by Drew McGunn
Seguin scratched the stubble on his chin, considering Will’s words with care. “What you say makes a lot of sense, Buck. In principal, I agree. But I want your guarantee that laws protecting Tejano rights along with Anglo rights won’t just be on paper.”
Will looked around the camp, as the two quietly talked, just outside the headquarters tent, and saw who he was looking for. He pointed toward the man, “Juan, if you want guarantees, then help me to see to it that Crockett rather than Houston or Burnet becomes the President.”
Will grinned as he recalled Seguin’s genuine smile. The two had shaken hands and now that the army had returned to San Antonio, Juan and men were ideal apostles for Texas liberty.
Later in the morning on the 6th of March, Will sat in the office previously belonging to Colonel Neill, who had yet to return from a family emergency. Crockett sat across from him at the rough-hewn table. The Tennessean spoke first, “Do you figure that Grant has arrived at Washington yet?”
Will shrugged, “I hope so. It’s been a week since he left for Washington from the Nueces. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he walks into the convention and tells Sam Houston that the war’s over, and we’ve won. And by the way, better get yourselves over to San Antonio before Colonels Crockett and Travis hammer out a treaty with Santa Anna.”
Crockett’s lips twitched upward, “Sam’s alright, Buck. Even if he’s in Andy Jackson’s hip pocket, that don’t make him a bad man. Hell, he was quite the hero back during the Creek War. But I done told you that I was only elected colonel of militia back in Tennessee because I brought more corn liquor on the election day. I’d prefer to think of myself as just a high private.”
Will snorted derisively at the Tennessean. “David, that’s pure balderdash. I haven’t forgotten that you did more than your share in leading our men over the past couple of weeks.”
Crockett shrugged noncommittally, “If I hadn’t, you’d have done just fine on your own, Buck. You brought everything together. I still have a hard time imagining you crisscrossing south Texas, picking up Fannin and Grant and still meeting us on the Rio Grande, all in less than two weeks. That, my friend, is a special kind of leadership.” Before Will could object, he continued, “How many men around here could have taken Fannin’s regulars, Bowie’s volunteers, and Seguin’s Tejanos and forge them into a single fighting force that stopped the Napoleon of the West dead in his tracks?”
Will’s face lit up at the praise. He thought Crockett was being generous. But it felt good that someone like the Tennessean, who Will highly esteemed, praised him so.
“What’s next, Davy?”
Crockett scowled at Will. He didn’t care for the nickname, but then he smiled, knowing Will meant it in playful fun. “Once Burnet and Houston find out that we’ve chased Santa Anna’s army back into Mexico, they’ll beat a trail to San Antonio. With any luck, they’ll make their way here before they start trying to put a constitution together.” He paused and thought for a moment before continuing, “I reckon I’ll show up there and make sure that we take care of our famers and see to it the rich don’t do to us what they’re doing to our poor relations back east. Hell, maybe we can put a stick in ol’ Andy Jackson’s eye and get the British to recognize us first. That’d take the starch out of his shirt, sure enough.” Crockett laughed at the mental image that he created. He became serious again, “What about you, Buck? You’d make a hell of an officer, I do believe.”
Since the victory a week previous, Will had been thinking about what was to come. He decided if he could trust anyone, it would be Crockett. “If I can carve out a place here in the army, I will, David. But like you, I’d like to help with the constitution. I heard tell that Burleson was hot to make sure that folks can’t go about freeing their slaves.”
Hearing that, Crockett’s expression hardened. “That don’t hardly seem fair. I ain’t saying that I’m for or against owning a negro, Buck, but if a man’s of a mind to set his slave free, who’s to stop him?”
Will slid a glance at Crockett, “I suspect you heard that I already freed Joe. I still need to get the papers filed at the Casas Reales in Bexar, but I’m done with it. David, if Texas means anything to me, and you have to know it’s true, it should mean that whether you were born a Tennessean or Alabaman, a Mexican or Scotsman, even a Cherokee or a negro, it should stand for the liberty of all of us.”
Crockett sat on the opposite side of the table, quiet after Will’s outburst. After what seemed an eternity to Will, he said, “Buck, I own that you’re right. I have long thought that when we know what is right we should go ahead and do it. And damned if you’re not right. When I was in Congress, I saw men happy to spend other people’s money, but they were tighter than a virgin’s, ah, well, you know, with their own.” Both men smiled sheepishly at the word left unspoken. “But rest assured, after those years in Washington, working with my fellow Southerners, I know they aren’t going to easily or freely give up on our particular institution, least ways, not overnight.”
Will grinned slyly at Crockett and replied, “I happen to know a certain Tennessean that has just helped to win this here war. If he were to, who knows, maybe run for the office of, oh, I don’t know, the presidency, he might be in position to begin to do something about it.”
Crockett laughed at that. “Oh, Buck, from your lips to the Almighty’s ears!” Will stood and grabbed a dented, tin cup and raised it to his friend, “To President Crockett of the Republic of Texas!”
Chapter 14
Will gazed into the clear, blue sky, looking beyond the stately oak tree growing in the middle of the church’s cemetery. The weather, in typical Texas style, was unpredictable and the 8th of March was a fine day for a funeral, Will thought with no little morbidity. In the quiet moments, when the pressures of command allowed, he puzzled over the changes his actions set in motion. Even though Santa Anna sat in a cell in the chapel and the Alamo remained unconquered, Jim Bowie had succumbed to the disease that ravaged his body for the last two weeks. Will suspected Bowie’s death was unavoidable when considering the knife fighter’s long running battle with alcoholism, hard living and the abysmally harsh weather of the past month. Two nasty cold fronts had hammered south Texas and Bowie, like Will had endured them without the benefit of shelter. Even so, it was difficult for him to watch the casket being lowered into the consecrated ground of the church cemetery.
The priest’s intonation in Latin meant little to Will, but as he stood in the cemetery, he was struck by how many of his soldiers had walked or ridden into San Antonio to watch the beloved commander of volunteers laid to rest, next to his wife, who had passed away a few years earlier. As Will scanned the crowd, ignoring the priest’s words, he was also struck by how many of San Antonio’s finest families turned out to say their last farewell. The crowd in the cemetery was about half Tejano and half Anglo-American. Will mused about how adroitly Bowie had navigated effortlessly through both cultures. Will was sure there was a lesson to be learned there from the hard-drinking knife fighter.
After the Priest concluded the service, a squad of nine men from Bowie’s Volunteers marched up to the grave. The first three men stepped forward and fired a crisp volley into the air. A moment later, the next set of three stepped forward and fired another volley. Finally, the last set joined their companions, next to the grave and fired a final volley into the air. As the breeze scattered the gun smoke, many of the people in attendance filed by the grave, saying a last goodbye to a friend and hero.
After retrieving his horse, Will guided the mount over next to Crockett, who had attended the service too, and accompanied the Tennessean as they headed out of town, toward the Alamo. “You know, David, had it not been for Jim’s death, everyone would still be celebrating the news from Washington-on-the-Brazos yesterday.” The soldiers from the Alamo had filled the cantinas and saloons the previous night celebrating the declaration of independence signed on the 2nd of March.
Crockett nodded and matched his horse’s speed t
o Will’s until they crossed the Alameda Street bridge. Within sight of the Alamo, he turned and said, “Buck, after everything that has happened over the last few weeks, you should know, all of Bowie’s volunteers will follow you to hell and back.”
This wasn’t something which had crossed his mind until now. Most of Will’s energy since capturing Santa Anna was spent getting enough supplies to feed both his army and the prisoners. He thought about it and replied, “You may be right, David. Truth be known, I’d be more than happy if they’d just get it out of the way and elect you to be their colonel.
Crockett shook his head, “No, thank you. I doubt I could scare up enough corn liquor here in Bexar for me to buy enough of their votes, and most of the boys ain’t partial to tequila. As the Almighty is my witness, Buck, I hope it isn’t necessary either. Sam and the rest of the government ought to be here within a week. Once they’re here we can get us a treaty from ol’ Santa Anna, one we’ve earned.”
Will noticed, and not for the first time, when Crockett wanted to, he had an excellent grasp of proper English. When he pointed this out, Crockett laughed and replied, “Buck, I was so wet behind the ears when the folks from Tennessee sent me to Washington City back in twenty-one, that I couldn’t have told you a dinner fork from a dessert fork. But I read a lot and got invited to more fancy parties than I care to count. I guess all that dandifying paid off.”
Chuckling at Crockett, Will asked, “So, all that rough frontier garb and talk is just an act?”
Crockett chuckled in response, as they approached the Alamo, “Hell, no. It’s all that highfalutin talk that’s the act.”
***
On the afternoon of the 11th of March Will stood on the steps leading to his headquarters, watching a company from the New Orleans Greys stand at attention in the Alamo Plaza, in two parallel lines by the gatehouse. The captain commanding the company snapped a crisp salute as General Sam Houston rode through the gate at the head of a company of mounted riflemen. As Houston swung out of the saddle, Will strode across the plaza and drew up before the commander of the army of Texas and saluted. “General Houston, welcome to the Alamo, sir.”
Houston returned the salute, “Colonel Travis, your men look very well.” He paused as he looked at the uniformity of the Greys and nodded again. “I must congratulate you, sir. You and your men performed beyond my highest expectations down on the Nueces.”
Will noticed that Houston’s jaw clenched when he spoke. From William B. Travis’ memories, Will knew Houston had arrived in Texas just the previous year, and had angled for command of the military during the battles in 1835. Will’s view from history books was more favorable than Travis’ memories, but even so, it was evident Houston’s ambition was boundless. He served as governor of Tennessee when he was only thirty-six years old. Now, seven years later, Will knew Houston aspired to an even higher position. He suspected that Houston felt cheated out of the recent victory.
The moment passed, and Will saw that Houston was relaxed as he asked, “Where’s he at? Take me to see el Presidente.”
Will escorted Houston through the smaller chapel courtyard then into the chapel where the dictator was still under guard in the sacristy. Houston stood in front of the door, looking at Santa Anna, who sat at a small camp table. The dictator set the book he had been reading down and stood, nodding at Sam Houston, but otherwise remained silent.
Houston seemed unperturbed by the prisoner’s calm demeanor as he said, “In a few days, General, members of our government will be arriving here in Bexar and we’ll see what kind of treaty we can come up with. I’m certain you’re ready to return to Mexico.”
Santa Anna’s eyes stayed glued on Houston’s as it appeared that the dictator was taking the measure of the tall Texian general. When he spoke he was quiet, and Will had to lean in to hear him, “Hah, as if I had a choice in the matter, General Houston. I’ve no doubt you’ll require everything of me that young Colonel Travis has won on the field of battle. But will you be able to keep it?”
With a casual, nonchalant shrug, Houston said, “We’ll have a treaty, first, General. The rest is for tomorrow.”
As Will led Houston out the chapel and up the stairs to his office above the hospital, Houston told him, “They’ll need places to stay in town, Colonel Travis, but you should know the entire provisional government will arrive here over the next few days. There are more than three hundred fifty soldiers behind me and I want you to find a place to billet them in or around the Alamo. We’re going to make sure that the city is safe for the negotiations.”
As Will offered Houston his chair in the office, Houston asked, “Now, I heard tell that my old friend Congressman Crockett was here. Would you mind sending for him?”
***
Sam Houston was a mess of contradictions, Will had decided, as he, Will, Grant, and Seguin met in the small office over the next several days. At times Will felt Houston was jealous and at other times, he was even-tempered and considerate when interacting with Will. The current meeting, fortunately for Will, was the latter.
Grant was talking, his Scottish brogue unmistakable, “But General Houston, we’ve destroyed two entire brigades of Santa Anna’s army. I’m certain we could seize Coahuila and add it to Texas.”
Houston didn’t try to hide a theatrical sigh, “Damnit Grant, I’ve told you before, that dog won’t hunt. We risk biting off more than we can chew just claiming everything down to the Rio Grande. If you want to go off to Coahuila by your lonesome, I’m not going to stop you, but neither am I going to come to your rescue.”
Will was tired of Grant’s persistent demands that the army of Texas, which now numbered more than a thousand men, should go gallivanting into northern Mexico. As Grant sputtered, Will said, “How likely are we to get Santa Anna to give us El Paso del Norte?” He pointed to a spot on the map, almost six hundred miles west of San Antonio. His finger traced the Rio Grande up to where Santa Fe was stenciled on the map and continued, “Let alone Santa Fe and Albuquerque?”
Houston smiled predatorily, “Colonel Travis, we have Santa Anna bent over a barrel. He’ll give us anything we ask for. We’ll insist that they give up New Mexico east of the Rio Grande all the way up to the headwaters.”
Will was thinking that Houston’s ambitions were a pipedream when Crockett spoke up, “Sam, you’re right, we have Santa Anna between Scylla and Charybdis. But can you tell me that he won’t be deposed when he gets back to Mexico City with his tail between his legs?”
Will was perplexed by the idiom about Scylla and Charybdis. He had never heard the expression before, but Travis’ memory filled in the blank. It was an idiom from classical Greek, basically between a rock and a hard place. His opinion of Crockett, already high, climbed even higher.
Houston replied, “David, like as not, you’re right. It won’t surprise me if he gets deposed the first day he steps back across the Rio Grande, but this gives us two things we desperately need. The first is time. It’s going to take Santa Anna’s successors two or three years at the least before they can send any kind of force north of the Rio Grande. And second, when they do, it will give us a firm casus belli to march out there and take them by force and in accordance with this here treaty, which we will honor. And that’s one of the other reasons, Colonel Grant, that we’re not going to incite Mexico against us further today over any claims you might think we have in Coahuila.”
***
Will’s head was pounding. The negotiations with Santa Anna probably would be easier, he thought, if there were fewer cooks in the kitchen. When David Burnet, the interim President, arrived on the 16th of March, Will expected him to appoint commissioners to negotiate a treaty with Santa Anna. Burnet spurned the idea when Sam Houston suggested it. That led to a screaming match between the two men in the Alamo plaza, witnessed by much of the army of Texas.
Lorenzo de Zavala was Burnet’s acting vice president which was why Will stood next to Juan Seguin, listening to the cavalry officer plead with the older Mex
ican on the 16th. “Señor Zavala, thank you for taking the time to speak to me and Colonel Travis. You must intercede with President Burnet and see if he’d agree to lead a three-man commission. Surely you can see that everyone’s interests would be best served if President Burnet, Congressman Crockett, and yourself were the ones to negotiate with the dictator.”
Zavala was a cagey politician and had already been wearing down Burnet’s resistance. When he suggested Crockett’s inclusion, the provisional president caved and added the Mexican and Tennessean as commissioners along with himself.
The negotiations were held in the long barracks, after Zavala had convinced President Burnet that including Crockett as a commissioner would be viewed favorable by most people in Texas. Almost as an afterthought Zavala mentioned that the Tejanos would feel they were part of the revolution if their interests were also included, so Burnet added Zavala to the third seat at the negotiations.
Now, a couple of days after the negotiations started, Will fantasized about aspirin as his head threatened to erupt. “What in the hell was I thinking,” Will thought, “I should have negotiated with Santa Anna myself and been done with it before the government arrived.” Instinctively he knew the reason, but it still felt better to think otherwise. Will shuddered to think what time would do to Texas if he, as part of the military, ignored the dictates and interests of the civilian government. “Seems that’s how Mexico got stuck with Santa Anna.” He irreverently thought.
The negotiations for the day were over, and he sat in a cantina, across the main square in San Antonio with Crockett and Burnet eating a meal of tamales and beans. Will scowled at Burnet after reading the first draft of the treaty, “Can you please explain to me why we’re requiring Santa Anna’s forces to give back any slaves that they might have captured? Hell, the latest news from Refugio is that when General Urrea left there he didn’t have any with him. Why are you throwing a bone to a few slave owners, Mr. President?”
