The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (62 page)

___________

The Residency

June 9, 1833, 10 p.m.: 

      Aaron Burr had arrived depressed. He was departing in a somewhat different state of mind. He had always considered Andrew Jackson a man of action, one who whose legendary hair-trigger temper was matched by an equally lightening-fast decision-making ability. The G-G’s apparent foot-dragging was becoming dangerous: all sides were taking it as a sign of weakness

     Now, as the Vice G-G’s carriage carried him back to Matty Van’s house, he shook his head in admiration at Jackson’s audacity…and wondered if the ploy could succeed. 

      “By the Eternal, Colonel!” the G-G had bellowed in frustration as Burr had prodded for a public indication of his leanings. They had just spent 3 ½ hours discussing the issue in minute detail over a simple but excellent roast beef dinner. “Not you, too! I simply am not yet prepared to intervene in the Congressional debate. Let those people up on the Hill reach some sort of accord! Or come here to tell me they’re hopelessly deadlocked. Then I’ll propose my solution. That’s why I’ve pushed my speech back. And why I’ll reschedule it again, if necessary!”

      Jackson drained a glass of after-dinner Tennessee whisky and poured a refill from the jug that had replaced the wine bottles on the table. His tone became more reasonable:

      “Aaron, my feelings about this damn bill have not changed since His Grace, the Duke,” he snorted the title sarcastically, “dropped this on us three months ago. I didn’t like the idea of these Parliamentary Limeys---and that sanctimonious Puritan bastard Adams---interfering then…and I don’t like it now...”

       He paused and grinned ruefully at Burr. “But as I do recognize their right---watch it, Colonel or, by the Eternal, I’ll wipe that smirk right off your face---I intend to exercise our right to come to a final decision here.

     “That’s why I’m withholding my position, if you must know. There’ll be no ‘compromise proposal’ sent back to London with Wellington, accompanied by a Congressional committee, hats in hand!”

       He stared at Burr over the top of his whisky glass. “I’ll go to the Hill in a few days, after the boys have talked themselves hoarse. I’ll announce my decision, based on their debate. The country will fall in behind it, as it appears it will be the majority opinion...Then we’ll pack His Grace off to ‘jolly ol’ England’ with the response of a united Dominion.”

        The Colonel had paused, sipping from his own glass---this one containing Claret---and weighing the odds.

        “Are you telling me, Andrew, that you---of all people---have suddenly become pragmatic?”

      “What I am telling you, Colonel Burr---and this is not for anyone else’s ears until further notice---is that the Governor-General intends to defuse this crisis by rallying our people around the flag.” He paused and stared hard at Burr. “The Stars and Stripes,
not
the Union Jack…

       “Slavery is on its way out; even the most diehard planters know it can’t last more than another few generations. But we can deflect the sectional bitterness by informing His Majesty’s Government that ‘we in the Dominion will see to our own business, thank ye very much…’”

     Jackson paused to take another long swallow of his favorite mash. “Focus ‘em on solving our problem internally…” He paused and nodded vigorously. “That’ll do the trick…Get ‘em so mad at London that they’ll do anything to show the Limey bastards up…

     “…too mad to try to show each other up.” Jackson paused again. His next remarks came out, to even the secular Burr’s ears, as a sort of prayer:

       “I only hope to the Eternal that it’ll work… Otherwise…”

       As he rode back to his son’s house, Burr, an agnostic whose grandfather had been the redoubtable fire-and-brimstone preacher Jonathon Edwards, hoped--prayed?--that Andy’s strategy
would
work.

___________

Capitol Hill,

June 10, 1833, 12:00 noon:

     James K. Polk encountered Calhoun and Congressman McDuffie at the foot of the Hill.

      It did not take him long to relay the results of yesterday’s Kitchen Cabinet meeting as they began their climb: Jackson had postponed his speech until Wednesday in order to obtain a sense of how the ‘Kentucky resolutions’---“Andy will not acknowledge them as Clay’s, of course,” he noted with a grin---played out. “Then, he will announce his position.”

      Calhoun grunted. “Still won’t get off the fence, eh? Can’t see that the issue has been decided? Well, once we receive confirmation that we’ve isolated those damn abolitionists with our amended Cla…
’Kentucky’
…resolutions, his opinion will simply be a rubber stamp.”

        McDuffie seldom contradicted Calhoun, but he did so now. “Rubber stamp as far as Congress is concerned, quite possibly, John. But in the eyes of the British: an imprimatur. It’s obvious now that Wellington came here with the authority, under that damn Compact, to relieve Jackson, if necessary.

      “He’ll think twice about that, however, once he sees that the Congress---and the various sections other than New England---are lined up in step with that old man.”

        Calhoun paused midway up the Capitol Building’s steps and smiled his dark smile at the panting McDuffie. “You must get more physical exercise, Mac. The South can’t afford to lose the brand of political acumen you occasionally dispense...” His smile broadened slightly to soften the sarcasm.

     “I agree, Jackson is key in dealing with London…

      “But all in good time, gentlemen. For now, let’s concentrate on getting the exemption---sunsetted, not capped---through both Houses. Then, we’ll deal with the Duke.

       “By the way, have there been any late dispatches from London? Or Syria…?”

       His co-conspirators laughed as they parted in the Rotunda and Calhoun made his way to the Senate portion of the Building.

___________

The Golden Eagle Tavern

June 10, 1833, 4 p.m.:

      Count Ignatieff had not revealed the details of his “covert intervention” to the nominal Russian C-G at their brief 11 a.m. meeting (to which Caroline, to her relief, was not summoned).

      Ignatieff had instead simply informed Renkowiitz that he had determined on a possible course of action, based on the outcome of the Congressional debate; meanwhile, the C-G was to make arrangements for ‘Karlhamanov’s’ sudden---if necessary---disappearance. After some brainstorming---mostly on Nicholas’ part---it was decided to utilize the services of the New York-based merchant, Tretiak.

        Nicholas vaguely recalled the merchant bragging about his wide-ranging enterprises (all Imperial-backed) in such cities as Boston, Baltimore and Charleston. After a quick check, they determined that Tretiak also maintained an office and warehouses in Richmond, 90 miles to the southwest. If his cover was blown and the British began a search for him, they agreed, that search would most likely center on Baltimore as the nearest port of embarkation to Europe. The small Tretiak operation in Richmond would not attract attention, yet was both far enough away to hide him and close enough to allow him to slip back into Georgetown, if the need arose.

       Ignatieff gave the order to inform Richmond to be alert. He then departed for Capitol Hill, where Senator Clay was scheduled to present his compromise resolutions at 1 p.m.

     Now, alarmed by the conciliatory tenor of the proceedings (even the Southern hotheads had seemingly received the Clay proposals calmly, if not enthusiastically), Nicholas had decided on his course of
covert intervention
.

       “Ah, ‘King Richard,’” he greeted the morose bartender, who was just beginning his daily shift. “It’s a shame we couldn’t practice because of the rain yesterday. Were you able to fire off a few rounds in my absence today?”

       Lawrence nodded his head, a bleak smile breaking out at the sight of the one person to befriend him in this city of strangers. “Yes, Andre, I went across Rock Creek and practiced with all the weapons: pistol, derringer and musket. Just as you have taught me.”

       “And you were not disturbed?” Ignatieff’s only concern when suggesting the previous evening that Richard practice today was that he would be observed and reported to the authorities (whoever they might be in this disorganized hamlet!).

        Lawrence was shaking his peculiar long, lean, angular face: “There was no one in the woods. And, I took care to keep the weapons out-of-sight in their canvas bag.”

         The sound of footsteps clearly identified the approach of the proprietress. “Andre, darling, back from the Capitol, so soon? I didn’t expect you for another hour or more.” She lowered her eyes in that false modest look that had bedazzled so many customers (and clients): “Perhaps we have time for ourselves, after all…”

         Ignatieff shook his head. “Later, my sweet. Just now, I believe we should have a conference…just the three of us.” He looked at the bartender. “Why not pour us all a drink, Richard, yourself included.”

        Joanne’s eyes narrowed at this break in strict Eagle procedure, but Andre’s glance---as always---melted her annoyance. “Yes, Richard, why not join us in a drink.” She turned to Ignatieff. “But what, darling, is the occasion?”

       Ignatieff waited till the round---beer for himself; Madeira for the others---had been set on the bar. “Simply to announce, my darling, I have become convinced that Richard has been correct in his complaint.” He stared up and into the bartender’s dull grey eyes.

        “After much study, it is obvious to me that this Andy Jackson
is
the culprit: he is the impediment to Richard rising to his rightful place as King of England.” He raised his glass in salute before quickly downing half the mug. At his direct glance, a baffled Joanne---who was too astonished to laugh---likewise raised her glass, though she simply sipped her wine.

       Lawrence was staring back at the Russian, immediate shock turning to glee: his claims were not so far-fetched, it seemed! Andre, his friend, now accepted them. He raised his own glass and finished off the Madeira in one long gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he finished.

         Ignatieff indicated for another round, smiling archly at the still-stunned but now-frowning Joanne.  After Lawrence put the Madeira bottle, now almost empty, back behind the bar, he finally spoke:

         “The question now, Your Majesty, is how we remove this impediment to allow you to assume your rightful place?”

___________

The Residency

June 11, 1833, 6 p.m.:

     The depleted Kitchen Cabinet was at this hour deep in session with Jackson to polish his speech.

       Van Buren’s absence was no longer noted by Blair and Cass: Matty Van’s singular situation eliminated him as an advisor; at least until this crisis passed, if not forever…

    Cass had remarked, as the meeting was starting, on Polk’s non-appearance; Jackson had looked grim. Later, when the G-G hobbled out to briefly meet with Donelson and Wilder concerning the ceremonial aspects of tomorrow’s trip up Pennsylvania Avenue, Blair filled him in:

     “Andy is suspicious of James’ true loyalties in this. He’s become concerned Congressman Polk has become a mole of sorts, relaying what goes on here to the fire-eaters.”

      Cass was startled: “Does he have evidence, or is this just one of Andy’s ‘gut feelings?’”

    “Well, that outburst the other night when I brought up beating Clay to the punch with a compromise sort of confirmed some earlier suspicions in Andy’s mind. Seems he’s also gotten word from Tennessee that Calhoun was at Polk’s plantation last month…”

     Blair looked hard at the Secretary of War: “Think back to Wellington’s little bombshell the other evening, Lewis. Took you by surprise, didn’t it? Shocked the hell out of me…and the G-G. But James never blinked an eye. Like it was old news or something…”

___________

The Golden Eagle Tavern

June 11, 1833, 11 p.m.:

        Joanne Casgrave was furious.

       After the tavern closed last night at 2 a.m. (the brothel business, as per a Monday, had died off around 11 p.m.), Andre had plied the idiot bartender with still more drinks, while continuing this ridiculous “King Richard” talk. Joanne didn’t know whether to be more professionally or personally offended: A drunken Lawrence might fly off the handle in any direction; while she, herself, required Andre’s consummate attentions…

         When Andre had finally put the drunken Richard to bed on his basement cot and entered her ’boudoir,’ he had been curt---and, she reflected ruefully, unnecessarily rough---before falling quickly asleep.

       This morning, she had awoken to find Andre already gone; only when she descended for breakfast did she discover that Lawrence was also out of the building. The bartender had returned in early afternoon, carrying that ominous sack which she knew contained weapons; Andre had not appeared unto early evening.

         She intended to have it out with her lover tonight: exactly what was going on? She saw no reason to get Lawrence all excited; the key to keeping him under control was to dampen his spirits. And, if truth be told---though Joanne was constitutionally incapable of telling the truth, even to herself---she was becoming alarmed at Andre’s increasing aloofness. She longed for the early days of their relationship, before he had traveled…wherever.  The Russian simply fulfilled her as no other man---Casgrave, Bratton, even young Harper or any of dozens of others---ever had. And she was sure he loved her…hadn’t he admitted as much on his return? So why was he ignoring her…and spending so much time with this village idiot?

___________

The Residency

June 11, 1833, 12:00 midnight:

       The speech was now in the hands of Donelson, who would have to stay up much of the night recopying and rearranging the various fragments into a coherent, flowing address.