The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (67 page)

       “Van Buren wants to harness that grief and guilt to ram emancipation through.  A monument to the slain hero, so to speak, completed while the guilt is still strong.” 

       He looked at the others, whose facial expressions now ranged from outright confusion to sly understanding.

        “We must divert that grief and guilt. How? By denying, plausibly and continually, that the emancipation convention was Jackson’s answer to the crisis. By charging that the whole thing is a fraud…an abolitionist plot; a scurrilous attempt by unscrupulous men to transform a tragedy into a travesty.”

        He smiled his dark smile: “After all, Andrew Jackson, the master of The Hermitage, suddenly calling for abolition? How ludicrous the very idea; how bizarre the concept! How dare they think the British American electorate could be so naive?”

      Chuckles of understanding and admiration rippled through the room. George Troup raised his whisky glass and called for a toast. Others followed until Calhoun smilingly cut them off.

        “Gentlemen, please. We’ve much planning yet this night. A coordinated effort will be required, starting with the opening gavels tomorrow.”

        Senator Tyler had occasionally quietly sipped his own glass of Claret while refraining from commenting throughout the evening. Now he rose and addressed Calhoun:

       “What, sir, do you propose if the Yankees do manage to call this damnable extra-constitutional convention, eh? Suppose, despite our best efforts to discredit this, the Westerners, the Border State people and the others go along with Van Buren. Agree to a convention. What do you propose then?”

        The dark smile had vanished, the face now dominated by a sudden glowing of the eyes. The confident politician replaced by the Old Testament prophet:

        “In that case, John, I believe we’ll have grounds to call a convention of our own. A Southern convention. To discuss not just our peculiar institution, but the future of the South itself.

     “Frankly, I believe we’d be left no alternative…”

___________

The Residency

June 21, 1833, 5 p.m.:

       “There’s no hope then? No chance that they’ll compromise? Even with a Supreme Court ruling in our favor?”

       The G-G looked at his Congressional visitors sadly. “Calhoun is that sure of his position? That we’ll back down rather than risk a secession crisis?” Van Buren got up from behind the desk and, shaking his head, walked over to the window with its view of the Potomac and the Virginia hills.

        Ewing was the first to break the silence: “Calhoun is so far along in this I’m not sure he’ll even accept a damn exemption. The man’s got most of the Southern delegation believing these scurrilous claims that you replaced Jackson’s speech with one Webster wrote up for you…”

         Colonel Burr, sitting on a couch off to the side, chuckled. “Only half? You listen to reports in your Capitol Hill cloakrooms and you get the distinct impression the South is already solidly arming to the proverbial teeth. With the Québécois clamoring for ammunition to join them…”

          Henry Clay was in no mood for levity: “This is serious, Colonel. Have you heard about McDuffie’s speech today? Wants an investigation of the assassination by a Congressional committee. ‘The Executive Branch can not be expected to investigate itself.’ Says such an investigation must be completed before any consideration of Matty’s emancipation convention proposal can even begin.”

        The G-G turned and stared at Frank Blair, who was sitting with the Colonel. “We’ll put a stop to that. For a variety of reasons, gentlemen, including embarrassment to the Crown itself, there’ll be no formal investigation of any kind, though I’d certainly like to know how Calhoun got his hands on Jackson’s speech…”

           The G-G’s attempt to divert attention to the theft of the folder was only partially successful. Benton and Ewing picked up on the reference to the British immediately, though the ploy apparently got the Kentuckian’s mind centered.

        “We could bring Andy Donelson up to the Hill and question him under oath, I suppose. At least that might put a stop to these outrageous fraud claims…”

         Benton shook his head violently: “No Senator. That’s playing into John C.’s hands. This session was called specifically to deal with the emancipation issue. Nothing else matters. Start investigating the disappearance of the folder and you’ve opened Pandora’s Box: Did this Lawrence character actually act alone? What possible motive could he have had? Did someone in high places put him up to it? If so, why? Did he also kill that woman, or was that strictly coincidental, as unlikely as that might seem…”

      The Missourian looked around. “Personally, I’ve got some questions myself. Don’t think you fellows have shared everything about this business with us up on the Hill.” He paused and shrugged. “Well, maybe you have your reasons, Mr. Governor. They’d better be good ones, ‘cause this
will
come out, in the end. But for now, with all due respect to poor Andy, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

      Ewing let the silence in the room linger for 30 long seconds before getting back to the proposal the Senators had come to The Residency to discuss. “Mr. Governor, we’ve spoken with members from both parties and all sections. Even these New England radicals are willing to have your right to call a special convention placed before the Court. We think the Attorney-General should proceed, forthwith.”

      Frank Blair was on his feet: “But wouldn’t that play into Calhoun’s hand, in terms of dragging this out? As it is, Wellington still expects the Parliamentary legislation to pass by August. That’s getting closer by the day.”

       Clay had apparently refocused on the main issue. “We’ve spoken with Marshall, as I’m sure you have. He’s agreeable to hear arguments next Monday, as the entire Court is in town. Apparently, he foresaw there might be Constitutional questions during this special session and arranged the circuit schedules accordingly. Says the actual arguments won’t take long, no matter whom Calhoun sends over to make them. Can render a decision by the 28
^th
.”

      Blair was counting heads and thinking fast. “As you are no doubt aware, old Johnson is the only diehard Southerner on the Court. Even if Gabriel Duval from Maryland joins him, we should have a majority decision of no less than 5-2. Assuming Marshall himself votes affirmatively, of course…”

        The Colonel also stood up, though, to Benton’s thinking, there was little change in height.
First time I’ve ever seen him and Matty Van together. So the rumors really are true…

        Burr was reassuring. “I believe my old friend Justice Marshall will join the majority opinion, if not write it himself. As a matter of fact, I would not be surprised if he’s drafted a tentative opinion already.”

         Van Buren had returned to his seat behind the desk. “Well, gentlemen, let’s get the Attorney-General in here and proceed.”

___________

Calhoun Residence

June 22, 1833, 7 p.m.:

    The Calhouns were dining with John Tyler and his wife when Congressmen Polk and McDuffie arrived from the Hill after a bumpy carriage ride over Georgetown’s rutted roads.

       “So, gentlemen, the Administration has in fact gone ahead and submitted the convention proposal to the Court, I take it?” Calhoun was serene in the face of his two associates’ breathless announcement.

        “Well then. We shall see them in court on Monday. However…” He turned and looked pointedly at Tyler. “I see no reason to postpone or cancel our plans for a Southern caucus in Richmond next month. As Senator Tyler and I were discussing, July 8
^th
looks a good date for the South to begin discussing this among ourselves. I understand Governor Floyd has already begun making the physical preparations…”

___________

War Department

July 3, 1833, 8:30 a.m.:

    Lieutenant Wilder kept looking up from the copy of the
Charleston Mercury
on his desk to the grim faces of Lieutenant Beaufort and David Harper.

     It had been Harper who had rushed into the Department from Interior’s adjoining space in the building, clutching the newspaper in his hand. Coming out of General Gaines’ office---the USBAA vice-commander had begun appearing more regularly since Jackson’s assassination---seconds later, Luke Beaufort had paused at Tom’s desk for a look.

      Dated June 27
^th
---the same day the Supreme Court had ruled against the South on the emancipation convention issue---a huge eight-column headline screamed out from the
Mercury’s
black-bordered front page:

“OLD HICKORY: A MARTYR TO STATES RIGHTS”

      A crude five-column illustration of the assassination depicted Richard Lawrence in a whaler’s hat and overcoat. Smaller headlines on either side bellowed:

                  “Abolitionists Cheer V-B’s Speech Fraud”

                  “Why Congress Won’t Investigate”

                  “Jackson’s Anger at London Ultimatum”

     “Secretary McLane is reading Monday’s
Richmond Examiner
,” Harps said. “The headlines may be a little different, but the message seems about the same: ‘The abolitionists had Jackson killed to stop him from denouncing the emancipation bill. Then Matty Van substituted a pro-emancipation speech and tried to pass it off as Jackson’s original.’” 

        Tom shook his head in disbelief. “But this is all ridiculous. You and I met Lawrence enough times to know the man couldn’t spell emancipation.  He had more than one screw loose; the damn fool thought he was entitled to be King of England…”

        “That’s apparently beside the point, Lieutenant…”

       “No sirs, it is the whole point.” Beaufort interrupted in a hard, low tone. “As you say, this fellow was some sort of cretin; incapable of planning, let alone carrying out, the assassination of the Governor-General of the United States of British America.”

        A small crowd of enlisted Department clerks had begun gathering around Wilder’s desk. They were listening intently as Beaufort continued: “Cast Lawrence’s delusions aside momentarily. The cretin was merely the instrument utilized by a group of well-organized fanatics to subvert the Administration’s to-be-announced response to Parliament’s illegal attempt to override our property rights.”

        Beaufort looked around at the clerks, a few of whom were beginning to nod their heads in agreement. Others were tight-lipped, some staring at Lieutenant Wilder as if expecting him to rebut.

      “The G-G was returned to office last fall in a landside; he carried all sections of the Dominion. He would have rallied opposition everywhere. So, he had to be eliminated. Enter this bartender with his delusions of glory. A handy weapon to replace a defiant leader with a puppet Wellington and the abolitionists could control…”

       The ensuing silence was broken by a deep growl from the rear of the circle: “Quite a theory, Lieutenant. Based on what evidence…”

      “
Atten-hut
.” Wilder, rising to his feet, joined the others in coming to attention. Even Harper stiffened as the commanding general moved through the parting ranks and glanced down at the
Mercury
. Still reading, he barked: “I believe you men have duties to perform this morning…” The crowd of clerks evaporated.

        Picking up the paper he seemed to notice Harper for the first time. “Am I to understand that this newspaper is the property of the Interior Department? Then tell Mr. McLane I shall return it to him shortly.”

        Harps nodded and quickly turned and left as Scott ordered the two aides into his office, handing the
Mercury
to Beaufort as they crossed the threshold.

       Closing the door behind him, Scott moved towards the coffee pot on the credenza before turning to address the two Lieutenants now standing at attention in front of his desk.

       “I’ll take that paper, Lieutenant.” Scott sat and, sipping his coffee, read for several minutes; the aides still at attention before him.  He finally looked up.

        “Gentlemen, I swore an oath to defend the Constitution and the flag of this Dominion almost 30 years ago. The day you two entered West Point, you did the same.  For as long as you wear that uniform, I’ll expect you to uphold that oath. The moment you no longer feel you can, I’ll expect your resignation.” He paused.

     “A crisis of unparalleled magnitude is evidently approaching. The Dominion needs both you men; we shall need every man.”

          He paused and stared from one to the other, from Mississippi to New York. “I’ll require you both to refrain from further political discussion in the Department proper; and to see that the men go about their normal business.”

       My secretary’s already made up his mind
, Scott thought.
Wouldn’t be surprised if
he’s composed his resignation letter, at least in his mind
. He opened the newspaper to an inner page.
More of the same!

        Dear God, is it starting already
?

        “Dismissed!”

___________

Latoure Townhouse

July 5, 1833:

     Robert Lee had wrangled leave and was home for 10 days, so Lucille had thought to throw a small dinner party in his honor. Despite the brutal Georgetown weather---high heat, unbearable humidity and scalding rain during the daily thunderstorms---no one of importance had left the capital. No one, that is, as of yet: the Southern Congressional delegation was scheduled to leave en mass for Richmond tomorrow to prepare for the “caucus” scheduled to open on Monday.

       Despite her newly minted political awareness, Lucille retained her social and entertaining skills: the food excellent, the service impeccable and the wines outstanding.  A cross-section of Georgetown’s young elite, in terms of status, profession, nationality and gender, had been invited.  Stimulating conversation would be a given…