by Drew McGunn
Crockett smiled at the thought of paying in kind. “I like that idea. Although how Menard’s revenue collectors would manage it would be a sight to see.”
“That gives me an idea, David. You should appoint some people to study what it would take to form a commodities bureau.”
Crockett eyed Will skeptically. “A what?”
Will continued, “A commodities bureau. Here’s what I’m thinking. When people pay their property taxes with commodities, the Commodities bureau could exchange the goods with certificates, not unlike the treasury certificates from the United States. But our certificates would be backed by the value of what was traded. The bureau could sell the commodities that are collected in the States or even in Europe.”
Crockett’s face was one of surprise. “That sounds like a capital idea. What kind of commodities would we allow people to use to pay their taxes? Because as I understand it, the commodities get passed through your bureau and turned into what is basically currency.”
Will gave it some thought and grabbed a stub of a pencil and jotted down a list. When done, he read it back to Crockett, “Of course, the first two are gold and silver. Add to them cotton, wheat, sugar, corn, and coffee, and you have the basis of a basket of commodities. The way to keep it working is the bureau will have to adjust the objective value of the commodities within the basket to keep the related value of the certificates stable.”
Crockett rubbed his temples, “That seems complicated.”
“In a perfect world, we could rely on a currency backed by gold and silver. The problem is that Texas has neither,” Will said, “by trading certificates to our farmers and ranchers for the commodities they produce, it establishes both a value for the commodity being traded as well as for the certificate. What’s the most valuable cash crop produced in the Republic today?”
“Cotton.”
Will could tell the wheels were spinning in Crockett’s head, so he helped to fill in the details, “Let’s say we collect ten thousand bales of cotton as payment for taxes. We could then sell it to the British or the Yankees for gold or silver. We turn around and put the gold and silver in our vaults and issues certificates in the amount received.”
Crockett frowned. “I can see how it could generate revenue for the government and even how it can put money into circulation, but it’s going to take someone special to run this. I don’t suppose you’d consider it?”
“I’ve got more on my plate than I can say grace over, David,” Will said, “But I’ll tell you who I think would do well with it. Erasmo Seguin. Turn the project over to him, with the authority of the government behind him and I’ll bet he’d have it running before the end of next year.”
Crockett scrawled some notes down and said, “Enough of this. If I stare at any more numbers I’m going to lose my mind. Did I tell you that my Liza is supposed to be here by Christmas?”
“You mentioned something yesterday, as I recall,” Will replied, “But I don’t think you said when you were expecting her to arrive.”
Crockett stood, and shuffled the ledgers and piles of paper into what Will hoped was a semblance of order. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than a minute Crockett confessed, “Buck, I’ve not been the kind of man that I should have been to Liza or to Polly before she passed.”
Will’s eyebrows arched as the president mentioned his two marriages, and Crockett hurriedly added, “Oh, I’ve never been unfaithful to my Liza or Polly, bless her soul. Well, unless it was to the frontier or my itch to travel. But I’ve been gone from home far more than I was ever there. I told myself I was doing it for her and the children, always to provide a better life, but when I saw you bring your own son back to San Antonio with you, I knew I had missed the mark. When she gets here, I don’t want to make a mess of things.”
Will smiled and placed his hand on his older friend’s shoulder. “I think you’ll do fine, David. One thing I have learned over the past year is that Texas is a place for second chances.”
Chapter 7
March of 1837 roared in like a lion. A bitterly frigid wind blew across the plains from the arctic north. As Will rode toward the San Fernando Catholic Church he fervently hoped this would be the last cold front of the season. He pulled his coat up tighter around his neck and tried to ignore the blasts of icy wind cutting through his woolen overcoat. Small hands, in woolen mittens, were wrapped around his waist, as Charlie sat behind Will, his feet dangling above the stirrups.
After the Revolution, several prominent members of the San Antonio community came together, pooling resources to establish an academy. Since the closing of a public school a couple of years earlier, the children of Bexar had been without a school. In the previous fall, the academy launched, as a partnership between monied Bexareno interests and the local Franciscan monastery. They leased space from the parish of San Fernando. Most of the students were children of San Antonio’s more affluent residents. And, Will, despite his republican sensibilities, found himself, as General of the Army, considered by most, one of the town’s more affluent and eligible bachelors. Plus, as Will thought about it, Charlie was thriving, learning, and making new friends.
The seven months since returning home with Charlie had been good for both Will and the boy. For Will, putting some separation between the stress inherent in commanding Texas’ army and his home life was restoring a semblance of balance. More than a year had passed since the transference; he long ago decided to make the most of the circumstances in which he found himself. In addition to his military duties, he worked to undo the abandonment issues resulting from the five-year separation the boy had suffered away from his father. It seemed to be working, Charlie appeared to be happy. Will was amazed how quickly Travis’ son, now eight years old, adjusted to life in San Antonio. Part of that he attributed to the time spent with the Seguin children. Part of it, Will realized, came from the investment Will made in time spent with Charlie. Will was no expert chess player, but over the winter, he took time to teach him how to play chess, and more than a few cold evenings were spent, the two of them sitting cross-legged before the hearth fire, playing the game.
As the bitter wind whistled across the main plaza, they arrived at the church where they saw several children, bundled in their winter clothing, hurrying into the relative warmth of the building. Will offered Charlie his hand and helped him slide off the horse. As the boy’s feet touched the ground, Will echoed words his own father had told him a lifetime ago, “Behave yourself, son. When school is released, go home with Teresa and Jose, and I’ll pick you up from the Seguins on the way home this evening.”
Charlie stopped and turned to wave, as a gust of wind nearly swept his hat from his head. Grabbing at it before it was carried away, the boy turned and ran toward the church’s heavy oaken doors.
Will pulled his reins and wheeled around and pointed his horse toward the Alamo, allowing his thoughts to drift. He returned to his conversation with President Crockett back in December. One of the outflows from it was a bill to implement the Texas Land Office. The TLO had received its charter the previous month.
The plan, when fully implemented, would be to run the sale of public land through the land office. Gold and silver were in very short supply throughout the republic, so with a little prodding by Will, Crockett had convinced Congress to promote land sales through a land bank which “loaned” the funds to settlers to purchase the land. No actual currency would trade hands. The settlers would take possession of the land, and the Land Bank would receive a promissory note from the settler for the value of the land. The notes would carry an interest rate of three percent, which was slightly below international rates, and carried monthly, quarterly, or yearly repayment schedules, as selected by the borrower. Will recalled a letter he read from the Treasurer of the Republic of Texas, in which the Canadian born Michel Menard enthusiastically endorsed the scheme. The money received from the ongoing payments would flow into the general fund each year.
As he crossed th
e wooden bridge over the San Antonio River he adjusted the thought. That depends on the effects of the banking crisis. In his history books, he remembered reading about the crisis of 1837 in the United States. While he saw no way to influence the coming crisis, hopefully the steps he talked Crockett into implementing would cushion its effect on Texas in the coming years.
“Maybe Stephen Austin can exploit the crisis and increase immigration into Texas.” Will thought, “Especially from free states.”
For what seemed like the thousandth time, he puzzled over ways to increase immigration from both the free states and Europe. The surest way to end slavery was to make Texas more accessible to Yankee and European immigration.
Realistically though, the best hope in the short run, was to continue expanding the agricultural economy. Before Texas could successfully build industry, there would need to be railroads, and before the railroads would be built, the border issue with Mexico would need to be sorted out. But first, he needed peace with the Comanche.
As usual, when Will passed through the Alamo’s gatehouse, the gate was open. Except during times of crisis, the gate stayed open during daylight hours. Six companies of infantry were assembled in the Alamo plaza. The 450 men looked sharp in their butternut uniforms and black slouch hats, each man holding his carbine breechloader at attention. The last of Santa Anna’s captured gold and silver had gone to buy the uniforms for the army. Even so, never had the army of the Republic of Texas looked more professional than they did then, standing in formation in the plaza.
Opposite the infantry, on the other side of the plaza, Captain Seguin’s two companies of cavalry were assembled. Like the infantry, the eighty troopers were arrayed in the new uniforms. Each trooper carried a holstered Paterson Colt Revolver at his belt and a carbine breechloader in a saddle scabbard. Standing above the plaza, along the west wall, Captain Dickinson’s forty artillerymen also stood at attention.
In the center of the plaza Lt. Colonel Johnston stood, waiting for each company commander to report the status of his company. Will dismounted and joined Johnston. “Just a week to go before we head into the Comancheria again, Sid,” Will said quietly. “Did the company commanders inform their men that today’s drills will determine which companies go and which staying behind?”
Johnston shrugged, “Lots of boys are upset that both of Seguin’s companies are going. All of the boys are eager to take the fight to the Comanche.”
Shaking his head, Will said, “It’s because they don’t know better. By the time the campaign is over, most of them will gladly trade places with those who stay.”
Johnston issued commands to each company commander for the day’s exercise. As Juan Seguin joined them, they followed one company as it marched over to a firing range they had put together a half mile north east of the Alamo. There were several dozen targets downrange of the line, set at intervals between 100 and 400 yards away.
Will had stood on this very line on many occasions, firing one of the rifled carbines at the targets. Today, he watched the men of Company C as they practiced. A corporal, standing on the end of the firing line, opened the breech while pulling a paper cartridge from the black leather box at his hip. He bit the end from the cartridge and poured the powder into the breechblock and then slid the bullet and paper on top of the powder before closing the breech. He next reached into a cap box at his waist and took a percussion cap and set it on the nipple. He raised the rifled carbine to his shoulder and aimed at the target downrange and fired. He flipped the breech open and grabbed another cartridge and ripped it open with his teeth, and repeated the process over again, and less than ten seconds later sent another bullet flying to the target.
As the three officers watched the soldiers at the firing line, Will saw pride on Johnston’s face as the paper targets at four hundred yards were torn to shreds. He slapped the other man on the back and said, “Your men are doing well, Sid. That’s some of the finest shooting I’ve seen.”
Johnston pointed to his men, and said, “They’re good men, Buck. But you should know we’re finding that when we get out much further than three hundred yards, the amount of gas escaping the breech reduces the bullet’s power.”
From the firing range, Johnston led them over to a field southeast of the fort, where another company was simulating an advance over broken ground common across the Great Plains. As they watched the company go through open order drill tactics, Will watched the quartet of soldiers closest to them and observed as the rifle team split into two, 2-man teams. The first two men dashed forward twenty or more feet before seeking the meager shelter behind thistle bushes. The two men behind them raced forward, rifles at the ready as they too sought out a place from which they could fire from cover. While the exercise was “dry fire” it was clear the idea behind the fire team was working.
Will and Johnston followed Seguin back to the Alamo where they climbed to the top of the chapel, where they were able to watch the two companies of troopers skirmishing against each other, east of the fort. Seguin was quick to point out, “We’re not able to exactly imitate the four-man teams on the firing line, as we need horse handlers, but other than that, my troopers are turning into some good dragoons.”
As was Seguin’s habit, he talked about the tactics his troopers were using, while Will and Johnston watched and occasionally made notes or asked questions. After the skirmish ended, the officers climbed back down to the ground and escaped to above the hospital, to Will’s office. “Sid, I’m impressed with what you’ve done with the infantry. I’m going to leave it in your hands which four companies will accompany the cavalry and Rangers into the Comancheria next week.”
Johnston smiled broadly and said, “I think I can manage. Much of the credit belongs to you, Buck. I can’t help but wonder what they would say at West Point about our tactics. With them, it was always about mustering your infantry into line of battle and throwing as much lead at the enemy’s line. Can you imagine a line of Comanche infantry?” He laughed at the image.
Will found the image equally ridiculous and smiled. “It begs the question, I wonder how these tactics would fare against the US or even a European army.”
Johnston shrugged, “I couldn’t rightly say for sure. But in a lot of ways these tactics are an evolutionary development building on the tactics you and President Crockett used on the Rio Grande last year. We saw how well Santa Anna’s army managed against them.”
“Fair enough Sid. But we had them at a severe disadvantage. They were charging across a couple of hundred yards of river. I don’t think it would have been as nearly as one-sided if the river hadn’t been in the way.” Will paused, thinking about what he was trying to say and then looked between Johnston and Seguin, continued, “I don’t want us to become complacent or think that because we’re Texians and have repeatedly defeated Santa Anna and his famous army that we’ll always be able to do it. I also don’t want us falling into the conceit just because the Comanche aren’t civilized they can’t beat us.
“If you have any question about that, I have a mountain of reports over the past half year from Major Caldwell and his Ranger companies about how the Comanche have reacted to his forts.”
Both the other officers swallowed hard. They had read the reports from the Ranger companies. There were several large raids attempted on the Ranger forts, and it was only the arrival of the revolvers which had allowed the Rangers to keep the Comanche on one side of the walls of the forts and the Rangers on the other. Even so, Johnston said, with an air of informality, “When it comes to comparing our soldiers against the US or even against Europe, you have nothing to worry about here, Buck. I served in the United States Army for seven years before coming to Texas and you have developed the most demanding and rigorous training regimen I could ever have imagined. It’s not the hours on the firing range or the frequent war games pitting company against company that we’ve waged over the past six months. No, it’s these long marches, carrying full packs that we’ve been doing almost weekly.
Hell, if you’d told me two months ago we would be able to take these companies here and rouse them before the sun was up and march them up the north to that little town on the Colorado River. Waterloo, I think. Eighty miles away! I’d have laughed and said it couldn’t be done.”
Will’s feet tingled painfully as he recalled the memory of the march. There was no regret in the decision, however, they had taken no horses with them, and every officer joined in every bone-jarring step along the way, both directions in less than six days.
Johnston continued, “It’s not something I enjoyed, but the ability to move our infantry across country quickly will come in handy soon, I suspect.”
Will said, “Sid, if memory serves me correctly, wasn’t it George Washington who said, ‘To be prepared for War is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace?’ I know peace can only be had with the Comanche when they agree to our terms, but when peace has been achieved, I believe a well-trained and well-equipped army will keep the peace. At least I hope so.”
***
As was typical of Texas weather in the winter, the morning of the 6th of March dawned with temperatures hovering a few degrees above freezing. But by mid-morning, it was twenty degrees warmer as the column of infantry snaked along the road heading north, kicking up dust as six hundred feet trod steadily forward, followed by two horse-drawn field guns. Seguin’s cavalry and a couple of dozen Lipan Apache warriors ranged ahead of the column and to either side.
Thinking back to the early morning, before leaving the Alamo, Will replayed the image in his head. As was becoming the norm, there was little fanfare as wives, sweethearts, and children bade husbands, lovers, and fathers goodbye in the predawn darkness that was punctured by lamps hung around interior walls of the Alamo. The lamps cast a gloomy glow as Charlie grabbed Will by the hand and pulled him down to the child’s level and gave him a fierce hug. The boy’s lips trembled as he tried to keep the tears from flowing down his cheeks. “Pa, please come back. I don’t want to be alone again.”
