Texas

by James A. Michener

  Allerkamp, like most Germans of his type—men who had been to university as had their fathers and grandfathers—adhered mainly to the great poetry of Goethe and Schiller, whom they revered, and few had any acquaintance with the renegade Heine, but they had heard rumors that he was an impassioned poet with much to say, so that they were naturally inquisitive as to his message. Also, the fact that he was Jewish lent his poetry an added aura of mystery, for such men knew few Jews and were alternately repelled by them and fascinated.

  ‘Listen to what he says about us:

  ‘And when I reached St. Gotthard Pass

  I could hear Germany snoring,

  Asleep down below in the loving care

  Of her thirty-six rulers.’

  ‘Do the police know you have this book?’ Allerkamp asked.

  ‘No, no, but I want you to read it. Heine has a lot to say to us.’

  ‘Will you try to join your brother in America?’

  Metzdorf made no reply. He simply forced the book into his friend’s hands and led him to the door. When Ludwig left the shop he looked up and down the main street, but the policeman was gone.

  • • •

  That evening Ludwig Allerkamp assembled his family and said gravely: ‘Franziska, fetch the Bible.’

  The quiet little girl, her two pigtails bobbing beside her ears, went to the bedroom, where she lifted the heavy brassbound Bible and carried it to her father. He opened it to Psalms, from which he read regularly to his brood, and asked each member of the family to place a hand upon the sacred book. This was a curious, meaningful act, for in recent years he had grown increasingly impatient with the church, which sided always with the government and invariably against the interests of its parishioners. In fact, Ludwig Allerkamp, like most Germans who were contemplating emigration, had begun to drift away from the stern Lutheranism of his youth, for he found the church repressive and unresponsive. Yet still, in any moment of crisis, he turned instinctively to the Bible.

  ‘Swear that you will repeat what we are about to say to no one, absolutely no one.’

  Six right hands shared the open pages of Psalms. Six voices took the oath.

  ‘The question before this meeting of the Allerkamp family—shall we, with or without permission, leave Germany and go to Texas?’

  No one responded. Each member of the family visualized such evidence as she or he had heard and each weighed the awful consequences of the decision to be made. Thekla the mother recalled the two earlier Metzdorf letters she had read telling of life on the prairie, and all that she had heard reassured her that only in some such refuge could her four children find freedom. She was prepared to brave the dangers of the ocean crossing, the mosquitoes and the rattlesnakes, if only she and her offspring could build good new lives, and all negative considerations were abolished, even her fear of Indians. Her eldest son, Theo, who so desperately wanted to marry but who had been sentenced perhaps to perpetual bachelorhood by the stern laws of Germany, was eager to do anything to escape. He would emigrate tomorrow and would say so when invited to speak. Brother Ernst, aged eighteen, had for some years imagined himself to be Uncas, striding through primeval forests, and was most eager to undertake such adventure. Brother Emil, sixteen, was prepared to go anywhere, and the more Indians, pirates and gold-seekers en route the better.

  That left Father Ludwig and Franziska, and their preferences were more tentative than those of their kinfolk. Ludwig loved Germany and even though prevented from entering his chosen profession of teaching in some university, he felt a burning desire to stay and witness the unfolding of German history. He felt his homeland to be on the verge of great accomplishments; perhaps a unification of the hundred petty states, perhaps a release from the strictures of Metternich’s oppression, perhaps a bursting forth of the German spirit into brave new worlds of industrial expansion and revitalized universities. He was extremely optimistic where Germany was concerned and foresaw the gradual disappearance of anachronisms like the old Margrave. But he was also cruelly aware that his family must somehow survive the period of transition, and he saw no likelihood of accomplishing this under current circumstances. His persistent fear was that Germany would engage in a revolution which would accomplish nothing but which would surely engulf his three sons, for they were lads of strong opinion and firm character, not likely to remain aloof from such vibrant movement. Hugo Metzdorf’s most recent letter from Texas strengthened his resolve to seek refuge there immediately.

  Up to now, Franziska had rarely participated in family discussions of any gravity, for she was a carefully nurtured girl who had been taught to sit properly, never intrude on a conversation, and respect the instructions of anyone older than herself. But she had a most lively imagination and a sharp perception of what was occurring about her, and her family would have been surprised at the accuracy with which she assessed their motives and anticipated their actions. Encouraged by her brother Ernst, who wanted to roam with Uncas, she had read The Last of the Mohicans and seen pretty quickly that it was largely romantic nonsense; also, several reports in the German press, inspired by rulers who were determined to keep their subjects at home, had told of great dust storms, hurricanes, Indian attacks and the prevalence of rattlesnakes in Texas. Unlike her brothers, she had read books sponsored by the rulers and written by Germans who had emigrated to Texas, only to return home on the first available ship:

  Texas is a dreadful place. The food is inedible. The houses have no windows. Paved floors do not exist. A strange disease they call El Vomito kills people within a week of landing. Indians and rattlesnakes prowl behind the barn, if a man is lucky enough to have a barn. Do not come to Texas. I tried it and lasted only one week. How passionately I kissed the deck of the good German vessel that carried me back to Bremen.

  She was therefore not at all eager to leap into such an adventure, but when she remembered how her brother Theo had sagged when the Margrave said ‘You may not marry,’ she could look ahead to the mournful day when it was she standing before the ruler seeking permission to marry some young man of Grenz, only to hear the harsh words ‘You may not,’ and she knew that her only salvation was emigration to some free land like Texas.

  She also recalled how her plea for an education had been denied, and she became angry: ‘We should go,’ and when her small voice uttered these words a flood of comment was loosened, and the Allerkamp family, aware of all the terrors mental and physical which threatened, decided that as soon as the opportunity presented itself they would quietly slip away from the beloved Margravate of Grenzler, with or without legal permission, and make their way through whatever dangers to the wharf at Bremen, where they would offer themselves as emigrants to a better land.

  When the unanimous decision was reached, Ludwig asked them to place their hands on the Bible again: ‘On our solemn oath we speak to no one.’ And when this was agreed, he told his children: ‘I want you to study these poems of Heine again. He’s a Jew, and his work is outlawed, but he speaks like a golden trumpet,’ and before passing along the book he read from it:

  Time passes on but that château

  That old château with its high steeple

  It never fades out of my mind

  Filled as it was with stupid people.

  ‘That’s what we’re exchanging, the stupid château for the free forest.’

  ‘Will you be a bookbinder there?’ Franziska asked, and her father said: ‘No. They’ll have no need of bookbinders in the forest.’

  ‘What will you do?’ the girl asked, and before her father could respond, Ernst-Uncas cried: ‘He’ll shoot deer and make moccasins.’

  ‘We’ll certainly have a farm,’ Ludwig said. ‘But I’ll find other work, too.’

  ‘What kind of work?’ Franziska asked, and he replied: ‘We’ll have to see.’

  They all agreed later: ‘It was a miracle.’ And in a way it was a twofold miracle, because the very next day a wanderer from the north came to town and passed along the main street, sto
pping everyone and asking: ‘Do you wish to buy paper which entitles you to free land in Texas?’

  In various ways a large supply of scrip issued by the Republic of Texas had found its way to Germany, and each certificate entitled the purchaser to acres of land without further payment. Half the paper for sale consisted of legal documents circulated by Toby and Brother of New Orleans to encourage immigration, and this carried certain complexities regarding surveying and court procedures, but the other half were bounty warrants issued to veterans of the war, and this gave immediate title to three hundred and twenty acres, provided only that an official surveyor could be found to identify and map the land chosen. It was supposed that the surveyor would receive for his services one-third of the land so identified, unless the holder of the scrip wished to pay a fee in cash.

  Ludwig Allerkamp, a cautious man, suspected chicanery in such an offering and would have nothing to do with the paper, regardless of which form it took. Some did buy, however, for modest sums, and it was here that the second miracle occurred, because the mayor of the town bought six certificates—four Toby, two soldier bounties—for a modest sum, only to find that the police were taking down the names of all holders: ‘Nothing illegal, Mayor, but the Margrave wants to know who’s been dabbling with the idea of emigration.’

  ‘Not me!’ the mayor lied. ‘I have no papers of any kind.’ And to make this assurance viable he quickly hurried to the bookshop of Alois Metzdorf, known to be an agitator, to whom he confided in a jumble of whispers: ‘These papers … the police inspectors … In my position as mayor, you know, there’s nothing wrong, you understand … but in my responsible position as mayor … Here, you take them, they can do you no harm.’

  As soon as the mayor left, Metzdorf slipped out the back door and ran through alleys to the home of Allerkamp: ‘Ludwig, it’s providential! I know you want to go to Texas, and someone I can’t name just gave me six certificates for land there. I can’t emigrate yet, but …’

  The conspirators stood silent, and slowly Metzdorf pushed the sacred papers into his friend’s hands. No one spoke, and then in a rush of gratitude Allerkamp embraced his friend: ‘Alois, I’ll hold the best fields for you … till you come.’

  In this way the lands of Axel Vexter, veteran of San Jacinto, found an owner.

  To help the Allerkamps make decisions, Alois Metzdorf loaned them A Practical Guide to a Wealthy Life in America, in which sixteen German families advised newcomers as to how they could strike their fortune in the New World. It advised travelers as to what they must take for areas such as Pennsylvania, ‘the most hospitable of the States and the most like Germany’; Missouri, ‘the State with the most attractive free land and the greatest opportunity for getting rich’; and Texas, ‘the most exciting land, an independent nation now but likely to become a part of the United States.’

  ‘We shall need tools, and medicines, and all the clothes we can carry,’ Ludwig said after studying the recommendations.

  ‘Books?’ Thekla asked, and here her husband had to make painful choices: ‘Our Bible, Goethe, Schiller, the book on agriculture.’ By curious choice, upon which the family would often comment in later years, he added: ‘It’ll be a practical land. I’ll take along my two mathematics books.’ These would prove to be more useful, ultimately, than all the others, but it would be the books of poetry that would echo most strongly and persistently, for they represented the soul of the Germany they were leaving.

  When the secret packing was completed and hidden away so that guests could not see, the Allerkamps invited into their home for the last time the members of a singing group with whom they had known so much enjoyment, and when the various families gathered that last Sunday afternoon, the four strong-voiced Allerkamp men led the others in songs that had echoed through the town of Grenz for centuries. Ludwig had a strong baritone and Theo had a clear, ringing, high-voiced tenor, with the two younger boys filling in nicely; others of the group had fine voices too, and the air was rich with music. But Franziska saw that as her mother played the accompaniments, tears filled her eyes, and the child knew that she was saying farewell to this splendid piano over which both mother and daughter had studied so diligently. No more would this instrument guide them in song, and the realization that a glorious part of her life was ending was almost too painful to bear.

  They sang till midnight, and in some mysterious way, without a word having been spoken, it became apparent to many of the older people that a requiem was being sung. Some profound change was under way; someone was departing; some new force was arriving; some secret aspect of Germany was being modified; but if certain canny men suspected what Allerkamp was up to, they did not reveal it.

  Accepting what money they could get from a surreptitious sale of their possessions, they slipped out of town before dawn one Wednesday morning and slowly made their way toward the port of Bremerhaven, negotiating one passport and customs barrier after another. They moved from one petty kingdom to the next, where the rulers of each tried to prevent the entry of refugees from other principalities, lest they become squatters and a financial drain, but Ludwig, by means of cajolery, lies and even small bribes, maneuvered his caravan across half of Germany, coming at last to the busy city of Bremen, some distance from the harbor from which the ships sailed. Here he reported to the offices of the Atlantic and Caribbean Lines, which owned two sailing vessels plying to Texas, the Poseidon and the Sea Nymph. Captain Langbein, in command of the latter, assured the Allerkamps that they had chosen wisely and that he would personally oversee their pleasant trip across the Atlantic. Since his ship would not be departing for nine days, he directed the family to lodgings utilized by his firm and then extended them the courtesy of his home, where Frau Langbein proved to be a gracious, motherly lady and a superb cook.

  ‘The captain wants me to serve you the best food,’ she explained, ‘so that you’ll get homesick and sail back to Germany some day with him. That way he earns double fares.’ She said that she had sailed once with him to Galveston: ‘I was seasick, but it passes quickly. I loved the voyage, and would go tomorrow if he’d allow me.’

  As guests of the Langbeins the Allerkamps attended two operas in Bremen, Mozart’s Figaros Hochzeit and Weber’s Der Freischütz, and the emigrants showed such appreciation of the robust singing that Captain Langbein volunteered advice: ‘Take plenty of music with you. It tames the wilderness.’

  ‘We’ll have no piano,’ Thekla explained, but he was insistent: ‘There will be many pianos in Texas. You’ll find one. And then you’ll be sorry you didn’t bring music for it.’ This posed a problem, for the family had only the most meager funds, with not a pfennig to spare for luxuries, but as they prowled the back streets, seeking bargains, Thekla came upon used scores of Beethoven and Schubert and a collection of Mozart piano sonatas, and they were so reasonable that she cried: ‘I cannot cross the ocean without them.’ But when Ludwig approached the owner, even the reduced price was forbidding, and he was about to lead his family from the shop when to his amazement Franziska intruded: ‘Sir, we are sailing to a far land and we must have the music’

  The man stooped till his face was level with hers, and asked: ‘But can you play Mozart?’ and she went stiffly to a piano, adjusted the stool, and began to play with youthful skill the Mozart sonata in C major—known as the ‘Easy Sonata’—with such grace that he cried: ‘Buy the Beethoven and Schubert, and I’ll give your little princess the Mozart.’

  Next day the Allerkamps sailed for Texas.

  • • •

  It was not till the rickety, swaying Sea Nymph reached midocean that Franziska Allerkamp felt well enough to make her first entry in the diary she had acquired in Bremerhaven:

  Monday 31 October. This ship is a leaky tub. It is tossed about by every wave. There’s not enough water and the food is horrible.

  To save his leaky ship, Captain Langbein had all men passengers operate the pumps twenty-four hours a day.

  I have thrown up so much that I can no
longer be sick. How pitiful man is upon an ocean like this.

  Despite the inconveniences of shipboard life, Franziska found ways to care for her appearance, combing and braiding her hair each morning and doing everything possible to present the picture of a well-bred German lass. Her neatness was remarked by many, and several older women, when they were well enough to move about, congratulated Thekla on her daughter’s cleanliness: ‘And charm, too. She’s a fine child.’ Since Franziska secretly coveted such approbation, she took extra pains, and inevitably some of the young men began to pay attention, but her mother, obsessed with creating in Franziska a model German girl who could sew, play the piano, cook, and observe what Thekla called ‘the niceties,’ quickly disciplined the would-be suitors: ‘No, she cannot sing with you. And she certainly can’t walk the lower decks, either.’

  Wednesday 9 November. Grandmother taught me always to be neat and Grandfather warned me many times: ‘You must smile at young men, to show them respect and make them feel important, but you must never flirt.’ I don’t think I would care to marry before twenty-one, because the village girls who did so and who then came in to Grenz were never happy. I could tell from looking at their long faces that they yearned to join our dances in the town square, but with babes at the knee they could not.

  Obedient to her mother’s standards, she had stopped being a young girl and had already become a poised little woman. As she moved about the upper decks she avoided conversation, preferring to listen to others, but on the rare occasions when she did speak she could be quite firm. Sometimes when she eavesdropped, which was not very ladylike, she picked up bits of information that confused her: