by James Haley
“Really? He should have had such a care for Boston.”
“Well, perhaps he learned that lesson after all. But he forbade any more discussion on the topic. With that, a large portion of the students who were passionate on the subject of freedom for the slaves withdrew from the seminary, and some of the faculty resigned. And that is not even the most momentous result.”
“Good heavens, what remains?”
“Well, dearest, it seems that one of his dissenting faculty, a Reverend Stowe, up and married our dear young Harriet and accepted a post at the new Oberlin College.”
“Good Lord! Where is that?”
“Also in Ohio, but at the opposite end of the state, near Lake Erie.” She regarded him with a look of appraisal. “I can tell that you have persisted in your opinion that no man would have such a homely young woman.”
“I said nothing.”
“There is too much astonishment in your face for it to be about the seminary alone.” His smile betrayed him. She went on, “Stowe is a widower nine years her senior, and by her account a very godly man.”
Bliven pulled her back to his side and they continued walking. “She is well matched, then. I wish them happiness.”
“There is one thing more, dearest. Their new college of Oberlin had its own fierce discussions, at the conclusion of which they determined to admit qualified Negroes along with the white students.”
“What!”
“What, indeed. What do you think about it?”
“They sound like revolutionaries. We should send them money.”
She stopped again and looked at him, searching. “Do you mean that?”
“My love, in the past two years I learned more about slavery than ever I desired to know. Five years ago I would not have said so, but now, yes, I do mean it.”
“I am heartily glad to hear it, for I answered their subscription appeal by pledging a hundred dollars per year.”
“Ha! Of course you would.” A chill gust cut through their cloaks, and Bliven snuggled her against him. “Well done. It is getting colder. Let us go back.”
Polly brought them tea in the library, and on the tray they found a letter with the all-too-recognizable red wax seal of the Navy Department, at the sight of which Clarity bridled just a little. “No fear, my love.” He patted her hand. “Let us see what they want.”
Washington
Decr. 28th, 1836
Dear Sir:
The Secretary of the Navy is pleased to have been informed of your recovered health, which was in a state of some delicacy at the time of your return from your mission last June. By direction of the Secretary, you will please to make yourself available in this city not later than the 16th of January, 1837, to be interviewed on the matter of your duty undertaken earlier this year.
A room has been reserved for you at Brown’s, where you will be lodged, along with other persons of importance in the same undertaking. This will include a delegation from the Republic of Texas, which will soon be extended diplomatic recognition, if it has not already, by this Government. This delegation will include at least one cabinet level secretary appointed by President Houston in that country. However, you should not assume that he, or the other Texian members, are aware of the confidential aspects of your late duty, therefore you are to consider yourself enjoined to the same level of secrecy as you formerly observed.
You will be further directed from that place.
Yours with all considerations, &c.,
Nicholas Dalton
for the Secretary
Bliven Putnam, Capt. USN
Litchfield, Connecticut
The dark apprehension on Clarity’s face did not lift for a second while he was reading it. “Am I not to know the present business, as it was a year ago?”
He thought on it. “You are setting my loyalties into conflict.”
“Well, please do not let your mere wife cause you any disturbance.”
He thought longer on it and held the letter over to her. “These contents are not to leave this room, ever. Agreed?”
“Very well, agreed.”
“My love, I am in earnest.”
“Very well, so am I.” She took it and read it avidly, closely. “Texas? What have you to do with Texas?”
He made no response, letting her work on it until at last she heaved a sigh of recognition. “That is why you were in New Orleans, isn’t it? You were seconded to their navy, to aid in their rebellion, weren’t you? Well! That is a curious duty for my in-house abolitionist to undertake, I must say! Just recently I was shown a pamphlet by Mr. Lundy, and Representative Adams, showing that that whole enterprise was really a conspiracy to add territory to the slaveholding states.”
Bliven held up a hand to stop her. “My love, there are yet many things I cannot tell you, but I can tell you of my own knowledge that that particular accusation is false. Set your mind at ease on this point, I beg you.”
“Very well, upon your assurance. But they have a nerve to call such a recently sick man to Washington in the bitterest depth of winter. Perhaps they really wish the cold to kill you and then their secrets would truly be safe.”
* * *
* * *
Bliven’s previous visits to Washington had centered about the Navy Yard, which lay southeast of the governmental center, and had once embraced a visit to the President’s House. He had never before seen its most prestigious public lodging, Brown’s Indian Queen Hotel, which reposed on the east side of Eighth Street, with its south wing fronting on Pennsylvania Avenue. This placed it halfway between the executive mansion and the national Capitol. Bliven found its architecture remarkable, as its long west front displayed five symmetrical sections, the largest and central one of four stories, plus dormer windows to attic rooms and a widow’s walk atop the roof. It was flanked by wings of three stories, also with surmounting attic dormers, and outlying them small brick extensions of three stories, but of lower ceilings within and a more humble appearance overall.
Bliven timed his arrival for the sixteenth of January, as he was directed, and upon giving his name to the desk clerk heard him respond, “Ah, yes, Captain Putnam. You are expected already. Here is your room key. The porter will take your portmanteau up ahead of you, but if you will come with me, please?”
They crossed the lobby and entered the restaurant, and at their approach men seated around a large table stood to greet him. “Captain”—a young officer saluted him—“I am Lieutenant Ricks. These men have lately arrived from Texas; they will make their own introductions. The President will receive you on the morrow. Please present yourselves at his house at noon. Until then, your time is your own.”
The boyish lieutenant departed and one of the Texians, a great four-square man with piercing blue eyes and a full beard, approached Bliven and extended his hand. “We have not met, Captain Putnam, I am G. W. Hockley, secretary of war to President Houston.”
Bliven took his hand. “Your servant, sir.”
“This is Colonel Patton, who has looked after Santa Anna since his capture last April, and this is Mr. Barnard Bee, who will see to Texas’s diplomatic standing here in Washington. Now, Captain, you will not be acquainted with His Excellency, Antonio López de Santa Anna, the President of Mexico.”
Santa Anna smiled at him amiably and extended his hand, which Bliven had no desire to take, so before he could reach completely out Bliven stood to attention and saluted. “I have not had the honor.” But then the man left his hand hanging in the air until Bliven had to take it. His grip was reasonably firm, but his hand was distinctly sweaty, which spoke volumes.
Santa Anna spoke in Spanish to an officer at his side, who said to Bliven, “Captain, I am Colonel Juan Almonte, traveling with His Excellency as aide and interpreter. The President asks whether he has met you before, perhaps in Texas. You seem familia
r to him.”
Bliven shook his head slightly. “Please thank the President. I am quite certain that we have never met. I have not been to Texas.”
Even for state reasons, he found lying disagreeable. “General Santa Anna,” said one of the Texians, “Captain Putnam is newly designated as the American naval attaché to the Republic of Texas, who will be attached to the consulate there.”
The hell I am, thought Bliven.
“I see,” said Santa Anna through Almonte. “In regarding the snow outside, I will warn you to expect a great change in climate.” Bliven felt lucky that before the conversation got even further beyond him, two men came from behind the hotel’s desk. “Mr. President, Colonel,” said one, “your rooms are ready, if you will be pleased to follow us.”
When they were out of hearing Bliven nodded around. “Gentlemen, forgive me asking, but what in the hell is Santa Anna doing here? What business can he possibly have?”
“Captain”—Hockley placed one hand on Bliven’s shoulder and with the other gestured to a vacant chair—“let us have a drink.”
When they were situated, the three Texians with glasses of whiskey and Bliven with red wine, Hockley continued: “The fact is, Captain, that letting people know we were bringing Santa Anna to Washington to repeat his guarantees of Texas independence to Jackson himself was the only way to get him out of Texas alive. We have been trying for months to get him back home, but the army and the citizens still want to see him hang.”
“Well,” said Bliven, “there is no denying that his crimes merit it, but I applaud your government’s determination not to begin its existence with blood on its hands.”
“That is it, exactly,” said Hockley. “We even got him on board a ship once, bound for Veracruz, but before it could raise sail, a mob of citizens stormed the vessel and seized him. That was a close call, I can tell you. We only just got our hands back on him. One of the prominent local fellows, a Mr. Bandy, was able to talk the crowd down from a near riot.”
“I understand. Gentlemen, if you will forgive me, I am just alighted from my coach, and I would like to go to my room and clean up.”
“You are in the south wing, third floor, near us. Come on, we’ll show you.” Bliven’s third-floor window overlooked Pennsylvania Avenue and gave him a fine view of the triple-domed Capitol, the very heart of the government in whose service he had expended his life. As they would not see Jackson until the next day, Bliven and the Texians used the afternoon to gratify their curiosity about the seat of government with a visit. The outer two domed blocks had been built separately, the south one in 1800, the north one to be identical and finished in 1811, and then connected by a colonnade—the whole burned by the British in 1814 but then rebuilt to expand into a central bloc with a fine high dome to overlook the others. The whole now housed the Senate in the south wing and the Representatives in the north, with the Supreme Court, Congressional Library, and cabinet departments within such nooks and corners as could be found. They ran their fingers over the exotic colored marbles and tried for themselves some of the fine furniture.
“Somehow,” observed Bee, “I am not anticipating that our own government will be as well housed.” Indeed, at the time they left Velasco, the government was considering to locate in the town of Columbia, to the northeast, not far from Harrisburg, one of the few that Santa Anna’s columns had neglected to burn during their Hun-like rampage to the east. Of special mention had been an intact house of two rooms flanking a hall—one for the House and one for the Senate—and behind them and beneath the lowering roofline two sheds that could serve for committee meetings, if walls could be finished to close them from the weather.
They returned to Brown’s in the early evening, encountering in the lobby Almonte, still in uniform, and Santa Anna, who had undergone a remarkable transformation. After visits by a barber, a tailor, and various merchants who supplied him with personal articles and toiletries, Santa Anna emerged in immaculate civilian attire. He who in former days luxuriated in being an imperious and bloody autocrat—who could and did order the execution of hundreds with a wave of his hand—now appeared as a visiting head of state who would be extended every civility that the government could bestow.
* * *
* * *
No person whom Bliven had met who had been celebrated enough to have had paintings or engravings made of him matched those representations in such full measure as did Andrew Jackson. His shock of white hair was brushed back and fluffed to such a volume as to draw stares, which were then drawn to his eyes, which seemed to hurl thunderbolts and inspire nothing so much as dread. His whole bearing was taut and angular to such a degree that he seemed incapable of relaxation, as though he were ever ready to strike out. The softest thing about him was his voice, its harshness ground down by his seventy hard years on earth, his native Carolina drawl given some edge by the Tennessee frontier.
Bliven saluted, which Jackson answered with a slight inclination of his head. “In previous years, Captain, when I returned a military salute, people said civilian officials are not allowed them, and I must imagine myself a dictator, but when I did not return a military salute people said I was being arrogant. To this good damned day I am not certain what I am supposed to do.”
“I appreciate your dilemma, Mr. President.”
Jackson extended his hand, and when Bliven took it, he found it skeletal but astonishing for its strength. He discovered Jackson and Hockley already acquainted, and found Patton and Bee also in attendance, the latter of whom the President gave special attention as Texas’s diplomatic representative. They were still standing when there was a knock at the door and Santa Anna and Almonte were admitted. Jackson strode over to them and gave Santa Anna his hand. “General Santa Anna, we have been a long time in meeting. I wish it could have happened sooner.”
Through Almonte, Santa Anna said, “Mr. President, this is an occasion of high significance, for the leaders of our two great nations to finally greet each other in friendship.”
“I appreciate that, General. Gentlemen, let us all be seated. Did you have a pleasant journey, General Santa Anna?”
“I regret that I did not, Mr. President. You will understand that I come from a tropical country. In your ice and snow, I have suffered from colds and influenza, and we were nearly sunk by icebergs on your Ohio River. I am lucky to have reached this place, and this after escaping Tejas with my life.”
Jackson nodded. “I am familiar with events in Texas. Indeed, you are lucky they did not execute you. This I attribute to President Houston’s determination to establish a temperate government.”
“Mr. President,” Almonte related carefully, “speaking of Tejas, there is a matter that I wish to discuss before any others, for it reflects upon yourself. My agents in New Orleans, in whom I have the utmost confidence, informed us that during the late war, one, perhaps two American ships and crews operated in the Gulf of Mexico, against our country under the false flag of Tejas. Can you impart to us any information about this?”
Jackson leaned back in his chair, his face grave. “Well, General, I would suggest that if your agents were as reliable as you suggest, you would have known better than to invade a country whose people were as angry and determined as these Texians.”
Santa Anna’s lips narrowed as Almonte rendered Jackson’s answer. “Mr. President, I regret that your explanation is not satisfactory. One of our vessels of supply, sailing from Veracruz, was piratically overtaken in the Gulf by a ship whose crew was certainly reported to be American but flying a flag purported to be that of Tejas, which had no flag at that time. This was reported to us by the ship’s insurers, an American company very familiar with maritime matters. This gives us much cause to believe that the United States of the North was covertly aiding the rebel effort in Tejas.”
Jackson seemed to mull this for a moment. “Well, now, your campaign having intended to drive the American colonists o
ut of Texas, you must know very well that nearly all its population are Americans, and sound like Americans when they talk, so their speech alone does not signify. What do you allege that you lost on this vessel?”
“Cannons, powder, and shot sufficient to have effected the opposite result in the last battle at San Jacinto. With such batteries of artillery, Houston’s army would have been destroyed before they crossed halfway on the plain.”
Jackson frowned, suddenly pointing a crooked finger at the dictator. “But for the fact that your whole army, as I understand, was taking its siesta at the time of the attack. But more to the present point, those must be the cannons at whose mouths, according to your foreign minister, Mr. Gorostiza, you imagined to define the boundary between our two countries. Well, sir, I have been wondering if you would venture to allege something so outrageous.” He turned in his chair and shuffled through papers on the credenza. “As it happens, I have proof that your allegation is unfounded. You can only be referring to the ship Five Points, whose insurance agents have already submitted a claim to this government for this alleged pirate attack, which claim by law had to include—ah, here it is—a manifest of its cargo.” He flipped over one page and then another. “Beans, rice, flour, sawn lumber, dry goods. Here, see for yourself.” He handed the sheaf across the desk to Almonte. “Now, if you knew anything about the political situation in my country, you would know that the wealthy business interests, including the large insurance companies, are inimical to my administration. Do you not imagine that if they could bring my government into disrepute by showing I had aided the revolution in Texas by seizing your guns, they would do so? Yes, sir, they would, even to the point of fraudulently listing those imaginary guns on the manifest of the ship. But they did not, sir, because it did not even occur to them to alter the cargo list in any such falsely incriminating way. Moreover, I happen to know lately from my own agents in New Orleans that that cargo of foodstuffs and dry goods was safely offloaded in New Orleans.”
