Dixie's Land 4.2

Previous     First

[Continuing chapter four]

“Here’s how I see it,” Benjamin said, smoke from a fresh cigar clouding his head.    “Fifty-odd years ago, when Napoleon was fighting England and the Holy Roman Empire at the same time, his hold on his North American colonies was about as strong as a baby’s.  It’s my belief that if those European wars had gone on, we could easily have taken the Louisiana territory for ourselves.  We might even have spared ourselves the need to fight for it, and just bought the place.

“Instead, Napoleon reaches too far and tries to invade Egypt.  Nelson chases him, eventually catches him, and off Alexandria Napoleon and all his horses and all his men are drowned.  The English and the Empire beat the French, demolish the Republic and roll back their revolution, and England takes Louisiana as spoils of war.  By the time we got around to deciding we wanted Louisiana, the place was full of English soldiers—serving and retired—and we got ourselves thrashed trying to take it.”

“Everyone knows about Jefferson’s War,” Stewart said.  “I never thought of Napoleon as anything but a general, though.”

“Forgive me if I seem harsh, young man, but if you’d thought a bit about the war you’d know it better deserves to be called ‘Aaron Burr’s War’.  Jefferson had nothing to do with it.”

Stewart flushed again.  I’m too old to be lectured to, he thought.  It was worse that this was exactly the line of reasoning Father used.  “Jefferson could have fought as soon as the English landed in Louisiana.  He lost his re-election because he wouldn’t fight.  By then it was too late.”

“Hasn’t your father explained what Jefferson stood for?”

Stewart felt a flush of shame.  It must have shown on his face, because Benjamin said, “Don’t worry, young man.  I’m not one of those who believe that Jeffersonians are naïve at best, traitors at worst.  I’m aware of your father’s politics.  But perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t share them.”

Stewart hadn’t even gone back to the family farm to say good-bye before leaving with the treaty commission for New Orleans.  It wasn’t that he hated his father—if anything, he loved Father too much.  Too much to be comfortable with his politics, anyway.  “Aren’t you a Hamiltonian, sir?” he asked Benjamin.

“Of course.  These days, any practical politician is.  However your father might feel about Jefferson as a man and philosopher, the fact is he lost re-election to that bastard Burr, and Burr was a disaster for this country.  Thank God for Alexander Hamilton, I say.”  The fifth president and his Federalist party had provided for a strong, unifying, central government; Hamilton, and his successor, DeWitt Clinton, had prevented the Jeffersonians from infecting the body politic with their demagoguery—had prevented a repeat, in the New World, of the madness that had consumed revolutionary France.

“I agree with you precisely, sir,” Stewart said.  “I may not know much about politics, but I know this much: I can’t afford to be associated with any of Father’s friends if I want any sort of military career.”  Uncle James was a Hamiltonian, and membership in the Federalist party had done him no harm and plenty of favors.

“Understood,” Benjamin said.  “Though I’m sure your father isn’t exactly pleased that you feel that way.”

“There’s a lot my father isn’t pleased about.”  As a child, Stewart had assumed that jealousy was the reason his father didn’t get along with his older brother: Uncle James had Arran, with its dozens of slaves and its acres and acres of tobacco fields.  Father had a small farm that kept the family fed but allowed for none of the luxuries Uncle James and his family enjoyed.  It hadn’t been until he went to VMI—his tuition paid in large part by Uncle James—that Stewart had realized that the jealousy had been his, not his father’s.

“And would your father agree with you about slavery?” Benjamin asked, his voice suddenly soft.  “Or is it your uncle, I wonder, whose viewpoint informs yours?  Did you know, Captain Stewart, that your uncle makes most of his living selling slaves to Mississippi and Alabama plantations?”

“He’s a tobacco planter,” Stewart said.  And suddenly realized where lay real the chasm between his father and uncle.  In opposition to his brother, Douglas Stewart owned just three slaves.  And while most Virginians Stewart had met were forgiving to a fault toward their servants, Steven, Sally and Mama Cleo might as well have been free for the lack of formality with which Father and Mother treated them.  They certainly would be freed on his parents’ deaths: Stewart and his older brother, Donald, would inherit no human property.  It was a minor scandal at Arran and the surrounding farms.

“Virginia’s not much for growing tobacco any more, though, is it?  I’m told the soil’s pretty tired.”

“That’s what my brother says.”  Donald had studied scientific farming in the North—another point about which Uncle James had commented acidly, and of which Stewart was ashamed.  “Though what my brother’s Yankee opinions have to do with my uncle’s business is beyond me.”

“My apologies, captain.  I believe I spoke out of turn.”  Benjamin sighed.  “I’ve allowed us to get off topic.  My point was that we could have taken and held Louisiana if the Royal Navy and British Army were still busy with Revolutionary France, and that’s why I blame Napoleon for our dilemma.”

The stump of the cigar extinguished, Benjamin tossed it over the verandah rail.  “With our westward expansion stopped by the Mississippi and the North encouraging immigrants from just anywhere, John Calhoun could see our future easily enough.  The North was pretty soon going to have such a population advantage that the Congress would be dominated by those with no respect for our institutions.  Up to now, we’ve always tried to solve these problems of government by adding new territory to the Union.  But we’ve run out of territory to add.”

“Which is why Texas is so important,” Stewart said.  “Was so important, I mean.”  He looked up, but the older man did nothing to indicate he’d been made suspicious by the slip of Stewart’s tongue.

“A congressman I met from Illinois—Lincoln was his name—told me,” Benjamin said,  “that if we had had Louisiana, annexing Texas might have made sense.  Actually, what he said was that the South could paint a prettier picture of it, from a geographical perspective—we’d have been growing, westward.  Without Louisiana, he said annexing Texas was pretty obviously a bare-faced attempt to extend slavery and ensure Southern control of the Senate to protect against declining influence in the House.  It seems that the late President Clay agreed with this Lincoln fellow.  For whatever reason, he vetoed the treaty.”

“Do you suppose it’s a good thing we’re fighting now?” Stewart asked.

Benjamin turned with surprising speed for such a big man.  “What an interesting question you’ve asked, captain.  Care to explain what you mean by it?”

“Well, you said a minute ago that the northern states are growing faster than we are because they’ll take in just anybody.  If that’s the case, sir, then it makes sense to fight them now, when we’re still relatively evenly matched.  So long as we can get the weapons we need, we should be able to beat them.  Any one of our soldiers is as good as two of their best.”

“I’ve heard the figure put as high as ten,” Benjamin said.  “But you make an excellent point, captain, and I suspect that it’s one President Calhoun may well have considered.  If we’d waited even another ten years, we’d have lost our chance.  If this had been eighteen sixty-one rather than eighteen fifty-one, there’d be no point in our fighting at all: we could never win our independence if we’d waited that long.”

Benjamin smiled at him with what looked like genuine pleasure.  “You’ve restored my faith in the intelligence of our military, captain.  Congratulations.”

Stewart didn't get a chance to respond.  "There you are," Patton said.  "How do you manage to disappear like that, Stewart?  I can't hide from Prince John no matter where I go or what I do."  As the identity of Stewart's companion hit home, Patton blushed.  "I mean, from General Magruder," he said.  He beckoned Stewart with his finger.  "We're back to discussing the big river and the blockade," he said.  "Your general needs you."

Chapter One     Chapter Two     Chapter Three    Chapter Four