The Dominion's Dilemma: The United States of British America (43 page)

    “I’m not a highly educated man, Mr. Karlhamanov,” the Senator said as they sat on the mansion’s veranda after dinner. “But I am a practical one. I see advances in science, mechanics, engineering which will someday transform the way we operate our plantation system. That transformation will be gradual. Concurrently, we will transform the blacks into a self-sustaining, productive and relatively unsupervised segment of the overall Southern society.

     “It can not happen overnight, or over seven years or at Parliamentary whim, however, Sir!” Brown looked hard at Nicholas, as if seeing him clearly for the first time:

      “Surely you don’t advocate the immediate and unplanned emancipation of your country’s serfs, Mr. Karlhamanov? I thought not. You, of all foreigners in the USBA, should understand the South’s position.

       “We will not have the fabric of our society torn apart at the whim of a deliberative body 3000 miles away which would be better off looking at the social injustices so famously prevalent on their own side of the Atlantic!”

         Nicholas could not keep the smile from his face. “I realize more each day the commonality of our two societies, Senator, the Southern and the Russian. Though I am a mere subject of the Czar here unofficially and privately, I believe my government would not be unsympathetic to the South’s plight if London attempts to forcibly impose emancipation. Nor do I believe my government would be upset to learn that such sentiments were, unofficially, expressed to key members of the Southern leadership, such as yourself.

    “In fact, I would enjoy expressing that view to other key members…”

      Highly educated perhaps he was not, but Senator Brown knew the universal language of politics.

    
Mr. Karlhamanov---if that is your real name---you are
not
here on an extended holiday. I’m not yet sure what game you are playing, but you may be useful in the high-stakes game we have been dealt into…

      “Tell me, Mr. Karlhamanov, do your travel plans include South Carolina? There are several gentlemen down there who might enjoy speaking with you…”

___________

Foreign Office          

London, England

March 28, 1833:

     The Ambassador had hired a fast sloop and dispatched Tudsbury towards Gibraltar before the Russian fleet had completed its progression through the Straights. The second secretary carried a hurried verbal message for the Foreign Office.

      Now he was being ushered in to see Lord Palmerston himself. Although he had calmed the shaken Ponsonby somewhat---evaluating the dilapidated Russian fleet as unworthy of comparison with a British squadron---the Ambassador had insisted that an eyewitness report be made to London.

       So Tudsbury had made the voyage, though he had no definitive information about where the Russki armada might be headed. He had, of course, reported in to Admiral Hotham at Gibraltar, so the Mediterranian fleet was already notified and on alert. Tudsbury had been mystified by the Admiral’s reaction, however; the C-in-C, Med had been more interested in the transports than the warships…

       Palmerston’s reaction, after an initial outburst of indignant swearing, had also been surprising. “Yes, yes, Mr. Tudsbury, no doubt we could take the whole Russki fleet down before breakfast. But had Sir John no idea they were coming or where they were headed? Constantinople, I’ve always understood to be a veritable hot bed of espionage, with rumors flying in all directions. Additionally, a warning was dispatched from here last month…

     “Never received it, eh?”  The Foreign Secretary sighed and continued:

       “All right, Mr. Tudsbury. You’ll await an F.O. pouch now being prepared for Sir John and then return to your duty post. Shouldn’t be more than two-to-three days. But tell me, now: what is the official mood in the Porte over this Egyptian insurrection? It looks from here as though the Arabs might actually make a run on Anatolia itself! What have you heard?”

         The Second Secretary was stunned and chagrined:
why hadn’t we stopped to analyze the options?

        Lord Palmerston saw the dawning of understanding in the younger man’s eyes. “Yes, Mr. Tudsbury, we’ve had some indication here for several weeks that the fool Sultan has asked Czar Nicholas for help against the forces of Mehmet Ali now besieging Acre. I’m disturbed that Sir John in Constantinople hadn’t yet gotten word of that before the Russkis came sailing down from the Black Sea! They’re headed to Syria, all right, with as many as 10,000 troops, to head the Arab army off.

       “Nothing we can due officially at this point, of course. Not with the Russians formally invited to intervene. But Sir John must watch closely for any signs that this detente between St. Petersburg and Constantinople doesn’t turn into an alliance. Our road to India must remain open. That’s what’s actually at risk here. It will all be covered in the instructions you’ll carry back. But emphasize to Ponsonby my deep concern. Every effort short of war must be made to keep the Russians and the Ottomans from signing a pact!”

       Palmerston shook his head, the unique beard that allowed for a clean-shaven chin but bushy outgrowths down both sides of his face now bristling. “Yet, if Ali is successful, I’m afraid his delusions of a pan-Arabic kingdom throughout the Near East could also threaten the India road.”

        The Foreign Secretary peered over his glasses at Tudsbury, who was nodding his head like the ensign he had once been.

     “Quite a diplomatic tightrope you people are walking there in Constantinople, wouldn’t you say?”

        Palmerston pointed his head at the door in dismissal. “Good luck, Tudsbury. And find out what the devil happened to that pouch informing Sir John the Russians were coming!”

___________

War Department

Georgetown, D.C.

March 29, 1833:

      Winfield Scott put down the latest version of Lieutenant Wilder’s report on USBAA officer strength, minus its Southern contingent. The report had been revised several times, the latest to reflect possible defections among British Army half-pay officers currently serving with the Dominion forces.

       “This is more like it, Lieutenant,” Scott said, the leonine head nodding approvingly. “Eighteen percent of our officer corps are half-pays. I agree that most half-pays won’t cut their ties to the Mother Country, but about 10% is a conceivable figure. There undoubtedly are some, like this Lieutenant Bassett, who have put down roots in the South.”

      Half-pay officers, like Harry Bratton, were regular Royal Army officers demobilized but subject to sudden and immediate RA recall. They received half the salary due active officers of their rank as inducement to remain on-call, but were allowed to pursue other avenues of employment while deactivated. Some, like Bratton, opted for positions in the Government. Others joined, with RA approval, other active forces associated with the Royal Army: many served in “John Company’s” Indian Army. Others were serving in the USBAA or in Australia or Cape Colony. Lt. Harry Bassett, the second son of a Sussex baronet (many half-pay officers were younger sons of minor nobles who stood little change of succeeding to the title), had recently married the daughter of the Governor of Mississippi.

         “I believe we now have a more accurate evaluation of our potential officer strength minus all prospective defectors,” Scott continued, “senior and junior officers, plus the half-pays.” He paused and grimaced, then glared at Tom fiercely.

       “Just because it’s accurate doesn’t make it promising, however, Lieutenant.  Out of a total available active officer corps of 2,400 we figure to lose about 80% of the Southerners. That’s about 960; a tremendous dent. Then add in a half dozen or so half-pays. That doesn’t leave enough competent officers---in confidence, I judge roughly 10% of the entire pool incompetent under any circumstances---to maintain order on the frontiers, keep the Quebecois sullen but not mutinous, and put down any potential Southern rebellion.”

       His glare turned to a strange, mirthless smile. “Any ideas, Lieutenant?”

        Tom, who was still shattered by the possibility, however miniscule, that close friends like Robert Lee and, yes, Joe Johnston, might soon be facing him across an open space---as well as respected senior officers like Zach Taylor or the legendary Albert Sidney Johnston---looked mournfully at his boss.

       “Well, Sir. There are the state militias, especially the Western ones…”

        “Yes there are. Some of those Ohio and Illinois boys fought well against Chief Black Hawk. I was particularly impressed with one Ohioan, Colonel Felton. But go on.”

       “There’s certain to be foreign volunteers. I mean, Sir, real foreigners, like French or Prussians. As well as perhaps some more half-pays from England…”

       Scott scowled: “Yes, no doubt we’d see some European adventurers. For what they’d be worth. As for half-pays, if they volunteer, fine. But we will not ask the War Office for help.” His entire huge bulk shook forcefully. “There’s another potential pool of experienced officers, Lieutenant. I’m surprised it hasn’t come to mind. Especially with your education…”

        Cheeks blazing red, Tom frantically concentrated on Scott’s last words. Of course! The most obvious pool of all!

       “Yes, Sir, there is another experienced pool. Unfortunately, any potential rebel force would also be drawing on it…”

        “Nothing we can do about that, Lieutenant. If we can’t stop active duty West Pointers from resigning their commissions to go South, we certainly can’t stop former West Pointers who have already resigned. But we’d get our share. That’s the main secondary pool I’m relying on.”

        “How do we go about identifying and contacting them, Sir?”

       Scott smiled his first true smile of the meeting. “I have already initiated the project, Lieutenant. Before your friend Colonel Burr left town, I asked him to carry a verbal message to Colonel Thayer at the Point. While you’ve been honing your list, Colonel Thayer has been working on his. I’ve heard from him. We can expect projections by mid-April.”

            Tom was by now used to the back channels being utilized in this crisis, but sending Colonel Burr with a message to the Point Superintendent still stunned him. Apparently, it showed.

         “You seem surprised, Lieutenant. Is it the message…or the messenger?”

         “Well, General, I guess I am a little shocked. I’ve assumed Colonel Burr was some sort of go-between from Wellington to Jackson and back while he was down here. But I guess utilizing him on a strictly War Department matter does surprise me, Sir.”

         General Scott stared at his aide for a long minute, an eternity it seemed to Tom, before replying. “Lieutenant, this is the most serious crisis the Department---and the Dominion---has ever faced. But it is still under control. There haven’t yet been the whispers of secession heard during the nullification crisis---as least not that we’ve heard here--nor have any shots been fired. So far…

         “Those things could easily come to fruition, however, if word that we were preparing contingency plans to put down a rebellion got out. Yet, we’d be derelict if we didn’t begin such planning. That’s why your report has been kept under such tight wraps. Same thing with the ex-West Pointers. We need to see what we can expect from that talent pool. Yet I can’t risk having a written order inadvertently---or advertently---uncovered that could be used to fan the flames.

         “Colonel Burr has demonstrated a certain flair for this type of thing. And, he was heading back to New York in any case. As far as anyone who might ask knows, he simply took the Hudson steamer to the Point on his way to see a client in Orange County, Newburgh or thereabouts.”

        Tom nodded his head. “I see, Sir.”

       The General smiled: “Intelligence work is at least as complex as engineering, won’t you agree, Lieutenant?”

       “Yes Sir. And quite a bit more interesting.” For the first time ever, his face didn’t redden at a Scott jibe concerning his West Point record.

    “Now then, Lieutenant: what’s new on the frontiers? Has Zack Taylor ever located Sam Houston? What’s your analysis of
that?
”

___________

#10 Downing Street       

London, England

March 29, 1833:

   Armed with notes from his Tudsbury meeting and a draft of the instructions for Ponsonby, Palmerston was meeting with the P.M. and Lord Melbourne. The Government, he wryly observed, was faced with a series of interlocking dilemmas.

         A dilapidated, tottering Ottoman Empire was more pliable than a vigorous new Arab Near East kingdom would be. Therefore, it benefited the Empire to see the Turks put down their rebellious vassal. Yet, calling in the Russians to do so, while it would most probably end the Egyptian threat, had the potential of bringing worse: the Russians, once ensconced, never withdrew from newly-occupied territory voluntarily…

     So the threat to unrestricted overland access to India was potentially more alarming once the Bear chased the Gypos back across the Nile than even a successful Arab takeover of the Ottoman domains would be…

    The tired-looking P.M., however, questioned the seriousness of the Egyptian threat: “This Ali Pasha. Does he  pose a realistic danger? These desert chieftains are just glorified banditti, are they not? Like the Tripoli pirates we used the USBA Marines to clear out back during the Boney wars?”

      Palmerton shook his head firmly. “No Prime Minister, I’ve concluded that they could pose a serious threat. In fact, I wrote Ponsonby a private note about Ali just this morning. Let me read from it to you:

        “…Mehmet Ali’s actual aim seems to be establishing an Arab kingdom embracing all the Arabic-tongue peoples. This project may contribute to dividing the Ottoman Empire, and there is no excuse for allowing an Arab king to supplant the Turks in controlling the road to India…”