The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (75 page)

        He looked over at Ignatieff and flashed his trademark dark smile: “The Great Man’s reputation is at stake, you understand. Lord Grey sent him here confident his prestige alone would be enough to see emancipation through. It’s all blown up in front of his hook nose. Now he needs a quick and thorough Dominion victory. Otherwise, he’ll be looked upon as having thoroughly botched his assignment. On top of his rather ill-regarded term as Prime Minister, it would negate Waterloo and those other military campaigns he came so agonizingly close to also botching.”

     Ignatieff pulled up and looked Calhoun in the eye. “Can you defeat the Dominion army, Mr. President? And is there anything I can do to help?”

     Calhoun shook his head.  “Unless you can speed us those military supplies you’ve promised---and get them through the blockade that’s reported to be forming off the coast---I fear not, Count Nicholas.

      “As for our chances for success? Well, I am relieved that General Taylor has arrived to take active command. It has boosted morale among our professional officers. And I am told our professionals---officers and non-commissioned officers alike---are pleased with what they’ve seen of our troops. However, the Yankees do have one major advantage, as my Secretary of War keeps reminding me.

       “
They
have General Scott.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

War Department

Georgetown, D.C.

October 1, 1833, 12:30 p.m.:

     An exhausted Capt. Thomas Wilder rode a tired Bay Ridge, as hot, dusty and thirsty as he was, up to the War Department and gratefully handed him over to a private who volunteered to take the magnificent animal to the rear stables.

     Looking up the steps, he discovered Generals Scott and Thayer coming down, apparently heading for dinner.

     “Well Captain. Looks like you’ve been doing some hard riding. Anything new for General Thayer and me to chew over, or can we enjoy our noon meal for once?”  The two generals paused at the bottom of the steps and casually returned Tom’s hasty salute.

     “I don’t wish to spoil the generals’ appetites, Sir, but the Rebs have advanced as far as Fairfax Court House. I ran into their pickets about dawn.”

     The two senior officers stared at each other. “Fairfax Court House! Why that’s only 12 or 13 miles from here. In what strength?” Even startled, Scott got immediately to the core of the issue.

      “Closer to 15 miles, sir. Right behind the Court House itself, on Old River Turnpike. It was cavalry, about 30 men, but they camped there last night. It wasn’t a scouting patrol, General. More like an advance party.  Had to get out of there after a couple of their pickets spotted me... but they didn’t follow. Looks like they are setting up their line right there.”

       Thayer licked his lower lip and looked at Scott. “So they’re over Bull Run, eh? Looks like they want to make the fight as close to Georgetown as possible…”

        Scott indicated at Tom’s holstered pistol. “Use that thing?”

        Tom nodded. “Yes Sir. I was a little north of the Court House, off the connecting road. I think they call it Ox Trail or Ox Road, I’m not certain. Was trying to work my way down to get a closer look at the camp when they changed guards around 8 a.m. The fresh Reb saw me and they both got off a shot. Didn’t come close, though. I don’t think either one was very familiar with their muskets. In any case, I fired back and they both hit the ground. Gave me enough time to get back to Bay Ridge, who was tied up about a quarter mile back in the woods. They never chased me.”

       “Did you hit either one?”

       “May have winged one of them, Sir. Hard to tell, they both hit the ground almost simultaneously. Someone got off a couple more shots, but I’m pretty sure it was from a hand gun. As I reported, there was no pursuit.”

        Thayer nodded. “Sounds like they’re setting up a defensive line, all right. Orders likely are to protect the perimeter, but don’t advance any further. Cavalry, you said. Were they this 1
^st
Virginia we’ve heard so much about?”

        “I don’t think so, Sir. I got close enough to make out their flag. The reports from Harper’s Ferry and Fortress Monroe mention blue flags. This outfit was flying a red flag with a white star in the middle.”

       Scott wiped his brow. The equatorial summer heat showed no signs of abating; in fact, the humidity today was July-like. “Maybe they’ve adopted a common banner. Or maybe they were from another state. That could account for the non-pursuit: they aren’t that familiar with the area and are proceeding cautiously. In any case, they’re bound to have more than one mounted unit by now…

       “Very well, Captain. I’ll expect a full report when we return. Then get some rest. I want you back across the river by 3 a.m. With a full patrol. This solitary scouting is very romantic and has been somewhat fruitful. But if the rebel army is moving up in force, I’ll want reports sent back from the field. Be prepared to stay out 72 hours. Get up and down their line. How long is it…are they anchored or in the air…and in what force?”

        The two generals began to head down the street before Tom could get off a salute. But Scott quickly turned.

     “You omitted something of critical importance, Captain. How were these rebels uniformed?”

       Tom reddened. Damn, how could he? “In blue, Sir. Not exactly our blue, a bit lighter. But blue.”

       “Keep that in mind when you get back across the Potomac, Captain. Your’s won’t be the only Dominion patrol over there. But just because you or your men see blue, it won’t necessarily mean they’re friendlies.”

___________

Camp Washington

October 1, 1833, 3 p.m.:

       Twiggs was seated on the hard chair his orderly had brought from Monroe, bent over a portable desk the sergeant had somehow acquired for him.
All this damn paperwork
, he thought, the sweat dripping from his forehead onto the official report he was preparing for Gaines.
We picked some year to secede... This isn’t even Indian summer! Just a continuation of the real thing. If this weather doesn’t break, Scott’ll have a nice long campaign season. Till Christmas, maybe…

       There was a commotion outside his tent but he ignored it.
Sergeant Reynolds would
pop his head in if it’s something I need to attend to.

       The grizzled old sergeant, his black beard now half-gray, did open the tent but came to full attention once inside. “Sir, Colonel Johnston is here to see you. Should I bring him in?”

        “No, Sergeant, too damn close in here for one man, let alone two. Tell the Colonel I’ll be right out.”

        When Twiggs emerged, blinking in adjustment to the brilliant sunshine, Sidney Johnston saluted, a strange look on his aristocratic face.

       “Pardon the intrusion, General, but a new unit has arrived. I thought you would want to greet them personally.”

        Twiggs squinted, his face quizzical. “Colonel Johnston, I thought we had agreed that all incoming regiments would be mentioned singularly after the Saturday morning parades…”

       “I realize that, General. But this case is somewhat, ah, unique.”

       Twiggs could see that Johnston was trying to contain a smile.  “Unique…Colonel Johnston?”

      “Yes Sir.  A truly unique opportunity, General. To welcome a new regiment… 

       “In French...”

       Johnston pointed into a nearby field to a force of about 500 men in shiny new uniforms of dark blue coats and red trousers, the majority at attention with their muskets sparkling in the sun. Their apparent officers were also drawn up at attention, their swords extended upward at arm’s length. Facing the formation was a single burly individual holding a stanchion harnessed to a belt around his waist. A royal blue banner divided into quarters by a thick white cross hung straight down from the pole’s far end. Each blue quarter was centered by a single white fleurs-de-lis.

       Twiggs stared and looked questioningly at Johnston. The Colonel could no longer suppress the grin.

        “General, I have the honor to announce the arrival of the 1
^st
Quebec Volunteer Infantry. Or, to be more precise, the ‘Premiere Infantere Volontaires de Quebec.’”

___________

The Residency

October 3, 1833, 5 p.m.:

     They were all standing around Van Buren’s big desk, staring down at the printed map of Northern Virginia that Scott was in the process of marking up.  The G-G was as fascinated as he was appalled. He had never before attended a military briefing so the General’s translation of a series of brief pencil-scratched messages from the field into an all-encompassing picture---however harrowing---was gripping.

     “The rebels are maintaining an outpost at Fairfax Court House, nothing more,” Scott was saying, pointer in paw. “At first we thought they might advance in force, but indications now are that it’s a screen designed to mask their real build-up behind Bull Run. And, its there to alert them if we come straight on instead of moving toward either flank.  They have similar detachments both northwest and south.” He ran the pointer across the map in a semi-circle.

     “Captain Wilder penetrated as far as Centerville here,” he moved the pointer west several miles. “You can see this town’s importance as a junction of several major roads, including the Warrentown Pike.

      “Wilder says the rebels are not yet there in enough force to stop a determined push, but it is conceivable they’d make a stand there because of the juncture. And because these heights just west of the town are an ideal defensive position.”

     The G-G looked around the desk. Colonel Burr looked grave, pursing his lips…always a sign of his concern.  Secretary Cass was scowling; whether at Scott’s analysis or the rebels’ audacity, Van Buren couldn’t tell.
At least Lewis seems to get on with General
Thayer
. The new Chief-of-Staff was standing deferentially to the side and a step behind Scott. The G-G wondered with an inner chuckle how much he could see with the mountainous Winfield hovered over the map. Wellington and his aide, Captain Bratton, completed the group. The Duke studied the map carefully before pointing his right index finger well west of Centerville.

       “It would seem more likely, however, might you not say General Scott, that the rebel army will make its stand here at the stream?”

       “Yes Your Grace. If it is a defensive battle they want, that’s where I’d make the stand. No matter which route we take---east, central or west---we’ll have to cross Bull Run at one or more of these fords.” He indicated a half-dozen or more from Sudley Springs Ford in the northwest to an unnamed ford close to the village of Manassas Junction in the south.

        “But Zach Taylor’s taken command now. At least, according to the Richmond papers, which exhibit as little regard for secrecy, apparently, as do our own.”

       He glared around the table, as if expecting to find a reporter hiding behind one of the others.

         “Zach’s unorthodox, to say the least. Audacious, is probably a better description. If he feels confident enough to go on the offensive, he could march his men up the Shenandoah and into Maryland. Plenty of open space there to maneuver. Could be looking to hit us as the main body is marching down from Carlisle.”

          Surprise and/or dismay were evident on all the faces around the table save General Thayer. Scott swung his pointer angrily.

         “Their intelligence about our readiness and intentions is good. Too damn good, if you’ll excuse my profanity. Why, their papers have even printed the make-up of our Georgetown defense force…and my appointment of Colonel Felton to command it. While we aren’t even sure where this Camp Washington of theirs is located!”

         Wellington broke the embarrassed silence that followed Scott’s outburst by clearing his throat. “Yes, General, it does seem a bit odd that they have deduced the name of this militia leader, as well as the composition of this rather remarkably diverse force you’ve slapped together in the defenses. Yes…however, what is your estimate of the situation? Will they come at you and, if so, where?”

         Point made and emphasized, Scott returned to the main issue. “As of now, gentlemen, we don’t believe, based on our reconnaissance, that Taylor is moving out of this Camp Washington---wherever it is---yet in force. So the odds of a battle in Maryland are low. Yet, if he has our timetable, or gets wind of it before the week is out, it remains a possibility.”

       He looked around the table again at men now as grim-faced as he himself. “The odds are greater that we’ll run into him somewhere due west of Georgetown. As far east as Centerville or as far west as Groveton. Depending on his inclination to take the offensive.”

       “And what is your
inclination
General Scott?” The G-G.

       “Mr. Governor-General,
we
are going to Richmond.”

___________

War Department

Georgetown, D.C.

October 4, 1833, 10 a.m.:

     “Bull, its 80 miles from Carlisle to Chain Bridge, give or take a few. The rebels don’t appear to be bringing their main body up to contest the Carlisle army’s march to Alexandria. But their cavalry can break the army’s spirit before it ever gets to Virginia with hit-and-run, guerilla-style raids.”

      General Scott’s blue-eyed drill-stare was focused on Col. Edwin Sumner, formerly commanding officer of the USBAA Dragoons, now commanding the USBAA Regular Cavalry.

       “You will screen the army’s route east of the Blue Ridge, moving out Sunday morning. It is essential our army arrive at the Alexandria encampment site intact. Seal off the countryside, west-to-east, from the Maryland-Pennsylvania line down. I’ll be splitting the army at Gettysburg. Wool with I Corps will have the right or western flank, coming down the Emmittsburg Road. That’s the one that concerns me. Worth will proceed on the Tanneytown Road. I don’t see how he’ll be harassed, if you work your screen movements efficiently and keep sweeping the country west of Wool’s advance.  The artillery will go with II Corps. They’ll also have a cavalry screen, though smaller.”