The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (70 page)

       The gaunt, goateed Virginian paused as if expecting a response. Seeing Wellington simply staring inscrutably at him, Tyler hurried on:

     “The CSA requires a total exemption, in perpetuity, from the legislation now before Parliament requiring the mandatory emancipation of all slaves in the Empire.” He paused again momentarily before adding:

      “This exemption once agreed to, will allow for the discussion and resolution of other issues of concern to the CSA: chief among them the question of foreign policy initiatives directly affecting our citizens.”

___________

Indian Queen Hotel

July 23, 1833, 6:00 p.m.

     “When Tyler finished, the silence in the room was…” Burrell reported to Webster that evening in the Indian Queen’s taproom, “…profound.

      “Not a muscle moved in His Grace’s face for what seemed a bloody eternity. The, ah, commissioners began to fidget. One of the others---can’t recall the chap’s name---opened his mouth at one point as if to speak, but apparently thought the better of it.

      “The Duke finally rose from his chair and walked to the window. He remained looking out towards The Residency for some further time. Finally, he turned and, with his hands folded behind him---no doubt so the Southerners couldn’t see his clenched fists---spoke in a tone best described as ‘uncompromising’:

     He had met earlier in the month with another
informal
delegation. Perhaps he had not cogently expressed the position of His Majesty’s Government: strict adherence to the Colonial Compact. Under its terms, the government now permanently established in Georgetown is recognized as the sole representative governing body of the British American people, both domestically and imperially.
In perpetuity
.

       “When it became obvious that the Duke was finished; had no intention of considering, let alone discussing, their ‘non-negotiable’ demands, Tyler gathered up his papers and rose from his seat.” 

      “After his fellow commissioners followed his example, he addressed the Duke in formal tones:

           There would be no further attempt by the CSA to reach a settlement. The terms of the Colonial Compact having been violated by both London and Georgetown, it was now declared by the South to be null-and-void.  His people wished only to be left in peace to conduct their own affairs in their own way. However, any attempt by either London or Georgetown to subjugate the South would be resisted, by means of armed force if necessary.

       “Without another word, the Southerners turned and marched out of the building.”

___________

        Webster shook his head. “They’ve lost touch with reality. Calhoun’s mesmerized them all. The damn fools…”

        Burrell smiled. “The Duke’s thoughts, exactly. In fact, he paraphrased something General Scott apparently told him some time ago. It seems you have a saying, some of you: ‘South Carolina: too small to be a nation; too large to be an insane asylum.’  His Grace now thinks the asylum needs to be expanded…”

        The Massachusetts Senator downed his drink and called for another.

         “Well, Sir John.  They’re still too small to be a nation…  Unfortunately, it looks likely it will take quite a large quantity of blood to demonstrate their insanity…”

___________

War Department

Georgetown, D.C.

August 8, 1833:

    The abrupt, though anticipated, resignation of Luke Beaufort on August 1
^st
had strained the Department’s already taunt workforce, especially as two non-commissioned officers (one unexpectedly) had also gone South.

     Lieutenant Wilder was thus pulling double-duty, though General Scott had gradually removed Beaufort from access to sensitive material over the course of the last six weeks. It was Tom’s unpleasant duty, therefore, to present the General with another in the growing number of officer resignation letters. This one cut more deeply: “First Lieutenant Joseph Johnston of the 4
^th
Artillery regrets that events of recent days have made it impossible…”

      After laying the letter in front of The Old Man, Tom tried to beat a hasty but quiet retreat. He hadn’t gotten more than halfway to the door when Scott growled: “Come back here, Lieutenant.”

    Tom sheepishly returned to the front of the big desk and was indicated into a seat. The General read the short letter again before staring past Tom’s right shoulder to the window with its view of the Potomac. Minutes passed in silence. Finally: “Get a messenger to Fortress Monroe. I want Lieutenant Lee here as soon as possible.” Thomas nodded and jumped to his feet. As he turned to leave, Scott beckoned him again. “Lieutenant…” Their eye contact made words superfluous. “No, that will be all.”

       As Tom exited the General’s office, the thought occurred:
he might well be the only junior officer to have ever seen Winfield Scott’s eyes redden…

___________

War Department

August 9, 1833

11 a.m.:

    General Scott looked up from a desk covered with maps of northern Virginia upon hearing the crisp knock on his door.  “Come in Lieutenant. This had better be either important or interesting…”

     Stepping through the doorway and securing the entrance behind him, Tom Wilder came to full attention, but with a faint outline of a grin at the corners of his mouth. “Sir. Do you recall meeting, some weeks ago, with a man of color, head like a cannonball, arms like tree trunks, fingers the size of pistol barrels…”

      “Jurgurtha Numidia.”

      “He’s standing in the outer office, General, and requests a private interview.”

     Scott’s own mouth twitched. “Well, Lieutenant. Maybe not important, in view of everything else going on. But definitely interesting. Show the man in.”

     As Jurgurtha stooped to keep from hitting his head on the doorsill, the Lieutenant closed the door from the outside and stuck his right hand in the face of the non-commissioned-officer-in-charge. They had bet months before on whether anyone other than the General would be forced to incline his head to gain entrance. Having seen Numidia at close range, Tom had gambled that the gigantic blacksmith would one day, for whatever reason, appear at the War Department

___________

       Scott had remained standing next to his desk. “Mr. Numidia.”

       “General Scott.” Jurgurtha was equally formal without any sense of either subservience or bitterness.

        The General nodded to the tall, sweating pitcher and accompanying glasses. “Water?”

        “Thank you, General. Hot as hell out there. As usual…” Jurgurtha moved towards the credenza, reaching it in two huge, easy strides.

        “That’s Georgetown, Mr. Numidia. But I don’t have the time or inclination to discuss this swamp’s wretched weather…and I don’t believe that’s what brought
you
here, either…”

       “Sure ‘nough not, Gen’l…”

       The two men stared at each other, Jurgurtha with a tight smile and Scott with a look of exaggerated disgust.

         “Hmmm. Well, then, Mr. Numidia, state your business.”

        Jurgurtha slowly sipped his water and continued to stare at Scott for perhaps 30 seconds before answering. “General, when last we met, you may recall suggesting that I  give thought to, as I remember it, ‘how my people and I could help…if worse comes to worse.’

      “Well, General Scott, that having become the case, at least from your perspective if not from mine, I’m here to see what can be worked out.”

        Scott grunted and marched over to the credenza himself, coffee cup/water mug in his right paw. He poured and took a long swallow before answering. “Is
Exodus
offering to secretly lead a portion of my army behind enemy lines so that we can attack from both sides? A Cannae, if you will?”

    Jurgurtha raised his glass in salute. “My compliments, General. If and when time allows, I’d be interested to hear how you discovered our little operation…and why you haven’t closed us down…”

     “Why close you down now…
Moses
? You’re providing a service to the Dominion. Anything that hurts the so-called Confederacy, even in a small way, benefits what will soon be the USBA war effort. Up to now, it’s been the occasional escaped slave coming this direction. In the near future, it could be messages, or more, going South…

     “As for discovery, well, Doby knew just enough to get us started…”

     “Doby? That black bastard…I knew it was him. Only one not hurt or killed. Well, we’ll deal with him our ownselves…”

      “I doubt it.” Scott was dry. “Doby’s a long way from Georgetown. And if he’s smart, he won’t ever come back. Not that we’ve abandoned him. Let’s just say his opportunities look more promising where he is now… By the way, Donfield’s also gone. Too much trouble to put him on trial. Politics, you know… No, Mr. Crispus Attucks Donfield is now enjoying life in Monrovia, Liberia. Perhaps the Spanish he picked up working at the Consulate will benefit him there…if he can hear with only one ear.”

       Jurgurtha was shaking his head. “So Doby was in it alone, eh? Spilled the beans beforehand. How many pieces of silver?

       Scott shook his own head. “Didn’t ask for anything. Just wanted to keep his job at Interior. Which, of course, would have been like handing him his death sentence once word leaked out, as it always does.

        “As for
Exodus,
Doby didn’t know much at all. We just picked up the threads from the other end. Your son’s job with Senator Webster. That led us to the New England Abolition Society…and back to you and
Exodus
. Full circle.”

     The
Exodus
station chief shook his head in reluctant admiration. “Damn… Pretty thorough. Or lucky…”

     “Now then, Mr. Numidia, as I said at the onset: state your business.”

___________

     Scott leaned back against his desk, pushing the coordinated maps into a shambles, and heard Jurgurtha’s proposal to raise a force of free blacks to serve with the USBA forces without changing facial expression.

     “And just who would command such a force, Mr. Numidia…just supposing all the other obstacles were overcome and we decided to field this force? My loyal officers are fighting for a principle, all right. But it’s the concept of the Dominion and its relationship to the Empire. Not emancipation. And, being human, they’re interested in promotion. Don’t know any offhand who would be happy leading a battalion or regiment of blacks. Doubt even my own aide out there, Lieutenant Wilder, who is hunkering for a command---which he won’t get---would be interested in commanding such a force. I’m afraid most of my officers would look at it as a demotion.”

       Scott stared at Jurgurtha, his eyes suddenly bright and his mouth twitching as if to keep from smiling. The black man smiled back.

        “Perhaps, in your surprise at the proposal itself, you didn’t hear me completely, General. I said I’d raise the force. That means I’d command it, too.”

        Scott appeared to be giving consideration to the declaration, though his lips were fighting off a pucker.

       “I see. So, in essence, you expect me to inform the G-G and Secretary Cass, as well as the Duke, that I intend to raise a force of free Georgetown blacks, up to regiment-strength and including black seamen and perhaps a few escaped slaves, train them over the next few weeks, arm them and send them into my lines under the command of a man of God?

       “And, by the way, how do you think that will play in Missouri, Kentucky and Maryland, which Mr. Van Buren is trying desperately to hold on to for the Dominion?”

       Numidia had returned to the credenza for a refill, but now he angrily slammed down his glass. “So what were you talking about that day in my stable, General Scott,
Sir
? Maybe utilize my people to hold the white boys’ horses, build their campfires and cook for them? You know, like that Southern army is undoubtedly utilizing
their
blacks?”

         Scott grinned. “Well Jurgurtha, that’s what I originally had in mind. But ideas evolve. Especially when more information is made available; information that can tip the scale in one direction or another.

        “Like the information in the New England Abolition Society files on one Jurgurtha Numidia. Col. Jurgurtha Numidia, that is, retired from the Haitian Army and veteran of the wars of liberation against Napoleon...

       “So, Colonel Numidia: how many men do you think you could raise and how long before you could put them in the field?

       “Bearing in mind, of course, that this is all very theoretical?  And that Matty Van and Wellington may have me retired and shipped to Bedlam for even bringing the subject up?”

___________

Harper’s Ferry, Virginia

August 18, 1833, 4:20 a.m.:

    If the crickets are chirping this early, it’s going to be another hot one
, Maj. Luke Beaufort, 1
^st
Cavalry, Army of Virginia, thought as he placed both hands on his saddle horn and looked down on the quiet village.

    The 1
^st
had risen at 2:30 a.m., ridden quietly---the horses’ hooves wrapped in burlap---and come up onto the Bolivar Heights from the southwest, having crossed the Shenandoah River miles downstream yesterday afternoon.  Now they were northwest of the village; ‘behind it’, so to speak, as Harper’s Ferry opened west-northwest from the triangle formed by the confluence of the Shenandoah and the Potomac River. The arsenal, armory buildings and other War Department buildings seemed scattered haphazardly throughout the triangle, though Luke knew that in actuality it was the shops, inns and houses that had sprung up haphazardly around the government buildings.