The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (61 page)

     Scott never twitched a facial muscle and his right hand was steady as he again waved away the advancing guards.

     “Mr. Numidia, your boy and
three
others attempted to seize His Grace Sir Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington and former prime minister of the British Empire, for ransom…”

     “What?”

    
“…The ransom being the immediate emancipation of every slave held in the United States of British America.”

     Numidia’s look of outrage slowly turned to one of sorrow as he felt the full brunt of Scott’s famous blue-eyed stare and realized in his bones that the big white man spoke the truth.

     Slowly blinking his eyes, he turned again to gaze at his son before releasing a terrible moan as he collapsed once more against the table. “Oh, your damn hotheaded young fools! Seven years! Just seven years and the Day of Salvation will be here! You just couldn’t wait, could you? You damn young hotheads! What could you have been
thinking
?”

     Scott waited till he was certain the last burst of immediate emotion had dissipated itself before speaking.

     “That, Mr. Numidia, is something to be discussed privately in my office.”

      The General turned to Lieutenant Wilder: “Give Mr. Numidia appropriate time to grieve, Lieutenant. Then escort him, under guard, to my office.  Thirty minutes from now.” Scott turned and began climbing back up the stairs, followed by the doctor and all but four of the soldiers.

___________

      By the time Lieutenant Wilder led Jurgurtha Numidia into the General’s office at approximately 11:30 a.m., a small group of influential Administration figures had gathered, along with Sir John Burrell.

      The group---Attorney General Roger B. Taney; Interior Secretary MacLane; Vice G-G Van Buren and Frank Blair---studied Jurgurtha closely for signs of telltale nervousness and/or bluster. But the big black man had regained his composure before leaving the cellar and seemingly had also overcome his shock.

     “Well Mr. Numidia, can you tell us how your son and his gang knew about emancipation so early? We have discovered that this plot had its origins in February. Yet the Duke did not announce Parliament's intentions until March 2.” General Scott was direct and to the point; there would be no expressions of apology for the successful, if bloody, rescue of the Duke.

      Jurgurtha stared at Scott, whom he had already sized up as the key interrogator. “Damned if I know.”

        “Well then, Mr. Numidia, would you mind telling us how
you
knew?”

        For the first time, a look of confusion flashed briefly crossed the blacksmith’s face, as he rapidly thought back to the scene in the cellar.
Had he burted anything about
Exodus?
His features hardened and he resumed his staring contest with Scott. “No idea. No idea at all.” He shifted to slaves’ slang: “Ain’t got no idea what Massa and de uder white bosses talkin’ ‘bout.”

       Blair guffawed and sent a strong, straight flow of tobacco into the General’s spittoon.  “Spare us the linguistic disguise, Mr. Numidia. We may not as yet know as much about you as we soon will, but one thing we do know: you’re an educated man who, in your role as a minister, preaches regularly to your flock about the need to assimilate into society in order to prosper, beginning with speaking the King’s English…

       “Yes, we know about the 'Church of Jesus Christ, Liberator.' A congregation which seems to flourish without any evident resources. And we know your late son”---Jurgurtha winced---“is a graduate of Williams College in Massachusetts.

       “Quite a financial load for a blacksmith to carry, won’t you agree?”

       “I’m the best damn blacksmith this Godforsaken swamp village has ever had…”

       A lanky, cadaverous man with prematurely white hair shifted in his seat. “Yes, Mr. Numidia. And it would be a real shame if the city lost the services of its ‘best damn blacksmith’ if I’m forced to lock you away for an indefinite period due to your unfortunate lack of cooperation.”

      General Scott broke the ensuing silence. “Mr. Numidia, I should have introduced you to these gentlemen earlier." Nodding at the cadaverous man, he said: “This is the Attorney General, Mr. Taney. The first gentleman to address you was Francis P. Blair. I trust you read his newspaper daily? Secretary MacLane of Interior…”---an obviously Scotch-Irish face nodded grudgingly---“…and the Vice Governor-General round out our group.  My aide, Lieutenant Wilder, you have already become acquainted with. And Sir John Burrell of the Liaison Office.

     “Now then. We already know that your son worked in the office of Sen. Daniel Webster of Massachusetts. We also have the occupations of the other conspirators.  None of the others, even Doby in Mr. MacLane’s department, were in any position to discover the most closely-guarded secret in this town’s history until after the Duke's speech.

     “So, Mr Numidia: did Tousaint let you in on this secret…or did you tell him?"

      Jurgurtha, feeling Scott's drill-like stare, attempted to retaliate with a glare of his own.

      “Come, Mr. Numidia. No one is accusing you of masterminding this insane, amateurish plot. Your heartfelt reaction downstairs has convinced me, at least, of your innocence in that regard. But we want to know how the secret came to be in your family’s possession. Now, Senator Webster has been called for and should arrive shortly. His responses should narrow the options even further. So, tell us: how did the Numidia family learn about emancipation?”

       Jurgurtha felt trapped inside a redhot griddle.
Exodus
was at stake: on one side the escape system itself; on the other, the funding and influence of the Society.

       He turned from Scott and gazed out the window to the hills of Arlington House. “Ain’t got no idea what Massa an’ youse uder bosses be talkin’ ‘bout.”

___________

          After Lieutenant Wilder escorted Jurgurtha--under guard---to a cell attached to the building’s stable, the group considered its next steps. It was agreed that Webster was to be informed only that his employee had died in a shocking attempt to capture the Duke.

         “Daniel’s too smart to be directly involved in anything like this,” said Blair. “He won’t tell us anything we don’t already know. Even if he does know something.”

         The conversation then turned to the living conspirators. It had already been decided that a public trial was out of the question. “It would make the Administration look weak at a time, with this emancipation issue heating up, when that can not be borne.” Blair was direct. “Just think what Calhoun and his damnable firebrands could make of this: ‘Jackson has lost control of the nigras. See what happens when any of them are let loose without strict supervision?”’

        Crispus Donfield was instead to be exiled to Liberia, leaving on the first available Royal Navy vessel out of RNS Baltimore. Lawrence Eugene Doby was a harder decision: the man had, after all, reported the conspiracy in the first place. A reward was justified, but allowing him to stay in Georgetown was out-of-the-question. So Doby would be shipped to the USBA Consulate in Paris, with a clerk’s position comparable to his old job at Interior.

     It was about then that Senator Webster was announced. An hour later, convinced of the orator’s lack of knowledge of the incident, the meeting broke up, though Blair remained behind when the others exited.

___________

     “He’s hiding something, you know. Damn it all, how could a poor black smithy learn a secret as closely guarded as any in this town's history? Why, until March 2, probably no more than 10 people in Georgetown were aware of it!” Blair kicked at the rug in frustration. "Is there some sort of wide-ranging abolitionist conspiracy operating under our noses here? An organized movement toward a coordinated slave uprising? Dear God, isn't dealing with Calhoun's firebrands enough? Could we have two volcanoes heating up under our feet? How could these freemen know so much, so early?

   "And how could they put a plot like this into operation? It wasn't that
insane
or
amatuerish,
you know. If not for one of the gang getting cold feet, they might well have pulled it off: the snatch, at least!"

           Scott reached across his credenza to refill a coffee cup that had long turned cold from a freshly-brewed pot just brought in by Lieutenant Beaufort. “Not from any official sources, that’s for sure. But the distinguished Senator didn’t know anything about this particular plot. Just as the Attorney General or MacLane, until March 2, didn’t know about the Parliamentary bill.”

     “Did you see the look on Taney’s face? He’s apoplectic.Not just about the plot. About this whole emancipation business in general. You’d think he would approve, him having freed his own slaves some years back....”

      “That’s Roger. Personally hates slavery…but doesn’t think the Constitution gives government the right to interfere.” Scott was matter-of-fact.

        “Pretty narrow interpretation.”

       Blair was now smoking a large cigar. Blowing out the smoke in blue circular clouds, he moved back to the main topic. “All right General. What do we do with this blacksmith-preacher? What do we recommend to Andy, that is?”

        Scott took his time answering, marching over to his window with its view of the Potomac while he considered. “I believe there’s more to this man than meets the eye, Frank. This smithy-preacher business; I suspect it’s just a charade.  A camouflage, if you will. There’s more to this Jurgurtha than that. You can see it in his eyes: he’s always wary, always thinking… But since the Attorney General sees no grounds to hold him…”

     “Taney didn’t say that!”

      “Hell, Frank, if Roger thought he had evidence the fellow broke the law, he would have arrested him on the spot…”

       “So?”

      “So we recommend that Andy release him…and then get a good watch on his activities indefinitely. Infiltrate that funeral, for example.”

     “Think there’ll be one?”

       “Hmmn. Just the biggest black one in the city’s history…”

      “Andy won’t like that…"

      “Nothing he can do. Jurgurtha’s got a right to bury his son. And that other boy. But…”

      Blair smiled. “But…”

      “But not until I get another chance to talk with him. Privately.”

      Blair stuck out his hand reflexively, realizing too late the crushing pain he was about to absorb. “I look forward to hearing the details, General.” The closest advisor grimaced and extracted his reddened digits and palm gingerly.

___________

Prussian Consulate

June 9, 1833, 5 p.m.:      

   Because of Von Benes’ serendipitous decision to invite the Senator to the reception, Calhoun and Count Nicholas were able to forego their planned 9 p.m. meeting. However, Harry Bratton, in attendance as usual with the Duke, was able only to later report that the duo talked briefly but animatedly during the height of the evening’s pre-supper reception.

     Calhoun, to Harry’s surprise, seemingly had no qualms concerning a public conversation with the eye-patched Russian; in fact had introduced him to his wife. The Count, in turn, introduced the Calhouns to a visibly nervous Countess Renkowiitz.   

   “Recognition of the South’s position has become a topic at the Imperial Court,” Ignatieff--tonight again masquerading as Karlhamanov--said, staring Calhoun in the eye. “Support for your position is strong. The Czar himself has expressed his interest.” Nicholas paused to determine that the message had been received.

      Calhoun was equally brisk in sending his coded reply: “That the plight of the South has aroused the sympathies of so great a world figure as Nicholas of Russia means much to our people. We will count on his friendship.”

       Seeing Von Benes himself looking over and knowing his time with Calhoun was thus limited, Ignatieff pressed a blunt question: “Will that support be necessary at the conclusion of this special session?” Caroline looked shocked, but the Senator smiled his dark smile. “Just knowing of that support is beneficial to the South at this time, Sir.”

       Calhoun nodded and, taking Floride’s arm, moved into the crowd.

___________

       Standing in a group that included DeGama and Valenzuela, Count Renkowiitz had eyed the encounter as anxiously as Captain Bratton. Count Karl waited an appropriate time before joining Ignatieff, who was standing alone near where what was optimistically labeled in Georgetown as an ‘orchestra’ had set up. (Countess Caroline had been taken up by their Prussian host to meet the Duke and his crony, old General Von Below, who had apparently survived several disastrous engagements with Bonaparte to emerge as some sort of Teutonic hero.)

        The conversation was brief. “Calhoun apparently believes this crisis will be settled peacefully, Renkowiitz. Which would ill serve our cause. And would not please the Czar. I doubt you have picked up any encouraging news?”

        Renkowiitz shook his head. “The consensus among our fellow diplomats is that Jackson will propose a compromise. Whether Wellington will then agree or not, it will postpone the crisis, as the counter-proposal will have to be sent back to London.”

        The wolf’s stare, as always, startled Renkowiitz. “That is unacceptable. Our goal is to tie the British up by means of an insurrection here so that they cannot oppose our march to India.  Increasingly I see a covert intervention here may be our only chance to attain that goal.”

       The wolf’s stare faded. “Well, my dear Count. You and your lovely daughter should stay here and pick up any information you can. I will soon depart in order to think on our options for such intervention.” The stare returned. “We will discuss this at precisely 11 a.m. tomorrow.” Ignatieff turned on his heel and moved toward the bar, leaving the nominal head of the Russian Consulate pale and aghast.