by James Devine
(Renkowiitz had been more inclined, however, to wonder if the Czar wanted Wellington to have an ‘accident’ while in America. When Ignatieff had vanished the Wednesday after Jackson’s inauguration, the C-G had presumed and planned for the worst. Amidst public fanfare, Wellington himself had embarked on his tour of the Western and Northeastern states a few days later. Karl had worried for several weeks, until word filtered back that Ignatieff was indeed in the South. The C-G had finally shrugged his shoulders. Whatever the security operative was up to, it apparently was of such an obscure nature that the Motherland’s relations with the Dominion would not be affected.)
“The new Congress will indeed gather on June 4th, as called by Jackson last month, my dear Count. And the Duke has been busy twisting arms and influencing both legislators and citizenry from Illinois to New England, by all accounts. Campaigning, I believe both the British and the Americans call it.”
He paused and smiled. “One of the few instances in which their use of the language is consistent. Normally, their usages are much in common as Chinese and Arabic…”
Countess Caroline, who had been quietly studying Ignatieff’s demeanor since being summoned---she had her own opinions on the purposes of his visit---laughed softly. “Why Papa, you know what Sir John Burrell told us.” She looked over at the Count. “According to Sir John, ‘It is a fallacy to think the English language is one of the pillars of our Empire. In India they don’t understand it; the Irish and the Scotch can’t pronounce it and the Americans won’t use it.’”
Ignatieff nodded in amused appreciation. Clearly, she cannot be this fool’s natural daughter. “So Countess, what has happened in the past six weeks in this great metropolis which might interest His Majesty the Czar, were he here today?”
Caroline, who had shared several interesting conversations with her admirer Harper that had included references by one or both to Ignatieff, smiled demurely. “Actually, Count Nicholas, there is little to relate. With the Congress gone home, Georgetown is an even smaller village than usual. The Governor-General has been holed up in The Residency; some say he is ill, but according to others, he is planning for the upcoming crisis. The government, such as it is, seems to be holding its collective breath…”
___________
Drago, later in the day, had provided Count Ignatieff with an update on his original sketchy report about Captain Bratton. The man was held in high regard as a quiet, efficient problem solver by both the Liaison Office and Scott’s War Department, apparently. He had left town with the Duke and thus wasn’t expected back in Georgetown until early May. The Consulate security specialist had little else to offer, other than a more-than-adequate surveillance report on The Golden Eagle:
“Business is down, as it is all over Georgetown at this time of year, Sir. However, the establishment seems to be flourishing. As for the proprietress, Mrs. Casgrave seems to have held up under the strain of your absence…”
Ignatieff jerked his head and looked, possibly for the first time ever, into the gargantuan guard’s eyes. So, this big, dumb animal has also fallen under the seductive Joanne’s spell. Well, she couldn’t be expected to remain celibate while I was gone…
“Captain Drago, you will have one of your aides send my greetings to Mrs. Casgrave and announce my attention to have a late, private dinner with her this evening.
“Commencing immediately, you and your aides will devote your full attention to determining when this Captain Bratton will return to Georgetown. Your future in the Czar’s service…will depend upon your success in keeping this British agent in hand until I am ready to deal with him. Do you understand?”
Drago, who considered himself fortunate to have risen from the Ukrainian wheat fields but hated the Muscovy nobility nonetheless, acknowledged Ignatieff’s authority, however grudgingly, with a subservient nod of his head.
His thoughts, however, were more rebellious: If the chance arises, my dear Count, you may depend on me… To put a bullet or a blade deep into your aristocratic chest…
___________
Ignatieff’s interest in visiting Joanne his first evening back in Georgetown was not completely carnal in nature: during the long, boring hours of travel he had formulated a contingency plan which called for the utilization of both the tavern/brothel-keeper and her dim-witted bartender.
He did not fully understand the hold Joanne exercised over the strange fellow, any more than he completely understood the rationale by which she ruled the Eagle’s other employees (both on the ground floor and in the bedroom complex above) with her tiny iron fists. Nicholas now intended to craft the bartender into a nyjj ruchnojj…a “special tool”…that he could wield if necessary at the appropriate time to cause maximum havoc. Whether that time would ever arise---or what havoc he would choose to unleash---the Count would leave to the future to determine.
For now, he would simply reassert his will---physically and emotionally---over the whorehouse madam. Through her he would turn the unstable Lawrence into his creature…
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
USBA Military Academy
West Point, New York
May 1, 1833:
Lieutenant Wilder had stepped onto the grounds of the Point for the first time since graduation yesterday afternoon, after an almost two-day voyage by Coastal Guard packet with General Scott from Georgetown.
They had been met at the Academy’s Hudson River landing by Superintendent Thayer, a committee of senior faculty and a cadet honor guard. The hosts escorted the General up the Palisades to The Plain. There the Corps had passed in review in the sort of elaborate pomp-and-circumstance ceremony that Scott loved (and had helped earn him his not-always-fondly attributed moniker).
Taking it all in with a lower lip tightly bitten to harness the grin that threatened to break out at any moment, the Lieutenant had two immediate happy thoughts: how much better it was to be observing, not marching; and how many recognizable faces were glancing his way in astonishment as identification of the Commanding General’s aide rippled through the assembled faculty.
The General, of course, had then inspected both the Corps and the Academy itself before addressing the Cadets at the evening meal. His remarks were strictly limited to their situation and responsibilities as members of the Corps as well as to the future of the Army in the Dominion’s movement westward. The burgeoning crisis, what little news of it had penetrated the Point’s gates, was not so much ignored as rendered moot.
The failure to address the issue was, naturally, a coldly calculated omission by the General, designed more with Georgetown audiences in mind than that of the young men and their officer-professors in the Cadet mess at Washington Hall. The announced purpose of the visit was Scott’s annual conference to discuss assignments for the graduating seniors. Routine, the General was signaling, both to the War Department staff (including the Southern-born officers who dominated it and had participated in the speech’s development) and to any other interested parties.
The assignment review was a valid cover for coming to the Point. Scott had earlier secretly informed Thayer that he would in all likelihood concur with the overwhelming majority of the Superintendent’s recommended branch postings this year.
Both senior officers knew that the assignments stood a good chance of being short-term, at best.
For the real reason Winfield Scott had forsaken the Potomac for the Hudson was to incorporate Thayer’s report on Dominion officer potential among ex-West Pointers currently enjoying civilian life into his plans for an expanded USBA Army. An Army that he prayed would be capable of putting down any emancipation-sparked Southern rebellion.
Col. William Worth, who headed the Northeastern command (with particular responsibility for keeping an eye on the French Quebecois), had arrived from his headquarters in upstate Plattsburgh. That had been a tightly-held secret. Worth, with a single aide, had disembarked from the Albany steamer last evening at the town of Hudson. After spending the night at his family’s farm, he had ridd
en unceremoniously onto the Point in mid-morning while classes were in session. He had joined in the assignment discussions and was a full participant in the more important meeting, which had begun immediately thereafter.
“Well gentlemen, let us review,” the General said as the bugle call to the evening meal sounded through the partially-open windows of the commandant’s quarters.
“If, or when, the necessity arises, the new Army will assemble at Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania for organization and training. Colonel Wool will be in temporary command, while Colonel Worth, having turned over his Northeastern command to his deputy, will organize the defenses around Georgetown.” He turned to the tall, spar Worth: “You will utilize approximately 20% of the available regulars; the Corps of Cadets and the battle-tested Illinois and Ohio volunteers I hope to have mobilized.” Worth broke off a crisp “Yes, Sir.”
“When the Georgetown defenses are completed, you, Colonel, will proceed to Carlisle, where you will assume command of II Corps. Colonel Wool will command I Corps.” Scott paused and said, formally: “Both you and Colonel Wool will assume the temporary ranks of brigadier general upon initiation of the operation.”
Other than acknowledging his orders, Worth remained stone-faced through the recital. His disapproval of John Wool was well-known to Scott and Thayer. The commanding general, however, having few enough senior officers to choose from---he refused to plan any significant role for his deputy commander, Gaines (if the Virginian elected to remain loyal)---felt compelled to rely on both men.
“I myself will of course be in overall command of the Capitol’s defenses, even before you leave for Carlisle and until such time as the bulk of the Army is ready to march. I have yet to determine who will then have tactical command at Georgetown.
“The Carlisle Army will consist of the remaining available Regulars and volunteer units from the other Northern states. The Army will be augmented by Regulars returning from Southern posts we must assume will have been occupied by rebel forces.” Scott stared grimly at his subordinates. “If the situation deteriorates to that level, I do not want soldiers loyal to the Dominion making heroic-but-foredoomed isolated stands. I need live fighters, not maimed or dead heroes. As for the forts and posts, well, that’s what we’re organizing to take back.”
The others nodded in agreement with the General’s hard-boiled, pragmatic view as he continued: “The officer corps will include both Regulars and ex-West Pointers, as well as volunteer unit-elected officers, most of whom will be those very same ex-West Pointers.”
Scott’s ham-sized face rearranged its features into a half-smile/half grimace. “At least, that is my hope…
“Colonel Thayer, having led the Corps of Cadets to the District of Columbia, will become my chief-of-staff, with the rank of brigadier general, and will assume command of logistics, supply, armament production and transportation.”
Thayer nodded his head in acceptance; though he craved action, he understood that his best contribution in the crisis would be his organizational abilities.
___________
Despite the fact that Mrs. Thayer’s sudden appearance in the study of the Commandant’s Quarters indicated that dinner was about ready, Colonel Worth felt compelled to bring up the subject of frontier security: “General Scott, it does not appear your plans leave us with adequate forces to patrol and control the frontier from Minnesota to Arkansas. Or, for that matter, in my own present command. Left to their own devices, the Quebecois can be relied upon to cause trouble…”
Scott’s huge head shook in agreement. “You’re right, Colonel. Pulling the regulars off the frontier will be tricky. A certain number will probably have to be left, augmented by volunteers from the territories. However, hopefully this business, if it comes to fruition, will be over before the Indians become aware of the situation.”
The lines around his mouth settled into a frown: “Quebec poses a different problem. We will indeed be forced to maintain a strong Northeast command…though as yet I’m not sure who will lead it. That means some of the New York and New England volunteers will never set foot south of Plattsburgh.
“That is also the one area where we will request Imperial assistance. Elsewhere, I’m determined to put down any rebellion with Dominion forces alone. Quebec is unique, however. The Royal Navy will have to establish a presence---perhaps a temporary station---on the St. Lawrence River. We’ll also set up a camp midway on the border with Ontario and stock it with that state’s militia and volunteers.”
The hedge-like eyebrows went up and the nod was emphatic: “That should be enough saber-rattling to keep the Quebecois cowered for as long as the fighting in the South lasts…”
___________
Lieutenant Wilder had taken notes for Scott throughout the day. (Colonel Thayer’s secretary, a gangly non-commissioned officer from Vermont, was taking the official meeting minutes. Tom had decided that the sergeant must have invented some sort of code in order to keep up with the quickly moving review. How he kept writing hour-after-hour without his hand cramping was as totally mystifying as it was awe-inspiring.)
Though the Lieutenant had put together most of the raw numbers, he was fascinated as he watched those numbers (and names) magically transform into regiments, divisions and corps. Equally fascinating was how Scott selected the various commands---including cavalry and artillery---from the rapidly shrinking list of potential commanders.
Tom now had let his mind drift to the make-up of the Georgetown force---and his individual role---and thus was surprised when the senior officers suddenly stood to break for dinner. He scrambled to rise and, in doing so, knocked over the chair and writing table Colonel Worth’s aide had been utilizing. Glancing his way, Colonel Thayer seemed to suddenly realize his identity.
“So, Mr. Wilder. Do you plan to visit with your favorite engineering and mathematics professors while you’re here at the Point? I daresay none of them have forgotten you…” Sylvanias Thayer’s eyes twinkled in a manner Tom would previously have thought impossible.
General Scott’s bark of a laugh eliminated any need for Thomas to reply.
“The Department is expansive enough to have need of even the Lieutenant’s rather eclectic skills, Colonel. Why, if this catastrophe we are planning for but praying against does, God forbid, occur---and he survives---he may even make First Lieutenant…” The Commanding General signaled the coming heavy punch line with a rising of his bushy eyebrows. “…in 10 or 12 years…”
Even the Vermont sergeant---to Tom’s mortification---joined in the laughter.
___________
Georgetown, D.C.
May 2, 1833:
A weary Duke of Wellington and his equally weary aide, Captain Bratton, arrived back in Georgetown this afternoon at the conclusion of their historic tour of the non-Southern portions of the Dominion.
Sir Arthur was as elated as he was tired; the tour had been remarkably successful: only New Jersey and New York City had pledged less than complete support to the emancipation legislation. Even those two holdouts were in philosophical agreement with both the principle of emancipation and the Government’s right to enforce it.
Colonel Burr, however, was at work in the City and was reasonably certain his political organization---this Tammany Hall---would win over the New York merchants in the end. “Their reaction is simply ‘knee-jerk,’” he had told the Britons over dinner last Saturday evening at a small, side street French restaurant, Madeline’s Petite Paris.
The old man grinned as he continued his lecture: “The merchants and traders haven’t thought yet past the potential loss of their Southern markets. They’ve yet to grasp the nature and resiliency of our Dominion economy and the new transportation realities: as quickly as the Southern markets, however temporarily, dry up, others will open from the West. If the Mississippi is closed, why, that simply means more goods shipped across the Great Lakes and through the Erie Canal.”
Burr had then shot Wellington that now-familiar mischievous grin
: “To say nothing of the certain increased demands of the War Department…
“Don’t worry, Sir Arthur, New York City will not announce its own secession, despite what that damned New York Post threatens.” The Colonel grinned again: “After all, how can any newspaper founded by Alexander Hamilton be taken seriously?”
___________
British Liaison Office
Georgetown, D.C.
May 3, 1833
8:30 a.m.
The Duke and Captain Bratton had been separately jolted by ‘eyes-only’ dispatches waiting for them this morning at the Liaison Office.
Wellington, who had made it a habit when in the capitol to forego the ‘pleasure’ of an early morning Residency meal in favor of the traditional English breakfast prepared specially for him at the Office, had almost choked on his marmalade-and-toast upon reading the news from Palmerston: the Russians had landed---at Constantinople’s invitation---somewhere on the Syrian coast!
His aide had been equally speechless---though sputtering--to learn that Scotland Yard, in conjunction with the Foreign Office, had ascertained that the Russian agent previously rumored to have passed through London in January (though the details were still unclear) had been reliably identified as the legendary Count Nicholas Ignatieff!
While the Duke could only ponder the long-term implications of the Russian strategic initiative---and digest the Foreign Secretary’s warning that any unrest resulting from emancipation would have to be quelled internally---Captain Bratton had gone immediately to work. After sharing with Major Layne the report from London, the two were now reviewing the Liaison agents’ reports from Charleston and New Orleans received since the ‘dissident’s’ tour of the South had commenced some days after Jackson’s inaugural.
