by Drew McGunn
Wynters shook his head. “I don’t know, General. I knew some folks back east who were tenant farmers. The landlord kept half the crops. Those poor men were only one step about a nigger. I don’t know about it.”
Between his own memories and stories he’d recently heard from soldiers, Will didn’t think much of the tenant farming which was becoming more common in the South. “I don’t think I could do something like that to a tenant, Corporal. I think it would demoralize a man to work like that. What I want to do is provide men who are struggling with the ownership of land the ability to work a tract of it, and profit from their own labor. Even at eight or nine cents for a pound for cotton, I think between the rent and cost of the seed and materials, any farmer working with us, would still have more than half the value left.”
Wynters’ eyes lit as he saw the possibilities. “It do seem too good to be true, General, but if you can put together something like this, hell, I’d be happy to use my land grant for something like that.”
The day before Will was scheduled to leave to tour the forts along the Rio Grande, Juan Seguin found him working in his office in the Alamo. After settling himself in a chair across the table from him, the Tejano said, “What is this I hear about you plotting to start a plantation? I can’t fathom you’d be willing to buy and sell slaves. This doesn’t sound like you at all.”
Will was startled by the accusation. “Major, I would never deal in slaves.” Apparently, word had leaked about Will’s conversation with Wynters and as rumors tend to, it had been twisted. Will explained the idea of tenant farming of cash crops to him. “What I was thinking of doing, is form a corporation which would provide the tenants the necessary equipment and seed, in a competitive loan. The land would be leased to the tenant farmer at competitive rates. The idea is the tenant’s income won’t be arbitrarily compromised by a landlord or a banker taking most of the tenant’s crop.”
The Tejano officer nodded, “I think I see where you’re going with this. I know a few men who work land near my father’s hacienda who might be interested in this. The land they own is too small to ranch and too poor to grow cotton. What you’re proposing might work well for them. But,” he paused for a long moment, “I wonder, why create a tenant system?”
Will said, “It’s an inexpensive way to connect the land and the farmer. My hope is that everyone wins. The owner of the grant gets paid for the leasing of the land. I get a return on my investment for the loans and the farmer gets most of the sale of the crop.”
“That’s true, to a point, but everyone’s risk is high. If there aren’t enough farmers to lease the land, the landlord has too little return on the investment of his land. If the tenants are not able to do well, then you, as the lender, run the risk of losing your investment.”
Will hadn’t thought of it in that way. “Do you have a better idea, Juan?”
The other officer nodded. “Maybe. My father is the expert here, but have you considered a single corporation handling everything? Imagine for a moment, a corporation owns the land, hires the farmers and provides the means of production, like seed, shelter, and equipment.”
“Wouldn’t that put all of the risk on the corporation?”
Seguin nodded. “Yes, but it also puts all of the control in the hands of the corporation. Let me explain, the corporation owns the land, and hires men to work the land and pays them a wage and in turn, sells the crops. The corporation schedules the farmers’ production in a way that is most efficient, rather than each farmer being responsible for their own little patch of ground.”
Intrigued, Will said, “This could work. If we hire a worker and later find he isn’t pulling his weight, he gets replaced by someone who will.”
Seguin thoughtfully added, “We could compete well against the plantation owners. These ‘gentlemen’ farmers bring their slaves with them to farm the land, and they have to force them to work with the overseer and the whip. I could find you a hundred men between the Nueces and the Rio Grande that would work hard for steady pay.”
Before the new year of 1839 was far along, the idea of the farming corporation had gone from concept to reality. The first step Will and his business partners took was to acquire the necessary land. He, Juan Seguin, Corporal Wynters and several more veterans took their grants, and with the aid of the Texas Land Office, consolidated all the grants into a single tract along the Trinity River, totaling 26,000 acres in Liberty County. Each of the men transferred their portion of the tract to the Corporation in exchange for shares of stock. In addition to the land, Will and several other investors, including Juan and Erasmo Seguin, contributed $15,000 in cash as seed capital for the business. Thus, was born the Gulf Farms Corporation.
***
Will was still feeling the effects of the stagecoach ride from San Antonio to Austin and the subsequent ferry ride across the Colorado river as he settled into his hotel room for the night. The building was so new that the smell of cut pine was heavy in the room. He had opened the window to lessen the smell and to let in the cool night breeze. The mattress ticking was stuffed with hay, which the proprietor swore was changed after each customer.
As he lay in the narrow bed, staring at the dark ceiling, Will couldn’t get Becky from his mind. He hadn’t felt like this about a woman since college. He recalled the last time he had seen Ashley; it was a few days after graduating from University of Houston and he had just received his deployment orders from the 36th Infantry Division’s 144th Infantry Regiment. He had taken her to her favorite restaurant near campus and after dinner broke the news to her. “It’s only nine months, Ash,” he had told her.
The way she had stared back at him, as though he were not even there, made him feel there was more wrong than simply the order to deploy. She’d known of his prior service before college and his two days each month played hell with their dating life. This shouldn’t have been a surprise to her, he remembered thinking.
When she pursed her lips and bit back a sigh, his heart crept into his throat. But the words she spoke cut to the quick. “Nine months or nine years, Will. It doesn’t matter.” Will’s heart felt squeezed in a vice as she spoke. “Now’s as good a time as any to tell you. I can’t do this anymore. When we started dating I thought I felt something, and God knows, I gave it more than a year of my life. But I realize now it’s not love.”
There was a too long pause as she looked at him. “Don’t look at me that way, Will. Would you rather get a ‘Dear John’ letter a few months from now? I can see you think I’m a bitch, but this is better for both of us.”
As his eyes followed the lines on the whitewashed boards on the ceiling, he was amused how his brain worked. He hadn’t thought of Ashley since before the transference. Now, having thought of her, he couldn’t stop himself from making a comparison between her and Becky. They were as physically different as could be. Ashley had been short, with the muscled build of the cheerleader she had been, while Becky took her height from her father. She was also willowy thin. Ashley had always worn makeup and she was good at accentuating her cheeks and full lips. Will had never seen Becky wearing makeup. It’s not that a little face powder wasn’t socially acceptable. It was. But as a girl raised in the backwoods of Tennessee, it was neither affordable nor available. Now, as the daughter of the president of the Republic of Texas, she behaved as though wearing face powder would be pretentious.
That lack of pretension was one of the things which had drawn Will to Crockett’s daughter. To Will, part of his attraction to Becky was because she acted as though what she looked like didn’t matter at all. That she obviously liked him didn’t hurt his ego either.
As he closed his eyes and ignored the crunching sound of the hay shifting beneath him, he hoped his trip to the capital would be successful.
The next morning, Will noticed the paint on the walls of the president’s small office was barely dry. The glass-paned windows were raised, letting the early spring air into the new office. Will fidgeted while he waited for Crockett to
finish addressing a letter. “Damned if one day, I’ll find myself a clerk to do this part. There are parts of this job that are drier than a Baptist’s liquor cabinet, Buck.”
After he dusted sand across the letter and placed it in a pile of other correspondence under which was placed a wooden shingle with the word “out” stenciled on it, Crockett said, “What has gotten you out of San Antonio, Buck? Did you hear tell that we got the whole government relocated to Austin town and now, having hung our shingle out here, are now open for business? Or maybe you just got yourself a hankering for Becky’s fine cooking. She learned it from the master, my Liza.”
Crockett’s banter, as always, put Will at ease. “Well, Mr. President …”
“Hell’s bells, Buck, that damn door is closed and ain’t nobody to hear you call me David than the two of us. That ‘Mr. President’ talk is for the honor of the office. Betwixt the two of us, it’s David and Buck. Right, Buck?” Crockett said, with a rather toothy grin.
Will smiled in return. “Well, David, it actually is about Becky’s cooking.”
“Well, just come around the home this evening, and I’m sure she and Liza will have fixed up some good vittles. Is it just the cooking that brought you to Austin?”
“Pretty much, David. Actually, I came by to see if I could talk you until letting me take her back to San Antonio, and cook for me regular like,” Will said.
Crockett’s eyebrows edged up a bit, “Are you aiming to ask Becky to be your cook or your wife, Buck?”
Will’s eyes crinkled at the corners, as he dug a tiny box out of his jacket pocket, “The latter, sir.” He opened the box revealing a small gold ring, with a dark green stone fixed in the setting.
Crockett whistled as he picked up the box, “That’s a mighty fine bloodstone you found there, Buck. Becky’s going to love it. So, I figure you are looking for her Pa’s permission to marry?”
“Marriage or Cooking, either is fine by me, David,” Will replied with a twinkle in his eye.
Crockett laughed, “I doubt Liza or Becky would let me across the threshold if I said no. That’s to the marriage. You’re on your own about the cooking though.”
Will stood and shook hands with his soon-to-be father-in-law and said, “I’d best go find Becky. I can’t wait to tell her.”
***
A few days later, back in San Antonio, Will sat at the dinner table, as Henrietta cleaned off the supper dishes. Will’s proposal to Becky was going to make a huge change around the household and he owed it to the boy to explain things.
“Son, I suppose you know why I went up to Austin this past week.”
Charlie shrugged, “I guess you went to see Miss Becky. I think you’re sweet on her, Pa.”
“I can’t pull the wool over your eyes, son. Yes. I’m definitely sweet on her.”
“Are you going to ask her to marry you?”
Will’s face colored at the question. “Well, Charlie, I actually already asked her when I was in Austin. I hope you don’t mind?”
The boy closed the book he had been reading, and gently sighed. “No, I don’t guess so. You’re gone a lot, so having someone beside Henrietta around will be nice.”
Will didn’t think Charlie meant anything negative by the comment, even so, it bothered him that his son saw how much his job demanded of him, and how often his duties as a soldier took him away from his responsibility as a father. Now, with marriage on the horizon, he couldn’t help wondering if Becky would eventually come to the same conclusion. He hoped not. He liked the way she made him feel when she was close and the last thing he wanted was to ever repeat the same mistakes William B. Travis had made in the years before Will’s transference.
Will tousled the boy’s red hair and said, “Thanks, Son. We’ll make it work.”
Chapter 18
The lone Texas Ranger nudged his horse up Congress Avenue in the new town of Austin. The establishment of the government here the previous year led to a flood of construction, although most of it was for administrative buildings to house the growing government. The Ranger passed by a clapboard structure, on front of which there was a sign proclaiming to all who passed by the building housed the Republic’s War Department. He continued around the large Capitol Square, where masons and carpenters were building a capitol building. The structure he was looking for was across the street from Capitol Square. He guided his horse to a hitching post in front of a modest building where a sign announced it belonged to the Commodities Bureau.
The youthful Ranger climbed down from his mount and secured the reins to the hitching post and stepped up to the door. It opened as he reached for the knob. A soldier stood in the door frame, eying him. After a moment, the rifleman stepped aside, and allowed him the enter. His feet had barely crossed the threshold before the door was closed and locked behind him. A clerk, with thick spectacles, rose when he saw the Ranger. “I’ll be right back, sir.”
The narrow lobby was devoid of furnishings, other than the clerk’s desk and a hardback chair, which the soldier had settled back into as he looked out the window by the door. Only a flag hung on the spartan wall. The horizontal blue field, which stretched for a third of the flag’s length, held a white star in its center. Two vertical stripes, a white and red, extended from the blue field. It was adopted by the army in the months following the Battle of the Nueces, and called the Fannin Flag in honor of Colonel James Fannin, the highest ranking Texian to die during the Revolution. A couple of years later, Congress had formally adopted it as the national flag.
The Ranger was staring at it when a door against the back wall opened and an older Tejano gentleman walked through. “Captain Hays, I’m glad you were able to get here as quickly as you did.”
The Ranger shook the other man’s hand. “Señor Seguin, it is my pleasure, sir. I confess, General Travis was short on details about why my services were needed here.”
“Come on back. I’ll show you.”
As Hays followed the elder Seguin into the rear of the building, he saw a large printing press in one corner of the room and several large tables shoved together in the center. Seguin led him to the nearest table, on which were several stacks of commodities certificates.
Seguin said, “This is where we print the certificates which are backed by the basket of commodities, Captain.” He indicated to a sheet of bills, which were denominated in ten dollars. There were twenty bills in the sheet.
Seguin pulled the sheet over to them and passed it to Hays. “Feel the paper.”
Hays ran his fingers over it. It was heavy, and the engraving plates had indented the image of an Indian maiden on one half of the paper and on the other half, a river steamer. Seguin said, “It’s made from a cotton blend. We get it from a paper manufacturer in Philadelphia. I’ve been assured the blend of this particular paper is unique to our certificates.”
Hays set the sheet of uncut currency back on the table. “It does have a particular feel to it. Never noticed it when I collected my pay before, but I can see how it feels different than normal paper.”
Seguin said, “Now, look at these certificates.” He slid a small stack over to the Ranger. Hays picked up a couple of bills and ran his fingers along the indentions, which felt different. He set one of the bills next to one on the sheet and leaned in, closely studying them. At first inspection, the two looked identical, but as he took time to look more closely, he noticed the level of detail on each certificate on the sheet of currency. The individual bill lacked some of the finer details. And after rubbing his fingers on it, he thought the paper’s weave felt different from that of the currency sheet.
When he mentioned the differences to Seguin, he replied, “Exactly, Captain. The quality of the cotton paper is high. If I had to hazard a guess, I wouldn’t be surprised to find the paper used to make these counterfeit bills came from some bank that prints its own currency, like in the United States or Mexico.”
Hays nodded in agreement. “How many of these fake certificates have been found?”
Seguin pointed to the stack on the table. “I fear those bills just scratch the surface. We’ve audited the bills the treasury has received from tax payments and those received by the Land Office’s bank and have found more than ten thousand dollars in bogus certificates. It’s just a guess, Captain, but I fear as much as ten percent of the certificates in circulation could be counterfeits. If this gets out before we find the source and close it, it could destroy the people’s faith in the Commodities Certificates.”
Hays grimaced at the thought. “I suppose that’s why General Travis ordered me to come here.”
Seguin nodded, “I realize this doesn’t really fall under the function of the Texas Rangers, but General Travis said you have a sharp mind and that if someone could figure out who is bringing the forgeries into Texas, it would be you.”
The Ranger smiled ruefully. “I got lucky breaking up Cordova’s little rebellion, sir. I’ll give this a go, and hope I have some luck. Do we have any idea where these counterfeit certificates are entering the country?”
Seguin pulled a small ledger from across the table and referred to the opened page. “Almost half the forgeries which we have discovered have come from the Galveston area. And nearly all of the rest, one can make a reasoned argument, could have flowed through the port on the way to where they were detected.”
After studying the book’s entries, Hays slammed it shut and said, “Well, Señor Seguin, it looks like I’m going to Galveston.”
A week later, the coastal cutter sliced through the water of Galveston Bay. Jack Hays watched the docks of Galveston come into focus as the small single-masted ship approached one of the docks, which jutted into the channel separating Galveston from Pelican Island, along the leeward side of the island. Several schooners and other merchant ships were either at dock or were riding at anchor in the channel. As Hays understood it, the town was already larger than San Antonio.
