Texas

by James A. Michener

  After the war Mrs. Mann moved to the burgeoning town of Houston, where she ran the Mansion House, a disreputable hotel noted for its brawls, duels and repeated police raids, which she handled deftly with her two pistols. However, an especially blatant disregard for the law resulted in a court trial, and she received the death sentence. It was commuted because of her bold behavior during the war.

  Seguín started out famously as the mayor of San Antonio, but his tenure was turbulent, and he fled to Mexico. Later he returned as a member of a Mexican invading army that captured San Antonio and held it briefly. A strong opponent to union with the United States, he did his best to make Texas once more a part of Mexico, and died, disappointed, at the age of eighty-three.

  Benito Garza, languishing in a prisoner-of-war camp, had to relinquish his dream of ever becoming Gobernador de la Provincia de Tejas; he spent his idle hours brooding over his opposition to the Texicans, an obsession that would intensify and never abate. And Joel Job Harrison acquired the right to conduct Methodist services openly, which he did in wooden churches he established in various parts of the new nation.

  Immortality was visited upon the least likely participant in the battle. Emily Morgan, who had diverted General Santa Anna’s attention that hot afternoon just before the charge of the Texicans, became celebrated in song as The Yellow Rose of Texas’ and few who sing it in romantic settings realize that they are serenading the memory of a mulatto slave.

  Meteoric was the rise of Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar: 25 March 1836, return to Texas; 20 April, private foot soldier; 21 April, cavalry colonel; 5 May, Secretary of War in the cabinet of President Sam Houston; 24 June, major general; 25 June, commander in chief of the entire Texas army; 5 September, vice-president of the republic. And even greater glories lay ahead.

  And Otto Macnab went his quiet but very determined way.

  … TASK FORCE

  As soon as the staff announced that our December meeting would be held near Houston at the monument marking the Battle of San Jacinto, we members decided that for this important session, no outside authority would be imported. Instead, we would invite the general public to a convocation at which we five would be seated at a table with microphones. Each would offer a brief opening statement regarding the significance of the Texas revolution, after which the visitors would be invited to make such observations as they wished, or pose questions that bothered them.

  We anticipated a lively meeting, with perhaps two dozen local history aficionados who would know more about San Jacinto than we did. It was our hope to make them feel that they had shared decision-making regarding their schools, but when we approached the monument—‘There she stands, five hundred and seventy-one feet high, taller than the Washington one’—we found a line waiting outside and standees crowding the inside. ‘What’s up?’ I asked a guard, and he said: ‘The experts you invited are here, but so is this mob. They’re waiting to see Ransom Rusk,’ and when I asked why, he said: ‘They’ve never seen a real, live billionaire,’ but a woman who overheard this corrected him: ‘We want to see Lorenzo Quimper and his boots. He’s such a dear.’

  When the last person had been wedged into the hall and loudspeakers installed for those outside, I opened the session with brief remarks, commending the condition of the monument and reminding visitors that when our meeting ended they would be served punch aboard the battleship Texas moored nearby: ‘Unique among our great warships, the Texas patrolled the coastline during five major landings in World War II. Texans like to participate in major events.’

  Miss Cobb started our presentation with a reminder that when Texas patriots defended their rights in 1836, they not only won their own freedom but also set in motion those currents which would, a decade later, secure liberation for New Mexico, Arizona and California: ‘The geographical shape of the United States today was ensured by the heroic actions of a few Texicans who resisted General Santa Anna’s brutal oppressions on this very field.’

  Ransom Rusk told the audience: ‘I think we must recognize that even if the Texas revolution had not occurred, states like Arizona and California might have stumbled their way into the Union, because of local conditions. In the case of Texas, it was essential that some kind of stable buffer be established between the anglo-dominated Mississippi River and the Mexican-dominated Rio Grande. During the nineteenth century we provided that buffer, and at times we seemed more like a separate nation mediating between two larger nations than a typical American state like Virginia or Ohio. And I think that Texas will always have that peculiar character. It’s a part of the United States, unquestionably, but it has its own personality, something unique and wonderful, which the rest of this nation needs.’

  Lorenzo Quimper, recognized by the crowd as a descendant of the Hero of San Jacinto, rather neatly down-played his ancestor’s performance while at the same time implying that without the heroic Yancey, the battle would probably have been lost. Starting out with what he called ‘my highfalutin Texan,’ he sounded like Pericles delivering his oration on the grandeur of Athens: ‘On solemn days like this, when we celebrate our great victory, we must remember the true character of the Texicans who won freedom for us. Five times they faced the Mexican army, and four times they lost by tremendous margins: Alamo, Goliad, Santa Fe and the Mier Expedition, crushing defeats which might have disheartened the bravest. But mixed in with those defeats was a resplendent victory, San Jacinto.’ Here the audience broke into cheers, which encouraged Lorenzo to relax his speech a bit: ‘Us Texans have always had that basic character. We can absorb one defeat after another: drought, plague, financial collapse, heartbreakin’ loss in the Civil War, misbehavior of elected officials …’ At the height of his impassioned oratory he hesitated for just a moment, half smiled, and added: ‘Even losin’ in football to Oklahoma!’ When the crowd stamped and whistled he dropped into pure ranch-hand Texan: ‘But us Texans, we always recover. Fact is, we don’t never know when we’re whupped, which is why we so seldom git whupped.’ Il Magnifico was the hit of the show, the authentic voice of Texas.

  Efraín Garza took a more sober approach: ‘My ancestor fought at San Jacinto, too. In the army of Santa Anna.’ Silence. ‘So it is highly probable that the early Quimper faced the early Garza that day, perhaps right where we sit.’ Suddenly he shot out his hand to grasp Quimper’s: ‘But now we’re friends. We’re one people.’ The crowd cheered and stamped again. ‘But as so often happens, the battle settled only part of the problem that had caused it in the first place. It determined, as Miss Cobb has so accurately stated, that a huge corner of Mexico would ultimately become a part of the United States.’ More applause. ‘But it did not decide how the new addition would be incorporated. What theory of law would prevail? How would Mexicans like my ancestors who had lived here for many generations be received in the Union? And how would their rights be preserved? Some of these questions still wait to be settled.’

  These last remarks were not well received by the patriots gathered to honor the Texan victory, because every anglo in the audience, and the audience was ninety-nine percent anglo, believed that the questions Garza raised had been settled, so I felt it incumbent upon me as chairman to come to Garza’s defense: ‘We wanted a Hispanic spokesman on our Task Force, and as you can see, we got a good one.’ Two people clapped. ‘Every battle has aftermaths, both for the victor and for the loser. Professor Garza has identified some of those which still perplex our state, and now we will accept questions or statements from the audience.’

  To my disappointment, the first man to rise was not one of the local experts; he was a belligerent rancher from South Texas, who got us off to a miserable start: ‘If Professor Garza don’t like how we handled affairs after San Jacinto, why don’t he go back to Mexico where he come from?’

  I pointed out that since Garza’s family had lived in Texas for a much longer time than any other family represented this day, Texas was where he came from, but that did not satisfy the protester: ‘If he’s Mexican, he accepts
the rules we lay down. San Jacinto settled that.’

  Eagerly I searched the audience for a more gracious speaker, and my eye lit upon a woman who had written two small books about the San Jacinto area, and she asked: ‘If Mexican troops defeated us four times and we defeated them only once, why was San Jacinto so determinative?’ and Quimper had a prompt answer: ‘Ma’am, quite often it depends on timin’ … and luck. When we won at San Jacinto, Santa Anna was far from home base and gettin’ worried. Psychology, ma’am, sometimes it turns the tables.’

  A Houston oilman, a friend of Rusk’s, had for some years supported scholars working in early Texas history, and wanted to know: ‘Was this battle as important as you claim?’ and Ransom responded: ‘I admitted in my opening remarks that great historical currents were already under way which might have carried part of Mexico into our orbit, whether we won here at San Jacinto or not, but the magnitude of those currents and their ultimate significance were intensified by our victory. It caught the imagination of the American people. It showed a light in the darkness. It stimulated the later concept of Manifest Destiny. It made conquest to the Pacific inevitable. Important, Tom? It was far more important than I stated. It was the major gift of Texas to the United States. It awakened patriotism … and the idea that we Americans had a duty, a responsibility, to bring democracy to the entire continent.’

  Tom persisted: ‘I was taught that those things came as a result of the Mexican War in 18 and 46.’

  ‘They did,’ Rusk agreed, almost eagerly. ‘But remember the irresistible sequence. The Alamo led to San Jacinto. San Jacinto led to a free republic. The free republic led to 1846. And 1846 led to the United States boundaries as we know them today. And never forget, Tom, it all started with a handful of the bravest men this land ever produced, who said at the Alamo: “We will die rather than surrender our freedom.” ’ He paused. ‘They said it, Tom, and they did it.’ The crowd roared its approval, and Rusk added: ‘That may still be our major gift. Courage. Optimism.’

  Another woman asked: ‘Why do you men always claim it was only men who made the difference?’ and Quimper replied: ‘Because in battle, ma’am, it’s the men who do the job,’ but Miss Cobb interrupted: ‘That’s a cogent question, madam, and in my book our Mr. Quimper’s other ancestor, Mattie Quimper, who seems to have done most of the work, who kept her family afloat when her husband was away, and who finally destroyed her ferry and burned her inn to keep them from the Mexicans, was a greater Texas hero than her son, Yancey, who captured Santa Anna when the battle had already ended.’ Several women applauded, and after acknowledging their support, Miss Cobb resumed: ‘Texas has always underrated its women and I suppose it always will. Therefore, we must, when it’s appropriate, remind our men, as you have just done, madam, that we, too, helped build this state.’

  Quimper leaped to his feet: ‘Let me tell you! I’m just as proud of Mattie Quimper as I am of her heroic son Yancey.’ The women applauded this generous concession.

  After twenty minutes of similar statements, a thoughtful man rose and said: ‘I’d like to return to that first question. “What patterns will the anglos and the Mexicans devise for sharing our state?” And I’d like you to answer, Mr. Chairman.’

  I spent nearly a minute with my hands folded over my chin, for I realized that this meeting would be the first to be widely reported and I did not wish to damage our Task Force before it was well launched. I wanted to say exactly the right thing, so facing the two television cameras, I spoke carefully: ‘I could well be the only person in this hall whose ancestor fought in the Alamo. Moses Barlow marched from Gonzales to die there. So I’ve had to contemplate your question many times, sir, and I’ve concluded that no heavier cloud threatens our state than our reluctance to define the future relationship between the so-called Mexican and the anglo. This uncertainty keeps us fragmented into unwarranted cells, and I see no solution to this ugly estrangement.

  ‘This morning we’ve heard two conflicting views. “Critical battles settle everything” or “They settle very little.” The truth is that a successful battle can sometimes establish general direction for several decades, but basic, long-term results evolve slowly … inevitably … remorselessly. San Jacinto determined that Texas would be ruled in the immediate future by anglos and not Mexicans. But the long-term relationship between the two groups is far from settled.’

  ‘Are you saying that the Mexicans might ultimately take over …?’

  ‘Not at all. What I’m saying is that Appomattox determined that the North would establish the rules for our Union … for the next hundred years. The North would set the freight rates so damaging to the South. The North would determine the tariffs that made it so rich and kept the South so poor. The North would determine everything, it seemed, and would do so perpetually. But look at the situation today. Where is the power flowing? Always to the South. Where are the seats in Congress coming? To Texas and Florida. Where would you like to live if you were young and active and hopeful? Vermont? Or the Sun Belt?’ The audience cheered.

  ‘Battles can be terribly important. Thank God, we won and not Hitler. I’m glad that in the Far East we decided things, not Japan. No man on this earth ever fought a more just war than Chester Nimitz of Texas did in the Pacific in 1943.’ This brought more cheers. ‘But look at Europe and the Pacific today. The losers in battle are the victors in peace, while the victors seem to be losing. And that’s because it is not the climactic battle but the slow, inexorable force of history that determines the future.’

  We had discussed these historical truths for some time when a wiry man in his sixties rose, caught my eye, and then made a statement so startling that few who heard it could believe: ‘I’m proud to be here today, in the presence of Lorenzo Quimper. My grandfather fought beside Yancey Quimper on this field in 1836.’

  ‘Did you say your grandfather?’

  ‘I did. I’m Norman Robbins, born 1922. My father was Sam Robbins, born in these parts in 1879. His father was Jared Robbins, born in 1820, aged sixteen at the battle.’

  ‘That’s right,’ a woman who specialized in genealogies called from a back row. ‘The two Robbins men married late.’

  Suddenly Texas history became very real, and we looked in awe at a man whose family bridged so many great events. How young the state of Texas seemed at that moment! No one in Massachusetts had a grandfather who had fought at Concord Bridge, but Norman Robbins had heard from his father a firsthand account of the launching of Texas.

  Miss Cobb snapped us out of our reveries: ‘Let’s go to the battleship for our punch,’ and as we walked across the field we could almost hear the rifles firing, because the fighting seemed so recent.

  Rusk, walking with his friend the Houston oilman, said: ‘Our state contains hidden powers which manifest themselves in unexpected ways at unexpected times,’ and he led us onto the Texas.

  WEN THE SOVEREIGN NATION OF TEXAS, STANDING COMPLETELY alone and allied to no one, inaugurated Sam Houston as its first elected president, Otto Macnab was fourteen. Thus he and the new republic would grow up together, and the major problem of each would be the same—to find a home: Otto, one in which to attain that love and security he had sought since first seeing those lights shining across the Ohio River; Texas, a secure place within the family of nations.

  It was a natural affiliation, Otto and Texas, because the two had much in common. Both were self-reliant, both tended to solve problems with the gun, both believed in simple, forward action rather than in philosophical speculation, both were suspicious of Mexicans and despised Indians, and both vaguely wanted to do the right thing. Most important, both entertained lofty aspirations they could not always voice or define. It would be a lively decade as these two matured.

  The nation quickly found that conducting a successful revolution was relatively easy compared with organizing a stable society thereafter. Along a hard-drinking frontier it often seemed that the major problem was to find any official who was sober, President Houston bein
g especially addicted to the bottle.

  Nevertheless, the fledgling nation made a series of critical decisions which helped establish its permanent character. Fiercely republican and abhorring the dictatorial chaos witnessed while part of Mexico, it decreed that its president would be allowed to serve only three years and then be required to sit out a term before being eligible to run again. Clergymen were forbidden to serve in the legislature, and slavery was not only permitted but protected: ‘No free Negro shall reside in Texas without consent of Congress.’

  The basic attitudes of the nation could be summarized in a series of adjectives: individualistic, aggressive, volatile, rural, egalitarian insofar as white Anglo-Saxon Protestants were concerned, and often violent; but the overriding characteristic during these early years would be national poverty. Texas had the bad luck to start its history as a free nation just as financial panic paralyzed the United States and slowed down transactions in Europe. With no solid economy on which to construct a currency and minimal trade on which to levy taxes, the poverty-stricken republic stumbled along, always on the verge of bankruptcy, and since the United States had no paper money or coinage to spare, Texas had to depend upon the most dubious banknotes issued by entities not much more solvent than it was. Currency issued by states like Mississippi and Arkansas circulated at fifty-percent discount, with only the more solid notes of New Orleans and Alabama retaining a value of a hundred cents to the dollar. Mexican money was good, but most prized of all were the notes of Great Britain and France. Even so, the rule among merchants was: ‘If you take money in before eleven, pass it along to somebody else before five.’

  Of course, Texas did try to float its own paper money, but the result was disastrous: issued at a hundred cents on the dollar, it was immediately discounted to eighty cents, then to sixty cents before it stabilized at about fifty cents. And that was the so-called ‘solid dollar backed by collateral.’