid ground, even if he wasn’t quite sure where he and his disembarking command were.

         According to Admiral Valeri Kharlamov, commander of the Black Sea Fleet, this sleepy port was well north of Tripoli. Advanced elements of the Egyptian army, according to questionable intelligence reports by the Ottomans, had occupied that fabulous old city in late February. The main body, however, was apparently still camped in and around Acre, even farther south along the coast.

         Mikailov’s orders, which seemed even more dubious now then when he had received them two months ago, were to locate the Arabs, head off their apparent march into the Anatolian heartland of the Turks, and by a show of force, convince this Pasha Ali to turn back. If possible, this show of force was to be accomplished without firing a shot… Though how in the name of Ivan the Terrible he was supposed to pull that miracle off, he had no idea!

       He and Kharlamov had picked Latakia for its spacious harbor and gentle rise to the main Syrian plain. Marines landed several days ago had reported that the Army could comfortably camp outside the town while keeping in close touch with the fleet, in case a sudden reembarkment became necessary. Water and provisions were also readily available for seizing in the surrounding area.

       The cavalry would begin probing southward tomorrow, while Admiral Kharlamov had already sent his most powerful (
most seaworthy
, the General thought with a snort of disgust) frigate down the coast to ascertain the situation at Tripoli.

       Mikailov shook his head: some assignment!
I’ve fought the French, the wild hordes in Central Asia and even the Mongolians. Each time, it was to defend or extend the motherland. What possessed St. Petersburg to land us in the middle of a Moslem civil war is beyond me! Let’s just hope that the Arabs will be as terrified of us as the Turks seemed to be…otherwise, we’ll need more reinforcements than St. Petersburg has the ability to transport to us…

___________

Albany, New York

April 17, 1833:

        Aaron Burr had received a rude shock when he arrived here two days ago via Hudson River steamboat to organize the Albany Regency’s meetings with Wellington: William L. Marcy, Matty Van’s hand-picked new governor, was at best non-committal on the emancipation issue. There were, in fact, indications that Marcy was actually sympathetic to the slave power!

        The Regency itself was Van Buren’s creation (with the Colonel’s sage backstage help) and had ruled the state for over a decade through strict adherence to a mutually agreeable and beneficial agenda. While neither the Vice G-G nor any of the other power brokers could be called outright abolitionists, no one had suspected that Marcy harbored Southern sympathies!

       It will hurt Matty in the long run---to say nothing of the personal embarrassment to me---if Wellington sees we can not control our own state
, the Colonel thought with dismay as he prepared to dine with several Regency stalwarts at the Quackenbush House, reputedly the city’s oldest building.

___________

Albany, New York

April 19, 1833:

     The Colonel had worked feverishly to convince Marcy to see the light, cashing in many of the Vice G-G’s political chips in the process. The canny old political boss had even promised the Governor a leading place in any Van Buren cabinet once Matty Van took possession of The Residency.

        Well, Matty can deal with the outrage later, if he is ever forced to deliver on the promise: four years is a long time in politics. Who can say what the situation will be then? Or who will be around to say it?

      The meetings with the Duke should now go well, the Colonel thought with satisfaction as he left a tense meeting in the Governor’s mansion on Eagle Street.
As long as that fool Marcy keeps his mouth shut… How can a politician from Troy, New York, support the continuance of slavery? And what was Matty Van thinking to put such an idiot in the Governor’s chair?

        Burr would keep a low profile during the official events of Wellington’s visit, especially the reception tonight co-hosted by Marcy and Mayor Corning at the Schuyler Mansion, of course. While the Regency crowd was well aware of his influence, to most New Yorkers---as well as the rest of British America---he was virtually forgotten; recalled if at all as an unwholesome relic of a bygone era. When he occasionally made news---in his recent unfortunate divorce, his wife, the former Eliza Bowen, was represented by Alexander Hamilton, Jr.---it was as a curiosity.