by James Devine
Thomas’ amorous reveries were permanently interrupted by the sudden appearance of General Scott in the doorway of the closet that passed for his War Department office. “Lieutenant, I’m wanted at The Residency. As are you. Get your cloak on. Have any idea what this might be about?” The General’s grim demeanor startled Thomas back into reality.
“No sir. When I left there at noon, all was quiet. The Governor-General was scheduled this afternoon with Major Layne and Sir John Burrell, but it was just the routine monthly briefing session. Nothing out of the ordinary. Other than that, the main topic there is still the Bank.”
“Well, something’s got the G-G’s attention. Maybe Houston is back, or another of those crackpot Tennesseans. God help us if Davy Crockett’s come to town to tell us he’s started another war with the Creeks while the Congress was home campaigning… Let’s get over there.”
At five-foot-six, there was no way Thomas’ stubby legs could keep up with his long-limbed six-foot-seven boss, especially when the General went down the steps and across Pennsylvania Avenue in a purposeful stride. The aide had to break into a virtual trot to keep pace. That and the cold rain that had begun in mid-afternoon put a damper on further conversation until they were in The Residency itself. “The Governor-General is awaiting you gentlemen in his office,” the head usher said, after taking their wet cloaks, indicating the way as if Scott, who had been attending business and social events at the mansion since the Madison Administration, and Wilder, who maintained another miniscule office in the building, were first-time visitors. The hallway grandfather’s clock was chiming four-thirty.
The gaunt Governor-General had his back to the door, leaning on a cane, and was looking out a window toward the Parade Ground and the Long Bridge when Scott and Wilder entered his office. At six-foot-one, Jackson towered over Wilder, but gave away five inches and over 125 pounds to his Army chief. Now, turning slowly while still leaning on the ever-present cane, he eyed them with a fiery stare, not inviting them to sit in the comfortable chairs facing his desk. The Secretary of War, Lewis Cass, already sat in one of them.
“General, my monthly briefing today with those two Liaison Office types, Layne and Burrell, centered, as usual, on those damn French Canadians up there in Quebec. Layne thinks they’re arming themselves again for another go at independence. Why haven’t you informed me, or the Secretary of War, about this? Or are the Liaison Office’s sources better than yours, eh?”
Scott stared back at Jackson and Wilder could begin to sense the drill warming up. “Mr. Governor, the Liaison Office’s intelligence agents justify their livelihoods dreaming up French-sponsored plots from Quebec City to the Florida Keys. The French Quebecois are sullen, as usual, but not mutinous. I had a report from Colonel Worth, who’s in command up there, at year’s end to that effect. Worth’s a good officer. I believe him. I’ll forward you the report. Lieutenant, see to it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Huh,” snorted Jackson. “Now then,” he glanced down at notes on the desk in front of him. “Have either of you gentlemen heard, by chance, of HMS Irresistible? Well?”
Wilder knew better than to glance over at General Scott, who he knew was maintaining icy eye contact with the heated-up G-G.
“Of course, Mr. Governor. HMS Irresistible is one of the newest Royal Navy frigates. What they call the ‘screw design’ type. One of the fastest and most powerful ships in the Fleet. She was sent over here on a three-year mission of slave ship and smuggling patrol back in ’31…”
“A mission, General Scott, which was apparently interrupted last month. What do you know about that…and why wasn’t I informed, damn it?” The G-G slammed his cane down on the desk, almost losing his balance in the process. “Layne had the unmitigated gall to tell me that the ship was temporarily detached from patrol duty for a ‘classified’ mission! The arrogant bastard! Too highly classified for the Governor-General of the USBA to know? That’s an insult not just to me, but to this office and all of our citizens!”
Well, at least we know this doesn’t involve Davy Crockett, thought Wilder. I know how the General detests him. I can’t wait to hear this explaination, though…
The drill was still aimed at the G-G who apparently was beginning to feel some of its sting, for Jackson dropped into a chair and indicated the two military men to do the same. You know something, Mr. Governor, Scott thought, one of these days these ridiculous temper tantrums are going to put you in the ground. Then we’ll see how Van Buren deals with taxing the slaveholders, or whatever it is London’s up to.
“Mr. Governor, I was informed the day after the ship sailed that HMS Irresistible had pulled anchor in Baltimore harbor with England as its apparent destination. In case Major Layne failed to mention the fact, Irresistible left most of its armaments harbor side, under Royal Marine guard, where they remain at this minute. Neither the Royal Navy nor the Liaison Office informed the Coastal Guard of the ship’s departure or the rather unusual stripping of most of its guns.”
Jackson’s seething glare had faded to a cold, calculating expression as Scott paused for a second.
“Our own forces at Fort McHenry observed the entire operation and alerted me. Subsequently, I had Lieutenant Wilder attempt to ascertain a rationale for what amounts to a covert action, since our own people in Baltimore reported that Irresistible had been ready to pull anchor for three or four days. Ultimately, we discovered they’d been waiting for a pouch that was delivered on the evening of December 15th. I was subsequently informed that the pouch contained the plebiscite returns, which were not officially announced until the next day.”
“So why wasn’t I informed, General? Damn it all! And what about Mr. Cass here?” The famed Jacksonian temper was rising but seemed to have no visible effect on the USBAA commander.
“Inform you of what, Mr. Governor? That the Royal Navy has turned one of its premier war vessels into a mail ship? Until we can discover why Irresistible stripped down for a fast and potentially dangerous midwinter North Atlantic crossing, any conjecture would be useless and fruitless guessing.” Even though I’ve been doing just that for a month. “For all we know, King William and Lord Palmerston had a bet on the plebiscite.”
A crafty, mirthless smile began to break out at the corners of Jackson’s mouth. “That’s a very convincing sugar-coating, General Scott. But I didn’t get to The Residency and you didn’t get to run the Army by being naive… Now tell me what you and this young man think London is up to. Straight and unvarnished.”
Wilder was startled as the office clock banged out the half hour in the sudden silence. Five-thirty already. And I promised Lucille I’d be at the Latoure townhouse in an hour! This could go on all night, once they start analyzing the possibilities. I’m stuck here and Lucille will think I purposefully broke our supper engagement. Of all the damn nights for the G-G to find out about Irresistible!
“Well, General, cat got your tongue?” The Secretary of War had been sitting in the right chair in front of Jackson’s desk. He now moved it so that he was facing both the G-G and the two officers. Scott, who had resumed his staring contest with Jackson during the enforced verbal silence brought on by the clock’s noise, barely glanced at his politically-appointed boss. As young commanders, they had clashed bitterly over tactics during the Upper Louisiana Territory campaign years before. Scott resented the fact that Cass had turned his less-than-glorious service in that war into an extended---18-year---governorship of the Michigan Territory. Jackson, for strictly political reasons, had put him in charge of the War Department 18 months before. The relationship between Secretary and Army commander was tenuous, at best.
“No, Mr. Secretary, I’m trying to frame a confusing and perhaps unexplainable situation in an understandable ‘straight and unvarnished’ way.
“Mr. Governor, neither the Lieutenant nor I know for certain why London apparently wanted the plebiscite results so quickly that they ordered the stripping down of one of the Royal Navy’s newest and fastest warships.
Even in ’28, the results were sent by the first available merchantman. Since the situation here is not in turmoil, which even your biggest detractors in London would acknowledge…”
“Huh,” the G-G less-than-successfully tried to cover a laugh with a snort.
“…then it stands that the rationale for being so rapidly informed as to the results must stem from something emanating, or about to emanate, over there. I had Lieutenant Wilder here intensively review all correspondence between the War Department and the various military ministries in London dating back six months. While he was at it, he also reviewed Residency correspondence with #10 Downing Street.”
Cass leaned forward in his seat and broke in: “You had this Lieutenant reviewing high-level Dominion correspondence with London? I consider that a startling breach…”
“That’s his job, Lewis,” the G-G said dryly. “Continue, General Scott. What did this ‘intensive review’ uncover?”
“Nothing that justified the sudden departure of Irresistible, Mr. Governor. However, the Lieutenant did discover an unusual information request from the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s Office to Interior. Lieutenant, tell the gentlemen what Exchequer wanted.”
Thomas had remained silent for the almost 90 minutes the meeting had thus far lasted and had not expected to participate in the conversation to any meaningful degree. Fortunately, he had worked closely enough with both Jackson and Scott that he was less nervous than resigned that his supper engagement---and any hope of a future---with Lucille had probably just taken a devastating body-blow.
“Mr. Governor-General,” (Thomas always used the complete title when addressing Jackson) “last Spring the Chancellery asked Interior for a detailed, state-by-state breakdown of the slave population in the Dominion, including total number and percentage of each state’s population…”
He could see Jackson wince visibly at the first mention of slavery. Cass, on the other hand, remained impassive, though perhaps on the defensive after the G-G’s brush-off of his earlier tirade.
“And Interior gathered this information and sent it to London, I assume? How did they gather it?” Jackson was again becoming angry. “I saw no correspondence on this,” he added, glaring from Scott to Cass. Scott nodded for Thomas to continue.
“Apparently they sat on the request, knowing the census report was being finalized. Then they simply extracted the necessary information, copied it and sent it on to the Exchequer. As I understand it, there has been no follow-up correspondence.” He looked at the General, wondering whether to proceed. Scott, however, broke back in.
“Mr. Governor, Exchequer’s interest in the numbers of slaves in the various states indicates to us that some sort of tax or tariff on slaves, and/or their sale here, is possibly being considered by the Whig government in London…”
“I fail to see the connection to the plebiscite, General Scott,” Secretary Cass interrupted. “One does not…”
“I see the connection, Mr. Cass.” The G-G’s voice had lowered, thought Thomas, to the hiss of a rattlesnake. “General Scott has skillfully danced around it, but his conclusion is obvious, Lewis: The General is saying London may be about to propose a tax on slaves…and, just maybe, they don’t trust me to enforce it. They wanted the results in a hurry on the possibility that I might have been defeated. That would have helped grease the skids in Parliament for an easier passage…as well as easier enforcement.”
The silence in the room was deafening. Cass sat with his jaw ajar, unable to speak. Jackson and Scott were again staring at one another, but this time in mutual recognition of the potential crisis Thomas’ supposition presented. It was Scott who spoke first:
“I see no other rationale that in any way connects the questions raised by both Irresistible’s voyage and the preceding Exchequer information request. However, we may be entirely wrong and the two issues are not connected. Maybe Exchequer was cooking up a study on slavery throughout the Empire: the total value of the slave population, Empire-wide, perhaps. And, again, perhaps there was a high level wager on the plebiscite. Or perhaps Quincy Adams and the rest of the USBA delegation asked the Admiralty to expedite the news. I will say this Mr. Governor: I do believe Mr. Wilder is on to something here. Yet I am not entirely certain we have drawn the correct conclusion…”
Thomas’ was not the only head that jerked up at Scott’s words.
“I am certain, however, of one thing: It is useless conjecture to sit here guessing what this is all about. There is nothing we can do until London decides to inform us of their plans, if any. According to Mr. Wilder’s calculations, the earliest Irresistible could get back here is month’s end. From a military standpoint, the issue is on hold until then. From a political standpoint, well, that is another matter. Mr. Jackson, I do not believe it is proper for me to participate in any such discussions. I ask permission to withdraw.”
“You’re correct, General Scott. The military forces of the USBA have no role to play unless and until a political crisis does develop; and then it will be a limited one just as occurred last year when I was forced to send the Coastal Guard to Charleston Harbor over the ‘Nullification’ issue. Just have the Coastal Guard keep an eye out for any Royal Navy vessels coming into Baltimore in the next few weeks. You are otherwise excused.” Scott rose, glanced at the Lieutenant with an odd gleam in his eye and left the room.
The G-G turned to Thomas. “Mr. Wilder, have the chief usher find you my secretary. Wake him up, if necessary. Then you can go. Tomorrow, you will assist Mr. Donelson in making the arrangements for an emergency Cabinet meeting. When did you say that ship might be back?”
“The earliest is about February 1st, Sir. That’s given that it reached London safely by the 5th or 6th, then 72 hours-to-96 hours for refitting. More realistically, about the 5th of February.”
“Tomorrow’s January 20th. Lewis, we’ll meet formally on the 27th. One more thing, Lieutenant. On your way out, also have the chief usher send servants to find Mr. Van Buren and across the way to Frank Blair’s house. I want to see both of them tonight.”
Jackson tuned to the Secretary of War: “Mr. Cass, the four of us have a lot to discuss. I’m determined to shut down this damn Bank of the USBA. I thought that had priority. But now this, too. It will be a long night.”
___________
It was almost 9 p.m. when Thomas finally left The Residency. Andrew Jackson Donelson, the G-G’s secretary, had left the mansion to supper with friends and had to be tracked down. Francis P. Blair, a prominent member of the ‘kitchen cabinet,’ had been at home, but the Vice G-G to-be had also been dining, with a delegation of fellow New York Democrats.
The Lieutenant sighed as he glanced at his pocket watch. I don’t think it would be a good idea to show up on 10th Street at this hour, he thought, ruefully. That’s if she hasn’t already torn the townhouse down…I’ll wait and send her a note tomorrow, after she’s had a chance to cool down. Meanwhile, I might as well join Harps at the Golden Eagle after all. That is, if he and that ‘older woman’ of his aren’t dining privately…
I don’t like or trust that Joanne, but she does run a nice establishment (at least, on the ground floor). And I do need a few beers and maybe some stew while I try to sort out today’s turns-of-events. All of them…
CHAPTER TEN
Georgetown, D.C.
January 31, 1833:
Like most British Americans, Winfield Scott had long since become bored with the ceaseless arguing over the Second Bank of the USBA. Like most, he didn’t see it as the threat to individual liberty that it’s most vehement critics, led by Jackson, charged that it was. (Scott’s attitude about the USBA Bank---and all other banks---could be expressed in one sentence: ‘The only time banks will loan you money is when you no longer need it.’) And how the Bank exposed the Dominion to control by ‘foreign interests,’ as the G-G had claimed in his message to Congress vetoing its re-charter last year, Scott, like most others, was at a loss to understand.
And now the G-G ha
s called a special session of Congress for early March to deal with the Bank issue! Thought we’d have them out of our hair until next December... That’s when the Constitution calls for the new Congress to convene. Now Jackson wants them back here just months after the last Congress adjourned. I just don’t understand the need for it!
What he did understand, however, was that while Jackson recognized the potential crisis looming if a bill to put some sort of tax on the USBA’s slave population passed Parliament, the G-G was still undecided as whether to support or oppose it. ‘Oppose’, the General thought grimly, as in ‘refusal to enforce.’ The Cabinet had met throughout the 27th and 28th, and Jackson had been locked in The Residency with his other advisors---the so-called ‘kitchen cabinet’---almost constantly since the morning after Scott’s own meeting with the G-G. How much time was being devoted to the separate issues, he could not tell. (Wilder, of course, had no entry into that circle, while he and Cass were barely on speaking terms.)
Speaking of Wilder, he had sent the young man to Baltimore yesterday to await the possible return of Irresistible. A short change of scenery was something the Lieutenant seemed to require; he had been depressed for days. At first, Scott had assumed it had to do with the potential upcoming crisis; only in casually remarking on his aide’s low spirits to Maria a few nights ago had he learned another reason: apparently their grueling session at The Residency after the G-G first learned of Irresistible’s voyage had forced Wilder to miss a previously-scheduled private supper with Miss Latoure. That high-spirited young lady, in Georgetown to attend Mrs. Scott’s monthly ladies-only dinner party the next afternoon, had not taken Tom’s unintended and unavoidable snub lightly; she had refused to accept his increasingly-desperate explanatory notes before heading back to her plantation in a huff a day or so later. At least, that was how Maria understood the situation.
