"I pray you are correct on that score, Captain. Good day to you."
"And to you, Major."
Stewart followed his bags down the gangplank and approached Ashbel Smith. "I believe I am your man, Doctor."
Smith was startled. "I confess, I was looking for the uniform."
"I thought it wiser not to advertise myself, as I understand there exists in some quarters of Texas an aversion to all things British."
Smith nodded. "Most Texans are transplanted Southerners, sir, and many Southrons consider all Englishmen abolitionists. Then, too, it is widely believed that British money props up the Mexican Republic and, as no doubt you are aware, we've had some trouble with Mexico of late. But, having said that, I welcome you to Texas, Major, on behalf of General Houston."
"He left word in New Orleans that he would not be able to meet me in person. An affair of the heart, I take it."
"If everything went according to plan, he is as we speak a married man." Smith took charge of one of Stewart's carpetbags. "I hope you don't mind a short walk. The Tremont Hotel is only a few blocks away."
"I am glad for the opportunity to stretch my legs on solid ground."
They passed between a pair of warehouses, crossed Church Street near the Customs House, and angled across Market Place. Stewart paid keen attention to the sights and sounds of Galveston. A variety of people crossed his path: planters in wide hats and nicely tailored broadcloth suits, long-haired Creoles in dungarees, Irish immigrants with that distinctive brogue Stewart knew so well from his youth, barefoot Negro laborers, young ladies in lace and crinoline, protecting their honey-and-cream complexions with parasols and bonnets. Stewart paid particular attention to the latter, as he had an eye for the well-turned ankle. He fully intended to make a romantic conquest here, as he had done in every port-of-call. It was a tradition of sorts with him, and, after all, traditions were for keeping.
The Tremont Hotel was the finest hostelry Galveston had to offer, and the room Ashbel Smith had purchased for him suited Stewart completely. "I suppose you've seen much better in your travels," said Smith.
"And much worse," replied Stewart. "I once spent six months in a rat-infested bamboo hut in China."
At dinner in the restaurant downstairs, Stewart told Smith about his life.
"My father was Colonel the Honorable George Stewart, one of the sixth Lord Stewart's ten sons. He was reputedly the strongest and most handsome man in the army. He fought in the American revolt. By his first wife, a soldier's daughter, he had two sons and a daughter, but his entire family, save for the infant daughter, died of the yellow fever in New York, and my father caught the disease. He was put aboard a ship bound for England, more dead than alive. His superior, Sir Henry Clinton, did not expect him to survive, and sold his commission so that his surviving daughter would not be penniless.
"But my father recovered, only to find that he no longer had a commission or a career. He rejoined the army as an ensign, and married a woman older than he, Lady Laura Banebrook, the daughter of a duke, and my mother. She was widely believed to be the most beautiful woman in London. King George III even proposed to her when she was but sixteen years of age. But my mother rejected the royal advance and married Sir Thomas Banebrook instead. Banebrook was a sporting man. Racehorses were his passion, and he paid so little attention to his bride that she resorted to engaging in several affairs. Eventually he divorced her, which explains why she married a penniless soldier like my father, when otherwise she could have had her pick of eligible bachelors."
"But I thought you said your father was the son of a lord."
"A fortune does not always accompany title, Doctor. And remember, my father had nine brothers."
"Oh, I see." Smith thought he could understand Lord Stewart's dilemma. Where titles are concerned, Smith mused, I am the surgeon general of the Army of the Republic of Texas, and what has it garnered me by way of financial gain?
"When I was quite young," continued Stewart, "my father was posted in Ireland. He had fought American and French revolutionaries, and now he found himself fighting the Irish variety. The 'Irish Problem' always flared up when England was at war with another country. They threatened trouble during your American revolution, and Parliament gave them free trade and a free parliament to keep them quiet. Then, when Napoleon was trying to seize Europe, Irish radicals led by Wolfe Tone sought French aid. A French expeditionary force actually landed on Irish soil. But the rebels were defeated at Vinegar Hill and the French soldiers went home. Still, some years alter, Catholic rebels and Protestant militia were continuing to commit outrages one upon the other, and my father's regiment was sent in to keep the peace." Stewart smiled. "In spite of it all, I fondly remember my childhood in Ireland."
"General Houston informed me that you fought in the Opium War. What is that all about?"
"The history of it goes back a good many years. The East India Company established a permanent post at Canton in the 1600s. The company's ships carried Chinese tea, silks, and porcelain to India. All other Chinese ports besides Canton were closed to foreigners, and at Canton we were forced to deal with hong merchants, an arrogant lot, and worked under an appalling lot of restrictions. The East India Company still managed to make a go of it until seven years ago, when they lost their monopoly.
"About that time, British and American ships began to carry Indian opium into China. The Chinese didn't like that, and the new merchants grew restive under the old trade restrictions which the East India Company had endured. Finally the Chinese ordered all the opium in Canton seized. The Canton mandarin exceeded his orders—not only did he confiscate the opium, he destroyed several million pounds' worth. He went so far as to launch fireships in an attempt to destroy British vessels." Stewart shrugged. "Well, Doctor, that sort of thing simply cannot be tolerated, and we've been trying to teach those yellow heathens a lesson ever since. Oh, we'll get the job done, have no fear. It's just that China is a bloody big country, with an awful lot of people in it."
"The war isn't over yet?"
"No, but it soon will be, and we shall have what we want—the cession of Hong Kong, resumption of trade, and an indemnity of six million pounds."
"You sound very sure of that."
"We have never failed at a task once we've set our mind to it."
"You're forgetting Yorktown, aren't you?"
"Not at all. In the case of your revolution, our heart simply wasn't in it. George III sent Hessian mercenaries and his worst generals. What does that tell you? Had he sent capable commanders and good British regiments it would have been a different story. We might still have American colonies."
Ashbel Smith had been exceedingly curious about Major Stewart and his mission ever since Sam Houston had broached the subject at Cedar Point, and now the doctor thought he saw an opening.
"There are some who say the British would like to make a colony of Texas."
Stewart laughed softly. "You're a canny one, aren't you?"
Smith tried to look ingenuous. "What ever do you mean, Major?"
"You're wondering why I'm here. If I were on a secret mission for the Crown, I would scarcely be in a position to divulge that information to you, now, would I? But I can tell you this. An independent Texas would suit us just fine."
"What about a Texas that is a state in the Union?"
"That will never happen. The Congress of the United States will never add another slave state to the Union. Why, even the leaders of the two political parties, Clay and Van Buren, have publicly voiced their opposition to annexation and the expansion of slavery."
"Were he here, Sam Houston would most strongly disagree with your prediction."
"I have long been an admirer of the general and his exploits. He and I are kindred spirits. We are both guided by an insatiable thirst for adventure."
"That may have been the case with the Old Chief ten years ago," said Ashbel Smith, "but now his only concern is Texas. He would sacrifice himself for Texas—in fact, has done so."
"I look forward to meeting him. Have you any idea when he might return?"
"A week, possibly two." Smith could see that he would get no further with Stewart on the subject of slavery and politics. "Until then, I am at your disposal. Whatever you wish to do, wherever you wish to go—I will do my utmost to bring your plans to fruition."
Stewart said that for the next day or two at least he would like to sample the pleasures which Galveston Island had to offer. He retired early, read some of Bulwer-Lytton's most recent novel, and was awakened at half past seven the next morning by the ringing of breakfast bells from the various hotels and boardinghouses across town. The Tremont's patrons congregated on the veranda. Ashbel Smith was waiting for him, and they joined the other boarders for what Stewart declared was an excellent dejeuner a la fourchette. Afterward, they rented a pair of horses and embarked on a vigorous ten-mile ride along the island's white beaches. There were gulls, snipes, and curlews in abundance. That afternoon, Stewart won a small wager from Smith over a game of billiards—money the doctor could ill afford to lose. They whiled away the late afternoon on the Tremont's veranda, watching Galveston's inhabitants pass to and fro in the street. Smith sipped an iced mint julep—the day was quite warm and the long ride had tired him—while Stewart consumed a Madeira and bitters. Dinner consisted of tender venison steaks and roasted wild duck and sweet potatoes dripping with syrup.
Throughout the day Stewart spoke freely of his experiences in Her Majesty's Army, and Smith learned some fascinating bits and pieces of information. He discovered that in Scottish regiments pipers always marched around the mess table after dinner playing their instruments; on St. Andrew's Day, it was tradition for the mess sergeant to pass around a quaich filled with Scotch whiskey which every officer drained and then turned the cup over to kiss the bottom, in this way demonstrating that the cup was empty; that aristocratic young men with wealth and a taste for high society and sport preferred the Guards regiments which were usually stationed in London or Windsor, guarding perhaps St. James's Palace or the Bank of England, and seldom having to fight in the nasty little wars that were breaking out in remote parts of the empire, while officers like Stewart, who were ambitious but poor, sought to obtain commissions in regiments posted overseas where glory could be won; that almost every regiment had its own mascot, usually a dog, like the Maltese terrier of the Royal Scots who liked to chase enemy cannonballs; that Scottish and Welsh regiments seldom got along well together, since Welshman considered Scots dirty "keelies" who shit too much and charged like hell in both directions—a keely being a Scotsman who regarded a bloody bareknuckled brawl the best way to spend a sociable evening on the town.
For many young males among the urban poor in Britain, the army was the only escape. Stewart told the story of a recruit rejected for having "hammer toes." The man returned a few days later to try to enlist a second time. He'd had his deformed toes amputated. "I'd ruther be a sodjer wantin' two taes than to remain a civvy," he explained. Such a man could not be turned away. The "Jocks," said Stewart, were heroic scum. They were poorly paid and poorly fed—the meat served in army messes was so notorious it was called "Harriet Lane" after a woman who had been hacked to pieces by her murderer. The common soldier was profane, rowdy, ignorant, and loved drink and prostitutes. But he was also loyal, courageous, and capable of extraordinary feats of endurance.
The next day, Smith accompanied Major Stewart to the smaller island of San Luis, a ferry transporting them across the mile-wide channel from Galveston. The prospering town of San Luis had two general stores, a weekly newspaper called the Advocate, a row of warehouses along a thousand-foot-long wharf, and the republic's one and only cotton press.
Rows of new, mostly unpainted clapboard houses lined Market and Liberty Streets. Piers were being set on the mainland side of the island for a bridge which would connect the town with a road proposed to run all the way to Brazoria and Columbia. Someday, declared the visionary boosters of San Luis, all the cotton of the Brazos River plantations would pass through here, destined as cargo on ships from the Seven Seas.
After several days of sightseeing, Ashbel Smith still had no clue to Major Stewart's purpose for visiting Texas. Was he merely to report on everything he saw or heard? Or had he been sent here for a specific purpose, to pursue some course of action? One thing Smith did know was that a man in his own dire financial straits could not afford to play host for any length of time. Yet General Houston was relying on him to show Stewart every courtesy, which meant one did not ask a guest to pay his own way. Smith began to despair. He was impaled upon the horns of an excruciating dilemma.
Much to Smith's amazement, Stewart emerged onto the Tremont's veranda on the morning of the third day in his uniform. All heads turned. The eyes of the young women present gleamed with admiration. The major cut a fine figure in his scarlet shell jacket. His white overalls were trimmed with a broad scarlet stripe. The shako on his head was covered with white quilted calico, and the laced crossbelt was gold lace with a scarlet train and silver "furniture'' and the cipher VR in honor of Great Britain's young Queen Victoria. A saber dangled from one of his belt slings.
Smith took Stewart aside. "Really, Major, what are you trying to accomplish? I thought your plan to remain incognito was a very prudent one."
Stewart laughed at the consternation on the doctor's face. "Don't worry, Ashbel, old chap. I've tested the waters and I believe them to be safe. Discounting a few remarks by Irish wharf rats, I haven't heard a harsh word spoken about Englishmen since I arrived. Besides, I feel peculiar out of uniform.''
"Well," said Smith, dubious, "what's the itinerary for today?"
"I would like to venture into the interior, if you don't mind. Your island is truly delightful. These warm sea breezes remind me of my sojourn in Tahiti. But I must confess I'm curious to see one of your cotton plantations."
Desperation could breed inspiration; a wonderful idea sprang full-blown into Ashbel Smith's mind and he seized it as a drowning man would clutch at a lifeline.
"Would a sugar plantation suffice, Major? One of Sam Houston's most trusted lieutenants lives along the Brazos. A place called Grand Cane. We would be welcome there, I'm sure. I think you'd get along famously with Captain McAllen."
"Splendid," said Stewart, enthusiastic. "Let's be off, then."
Chapter Twelve
John Henry McAllen greeted Ashbel Smith and Major Stewart with all the courtesy one could have asked for, and yet Smith's conscience got the better of him, and when the first opportunity came to get McAllen alone he made profuse apologies.
"I realize this must be a great inconvenience, John Henry, but I must confess that my funds are nearly exhausted. I simply can't afford to play host to the major any longer."
"Don't concern yourself with that. He is welcome to stay here as long as he wishes. In fact, this works out quite well. Only yesterday I received a letter from the general. He and his bride should arrive in Texas any day now, and he intends to bring her up this way. Perhaps Major Stewart can wait for him here."
"Wonderful! What else did the Old Chief say in his letter?"
"That he had decided to challenge Lamar for the presidency."
Ashbel Smith's eyes lit up. "So he has finally committed himself!" He knew Houston well enough to be assured that once the man said he was going to do something there would be no turning back. "Good! As soon as I return to Galveston I shall proceed to organize our forces there. It will be a hard-fought contest, John Henry, but I am confident of victory. Texas will be saved."
"From Lamar, perhaps. But what about the Comanches?"
That sobered Smith. "Any word yet as to what they may be up to?"
Frowning, McAllen shook his head. "It's quiet all along the frontier. Not a single raid, as far as I know."
"And that worries you?"
"Yes. Very much so. This time of year they are usually stirring up trouble here and there. But so far this year—nothing."
That evening, at din
ner, Stewart wore his uniform, and in noticing the beguiled expression on Leah McAllen's face as she gazed at the dashing British officer, Ashbel Smith began to regret all over again his decision to bring the major to Grand Cane. What a fool he was! He should have foreseen that a woman with Leah's weakness could scarcely resist such a temptation. Chagrined, Smith watched McAllen, but their host seemed not to be aware of Leah's preoccupation with their guest. The doctor was sure, nonetheless, that McAllen was very much aware of what was going on. Precious little escaped the notice of John Henry McAllen.
"So tell me, Major," said McAllen, when their dinner plates had been cleared away by Bessie, and old Roman had brought them brandies and Havana cigars. "What brings you to Texas?"
"Just visiting, Captain."
"Nonsense. You're here on behalf of your government, in an unofficial capacity."
Smith tried not to smile. Good old John Henry! As blunt and tactless as ever. Stewart would be hard-pressed to remain elusive as to his true purpose in Texas as long as he stayed under McAllen's roof.
Stewart smiled wryly at his host. "Well, I suppose there can be no harm in divulging the truth to you, sir. After all, as I understand it, you are one of Houston's most trusted associates."
Smith gaped at the Britisher. He'd been trying for days to pin down the evasive Stewart, and here the man was capitulating to McAllen with scarcely a fight!
Stewart leaned forward with a melodramatic air of conspiracy. "I tell you this, gentlemen, in the utmost confidence. My government is gravely concerned about the direction President Lamar is leading this republic."
"If you only knew!" exclaimed Smith.
"I do not refer to his economic policies, or to those pertaining to your aborigines."
"Aborigines?" Leah giggled and then, embarrassed, touched her lips with a finger. "Oh, I'm so awfully sorry. It's just that I have never heard them referred to in that manner."
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