The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (72 page)

___________

War Department

August 22nd, 1833, 2 p.m:

    General Scott had been clear: there were to be no interruptions during his conference with the Duke. But the sudden appearance of a grim-faced Lt. Robert E. Lee was enough for Tom to risk the General’s wrath. He knocked on the closed door and awaited the expected explosion:

    “This had better be damn impor…” General Scott stopped, his mouth open, and stared out the office door and over Tom’s shoulder to Lee. He automatically grasped the seriousness of the situation, whatever it was. “Come in Lieutenant Lee.” The door closed behind them, leaving Tom to turn and shrug wordlessly at the unspoken questions on the faces of the Department clerks.

    Inside, Scott quickly identified Lee to Wellington. Then: “Your report Lieutenant.”

    Robert had been labeled the “Marble Monument” by his West Point classmates for many reasons besides his unfathomable, awe-inspiring perfect conduct record. Among them were his emotional self-control and military bearing. He needed both to deliver the shocking news.

     “Sir, I have come from Hampton Roads by Coastal Guard sloop to deliver this pouch to you.” Still at attention, he handed Scott a slim leather packet and continued: “Sir, it is my duty to inform you that yesterday morning at 6 a.m. Colonel Twiggs turned over Fortress Monroe and the Norfolk CG yard to General Gaines. The General informed the assembled garrisons that he was assuming command in his capacity as chief-of-staff of the Confederate States Army.”

      Scott, who had begun opening the pouch’s ties, quietly placed the packet on his desk and glanced at Wellington. A quick pursing of the lips was Wellington’s only immediate response though the eyes seemed to brighten considerably.
The old warhorse has caught
the scent of battle,
Scott thought.
He’s ready to pick up a sword right now
…

     Scott looked back at the ramrod-straight Lee: “Take it from the beginning, Lieutenant. Exclude nothing…”

      It was not a particularly long report: General Gaines, in civilian clothes, had arrived two evenings ago with a small party of similarly clad aides. He had immediately gone into the Colonel’s quarters; the Lieutenant had been about his own business and had not known of the conference until the next day. Yesterday at morning reveille, Gaines, now in a grey uniform of sorts, had addressed the troops. Fortress Monroe, due to its very location on Virginia soil, obviously was the property of Virginia. As commander of Virginia’s army, now a part of the new CSA army, he had requested Colonel Twiggs to cede possession. The Colonel had agreed and CSA guards were now patrolling the walls. On behalf of Governor Floyd and acting head-of-state Calhoun, he assured the USBAA garrison of safe passage ‘back’ to the Dominion; however, all troops are encouraged to resign and join the CSA.

      “I was then sent for.  With Colonel Twiggs, who was dressed in a grey military jacket somewhat the color of General Gaines’, and with Gaines himself was Captain Savage, CO of the infantry at the Fortress. Captain Savage, now the ranking USBAA officer at Monroe, ordered me to deliver the pouch.  CGS Albany, Sir, was the only Coastal Guard vessel at the base when I arrived. I am told that when word reached the anchorage that…” Lee paused, obviously embarrassed, “…a ‘force’ had occupied the base, the other ships pulled anchor and sailed for Baltimore. Albany was apparently dockside and unable to flee in time.”

     Scott stared hard. “That all, Lieutenant?”

     “Yes Sir.”

     “Your uniform is a bit muddy Lieutenant. I assume you were rowed in from the Potomac?”

     “Yes Sir, forgive me, but the marshes…I felt it my duty to deliver this pouch and my report immediately…”

       “Then I can also assume that you are reporting as an active officer in the USBAA? That you have not, as they are calling it, ‘gone south?’”

      If it is possible for a monument to stiffen, Lee appeared to do so. “At this moment, Sir, I am reporting as a Lieutenant in the USBAA.”

     Scott and Wellington exchanged looks. “Do you have any questions of this officer, Your Grace?”

      “Just one, if I may. Lieutenant, ah, Lee, how many officers and men took the rebel Gaines up on his, ah, ‘suggestion’ that they, in General Scott’s apropos term, ‘go South’?”

      “Captain Savage told me privately, Your Grace, that he expected to march about 90% of the men and…” he paused, again of apparent embarrassment, “…approximately half the officers North. He said to tell you, General, that he expected to move out this morning. My apologies for neglecting to include that information earlier.”

        Scott nodded. “You are dismissed, Lieutenant. Report back here at 0800 tomorrow.”

___________

     Scott was rising from his desk even before the door closed behind Lee. He indicated the pitcher of icy water on the credenza and poured tall glasses for both the Duke and himself. Wellington accepted wordlessly and watched Scott walk slowly across the room to the big window. The General turned and sipped his water.

       “This has been in the works for sometime, I believe. They waited to see if the Harper’s Ferry raid would be successful, then struck. I imagine Sumter in Charleston, Mobile, all the Southern forts will fall like dominos.”

        “Its my fault. I believed Twiggs was honorable; would do the honorable thing and resign. It never occurred to me that his particular brand of treason would extend beyond his own person. To arrange the surrender of his entire command…unprecedented perfidy!”

        He turned back to the window and spoke over his shoulder to the still-sitting Duke. “Lee didn’t mention it, but they must have overpowered the guards; Twiggs couldn’t have managed to have them all pulled. Must have been some casualties. Must have been some subterfuge, too, getting the rebels inside in enough force to take even a skeleton guard detachment.”

        “Your security directive was disobeyed, General Scott. That’s obvious. This man Twiggs brazenly cooked this up. Well, let’s turn to the estimate of the situation: what does this mean in a military sense? Is Fortress Monroe vital to your plans?”

        “Not in an immediate tactical sense, Your Grace. Only if we were scheduled to land an army on the Tidewater Peninsula, which we have no plans to do. No, the immediate value to the rebels is in terms of artillery. When completed, the Fortress is designed to boast 300 guns of up to 32-pounds. About two-thirds are already in place. The rebels took Monroe for two reasons: because their sense of honor demanded it; and because of those guns.”

        Scott grimaced: “That’s a lot of artillery our boys will be running into when we move to take Virginia back…”

___________

The White House

Richmond, Virginia

August 30, 1833:

     “Sir, there is a gentleman here asking to see you.” Jefferson Munroe was hesitant as he stood in the doorway of John C. Calhoun’s makeshift office in the mansion vacated by the president of the Bank of Virginia. It was locally referred to as ‘The White House.’

     The newly installed president of the Confederate States of America looked up from the piles of paper littering his desk. “General or cabinet officer?” The sarcasm was heavy but on-target: the President’s secretary spent much of his time shooing away office- and commission-seekers.

     Munroe smiled. “Not this time, Sir. This one is a bit different. He announces himself as the official representative of His Imperial Majesty, Nicholas I, Czar of All the Russias…”

      The President’s eyes began to shine.

      “…Says his name is Count Nicholas Ignatieff. However…”

      Calhoun sat staring. “Go on, Jefferson, you have more…”

      “Yes, Sir. I…I believe we met him in Alabama some months ago. Under a different name. His appearance is also somewhat altered.”

      “Well, by all means, Jefferson. Bring in the ‘official representative of the Czar of All the Russias.’”

        Ignatieff strode confidently into the room and bowed his head formally. “Excellency, it is good of you to see me on such short notice. I am aware how busy you must be.”

      Now on his feet, the President briefly flashed his dark smile: “’Mr. President’ will suffice, sir.” He rocked back gently on his heels and studied his guest intently. “Count…” He looked over at Munroe.

      “Ignatieff, Sir.”

      “Thank you. Yes, Count Ignatieff. Welcome to Richmond, sir. I understand you claim to be the ‘official representative’ of your Czar? In that case, sir, I assume you have papers to that effect so identifying you? If that is the case, you may present them now…”

      Ignatieff ‘s smile did not reach his eyes, which remained locked with Calhoun’s. If the President was surprised by the oddity of the right eye’s dual colors, he did not betray it, surprising the Count. Well, Nicholas thought,
if he demands we play this diplomatic farce, I shall acquiesce…

        “Obviously I carry no papers from the Foreign Ministry in St. Petersburg---or from the Czar himself---addressed to the ‘Government of the Confederate States of America.’ However, I do possess credentials. Unfortunately, they are written in Russian. While I would be happy to have them examined by anyone you should so designate, I give you my word of honor as a gentleman that they do in fact instruct me to make contact with the leader of the Southern people.”

         Calhoun leaned back against the front of his desk and glanced briefly at Munroe, who was staring at the Russian dubiously.

         “You will understand, Count Ignatieff, my aide’s skeptical attitude, in that you have previously presented yourself, apparently fraudulently, as Mr…Karlhamanov…I believe it was?  If your previous persona was indeed a charade, what evidence other than an apparent document, as yet unpresented, in a language few here in Richmond could decipher, would lead us to accept your bonafides as the Czar’s man and not an imposter of acknowledged skill and daring?”

          Ignatieff again smiled, though with a lack of humor obvious to the Southerners. “When you have my direction from the Czar…” he tapped his jacket pocket in apparent indication of the paper’s location,  “…’deciphered’…you will see that my orders are also to ascertain the strength of the Southern independence cause and to assist it in the event such a cause is viable.

        “Certainly you can see that the initial phase of my mission could be carried out more effectively in the guise of a common, though prominent, ‘exile’ than as a ranking member of His Imperial Majesty’s service. In that persona, I analyzed your chances for success…and assisted you with certain information. Information that I assume helped you arrive at the momentous decision that has led us both to Richmond.

      “Here in your new capital, such secrecy and deception is unnecessary.”

       Calhoun’s dark face was now hard and his words direct: “And how do you propose to assist us now, if we choose to accept you in your latest persona?”

       “Initially, your acceptance of my presented credentials amounts to my country’s formal recognition of the Confederacy as an independent country. A major diplomatic coup that opens many possibilities throughout Europe. My instructions are also to investigate the possibility of direct financial and military aid. In other words, an alliance of our two beloved countries. If such an alliance, Mr. President, would be helpful to you…”

___________

The Deerhead Inn

Georgetown, D.C.

August 30, 1833, 8 p.m.:

      Capt. William Savage was not surprised by his promotion to lieutenant colonel of volunteers. Like all USBAA regulars, he had known the huge expansion of the Dominion’s forces in light of the South’s secession would mean early jumps in rank and responsibilities.

    “Didn’t expect it just now, that’s all,” he said over a celebratory beer in the taproom with Lt. Col. Brian Judge. Judge, too, had received word of his promotion directly from General Scott upon arriving with his Fort McHenry garrison. “Considering I was caught flatfooted when the damn rebels took over Fortress Monroe and all…”

     “Hell, Billy, you weren’t caught flat-footed. The rebels caught you sound asleep…”

     “Thanks a lot,
Colonel
Judge…” The two old friends---they had served together in the Southwest and in Quebec---grinned at each other.

     “Actually, Colonel Savage, the Old Man couldn’t hardly hold it against you personally. I mean, I hear tell he would have court marshaled that poor bastard Daley, had he lived. But you weren’t in command down there. They say Twiggs turned traitor overnight, though Lieutenant, err, Captain Wilder says the General believes Twiggs and Gaines started cooking that up last month…”

      “No doubt about that. It was too slick for a spur-of-the-moment thing. The two sons-of-bitches… Even some of the Southerners were embarrassed. Lieutenant Lee…”

      “Heard he’s gone south now, too.”

       “Well he’s resigned his commission, that’s fact. Damn near broke the General’s heart, according to Wilder. Says the Old Man pleaded with him. Told him he was making the mistake of his life. Wilder was pretty broke up, too. They were roommates at The Point, apparently. Tommy says Lee looked him in the eye and told him he’d never take up his sword again, except in defense of Virginia.”

       “What a load of crap. Where the hell does he think this big fight that’s coming is gonna take place? Texas?”

        The two friends grinned again. Then the bulky Savage, whose men always said he’d been assigned to the infantry in consideration of the Army’s horses, grew more serious. “Actually, Brian, Wilder knows Lee fairly well, if anyone can say they know him. Strange young man. Most serious junior officer I’ve ever met. Yet to hear him crack a joke, even in the officer’s mess at the Fortress. Anyway, Tom thinks that was Lee’s way of saying he won’t condone or participate in any hit-and-run raids on Georgetown.”

      Judge was unimpressed. “That’s damn Christian of him. Seeing how he ain’t cavalry. Damn prudent, too, seeing how he knows we’ve got enough regulars here now to handle any attack short of brigade-strength…”