Dixie's Land Chapter Four

Previous     First

FOUR

"How are your meetings with the British and Canadian military men going, young man?"

Stewart turned to see that Mr. Benjamin had followed him out onto the porch—they called it a verandah here—and waited for the lawyer to join him.  Before beginning his journey to New Orleans, all Stewart had known of Judah P. Benjamin was that the man was a lawyer from Mobile, a thoroughly self-possessed Hebrew who had once challenged General Jefferson Davis to a duel.  After a week of talks, Stewart had reluctantly admitted to himself that Benjamin, who was now senior Confederate negotiator, was a very clever man.

"I suppose we're making progress, sir," Stewart said when Benjamin reached him.  Not so much himself, though.  Last night he’d snuck out a second time to watch Miss Martin—and had been caught on returning to the hotel.  General Magruder had left him in no doubt that Confederate gentlemen were not expected to frequent popular theaters.  The general hadn’t come right out and forbidden Stewart to see Miss Martin again, though, and Stewart, clinging to the strict letter of the law, intended to try to sneak out again tonight.

Benjamin looked at him with an expression Stewart had trouble deciphering.  "Ah.  And what do you think  of that, Captain Stewart?  Please speak freely."

The only good that Stewart could think of to ascribe to the negotiations—somehow, he didn’t think Pauline Martin qualified here—was the fact that they were getting him out of New Orleans during the day.  After the first few sessions of talks, Lord Byron had suggested that the negotiators meet in a plantation outside the city, on the shores of Lake Ponchartrain.  A new railroad from New Orleans to the lake made it all possible.  The negotiations could take place on the big house's wide verandahs, soothed by cooler breezes than could be felt in the stinking, damp city.

Yet, at day's end, the junior officers were mostly confined to their hotel, while "Prince John" Magruder was out partying every night.  In the nine days leading up to this one, Stewart himself had been out legitimately precisely twice, attending dances at which, for some reason, all of the Creoles present seemed to be waiting for him to do something, without any idea of what that something was.  It was a little like being an actor, with everyone around you waiting for you to respond to a cue you had no idea you were supposed to know about.

That's where he wanted to be—the theater.

"I'm still not certain why we're even doing this, sir," he said finally.  "I feel like a poor relation.  And I dislike being condescended to."

Benjamin laughed.  "I hope General Magruder does most of the talking in your meetings.  I suspect that you are—uh, rather too frank for our hosts."  He leaned back in his chair, which creaked in response.  "Still, it's not entirely condescension on the part of our hosts, you know.  Yes," he said, raising a finger to stop Stewart's objection, "I am aware of the fact that the British think themselves far above us, and the Canadians are nervous of our unsatisfied claims over Louisiana.  But the fact remains that the British have their own reasons for wanting this treaty concluded.  Though they dare not admit as much—why do you think it is Canada that is hosting these talks?—the British are desperate for a restoration of the cotton trade between us."

"I saw plenty enough of smuggled cotton from Alabama and Mississippi on the day we arrived," Stewart said.  "They can't be suffering too much."

"On the contrary.  According to the figures provided us by the government in Richmond, in the last year of peace the South provided nearly seventy percent of Britain's cotton imports.  Louisiana and Texas simply can't raise enough cotton to make up for the shortfall."

Benjamin shared a predatory smile with Stewart.  "That gives us leverage.  Unless and until the Canadians recognize our independence, we will continue to refrain from trading in cotton with either Canada or Great Britain.  We will only trade with nations that recognize our own status as a nation."

"If the decision is that easy to make, why are we here negotiating?  Surely we could trade threats by post."

Benjamin laughed, but it wasn't a very happy laugh.  He pointed to a chair, then took a cigar from his coat-pocket.  Lighting the cigar, he sat in an adjacent chair.  "It's not that simple, Captain," he said.  "For one, thing, loathe though we are to admit it, we need the Canadians as much as the British need us.  The Federal blockade means we can’t trade with anyone except through New Orleans.  Then there’s the threat of war."

"We're already in a war."

"Yes, and the Canadians aren't and don't wish to be.  There is a chance—not a great one, perhaps, but a chance—that an announcement that Canada recognizes the Confederacy as an independent state will lead the United States to invade Canada in retaliation.  That might draw Great Britain into the fight.  If care isn't taken, there could be war on a world-wide scale."

"I'm not certain that prospect would bother me overmuch," Stewart said.  "In the process, we might take back Louisiana."

"Don't think that thought hasn't occurred to Lord Byron," Benjamin said.  "But we're not strong enough on our own to take Louisiana and hold off the Federals from the north.  Byron knows that.  So does Thurlow Weed in the Washington White House.  If the war widens, we could only survive by becoming full allies of Canada and Great Britain.  And how does that make you feel, eh?"

"So on top of coming begging to the Canadians for recognition, we must also offer ourselves up as a guarantee against a Federal invasion of Canada?" Stewart asked.  "Even I can see that that's not a good bargain, and I’m just a captain."

Benjamin leaned back in his chair and took a long, contented draw on the cigar.  "We don't have to guarantee anything, my boy.  This is a consideration the Canadians and British must deal with.  Our only concern is that their fear for Ontario, Quebec and the Missouri Territory may reduce their willingness to take a chance on the Confederacy.  So my job is to persuade Lord Byron that the risk of Federal attack is minimal."

Stewart still didn't see how a war that weakened Canada and Britain could be entirely against the Confederacy's interests.  "You’ve persuaded me, sir," was what he said.

"I’m having more trouble being persuasive about our 'peculiar institution'," Benjamin said.  "It probably won't surprise you overmuch to learn that our hosts don't think a lot of it.  Lord Byron is personally opposed in principle, though I believe he also identifies strongly with our Southern chivalry.  For myself, I worry less about principle and more about something practical."

"And that is?"

"The Mississippi is a great river, but not a very great barrier to a determined man."

Thinking of Thomas, Stewart understood immediately.  "They wouldn't dare take our servants."

"By 'they' I presume you mean the Canadians.  They wouldn’t have to."  Benjamin, the cigar now a stub, got to his feet.  "The Canadian authorities have never helped slave-catchers pursuing their quarry across the border, but they’ve never actively opposed them either.  Now, however, their North-West Mounted Police force has grown to where the Canadians are saying that slave-catchers will be prosecuted if caught.  And catching them will become a priority in the provinces and territories along the Mississippi.  I was told yesterday that if Canada recognizes the Confederacy, it will not recognize Southern slavery.  That will mean that any slave who enters Canadian territory will automatically be declared free.  No Mississippi planter will be able to visit New Orleans accompanied by his servants, and our women must leave their maids at home when travelling into Canada."

"Good God, sir, it's worse than being without a maid!  Under that provision, the Confederacy would suffer a steady hemorrhage of slaves.  Soon it would be impossible to keep the Mississippi and Tennessee plantations running."

"Perhaps," Benjamin said.  "Though there are plenty of planters in Virginia and the Carolinas who will be more than happy to keep a steady supply of new slaves coming south to take the places of any who run."  Benjamin favored Stewart with a pointed look, the meaning of which was lost on him.

"For myself, I think we will be able to survive," Benjamin said.  "At least in the short term, which is really all that matters right now."

"Short term?  What of our principles, then, sir?"

"Spoken like a young man," Benjamin said.  "And no doubt your father—and your uncle—would be proud of you.  Alas, steadfast adherence to principle is a luxury that only the young can afford.  My concern is with obtaining true independence for the Confederate States of America.  If we have to make concessions to Canadian and British sensitivities in order to obtain that, I think the sacrifice justified.  If you take the time to think things through, Captain Stewart, you may come to the same conclusion."

Benjamin patted his coat pocket, apparently looking for another cigar.  "Damn," he said, finding none.  "Done already, and not yet noon.  Ah, well."  He turned to look at Stewart.  "Our situation is not unlike that of the government in Richmond, captain.  The government has found it necessary, in prosecuting the war, to take steps that abrogate some of the rights of the states.  Normally that would be considered a gross insult to the principles on which the Confederacy was founded.  In more practical terms, we all look the other way and tuck our principles into our pockets, knowing that some things that are unpleasant are nonetheless necessary in order to achieve a greater good.  It's called expediency, Captain Stewart, and soon enough you'll learn all about that."

"I would rather not, sir," Stewart said.  "I would rather be back on the battlefield, if it's all the same to you."

"Expediency rules there, too, captain," Benjamin said with a short laugh.  "It's just that in the confusion of the smoke and the flame, you don't recognize it."

“Perhaps we should just build a wall around our border with Canada.”  Stewart knew he sounded sulky.  He didn’t care.

Benjamin looked at him the way a doctor might examine a specimen.  “An interesting idea, young man.  We might, at that.”

Stewart didn’t know whether or not he should feel flattered.  “Damn Henry Clay,” he said.  “None of this should have happened.”

“Henry Clay was certainly guilty of refusing to consider expediency,” Benjamin said.  “So many of us are.”  He did not look at Stewart, which was good because Stewart did not want the older man to see his blush.  “President Clay refused to accept the annexation of Texas simply because he didn’t want another half-dozen slave states in the Union.  I suppose I understand his feeling: Washington was becoming a rather unruly place in the eighteen-forties.  But if he’d considered expediency, Captain, he might have changed his mind.”

Benjamin picked up the discarded stub of his cigar and relit it. “Now I,” he said, smiling as smoked wreathed his head, “blame Napoleon Bonaparte for all our troubles.”

“General Bonaparte?”

“Indeed,” Benjamin said.  “A Frenchman who’s been at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea for over half a century.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir.”

“Go and find me another cigar, young man, and I’ll give you a history lesson.”

Chapter One     Chapter Two     Chapter Three