The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America

by James Devine

  That was professional. Personally, Zach, though Virginian-born, had been in the Army all his life; hell, he’d never been in one place long enough to qualify to vote in a gubernatorial-general plebiscite, including the last one! Sure, he owned a few house servants: with five kids and him gone so much, Mary deserved a household staff! But this emancipation thing, now….

  He was no politician---leave that to old Scott---and he hadn’t much of a formal education. But he could read. And the G-G’s speech up in Mississippi last year (which he had read only after getting back from the Black Hawk War in October) made it perfectly clear what Jackson wanted: Texas and the rest of the Mexican West taken in to form more slave states. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing; he’d been up North enough to sense a vigor and vitality in the free states that wasn’t present in the South. Now Calhoun was practically blackmailing Georgetown: get the South an exemption from this Empire-wide abolition…or the South goes its own way!

  This Dominion deal has worked pretty well since old Franklin and the boys cooked it up. I’m not at all ready to leave. But I’m a Southerner. How the hell I go against my own people?

  Speaking of ‘own’ just got him madder. He’d thought dragging that damn hot-headed young fool Davis with him up to Illinois would be enough to cool off the Lieutenant’s romance with Sarah Knox… But Mary was warning him that the young people had not only corresponded during the fighting, but had resumed their courtship right here under his nose since he and the staff had returned! He should have ordered Davis to take leave when they sailed down the Mississippi; he understood Davis’ brother owned a big plantation near Natchez. It wasn’t that 1st Lt. Jefferson Davis was a coward; far from it! The boy was a natural-born soldier. He’d eventually lead troops out West.

  That’s one problem: I’ll be damned if any daughter of mine is going to marry into this man’s Army! Mary’s a saint to have put up with the separations. I don’t want that for Knox or any of the other girls! Little Dick is only six; if he wants to go to the Point and make the Army a career, that’s his prerogative…

  The other problem is that I just don’t like Jeff Davis! Syl Thayer warned me about him years ago: thickheaded; self-righteous, one of these ‘cavaliers’ who wants to duel if you look at him the wrong way…not what I want for Knox.

  Well, I can order him, as Knox’s father, to stay away. Can’t court-martial him if he doesn’t, though. Maybe I ought to send him to Texas. Him and Travis would make a fine pair! Two hotheads with pistols at 50 paces. Hopefully with Sam Houston in the middle! Hum…that’d solve two problems…

  Taylor grinned to himself momentarily.

  But what about emancipation, Colonel? What if Calhoun and his fire-eaters do talk the South into secession? Which side you going to choose then, eh, Zachary?

  God, I hope it doesn’t come to that…I kind of like it here in New Orleans. Would hate to see a couple British warships starting bombarding the place.

  ___________

  State Capitol Construction Site

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  May 16, 1833, 1 p.m.:

  The Duke had been told that North Carolina, the “Old North State,” was actually the most conservative of Southern states. That’s why he had chosen this special occasion for his own single major address before the new Congress organized in less than three weeks.

  The ostensive reason for the Duke’s journey was to lay the cornerstone for the new State Capitol Building. The Old Capitol had burnt down in ’31 and the Carolinians had spent two years arguing over designs and financing for a brilliant new Greek Revivalist structure. Once word reached Raleigh that Sir Arthur was in the Dominion for an extended visit, the state fathers pushed to have the Hero of Waterloo perform the honors.

  As the official party proceeded through the city’s main square to the construction site on East Edenton Street, passing through cheering crowds, the Duke was aware that the arrival last night of an unexpected guest had altered the atmosphere in which the address was to be given.

  Wellington and Captain Bratton had traveled by Royal Navy sloop to coastal Wilmington and then had ridden west to this splendid little city, not yet 50 years old but founded specifically to be the state capitol. They had arrived early yesterday afternoon after a leisurely three-day journey. “Well Captain, at least the planners of this capital picked a decent location.” Sir Arthur looked around as they rode in. Bratton grinned: “Indeed, Your Grace. Not a swamp in sight…”

  North Carolina’s youthful new governor, David Lowery Swain, had thrown a private dinner party hours after their arrival at the impressive brick Governor’s Mansion on the south end of Fayetteville Street. ‘The Judge,’ as Swain, 31, was known---he had resigned from the State Supreme Court in January to accept the General Assembly’s election---was a Dominion-Republican. “Refreshing in itself,” Wellington told the Captain. “Thought they only elected fire-eating Democrats down here. Apparently, this state truly is rather conservative…”

  Senators Brown and Magnum, though Democrats, had also been on hand. One look at the trio and Wellington could feel his age: by God, not one of them is 35!

  “I say, Governor: does your state constitution bar mature men from office, or did a particularly virulent plague strike the previous generation?” Wellington used his wine glass to indicate the two Senators.

  Swain looked momentarily abashed, but then laughed. “Certainly not, Your Grace. Mature North Carolina gentlemen simply consider politics childish. We eventually outgrow it and graduate to other pursuits…”

  Wellington smiled and nodded in agreement. “A sensible attitude. One I may soon adopt myself…”

  Any retort from the Governor died on his lips as he saw an aide frantically signaling from across the room. He excused himself and hurried over as Wellington was engaged in conversation by a member of the state’s Congressional delegation.

  Standing nearby, Captain Bratton could see Swain, after a quick word from the aide that appeared to surprise him, begin to recross the room, only to pause to whisper in Brown’s ear. The Senator looked startled and reflexively turned to stare at Wellington. The two Carolinians put their heads together, and after a brief, animated conversation, marched in step back to the Duke.

  Having conversed briefly with the Congressman, Wellington had moved away and was now talking with the state’s beautiful new First Lady, whom, he judged, to be not more than 25. He smiled as Swain and Brown approached.

  “Governor. If sharing the company of this magnificent lady is part-and-parcel of the job, I may disregard your older generation’s example and run in the next election myself…”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” The Governor bowed formally and then turned to smile affectionately at his wife. “However, Mrs. Swain accompanied me to Raleigh…and has agreed to depart whenever the General Assembly tires of my attempts to bring some modernity to our beautiful but backward land…”

  Amidst laughter and applause, Senator Magnum, just joining the group, said: “The Judge is an advocate of ‘internal improvements,’ Sir Arthur, at a speed somewhat faster than our poor state is accustomed. I’m afraid he’s been corresponding with Governor Floyd up in Richmond again…”

  Another round of easy laughter rippled through the room. (These Carolinians don’t take their politics or themselves overly-serious, I’m relieved to see, Wellington thought.) But Swain then put on a grave face and the laughter quickly died away.

  “It seems, Your Grace, that an unexpected visitor of some distinction has just arrived in Raleigh to hear your address. While I do not expect him to appear here this evening, I anticipate that he will attend tomorrow night’s celebration, as well as the formal ceremonies.”

  The Governor paused and glanced briefly at Bedford Brown, whose own face was arranged in a frown of embarrassment. Wellington caught the glance and motioned for Swain to continue, as Willie Person Magnum’s eyebrows shot up in puzzlement.

  “North Carolina’s hospitality comes without strings, Your Grace
, and I am in no way indicating or suggesting that John C. Calhoun will conduct himself as anything other than the gentleman that he is. However, as the Senator’s recent speeches have espoused a position somewhat different than the one you enunciated in your address to the Congress, I wanted to inform you immediately upon learning that the Senator is here in Raleigh.”

  Wellington’s chuckle broke the silence before it could become embarrassing: “I look forward to conversing with Senator Calhoun, if the opportunity arises. I also trust he will listen tomorrow with an open mind, as I know all North Carolinians will. I say, however: is the man’s horse named Pegasus? He seems to turn up all over the South. Man’s perpetually in motion…”

  This time, the Carolinians’ laughter seemed twinged with unease. Fortunately, the butler indicated that dinner was about to be served.

  ___________

  Wellington’s speech was met with polite applause at times. And polite silence when the emancipation issue was raised. The majority of the Raleigh gentry apparently opposed the freeing of their ‘people,’ but out of respect to the Duke---and in honor of the occasion of which they were duly proud---they did not express that opposition.

  Wellington, for his part, employed a conciliatory approach: the Crown was offering compensation as well as a seven-year period in which to accomplish the task. Surely at the conclusion of that period the former owners would see financially induced increased productivity from their servants-turned-workers! After all, the workers would be inspired by the knowledge that not only their survival but a better life was entirely up to themselves. The former owners would be relieved of the odorous---and expensive--obligation of lifelong care… Employers would be free to dismiss any non-productive workers with no governmental interference!

  And, of course, he gently but firmly reminded them, under terms of both the Colonial Compact and the USBA Constitution---both voluntarily signed by representatives of their state and approved by their own Legislature---the Government, with the King’s approval, was legally entitled to issue an emancipation degree…

  That portion of the address brought the only serious mutterings from portions of the crowd, but also, Captain Bratton could see, nods of approval and acknowledgement from others.

  The Colonial Office man had made it his business to study Calhoun’s reactions: Bratton had been surprised when the fire-eater had simply smiled rather, he thought, smugly during the Old Man’s prophecy of increased prosperity-through-abolition.

  The dark features had become taut, however, during the enunciation of the legal justification. Calhoun’s eyes seemed to burn like two coals as the Duke, in his own way, repudiated any and all nullification arguments.

  There’ll be no compromising with this one, Bratton thought sourly. This is a fanatic; he seems bound-and-determined to take this to---and beyond---the limits.

  If his is the majority Southern opinion, then my prediction back in London (my God, was that just 4 ½ months ago?) will have been correct. Even if the old man in The Residency decides to support emancipation…these people will not give up their ‘peculiar institution’ without a fight!

  ___________

  Governor’s Mansion

  Raleigh, North Carolina

  May 16, 1833, 7 p.m.:

  The astonishing letter John C. Calhoun carried in his breast pocket had been hand-delivered to Fort Hill Plantation. Floride, after scanning it quickly, had summoned a trusted young neighbor who, riding hard for long hours, had caught up to the Senator’s small traveling party south of Raleigh.

  Now Calhoun carried the amazing correspondence as he entered the ballroom of the beautiful, multi-storied brick building with the ‘1814’ logo above the front doors, though he had not disclosed its contents to anyone, including his young aide, Munroe.

  Although they had been formally introduced in Georgetown, Senator Calhoun and the Duke of Wellington---whom the South Carolinian had come to regard as his real opponent in this crisis (Jackson being old and on-the-fence)---had never actually discussed or debated the merits of the issue.

  What Calhoun held in his pocket, however, he now considered the trump card: not to be fully disclosed---though hinted strongly at---until the moment when its enormous significance would virtually ensure the exemption he demanded…

  For his part, the Duke looked forward to a face-to-face with the fire-eater; it reminded him of when his pickets had first clashed with Bonaparte’s scouts south of the Waterloo battlefield. We’ve got to get a taste of the man’s mettle. Let’s determine whether he has the intestinal fortitude to play this game to its potential finale…

  The original purpose of the formal, state-sponsored celebration had been to commemorate the laying of the cornerstone. That had now been eclipsed by the collision of the two giants: the states-rights apostle, John C. Calhoun; and the guardian of the Empire, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.

  Raleigh had never seen the like…and held its collective breath.

  ___________

  As Governor Swain had predicted, Calhoun behaved as the Southern gentleman he was. The Senator waited his turn to be introduced to the guest of honor and congratulated Wellington on his health before proposing that, “if Your Grace can find the time before the evening is complete, perhaps we could talk privately.”

  The Duke was immediately agreeable: “Certainly Senator…and if such an opportunity does not materialize, without question before we both depart this lovely city.” Studying his face once again, Wellington was reminded of Scott’s original description of the South Carolinian: ‘…burning with the fanaticism of an Old Testament prophet…’ Well, Winfield, you certainly had this one pegged correctly. My God, the man reeks of self-righteousness…

  Calhoun passed through the receiving line to quickly become the center of a large circle of admirers. Though the noise emanating from the circle grew ever louder, Harry Bratton, standing alone near a well-stocked (and well-frequented) bar, could see that the fire-eater himself rarely said more than a few words at a time. Wellington, for his part, played the role of honored guest, flirting with the ladies and conversing in generalities. Repeatedly, he countered questions and opinions from well-wishers with a broad smile: “Tonight is a celebration of your city and state. We shall leave the politics at the construction site…”

  It was past 9 p.m. as Calhoun made his way through the ballroom once again, escorted by Bedford Brown into the Governor’s study. The dallying guests then being ushered out by Mrs. Swain and the mansion’s servants last saw the Duke in earnest conversation with the city’s beloved Intendant of Police, Joseph Gales, Sr.

  “‘Intendant of Police,’ Mr. Gales? I say: and what precisely does the ‘Intendant’ do?”

  “It’s a term the founders of our city apparently borrowed from the French, Your Grace. For all intents and purposes, I’m the mayor…and have been since 1819.”

  Policeman or politician, Gales was not, however, asked into the study moments later when Governor Swain came over to escort the Duke. In fact, only Calhoun, standing by the unlit fireplace, and the two seated Senators awaited Wellington as Swain closed the door behind them. The Governor quickly offered Sir Arthur use of his desk, but Wellington preferred to remain standing.

  “Well Senator Calhoun, I am glad to see that your state has not followed North Carolina’s example and ruled mature men ineligible for high political office.”

  The fire-eater looked nonplused as the three young North State officials joined in a nervous laughter somewhat heartier than the mild joke occasioned. It was Governor Swain who explained: “Upon his observations last evening on our relative youth” (with a broad wave he indicated the two Senators and himself), “I informed His Grace that, as gentlemen of North Carolina reach a certain age, they abandon this childish game in favor of more intellectual, adult pursuits…”

  Not even the outline of a smile managed to crack Calhoun’s stone-cold features. Instead, the South Carolinian was typically grim, blunt and straightforward: “On the contrar
y, Sir, I believe the elections of you three splendid young men demonstrate the faith the older generation has in you all to maintain and promulgate the policies, traditions and institutions so vital to the South’s well-being.”

  The clearly enunciated phrase ‘policies, traditions and institutions’ crackled across the room with an intensity that left Wellington with the clear mental image of Calhoun wielding a whip snatched from the hand of his own plantation’s overseer. He recalled Captain Bratton’s prediction of the previous evening: “No compromising…a fanatic…beyond the limits.”

  Calhoun’s impatience at small talk was obvious, as was his purposeful single-mindedness:

  “The hour is late so I suggest we dispense with further jovial frivolities and get to the point.” The fire-eater’s eyes blazed as he glared directly at the Duke. “The message of your speech today, Sir, is unacceptable to the South. Slavery was a long-established institution in the South, a bulwark of our prosperity, long before the Colonial Compact or the Dominion Constitution.

  “We reject the hypothesis that the Crown or any of its governmental units---either in Georgetown or London---can legally force us to give up our institution. Nor will we be bribed into doing so…at any price!”

  The silence in the study at the conclusion of Calhoun’s outburst was so total that Swain, for one, could hear the carriage wheels creaking down the circular driveway on the opposite side of the house, as well as the incessant chirp of the ever-present crickets.

  If Wellington---after all the conqueror of Bonaparte as well as a former British Prime Minister---was offended by Calhoun’s tirade, thought Senator Person---and how could he not be---the Duke was giving no such indication. His color remained the sun-burned red he had arrived with but had not deepened to a blood rush-induced scarlet. His hands, stuck in his pockets since entering the room, did not seem to be trembling. Except for a slight, almost unnoticeable pursing of the lips, even his facial features had not changed.