The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (46 page)

___________

Albany-Hartford Road

April 22, 1833:

       The Duke of Wellington was in a jubilant mood as he rode toward what he had been informed would be an enthusiastic reception in the abolitionist-stronghold Connecticut capitol. The key Northern states were falling in line to support, if not emancipation, the Colonial Compact with a quiet determination he had, at first glance, doubted they possessed.

         “The Compact, as we had always hoped, is the key,” he told Captain Bratton as they headed southeast through western Massachusetts on a lovely spring morning. “There’s no great love for the blacks in either the West or these last two states we’ve visited. And no great guilt over slavery, either. They’d allow the institution to whither on the vine, given their druthers, if that was all that is at stake.

         “But the Dominion, now, that’s an entirely different cup of tea. They’re damned if they’ll allow the Southerners to destroy it…over slavery or anything else.”

          Bratton was troubled, however. “This
exemption
, Sir Arthur. We keep hearing reports that Calhoun is making it the centerpiece of his resistance. And you’ll recall this chap Wolf broached it back in Harrisburg…”

          The Duke shook his head forcefully. “There will be no exemption, Captain Bratton. London sent us here to announce emancipation, not compromise with the slaveholders. Wolf was just--how do the Americans say it--
testing the waters
. Why, it never came up in Albany at all.”

      For the Duke, who loved new gadgets and inventions, the highlight of the visit had actually been the exciting round trip on the new Mohawk & Hudson Railroad to the nearby town of Schenectady. Albany’s mayor, an industrialist named Erastus Corning, was the driving force behind the road. “Our state will soon be entirely linked by track as well as these new canals to Lake Erie and Lake Champlain,” he predicted as they rode at the breathtaking speed of just under 15 miles per hour. “Together, they will make our boast of being the ‘Empire State’ an uncontestable fact.”

       The Mayor had turned sober as he continued. “Those damn planters down South! They’re stuck in the 18
^th
, if not 17
^th
, century, progress-wise. Machinery is the key to the 19
^th
century…not human bondage!”

       Wellington chuckled now, thinking back on his visit. “I say: that Colonel Burr of yours is first rate. Had that Regency crowd all lined up before we ever arrived.  Why, their Governor even took me aside to privately reassure me of their support, politically and otherwise.”

___________

Russian Consulate

Georgetown, D.C.

April 26, 1833:

         Dispatches from St. Petersburg indicating that the Syrian expedition had been ordered forward had been waiting when Count Ignatieff returned from the west.
So, the great game in Asia has begun. Perhaps I should have gone there from St. Petersburg. And sent someone else to deal with these damn colonials…

        His stay with Congressman Polk had not been as successful as the previous stops in the deeper south: the man had not risen to the bait even after hearing of Nicholas’ conversations in Tuscaloosa.

        At first, the Count was inclined to write off the incident to a naiveté or slowness on Polk’s part. After traveling with the Congressman to several speaking engagements in the eastern half of Tennessee, though, Ignatieff had realized that he was dealing with a crafty, slippery political operator who simply refused to acknowledge that anything was afoot.

         Compared, however, to his reception in Kentucky, the Polk visit had been wildly successful. Slavery was obviously a fact-of-life in Kentucky; black faces seemed almost as common as white. The gentry, however, appeared more resigned to emancipation. It had taken a chance conversation in a Louisville saloon for Ignatieff to begin to realize the reason.

        A well-built smallish young man, clearly of the upper class, named Harold Reese explained: “Cotton is not king here, sir. We’ve a varied economy and more small farmers than planters. Horses, sir; that is what we grow in the bluegrass! The darkies are already a hindrance to some of our quality people. Could manumit the lot, but where would they go, what would they do? Can’t sell them south, either. No sir, after so many years that would be heartless. This plan of Wellington’s now; as some of us understand it, will be a godsend. Take ‘em off our hands, yet get something for them!  Still, some folks don’t see it that way. They’re mighty comfortable bein’ waited on, hand and foot, by their ‘people.’ Some may side with the fire-eaters. Don’t think Kentucky as a whole will, though.”

          He grinned at the Count, who was trying grimly to maintain a carefully neutral look. “It was only 40 years ago, you know, that this land was settled. Why, there’s many a man alive right here in Louisville who knew Daniel Boone personally. People like that who fought so hard to get into the Dominion---the Frenchies were very active here, you know---well, those people have passed on a love for the USBA to their children. London freeing the darkies---even though it does seem right high-handed---doesn’t strike me as enough of an issue to go over to Calhoun and his hotheads.”

           Riding back through Virginia had cheered Ignatieff up somewhat. Word of the emancipation had been slow in reaching into the Blue Ridge but the people---planters and small farmers alike---were outraged.
Well, perhaps Calhoun changed some minds in Kentucky. He was scheduled there late last week. Meanwhile, there is work to be done here in Georgetown…

___________

       Drago, the Consulate security chief, had not been the only unenthusiastic face when Nicholas had ridden up to the compound gates after some six weeks on the road. Count Renkowiitz’s easy hand was again evident throughout the Consulate as Nicholas strode imperiously into the building. An atmosphere that quickly changed once word of his unexpected arrival filtered throughout the compound.

        An afternoon meeting with Renkowiitz and his daughter---brought in at Ignatieff’s express command---revealed that Georgetown was tense but quiet, as if awaiting the onslaught of a thunderstorm already visible on the horizon.

        “And you, Count? Was your trip all you expected?” Renkowiitz was nervously cheerful.

       “It had its moments.” Ignatieff was dry and brief. “Is the Congress still expected to meet the first Tuesday of June? And what word of Wellington? Is he still touring the North?”

        Despite his best effort to conceal it, Renkowiitz’s renewed surprise at the unwanted St. Petersburg visitor’s interest in Dominion politics was clearly evident.

        (Putting two and two together and coming up with five, Count Karl had decided that Ignatieff was in British America on some secret mission of assassination or abduction. Assassination or abduction of a British official, though visions of Fernando Valenzuela lying in his Consulate’s garden, or some back alley, with his throat cut had also appeared in his mind’s eye. After all, hadn’t Ignatieff mentioned Ft. Ross and the Imperial settlements flourishing in what was supposed to be Mexican California?

         (Renkowiitz had been more inclined, however, to wonder if the Czar wanted Wellington to have an ‘accident’ while in America. When Ignatieff had vanished the Wednesday after Jackson’s inauguration, the C-G had presumed and planned for the worst. Amidst public fanfare, Wellington himself had embarked on his tour of the Western and Northeastern states a few days later. Karl had worried for several weeks, until word filtered back that Ignatieff was indeed in the South. The C-G had finally shrugged his shoulders.
Whatever the security operative was up to, it apparently was of such an obscure nature that the Motherland’s relations with the Dominion would not be affected.)

        “The new Congress will indeed gather on June 4
^th
, as called by Jackson last month, my dear Count. And the Duke has been busy twisting arms and influencing both legislators and citizenry from Illinois to New England, by all accounts.
Campaigning
, I believe both the British and the Americans call it.”

         He paused and smiled. “One of the few instances in which their use of the language is consistent.  Normally, their usages are much in common as Chinese and Arabic…”

        Countess Caroline, who had been quietly studying Ignatieff’s demeanor since being summoned---she had her own opinions on the purposes of his visit---laughed softly. “Why Papa, you know what Sir John Burrell told us.” She looked over at the Count. “According to Sir John, ‘It is a fallacy to think the English language is one of the pillars of our Empire. In India they don’t understand it; the Irish and the Scotch can’t pronounce it and the Americans won’t use it.’”

           Ignatieff nodded in amused appreciation.
Clearly, she cannot be this fool’s natural
daughter
. “So Countess, what has happened in the past six weeks in this great metropolis which might interest His Majesty the Czar, were he here today?”

        Caroline, who had shared several interesting conversations with her admirer Harper that had included references by one or both to Ignatieff, smiled demurely. “Actually, Count Nicholas, there is little to relate. With the Congress gone home, Georgetown is an even smaller village than usual. The Governor-General has been holed up in The Residency; some say he is ill, but according to others, he is planning for the upcoming crisis. The government, such as it is, seems to be holding its collective breath…”

___________

     Drago, later in the day, had provided Count Ignatieff with an update on his original sketchy report about Captain Bratton. The man was held in high regard as a quiet, efficient problem solver by both the Liaison Office and Scott’s War Department, apparently. He had left town with the Duke and thus wasn’t expected back in Georgetown until early May. The Consulate security specialist had little else to offer, other than a more-than-adequate surveillance report on The Golden Eagle:

       “Business is down, as it is all over Georgetown at this time of year, Sir. However, the establishment seems to be flourishing. As for the proprietress, Mrs. Casgrave seems to have held up under the strain of your absence…”

        Ignatieff jerked his head and looked, possibly for the first time ever, into the gargantuan guard’s eyes.
So, this big, dumb animal has also fallen under the seductive Joanne’s spell. Well, she couldn’t be expected to remain celibate while I was gone
…

          “Captain Drago, you will have one of your aides send my greetings to Mrs. Casgrave and announce my attention to have a late, private dinner with her this evening.

        “Commencing immediately, you and your aides will devote your full attention to determining when this Captain Bratton will return to Georgetown. Your future in the Czar’s service…will depend upon your success in keeping this British agent in hand until I am ready to deal with him. Do you understand?”

         Drago, who considered himself fortunate to have risen from the Ukrainian wheat fields but hated the Muscovy nobility nonetheless, acknowledged Ignatieff’s authority, however grudgingly, with a subservient nod of his head.

        His thoughts, however, were more rebellious:
If the chance arises, my dear Count, you may depend on me… To put a bullet or a blade deep into your aristocratic chest
…

___________

       Ignatieff’s interest in visiting Joanne his first evening back in Georgetown was not completely carnal in nature: during the long, boring hours of travel he had formulated a contingency plan which called for the utilization of both the tavern/brothel-keeper and her dim-witted bartender.

        He did not fully understand the hold Joanne exercised over the strange fellow, any more than he completely understood the rationale by which she ruled the Eagle’s other employees (both on the ground floor and in the bedroom complex above) with her tiny iron fists. Nicholas now intended to craft the bartender into a
nyjj ruchnojj
…a “special tool”…that he could wield if necessary at the appropriate time to cause maximum havoc. Whether that time would ever arise---or what havoc he would choose to unleash---the Count would leave to the future to determine.

      For now, he would simply reassert his will---physically and emotionally---over the whorehouse madam. Through her he would turn the unstable Lawrence into his creature…

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

USBA Military Academy

West Point, New York

May 1, 1833:

      Lieutenant Wilder had stepped onto the grounds of the Point for the first time since graduation yesterday afternoon, after an almost two-day voyage by Coastal Guard packet with General Scott from Georgetown.

      They had been met at the Academy’s Hudson River landing by Superintendent Thayer, a committee of senior faculty and a cadet honor guard. The hosts escorted the General up the Palisades to The Plain. There the Corps had passed in review in the sort of elaborate pomp-and-circumstance ceremony that Scott loved (and had helped earn him his not-always-fondly attributed moniker).

     Taking it all in with a lower lip tightly bitten to harness the grin that threatened to break out at any moment, the Lieutenant had two immediate happy thoughts: how much better it was to be observing, not marching; and how many recognizable faces were glancing his way in astonishment as identification of the Commanding General’s aide rippled through the assembled faculty.

        The General, of course, had then inspected both the Corps and the Academy itself before addressing the Cadets at the evening meal. His remarks were strictly limited to their situation and responsibilities as members of the Corps as well as to the future of the Army in the Dominion’s movement westward. The burgeoning crisis, what little news of it had penetrated the Point’s gates, was not so much ignored as rendered moot.