by Drew McGunn
Holding a second copy, Will returned to his seat and read the provision, “Congress retains the right to regulate slavery within the entirety of the republic and impose such limits as it may deem necessary regarding the importation of slaves from the United States, and reserves the right, enumerated in Section II Article I to assess a tariff on such imports, as it deems necessary to support the general funds of the Republic of Texas.”
As Will settled into his chair, James Collinsworth, a delegate representing the Brazoria area, but originally from Tennessee, stood and after being recognized by Burnet, spoke, “Colonel Travis, may I ask why you would put into the hands of congress this burden? Many of us have travelled from across Texas, putting our lives and property at risk, first at Washington-on-the-Brazos to sign the declaration of independence and now here in Bexar where we endeavor to lay the constitutional grounds of our Republic. Many of us, formerly of the Southern states, brought our property with us. And others came here for new opportunities that would provide them the chance to amass such wealth as lies within their God-given abilities to generate. I feel it is entirely proper to remove this burden from the future congress so that they can govern our fair land without the burden of slavery being a constant divider. You have fought us on giving every white immigrant free land, successfully, I might add. Now you fight to limit our right to bring our slaves with us as we encourage our former neighbors back home to join us in our new nation. As Congressman Crockett reminded us earlier, you’re tender in your years, and lack the experience that many of your fellow delegates have. At every step of the way, you seemed determined to force us to relitigate the status of our peculiar institution. Why, sir?”
Collinsworth remained standing, staring at him, as the room waited in expectation for Will’s response. He was certainly more eloquent than Potter had been, and to give him his due, as a slave owner, Collinsworth had asked a relevant question. As Will stood, he looked around the room, gauging the mood of the delegates. Apart from laughing at Collinsworth’s wit, Crockett now nodded encouragingly at Will. Zavala and the Tejanos, as well as those delegates from Europe silently waited for Will’s response.
“Mr. Collinsworth, I commend you for your service and readily concede that absent your effort, along with the other delegates, that there would have been no declaration of independence. For your service, James, I applaud you.” Will directed his applause to Collinsworth and watched others as they responded with polite applause.
As the men in the church grew silent, Will continued, “I must concede that while my much esteemed colleague, Congressman Davy Crockett was riding lightning bolts across the Mississippi, I was still in short pants. Measured against his exploits, I concede that I am wet behind the ears. Of course, if one were to believe all of the exploits published about my friend, Davy, one might be inclined to think that in comparison, Methuselah of the Old Testament, might also be considered wet behind the ears.”
Most of the delegates laughed, but Crockett’s guffaw was the loudest. Will continued when the laughter died, “But were it not for our mutual efforts earlier this year, the declaration of independence may have been for naught.”
Collinsworth conceded the point with a slight bow., as Will continued, “After watching the debacle back east between the land of my birth, South Carolina and Andy Jackson over the abominable tariffs, I think it showcases the need within our own constitution to provide our legislators the widest latitude possible within a constitution to make and change laws. The right to regulate slavery and taxation are simply two tools that will allow our congress to function to the fullest extent possible. But several of my colleagues here have opposed efforts that I and others have introduced so that our Republic can pay its bills. When I urged we limit new free grants of land to only those who served in the republic’s army and navy, many of you fought this and wanted to give away our public lands to any Johnny-come-lately. Our first obligation is to our Republic and its common defense, but we cannot continually expect to defend ourselves from the threat that Mexico will continue to pose to our south, or stop the Indians from raiding out of the Comancheria if we have no money to pay for it. I find it ironic, Mr. Collingsworth that you had no objections to taxing the labor and products of the shipmaster who bring in the cargoes that are the lifeblood of trade into Texas. But when I propose simply leaving the door open to a similar tax on slaves that represent your wealth, and that allow you to stand, economically above your fellow Texians, many of whom toil away in poverty providing for their wives and children, you protest. Why do you begrudge them the benefits of the protection that such tax revenue would provide?”
Unwilling to wait for Burnet to recognize him, Collinsworth, shot back at Will, “I believe, Colonel Travis, that you are simply wrapping up your abolitionism in a pretty little bow. What has become of you, man? Since you and Crockett captured Santa Anna, you have gone soft and freed your own negro, and now, you seem hell-bent on retarding the advancement of our economic interests.”
Will tensed up, ready with a sharp retort to Collinsworth’s harsh words, when Crockett placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. President Burnet slammed the gavel on the table and growled, “One more outburst like that James, and I’ll find you in contempt of the convention, sir.” He swept his hand that was holding the gavel around the room and said, “Fellow delegates, I have had all of the failure to follow decorum as I am willing to tolerate. You don’t speak until the chair recognizes you!” Collinsworth shot a nasty glare encompassing both Burnet and Will.
The debate was winding down as the day wore on, and Will feared that the mood of the room indicated his proposed provision was headed for defeat. Just as Burnet was set to close debate, Crockett stood, as though from sleeping in his chair, and said, “President Burnet, before debate is closed, may I have a moment to speak on the proposal?”
With a nod from Burnet, Crocket continued, “I have long made my views for support of the common, western farmer known. And frequently have been keen to avoid taxing unduly the people that I have represented. In a country of thirteen million, it was easy to do. But I fear if we take away the tools of state, that we may fail to protect our farmers who rightly fear attack at the hands of the Comanche. If there was no doubt that we could protect and defend our borders with a citizen militia, I might agree with Mr. Collinsworth, that a property tax is unnecessary. However, I do not believe we can adequately protect our people or our borders without a strong army and navy. It hurts me at my core to say this, but our constitution should give us every tool available to provide for our common defense, up to and including property taxes and land taxes. How can we say no to our future and our shared need for defense by voting against Colonel Travis’ provision?”
As Crockett returned to his seat, Will looked across the nave at Collinsworth’s table, where the five men sitting around it had an air of defeat. When Burnet called the question and tallied the vote, every delegate who was born outside of the American South voted for its passage. Even among the Southern delegates, nearly a third of the delegates crossed over and voted for the provision. The proposal to allow taxation on the import of slaves as well as a property tax passed by a slim margin.
***
By the time the convention adjourned for the night, normally nearly all the three thousand souls making San Antonio home in April of 1836 were typically asleep. But between Houston’s soldiers and the more than five dozen delegates, cantinas and saloons were doing brisk business well past midnight. Will found himself with Crockett and Lorenzo de Zavala sitting at a table in one of the cantinas bustling with business.
As a pretty senorita brought out a large platter piled high with tamales and a large bowl of baked beans to their table, Will observed Zavala. The fair-skinned Mexican was a couple of years younger than Crockett’s forty-nine years, and he wore his thick, deep-brown hair slicked back. Turning his attention to his food, Will unwrapped a couple of tamales as Zavala said, “As you know, I’m no more native to Texas than you or Dav
id, here. Had that fool of a dictator not destroyed our federal system, I would likely have returned to Mexico City, where I imagine I would have dabbled in politics. But, I want you to know, Colonel, that what you did this evening was brave.”
Will blushed at Zavala’s compliment, until he continued, “Brave, yes. But you’re too much like a young priest straight from the seminary. You have fire and determination, but you have too little of the diplomat in you.”
Will swallowed a bite of the tamales, the chicken tasting bland, as Zavala’s critique hit home.
Crockett nodded and said, “I don’t like hitting a man when he’s down, Buck, but you remind me of a neighbor I once had back in Western Tennessee. In our younger days, the two of us knew how to cut loose back when we were younger. And I hate to admit it, but he brewed a better moonshine than any I’d managed. One day, he got himself religion. It ain’t that he gave up drinking swearing and dancing, but he took to railing against every vice all the time. Every fight was the good fight to him and he lost most of his friends along the way. You already know that I got no truck with Negros one way or t’other, and as God is my witness, I’ve worked beside a few in my younger days. But, I truly think the better of you for freeing your man, Joe. You showed yourself to be a man of character. But the point I’m making, like Lorenzo, is you need to pick your battles with men like Potter and Collinsworth. Hell, boy, I like you, and I want to keep liking you, and if some two-legged polecat winds up sticking his pig-sticker into you, I’d be mighty sorry.”
As the three men finished their meal, Zavala said, “I would hate for you to think that all David and I are offering you is critique, William. I have grown fond of you. And like you, I abhor the scourge that is slavery. When Mexico held her own constitutional convention in 1824, I was there and watched as we outlawed slavery throughout all of Mexico. It was a constant thorn in my side to watch my American neighbors flaunting our anti-slavery laws by claiming their slaves were simply indentured servants. I don’t presume to put words in David’s mouth, not when he so eloquently does it himself, but we can see where the winds of this convention are blowing and I believe you have done much to limit the worst excesses of men like Potter and Collinsworth and their effort to favor slavery in our own system.” Will noticed Crockett was nodding his agreement with Zavala.
“Further,” Zavala said, “you forced them to allow Indians like the Cherokee to become citizens and stopped them from treating someone who is only one-part Negro no better than a slave. And you kept them from driving men like your Joe out of the republic. They intended to lock slavery firmly into the constitution then make the process for amending it so cumbersome as to lock future generations of Texians into a document that would have to be torn apart to change it. Because of you, they failed and now Congress will regulate it and tax it and if later they want to change it, you made that possible. You kept them from giving the best of our public lands to more slave owners. Equally as important, you set the stage for making sure that our government will have the resources needed to fight our next battle.”
Will was furiously blushing once Zavala finished. Seeing Will’s discomfort, he said, “Everything I said is true, but equally true is that you’ve made some powerful enemies, William. Please watch your back.”
As they settled their tab with the pretty senorita, Zavala and Crockett bade Will a good night. Before returning to the room he had rented in town the Tennessean said, “Buck, you’re a better man than I was at your age. I admire that you stick by your convictions. I am proud to know you, so please, let me repeat what Lorenzo said, and keep an eye on your backside.”
***
The brass bell hanging in the church tower struck one o’clock before Will and his companions departed from the cantina. As the owner of the cantina was dousing candles, a couple of delegates originally from Ohio and England congratulated him for his stand during the convention. A couple of Southern delegates in the cantina simply glared at him from their tables.
He untied his horse from the cantina’s hitching post and nudged it onto Alameda Street, following the road toward the river. As he let the animal set its own pace, Will thought, “David and Lorenzo are right. I believe things are going to be a lot better than those fools did in the history I remember, and now the pro-slavery faction has been weakened.” He sighed, as he thought back to the moment when he realized that there were nowhere near enough votes to make slavery outright illegal. It was only a week ago, when he sounded out Juan Seguin and James Grant and found neither of them would risk conflict over slavery. Both men told him that it was suicidal to directly threaten men like Potter. He shook his head as he thought about how entrenched the system was becoming, even in Texas, when a European like James Grant thought the risk of opposition too high.
As the shoes of his horse thudded across the wooden planks of the bridge, his spirits picked up as he reminded himself that he had driven a couple of nails into slavery’s coffin. He hoped he would be around when the carcass of the atrocious institution was buried forever in Texas. From there, his thoughts drifted toward the apparent alliance growing between Crockett and Zavala, “I bet David will pick Lorenzo as his running mate, if he ever decides to actually throw his hat into the ring.”
The moonlight gave Will a good look at the walls of the Alamo and he could see the gatehouse. James Neal, who had returned from his family emergency more than a month previous, was in the process of removing the lunette, which had blocked the gatehouse.
Along the side of the road, Will heard the knee-high grass swaying gently in the night breeze. As he turned onto the road leading to the fort’s gate, he breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet fragrance of bluebonnets in bloom. Will felt a sharp sting slap the side of his head, as he heard a loud crack of a rifle shatter the still night air. Instinctively his left hand reached up to his head where he felt wet stickiness, above his ear. The loud boom reverberated across the still, dark prairie as his horse reared up on its hind legs. Holding on with one hand, Will felt the reins slip through his fingers, as he slid from the saddle. His body slowly slipping to the right, his right hand, no longer grasping the reins, brushed against the saddle sheath, where he kept his sword. His fingers snatched at the sword’s hilt as he felt his body toppling to the right. Falling from the saddle, his fingers closed around the grip, only to have the sword slip from his grasp after clearing the scabbard. He landed hard on the side of the road, as the sword landed a few feet away. Although the fall took his breath away, Will stretched out his right hand grasping at dirt until his fingers found the cool metal of the pommel. He lay on the ground, gasping for air as he tried to fill his lungs.
When he tried sitting up, Will couldn’t see anything out of his left eye, but he heard heavy footsteps racing toward him through the tall grass. With his left hand, he wiped away blood which smeared across his face but let him see a bit out of his left eye. He knew he needed to stand. Whoever was running toward him would arrive at any moment. Bile rose in his throat as he struggled to his knees. “Please, God, don’t let me throw up,” went through his mind.
The grass rustled right behind him as the footsteps slowed then stopped. A gravelly voice from behind said, “Well, looky here, I done bagged myself a goddamned nigger lover. Don’t bother standing up. It won’t do you no good.”
He heard a rustling of clothes behind him then a clicking noise. In Will’s mind, there was no doubt it was the sound of a pistol being cocked. The blood had run back into his left eye, from where the bullet had cut his scalp above his ear. As he clenched his fists, he realized his right hand still gripped the sword’s hilt.
“You been warned and you done ignored real good advice, mister abolitionist. Now you’re going to die!”
Will rolled to his right, as he heard the flint spark against the steel plate. Almost immediately the powder in the barrel ignited, propelling the lead ball forward at six hundred feet per second. Will heard it whistle as it came within a couple of inches of his left ear. As he fell to hi
s right, he threw his left shoulder backward and brought the sword around, in an arc and saw the features of the would-be assassin come into focus in Will’s one clear eye. He was a tall man, who, in the moonlight, appeared to have a black beard and long black hair. Will saw smoke curling out of the barrel, that the other man still held, pointing toward where Will’s head had been a split second before, as the sword in Will’s hand, pierced his stomach. A startled look replaced the angry expression, as a soft “oof” escaped his lips.
The weapon tumbled from the other man’s hands, landing with a soft thud in the grass. The gun was followed a moment later by the man as his knees buckled and he collapsed, laying crumpled in the grass. As Will dizzily climbed to his feet, the sword’s blade glistened in the moonlight, with a dark stain. The would-be assassin’s breathing was labored and shallow.
Will’s legs felt wobbly and he tried to stay on them as he heard several feet running toward him from the Alamo. With his one clear eye, he saw a couple of lanterns bobbing along, lighting the way ahead of the running men. The first to arrive was one of Seguin’s cavalrymen, an experienced lieutenant by the name of Gregorio Esparza. In a startled voice he cried out, “Dios mio! Colonel, what in the hell happened here?” A couple more men, dressed in the gray jackets of the New Orleans Greys were hard on the lieutenant’s heels.
