Chapter 2
Prelude to War
…it is very true that I threw up my cap for liberty with great ardor, and perfect sincerity, but very soon found the folly of it. A hundred years to come my people will not be fit for liberty. They do not know what it is, unenlightened as they are, and under the influence of a Catholic clergy, a despotism is the proper government for them, but there is no reason why it should not be a wise and virtuous one.
-General Antonio de Lopez Santa Anna
Veracruz, Mexico-September, 1835
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna sat on his veranda by the fountain at Manga de Clavo savoring a cool glass of tequila, vainly attempting to stave off the afternoon heat. Not many people could afford cool drinks in Mexico. It was necessary to build a deep cavern in the ground, deep enough to escape the heat of the sun. Santa Anna was proud to own such a cavern, his exploits having made him a wealthy man.
As he gazed out over his villa, he pondered the outcome of his recently concluded meeting with Stephen Austin. It had been necessary to meet with him, that much was clear. But frankly, he always found himself irritated by the blatant audacity of the man. This upstart Texian, despite having endured eighteen months in a stinking cell in Mexico City, had the nerve to demand statehood for Tejas!
Santa Anna was quite satisfied with the outcome of his meeting with Austin. Despite the lowly rank of the proud Texian, Santa Anna had exercised restraint, political prowess, and calmness. Stephen Austin was a political threat, to be sure, and Santa Anna had treated him deftly as such. But in the long run, Tejas would be forced to toe the line. Tejas would remain a portion of the state Coahuila y Tejas. In Santa Anna’s view, No upstart northern outpost of the newly established Republic of Mexico could possibly mount an effective revolt against Mexico so long as he was in power.
Concluding his thoughts on the subject, Santa Anna determined that his brother-in-law, General Cos, would be just the man to deal with Austin and the Texians. Having decided the proper course of action, he turned his full attention to holding off the burgeoning afternoon heat.
Off the Coast of Texas-September
Stephen Austin, perched upon the bow of the ship, gazed out over the tranquil waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Despite years of continually escalating difficulties, he had somehow come to love Texas. And now, after more than two years in captivity in Mexico, he was returning to his beloved homeland. Although he had worked hard for fifteen years to stay on good terms with the Mexican government, this time President Santa Anna had gone too far. His new constitution, the seven laws, and his dissolution of Congress had made him a virtual military dictator. As he peered out to sea, his thoughts continuing to wander, he pondered to himself, “Given these disastrous developments, what can one expect El Presidente to do next?”
Since the dissolution of Congress, the northern states of Mexico had rebelled, several of them even going so far as to declare independence. Facing this threat head-on, Santa Anna had marched his army northward and defeated the Zacatecan army in May, soundly defeating the rebels. As a result, all of the northern state of Coahuila y Tejas was now in turmoil. Fear was rolling across the countryside north of the Rio Bravo like a great flood. War was coming. Of that, Austin was certain.
Pondering these latest developments, Austin was forced to admit to himself that for all the years he’d been in Texas, turmoil had been the rule rather than the exception. But now things were changing, somehow spinning out of control - heating up to the boiling point. He now understood deep in his heart that the cultural and religious differences between Texas and Mexico were just too profound. He wished there could be a peaceful way to resolve their differences, but he now understood deep in his heart that Texas had to be free from Mexico, and war was the only answer.
During Austin’s long stay in Mexico things had changed dramatically in Texas. He was not a young man any more. He felt his energy flagging, just when he needed it most. Gazing out over the calm evening waters, he pondered what his next step should be. Surely Santa Anna would be sending an army northward to Texas before too long.
There were two possible routes north for the Mexican army. One was along the coast. This would be the least difficult route, the coastal region being nearly flat and for the most part populated only by scrub trees.
The other route traveled north from the Rio Bravo at Laredo to San Antonio de Bexar, site of the old mission. In his mind, this route was more problematic, depending on what time of year one hazarded the journey. In summer it tended to be horrendously hot, and water stood to be somewhat scarce.
Given these realities, Austin thought to himself that the former route was a more likely route for the Army of Mexico, should they in fact advance northward. This route would also lead more directly to the most populous parts of Texas. Most Texans having arrived either by ship in Galveston or across the Sabine from New Orleans, the populace had tended to be concentrated along the coastal region.
Up to this point only a small skirmish had occurred at Anahuac. There a small group of Texians led by William Travis had surrounded the fort and demanded the surrender of the Mexican garrison. Although not a single shot had been fired, word had already spread throughout Texas that a revolution was now inevitable.
Arriving in New Orleans by ship from Mexico, Austin travelled overland, crossing the Sabine and the Brazos, and finally arriving in San Felipe in mid-September. There he found the colonial government in complete disarray. He quickly set to work restoring stability, and since he had led the colonial militia, he was awarded the rank of General and given the responsibility of organizing a volunteer army. He subsequently sent out a call for volunteers and set about organizing the rag-tag army for the coming conflict.
East Texas-September
William B. Travis, considering himself to be by now well established in Texas, had been seriously insulted by the accusations leveled against him after the altercation in Anahuac on June 30. Although the fact that he had been branded a “firebrand” by many of the old three hundred had stung him to his very manhood, he had resolved to stay the course – to hold out for independence from Mexico. But when General Cos had issued a warrant for his arrest, it had become necessary to go underground to avoid imprisonment, a fate that even one so powerful as Stephen Austin had suffered until recently.
But the warrant issued by Cos had backfired on him. Rallying to Travis’ aid, the Texians had reversed field and now sided with him. If anything, his reversal of fortunes was no less than meteoric. The momentum of the populace was now gathering steam at breakneck speed and, in a stunning reversal of fortune, Travis was now considered by most to be a visionary who had somehow foreseen the coming events.
Travis was nothing if not appreciative of this turn of events. There had been so many setbacks: the land deals; the failed newspaper in Alabama; the loss of his marriage to Rosanna; not to mention his brashness at Anahuac. But here was a reversal of fortunes that could be turned to his advantage, and Travis resolved to make the most of it. Accordingly, he saddled his horse and headed for San Felipe, where he intended to renew his friendship with Stephen Austin.
Bastrop-Late September
Hank MacElrae, having been greatly alarmed, had been unable to shake the unsettled feeling he’d developed the last time he’d been to town. He now realized that he had no recourse but to get back there and find out what was brewing. He couldn’t abide not knowing from nothing but, being well aware that Julie wouldn’t like going back so soon, he set about thinking on an excuse to get back into town. It was a long rough ride, and she wasn’t one to waste a day that could be used for some back breaking chore or another. With this thought in mind, Hank honed his story for an entire day before approaching Julie with what he thought would meet her approval.
As they sat at the table in the cabin having a bit of breakfast, Hank pondered how pleasant it was having breakfast indoors. Because the nights started cooling down a bit this time of year, t
he cabin wasn’t too hot for passing the time in the morning. Suddenly realizing the silence had grown embarrassingly long, Hank sheepishly began his carefully planned speech, timidly suggesting, “Been thinkin’, Julie.”
Eyeing him suspiciously over the rim of her cup, she accused, “Thinkin’…“Thinkin’? When was you ever known to think before mid-day, Hank MacElrae?”
To Hank’s surprise, this last was said lovingly. He guessed their tryst the previous night down by the creek, and later within the barn, had left him in good stead with her, although he was never too certain with her. All he knew was that he was powerfully attracted to her, never more so than last night.
Baffled at her complexity, he saw nothing for it but to plow ahead with, “Well, here’s the thing, Julie. We could probably sow three times as much acreage next spring if we could get a better plow and harness for the team. I’m thinkin’ now is the time to buy them. What do you say to that?”
Continuing to sip her coffee, she responded bluntly, “Money’s tight.”
“Well, of course it is, honey,” he replied compliantly, “But here’s the thing, plows go down in price this time of year, ‘cause the crops are in.”
Still eyeing him suspiciously, she inquired, “What’s wrong with the old one?”
“You done said it – it’s old. I’m not too sure it’ll make it through another season, and it’s small besides. We need a big one, for sure. And it’ll take a bigger harness to handle it, too.”
Coming directly to the point, she asked, “How much we talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Say, twenty dollars. The same thing would cost thirty next spring, I expect,” he volunteered. Studying her cautiously, he suspected from her look that she was coming around.
Julie now pondered for a few moments, Hank aware that when she did so the best thing to do was to maintain silence. Just let her think - if there was one thing he’d learned about women, it was to keep your mouth shut at the right times, and to his way of thinking, this was one of those times.
“Alright,” she suddenly blurted, “Let’s do it. When you want to go to town?”
“Today… might as well. Don’t know when we’ll have a finer day,” he answered with a shy grin.
Awarding him with a smile of her own, she commanded, “Well then, let’s get to it.”
When they arrived in town two hours later, things were bustling even more so than the week before. It seemed to Hank that lately that was all folks ever did – bustle. Somehow infected by it, Hank hurriedly hitched the wagon and the pair immediately got down to the business at hand.
He was darned pleased when he and Julie managed to negotiate a price for the plow that was even less than he had expected. As a result Julie decided to do a bit of unplanned shopping. For his part, Hank was certain he had been right to get to town, the real reason having nothing whatsoever to do with finances.
He took the opportunity to excuse himself for the purpose of seeking out news regarding the rumors of war. Stepping into Jack’s Saloon shortly thereafter, he found a group of locals discussing the latest news. Sure enough, that husky fella Hawk Banks was among them, inducing Hank to wander up and inquire sunnily, “Howdy, gents, what’s the latest news from down south?”
At this Hawk responded affably, “Well, hello there, Mr. Hank MacElrae. I must say, I’m pleased to see you again. We were just discussing that very subject when you came in. I for one believe that we should assemble a group of volunteers and help shore up Austin’s army down in Gonzales. How about you, sir? Might you up for such an undertaking?”
Taken aback by such a forward suggestion, Hank scratched his chin in contemplation and hedged as best he could, “Don’t suppose I can just now. Got the wife and kid to look after. How long you think this here thing is goin’ to last?”
Hawk volunteered, “In my time, I’ve seen situations much like this before. This mess is not going to go away of its own accord, in my view. Suppose for the moment that the government of Mexico decides to send the Army of Mexico northward. Preparations for such a journey will require a minimum of a month, perhaps even two. Then you have to consider the time it takes for the army to get to Texas from Mexico. I expect that would require at least another month.
“By then it will be December, which brings us to yet another issue - the effect of winter weather, which slows armies down considerably, even this far south. When it rains the roads turn to mud, and that will stop an army dead in its tracks.
“Gentlemen, on this basis of these observations, I believe that we’re looking at next spring before Mexico can possibly mount a full-scale invasion of Texas. Of course, that doesn’t rule out the possibility of minor skirmishes sooner, what with some Mexican troops already on the ground in Texas.”
Impressed with Hawk’s apparent knowledge and eloquence on the subject, Hank responded, “Then I ‘spect I got time to think things over. Where’d you say you was from, Hawk?”
“Been here and there, the Blue Ridge, Missouri, most recently in Tennessee,” Hawk responded.
For his part, Hank was contemplating how Hawk had come to be called Hawk when Hawk up and hawked and spat, sort of simultaneously, just like the last time they’d met, thus going a long ways towards solving that little mystery.
Bill now cut in and responded to Hank, “Well now, don’t be thinkin’ on it too long, Hank MacElrae. If and when that Mexican army gets going, it’s likely to be several thousand strong. And you can bet it’ll be comin’ right through here. You and the family will darn sure be in harm’s way, I’m thinkin’.”
Hearing this, Hank shifted uncomfortably and inquired in obvious alarm, “When might that be, Bill?”
“My guess is as soon as the roads dry out next spring.”
“Well, I expect I’ll think hard on it,” Hank murmured, and so saying he turned on his heel and blurted, “See you boys later.” Fretfully searching out Julie, he had a growing feelin’ deep down inside. He couldn’t get a fix on it, but something had him churning inside.
Throughout the ride home Hank was silent and pensive. Knowing her husband well enough to sense that something was up, Julie eventually broke the silence with, “Well, somethin’ is shore enough up, Mr. Hank MacElrae. You ain’t said one word in near five miles. Give over, husband of mine. What in tarnation has brought on that scowl on your face?”
Shifting his position on the buckboard, Hank leaned forward and simultaneously emitted a low sort of a coo, like the sound of a bird.
Although it wasn’t much of a response, to Julie it nonetheless seemed normal for Hank. She stared off towards the prairie, simply smirking, but eventually she chimed in, mumbling between gritted teeth, “Well, that shore ‘nough explains a lot, Mr. Hank know-it-all. Now I understand everything clear like,” and by now it was clear that she was no longer smirking - she was downright furious.
Realizing he had to say somethin’ or risk her thundering wrath, Hank muttered, “War’s comin’, I ‘spect, Julie.”
“Right,” she spat at him, “Tell me something I don’t already know. I got eyes, I can see what’s goin’ on in town. Any damn fool can see that! Just tell me what you found out!”
“Well, ‘spect Auggey ain’t listening anyway,” Hank responded and, having no further excuse, he commenced with, “Well, here’s the thing, Julie – there’s been a conflict, they say at Anahuac. We won it, at least that’s what they’re sayin’. Now it seems that Mr. Stephen F. Austin is in the process of puttin’ an army together.”
“Where?” she replied succinctly.
“Well, it’s down south, I reckon, maybe around Gonzales.”
“How far is Gonzales from here?”
“Oh, ‘bout fifty miles, I should think. Kindda towards San Antonio, I reckon. I’m not rightly sure,” but then he suddenly ceased talking yet again.
Julie knew immediately what that meant, “You’re goin’, aren’t you!” she fairly spat out, stating it as simple fact.
Hank pulled off his hat, wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and, replacing it gingerly, he responded fretfully, “I guess I’d better, the crops are in anyway,” and that was all he hazarded to say.
There was another lengthy silence, but then Julie put in, “I’ve known you long enough to know there’s no changin’ your mind when it’s set, Hank MacElrae. So I ain’t going to try and change your mind. I just got one question for you – how long do you think all of this fightin’ is going to last?”
Not wanting to let on, he lied, “No more’n six weeks, I ‘spect,” and at that moment the wagon hit a larger than usual hole in the road, bucked, and rolled onward.
Julie groaned in discomfort, then stated flatly, “So you’ll be home by Christmas,” and it wasn’t a question.
Understanding all too well, Hank responded, “Yes, it’ll all be over by then. We Texians got the Mexican Army outnumbered in Texas at the moment. We’ll sure as heck beat ‘em up and send them packing before winter sets in.”
“You damn well better, husband, because we got plantin’ to do come next spring.”
“I know, and that’s why it would be best to get it done before next spring,” he volunteered, “So I’ll be leaving tomorrow mornin’,” and from there on the pair rode in silence.
South of Bastrop-The Following Day
Hawk headed south from Bastrop at sunrise. Unfortunately, he had only managed to drum up two volunteers. They were a father and son, Joseph Henderson and his son Joey. Joey was a bit young at nineteen, but since his mother and sister had died of typhoid fever two years earlier, there was no separating him from his father.
Around mid-morning Hawk got the urge to undertake his daily stroll. Hawk had always enjoyed a walk on a fine sunny day. His avowed intention was to practice walking every day for at least a couple of hours. In his view, it was a fundamental act of humankind to walk, and it just so happened this was a perfect day for it.
Achilles - that’s what Hawk called his horse - was clearly happy to get the weight off his back. Hawk had picked the name because he’d read about the ancient warrior of the same name and, his horse being similarly big and strong, the name Achilles had seemed appropriate.
He and Achilles had been through quite a bit since they’d left Kentucky. Hawk wasn’t prone to lovin’ animals with such nasty habits as horses, but he had to admit to himself that he owed a lot to Achilles. He supposed he even considered Achilles to be a friend of sorts, especially when he was off on a lengthy trip such as today. They were strolling down a well-trodden road, headin’ straight south. It was really more of a path, and since it didn’t seem to be getting a whole lot of wagon travel lately, there was only a single beaten down rut.
Achilles suddenly snorted and, stroking his muzzle in anticipation, Hawk asked his horse pointedly, “What you smell, boy? We got ourselves a visitor? Man, or animal?” It was apparent that Hawk was well enough acquainted with Achilles by now to know that his horse could tell the difference.
Sure enough, Achilles tossed his head as if on cue, nodding confirmation of Hawk’s surmise. Although Hawk knew that was horse language for something, he himself could speak English, Spanish, and some French, but he unfortunately spoke no Horse. So he’d never quite figured out what Achilles was getting at in times like this. Still, it was nonetheless clear that Achilles’ superior sense of smell was at work, and something was stirring nearby.
Accordingly, Hawk tugged Achilles deftly into a thicket and simultaneously signaled his two companions to do the same. Although he himself could not understand Achilles, he was nonetheless certain that Achilles could understand him. Sure enough, right on cue, Achilles silently froze in place.
Peering from the thicket, the small force stealthily awaited the unknown. Eventually, Hawk heard a horse coming down the trail from Bastrop, and moments later the rider came into view. Recognizing the interloper, Hawk stepped out onto the trail and announced pleasantly, “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Hank MacElrae! A pleasure to see you, sir. A fine day for a walk, is it not?”
Drawing up his horse in surprise, Hank came to an abrupt halt. “And good morning to you, Mr. Banks,” he managed to blubber, “That it is, sir, that it is,” and though he was clearly surprised, Hank looked relieved rather than upset at this intrusion upon his solitude.
“Hauuugggh, (spit), and where might you be off to today sir, if I may be so bold?” Hawk inquired.
“Same place as you, I expect,” replied Hank. “Gonzales.”
“Right you are, sir,” Hawk responded happily and, tugging his horse out onto the trail, he added, “Supposing I was to suggest that we travel on down there together - how would that sit with you, sir?”
Hawk’s pleasant demeanor clearly disarming Hank, he responded obligingly, “Well, sir, I hadn’t thought on it, but I do indeed believe that in these uncertain times there is safety in numbers. And seein’ as how we are acquainted, I believe it to be entirely appropriate.”
Not wanting Hank to notice, Hawk smiled covertly to himself at this. Truth is, he was quite taken with Hank’s formality so far from anywhere that it might be of any use whatsoever. But recovering himself, he chortled, “This is my traveling companion, Mr. Joseph Henderson, and this here is his son, Joey. We’re headed down to join the army in Gonzales.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Henderson,” Hank offered and, tipping his hat, he added politely, “And you, too, Mr. Joey Henderson.”
Joey, who was prone to saying little if anything at all, simply nodded his compliance.
“What say we walk a bit, Hank. May I call you Hank?” Hawk asked, appalled at himself for falling so easily into Hank’s misplaced sense of formality.
“Sir, if I may call you Hawk, then you may call me Hank!” Hank responded, and the two chuckled together at the absurdity of their ridiculously formal conversation.
Hank abruptly dismounted from his horse and let out a grunt, complaining amiably, “Ain’t too used to riding for hours at a time. What with the wife and boy, we usually ride into town in the wagon. I fear I may be gettin’ a saddle sore, so I’m thinkin’ maybe a wee bit of walkin’ would do me good.”
Hank really didn’t care much for walking, but it seemed the prudent thing to do since he cared even less for traveling alone. He hadn’t been down this way before, so he had little idea whether there might be Indians in these parts. For some reason, Hawk seemed to be intent on taking a Sunday stroll on down to Gonzales. That didn’t seem right to Hank. In Hank’s opinion, once the decision was made to get into a war, you ought to go straight after it without hesitation. But, seeing as how he certainly didn’t need a sore on his butt, he decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being.
They hadn’t walked a mile when a beetle, minding his own business, came trotting across the path. Without missing a step, Hawk leaned over, swept the unsuspecting critter up and popped it into his mouth. Hank could hear it crunching as Hawk munched on it, like as if it was some delicacy.
Hank was expecting some show-offy comment from Hawk, but as he said nothing and just kept on walking as if nothing at all had transpired, Hank decided it wise to obtain information from Hawk regarding such bizarre behavior. Accordingly, he inquired, “Alright, I give in, what in blazes was that all about?”
Peering off toward the west, Hawk mumbled absently, “What?”
“That damn bug is what! How in heck was it, anyway?” Hank responded, now growing just a tad surly at Hawk’s apparent indifference.
Without so much as missing a stride, Hawk tallied, “On a scale of one to ten, it was about a three.”
Striding a few paces onward, Hank eventually inquired in apparent mystification, “In what way?”
“Perhaps a bit too crunchy, a bit short on sweetness as well, I reckon,” Hawk proffered thoughtfully.
“Are you telling me that you do this sort of thing regular-like?” Hank inquired in obvious stupefaction.
“Most assured
ly! Eating beetles is quite good for the soul,” Hawk replied pensively.
As Hawk had yet to be forthcoming in any satisfactory way, Hank hazarded yet another query, “Could you just cut out the small talk and give me some useful response, dang it!”
Hawk halted abruptly, wheeled around, and took in Hank’s inquisitive glare. Seeing as how his traveling companion was dead serious, he rubbed his chin, then commenced, as usual, with, “Hauuggghh (spit), Well, I suppose my behavior could be misconstrued as curious in some quarters. But here’s the thing, I have nothing against beetles - they have their proper place awarded to them by God, as of course do all living creatures on this here planet. But there are times when there are overriding considerations. I reckon this happens to be one of those times.”
Feeling no closer to understanding than he had before he’d asked, Hank nonetheless decided to play along as affably as possible, positing vacuously, “Couldn’t agree more, couldn’t agree more, sir.”
“You see, Hank, the coming war is going to change a lot of things for a lot of people. And that there beetle I ate was prophetic, not to mention fortifying.”
At this Hank shot back naively, “Yes, sir, I could see the latter plainly, but as to the former, I admit to being a bit mystified.”
Attempting to clear up the mystery, Hawk continued, “Well, sir, it seems that the Egyptians thought that beetles were gods.”
“Gods! What the…,” Hank blurted, “I’d say they was critters, damned by God maybe, but they ain’t nothing even close to gods where I come from!”
“Yes, but where you come from, they just get in the way,” Hawk rejoined sagely, “Whereas the Egyptians thought they were gods because they would roll up a bunch of turds and drag them into a hole, and seal it up tight. A few days later, out would pop a bunch of baby beetles. Making baby beetles out of dung seemed pretty special to the Egyptians. So they thought those beetles were gods.”
“Don’t know quite what to say to that, Mr. Hawk Banks,” Hank blabbered and, continuing on down the trail, he probed, “You sayin’ them beetles grow from shit?”
“No sir, didn’t say that at all. I said the Egyptians thought they did so. I doubt very seriously that beetles grow from a ball of turds.”
Hoping to finally get to the bottom of this rapidly escalating conundrum, Hank inquired, “Alright then, what do you think?”
“Well, what I think may be incorrect, but I think that beetles got legs like us, eyes like us, heads like us, and insides like us. In point of fact, we humans have quite a bit in common with beetles. So I suspect they have babies just like us.”
At this Hank blurted in astonishment, “Where in blazes do you get this stuff from, Hawk?”
Uncertain as to exactly what Hank was referring, Hawk queried, “What stuff?”
“What stuff, what stuff? I’m walking along the trail with a man I ain’t really known for more’n a day, and within the space of five minutes, he’s chompin’ on beetles, talkin’ about pagan Gods, referring to Egyptians, and sayin’ humans and beetles are just the same. That’s what stuff!”
“Hah, hauugggh (spit),” Hawk posited and, undaunted, he continued, “Darned if I don’t see your point. I expect it does sound somewhat bizarre to you, but where I come from, this would all be quite normal subject matter.”
“Subject matter! Now you’re starting to scare me, sir. Ain’t never heard anyone ever say ‘subject matter’ outside of a classroom, and that’s been at least twenty years for me.”
“Right, right, You’re quite right, sir. Guess you might as well know,” Hawk responded pleasantly, “I had a bit of schooling in my time.”
“Well glory be, good to know. Glad to know you’re not just making it all up. Just exactly what sort of schoolin’?” Hank queried in apparent relief.
“I studied at a school called Harvard. It’s in Boston.”
“Harvard…never heard of it,” Hank confessed, “Heard of Boston, though. That’s a long way from here, in more ways than one, I’d say for sure.”
“You got that right,” Hawk muttered.
“You from there - Boston?”
“Yes, sir, I grew up there.”
“What’s it like?”
“Depends. Depends entirely on your point of perspective. You might presume on first glance that it is quite civilized. You could even say it is blessed with plenty of excitement. But for me, it’s neither - too much politics, and too many people telling you do this and don’t do that. After a while, it gets to the point that you can hardly breathe from the claustrophobia of folks minding your business for you.”
“What’s claustrophobia?” Hank wondered.
“That’s just a big word for feeling closed in.”
Hank thought a second and suggested, “So is that why you left Boston?”
“Pretty much,” Hawk replied frankly.
“When was that?”
“Oh, more than twenty years ago.”
“Is that when you went to Tennessee?”
“Nope, shipped out to sea,” Hawk answered matter-of-factly.
“Wow! You were a seaman?” Hank croaked incredulously.
“That’s right, although I wouldn’t say I was much of one,” Hawk murmured.
“Why is that?”
“Well, I never did get used to not being able to just wake up, pull on my shoes, and go wherever I wanted to. But I tried sailing for a while, I saw some of the world, and then I moved on to something else.”
“Where’d you ship to?”
“Europe mostly,” Hawk answered.
“Where ‘bouts?”
“Mostly ports, Lisbon, Sevilla, Le Havre, Portsmouth, places like that.”
“So you been to Spain?”
“Yes,” Hawk responded patiently, “I lived there for a bit.”
“Gee, I’ll bet you speak Spanish!”
“Yes, indeed I do.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, some French as well.”
Having exhausted the extent of his thinking, Hank walked on for a minute, but suddenly started up yet again with, “Have you been to Egypt? Is that how you know about them beetles?”
“No, haven’t been there. Don’t want to either. Supposed to be quite dangerous, that is, unless you’re a Muslim.”
“What’s that?” asked Hank.
“It’s a religion followed by people from that part of the world. I learned about Egypt in France. It seems that Napoleon Bonaparte got to thinking he was a modern-day Alexander the Great. So off he went with fifty thousand troops and invaded Egypt.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Most folks around here don’t know about such things, Hank. There’d probably be no reason to. At any rate, Napoleon might’ve been crazy when he did that, but he did do one really smart thing - he took a couple of hundred scientists with him to Egypt. Napoleon high-tailed it back to France, but the scientists stayed on for three years. After they came home they started publishing books about what they’d seen, and it became all the rage in France. I heard about all those things involving Egypt while I was living there.”
“Meaning, about them beetles that shit their offspring in a dung hole,” Hank grinned.
“Whatever,” Hawk replied blandly, “Turns out, the Egyptians considered it to be sacrilegious to eat beetles.”
“You sinner!” Hank shot back victoriously.
“No sir, not me. Not at all. First of all, it was a long time ago. So I expect the statute of limitations has expired. Second, I’m fairly certain those Egyptian beetles were different ones from ours. “
“What makes you think that?” Hank asked.
“Well, sir. I’ve been across the ocean. So far as I know, beetles cannot swim, and there is no other way to get from there to here.”
“What about just hitchin’ a ride on a boat like you done, Hawk?”
“Well, now there’s an interesting thought,” Hawk rejoined, “I suppose th
ey could, but not until recently so far as we know. Columbus didn’t discover this continent until about three hundred years ago, and the Egyptians began worshipping beetles a lot longer ago than that. So while it is conceivable that the beetle I just ate is a descendent of an Egyptian beetle God, it most assuredly isn’t one of the original ones they thought were gods.”
“Still though, it don’t seem right to me,” Hank replied.
“Well, I look at it this way,” Hawk volunteered, “I follow a different religion from Egyptians. In my religion, if I eat a beetle, I absorb all of its godliness, and that’s where we started this discussion. You asked what I was doing, and I responded that I was preparing for the coming war. And there you have it – I am today a well-fortified parishioner of the Beetle God!”
At this Hank suddenly slowed his gait and, tugging off his cap, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Gazing upward at the October sun, he turned to respond to this last, “Well, we’re gonna need all the help we can get to defeat the enemy, and I expect that the more religions we can embrace, the better. So we got Jesus and the beetles covered. And although I feel certain I don’t know no more than when I first asked, somehow I feel reassured to be in the presence of a potential beetle saint.”
Hawk Banks - Founding Texas Page 5
