by Drew McGunn
Will agreed, “Here in the west, Santa Anna’s lancers are a dying breed. Hell, even back east, I understand the army is looking at dragoons, to augment their infantry. That, I think, is the future of cavalry. Very mobile, but more likely to actually fight on foot once in combat.”
The column ate up the distance to San Antonio, covering the score of miles by midafternoon. As Will led the column into the large Alamo Plaza, he saw a half dozen wagons along the western wall. His hopes began to rise as he rode over to the lead wagon. It was heavily laden, with a canvas tarp pulled tightly over the bed. Major Payton Wyatt, acting in his role of quartermaster, looked over the manifest as Will approached.
Wyatt pointed to the wagons, “General Travis, sir. It appears we’ve received supplies from the United States.”
Will untied the ropes securing the first wagon’s tarp and flung the canvas back, exposing several long crates, nailed closed. A teamster handed him a crowbar and he pried loose the nails and lifted the lid from the nearest box. He reached in and took from it a carbine. The rifled weapon was just under four feet long. The stock’s deep brown wood was polished to a bright finish. The barrel was twenty-eight inches long and had been browned at the armory, giving it a dull, matted finish. Will flipped the block on the breech up, inspecting where the paper cartridge was inserted. As he held it in his hands, it looked and felt deadly. His grin was feral and untamed. The Model 1833 Halls Rifled Carbine had arrived.
The last wagon contained several dozen boxes with the words, ‘Patent Arms Manufacturing’ stenciled on their sides. Opening these boxes up, they found their order of Paterson Colt Revolving pistols. Will and his command had received two early Christmas presents.
Chapter 5
The ride between San Antonio and Harrisburg was uneventful for Will, Juan Seguin, and his father, Erasmo.
Will thought, “I could get used to traveling in style,” at the end of the trip.
They traveled in the elder Seguin’s carriage, which was as comfortable a mode of travel for the period as could be had, except for the cold, early-December weather. An hour out from Harrisburg, they traveled through a newly platted town, the developers were marketing it as the new town of Houston, in honor of Texas’ first general. Will shook his head at the irony the town was still named for Sam Houston, even though Crockett was considered by nearly all Texians to be a key hero in the revolution. The reasoning behind the developers’ decision was lost on Will, as he thought it should have been named after the new president.
The naming of the new town after Houston left Will wondering about the mutability of history. On one hand, in the history he knew, the developers chose to honor Sam Houston for his victory by naming the town after him. Now, their choice perplexed him. If the same rationale was used here, by rights, the town should have celebrated Crockett’s name. Will couldn’t help but feel a mysterious paradox at work. Texas had won its independence without the fall of the Alamo. Hundreds of men, who otherwise would have fallen at the Alamo or been murdered at Goliad, yet lived.
“Yes,” Will thought, there were exceptions like Jim Bowie, and now, he added the town of Houston to that list.
In Will’s quest to stay alive, he knew he had changed history. He had spent a more than a few sleepless nights puzzling over how the future would look in a world in which hundreds of men, who would have otherwise died in a Texas Revolution that would never be. Did the world he come from simply cease to be, or did it move along a parallel path after his own transference? He even briefly questioned whether this was still an elaborate dream, even after all these months. These were questions to which he had no answer. To cope, he trusted that God, for reasons he would never fathom, had allowed this to happen. When he allowed his thoughts to wonder about the poor Mexican soldados who had died, who otherwise might have survived, he had no answers for that.
He shook his head, mentally shelving the thought as the coach pulled up next to a clapboard building serving as Harrisburg’s lone hotel. Now that President Crockett had been in office for almost two months, he wanted to go over the details of the coming Comanche campaign. Since the election, Will’s communication with Crockett had been by correspondence, and there were simply too many details to discuss, to leave things even to the speed of a fast horse.
The next morning as they sat in President Crockett’s split-log cabin, the president welcomed the three men, “Thank you all for joining me in my humble presidential mansion. As I like to call it, the Texas White House.” He swept his hand grandly around the roughhewn logs of the cabin, which served as both his home and office in Harrisburg. The government’s tenure in Harrisburg was temporary and they were too cash poor to do more than rent a ramshackle collection of buildings to house the government.
“After many a letter to my Liza, she has agreed to join me here. I suspect the humble nature of my home may have something to do with her decision. She was plum pleased, given the size of the house, there would be no more housework than before.”
“Now that I’ve given you the nickel tour, let’s get down to the republic’s business. I want to express my thanks to you, Señor Seguin for accepting my invitation. As I mentioned in my letter, you’re native to the soil here and your perspective on how the Spanish and Mexican governments have dealt with the Comanche is priceless.” From the elder Seguin, Crockett turned to Will and warmly welcomed him, “Buck, it is good to see you, boy. I hadn’t realized how much I missed you until now. The last couple of months have found me busier than a one-eyed cat watching nine rat holes. And Captain Seguin, thank you for bringing the perspective of our mounted forces.”
After the four men were seated around a large, wooden table, he said, “I had asked Sam to be with us today, but since the election he has chosen to represent Texas’ interests with the Cherokee by brokering their tribal claims with our government. Recent correspondence from him has been favorable, but the claims proceed at their own pace.”
Switching subjects, Crockett asked, “Señor Seguin, am I to understand correctly you have been in contact with the governor of New Mexico?”
Erasmo Seguin spread his hands and shook his head, “Alas, President Crockett, would that it was so. No. But in my dealings, I have talked with several traders from the Comancheros.”
Crockett interrupted him, “How are these Comancheros related to the Comanche?”
“They are mostly traders from Nuevo Mexico, mostly from Santa Fe and Albuquerque. They get their name from trading with the various bands of the Comanche. There are many things the Comanche want which can’t be obtained from the buffalo, and if they can’t raid it from Texas, then they will trade with the Comancheros for it.”
Erasmo paused for a moment, before continuing, “There’s a story I have heard repeated among these half-breed traders. In 1779, a few years before my own birth, the Spanish governor, a man named Juan Bautista de Anza, in Santa Fe, grew tired of the constant raids on the settlements under his jurisdiction. So, he formed up an army of six hundred men, led them into the Comancheria, and defeated the Comanche in battle.”
The other men leaned forward, hanging on his every word, “Anza’s army included Nuevo Mexicanos as well as more than two hundred Apache auxiliaries. Largely traveling at night, he used his Apaches to screen the main force. They were deep into the Comancheria when they came across a large village. Anza’s men attacked the town, capturing many of the women and children. In an ironic twist of fate, the Comanche warriors were at that same time busy attacking Taos. Following the capture of the Comanche town, Anza ambushed the returning warriors, killing their war chief and many men. What followed was a series of raids by Anza’s army from Santa Fe. They fought and killed Comanche warriors wherever they offered battle.”
Crockett asked, “But how did Anza bring the Comanche to the peace table?”
Erasmo Seguin nodded his head, and stood up. He walked over to the door, which was open and looked out to the west, in the direction of the Comancheria. “Peace with the Comanche, tha
t’s the elusive question, Mr. President. It is a question we Tejanos and you Norteamericos equally have in common. I read about General Houston’s proposal to treat with the Comanche during the election and I think his way is wrong. Unlike the Cherokee, where there is a powerful sense of tribal unity, the Comanche bands owe no allegiance to each other. If it were not for Texas and Mexico, it is just as likely those different bands would war against each other.
“But back to Governor Anza. The first thing he did was have his army take captives, just like the Comanche. This forced the Comanche to trade their own captives for those held by the Spanish. The second thing he did was strategically release other captives with the news that Anza would treat with all the Comanche bands for peace, or none of them. He understood what General Houston never did. The Comanche nation lacks a central voice of authority. Each band is responsible for their own actions and a treaty with one band is not binding on any of the others. To bring them to treaty he had to force it on all of the Comanche bands bordering Nuevo Mexico.”
Will shuddered at the complexity of the problem. “It looks like we’re going to need our own Indians.” As he spoke, he experienced an ah-ha moment. Less than a year after arriving in Travis’ body, and his modern vocabulary had taken a beating. What would the other men at the table think should he refer to an Indian as a Native American? He shook the moment off, continuing, “Juan, would you see if Flacco’s people would be willing to work with us as scouts and guides? Also, Mr. President, would you reach out to Mr. Houston and see if he can talk the Cherokee into fielding a company of Rangers, on the Republic’s dime?”
The president chuckled drily. “That’s a pretty turn of a phrase for fleecing the treasury.” His eyes followed Erasmo’s, as they
looked out the door of the small cabin, looking west, in the direction of the Comancheria. “What do we do with the Comanche when we finally drive them to the peace table, gentlemen? I despised what Jackson did to the Cherokee, but there were existing treaties between the Cherokee people and the federal government, ignored by Andy Jackson. Without a treaty between us and the Comanche, it’s akin to having the Mongol horde living in our outhouse.”
Will’s thoughts, while not as colorful, mirrored the president’s. Once again, Will found himself facing a common paradox of history. From what he could tell, the Cherokee were often times more civilized than their white neighbors, having frequently adapted to the dominant culture and religion, while tribes, like the Lipan Apache struggled to maintain their tribal grounds and customs in the lands disputed by Texas, Mexico, and the Comanche. The Comanche defied Will’s modern view, and it was evident books like “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee” held no correlation to the Comanche. They were a vastly different people than Will had been taught by Hollywood and school.
Crockett interrupted his thought, “I fear their days of wandering the plains may be numbered. Buck, it would surprise me nary at all, if by the time your boy, Charlie, is married with children of his own the world of the Plains Indians will be over. I’ll not deny it, while I have my concerns over how we wage war against the Comanche, I can scarcely sleep at night if we don’t look to our own. Because we need to secure the frontier, it will be my policy, as president, to enforce the territorial integrity of Texas, even when it brings us into conflict with Mexico or with the Comanche.”
Not for the first time, Will noted how Crockett could drop the rough veneer and allow the well-spoken, self-educated man to shine through. The president continued, “We’ll respect and honor every man’s private property rights and make a home here in Texas for any tribe that agrees to live by our laws, as it appears the Cherokee will. If we can have peace with the Comanche, we’ll make no claim on the plains north of the Red River. But if the Comanche attempt to live or travel south of the Red, they will do so only in peace. If they want trade with us, I’ll be glad to put policies into place encouraging trade. But I recall from my days in Washington City words from ol’ Thomas Jefferson. ‘Millions for defense and not a cent for tribute.’ Sam was wrong when he advocated this when he ran against me, and time hasn’t made it any more right. We’re done trying to buy one band or another of the Comanche off of us to keep them from raiding. All that has done is makes the other bands want to hit us all the harder.”
“One last thing,” Crockett said, “Buck, you’ll need to develop a plan for dealing with the squaws and adolescent boys and old men you may capture. I’m sure some of those West Point boys you’ve recruited can set up a military prison where they can be housed under the best conditions you can manage. But make sure our own soldiers’ safety comes first.”
As the meeting came to an end, the president took Erasmo aside, “Señor Seguin, I am in your debt for joining your son and General Travis in meeting with me. I don’t like indebting myself further, but I have a request related to the coming war.”
As the elder Seguin nodded for Crockett to continue, he said, “When our army is successful in the war against the Comanche, we need to be ready to deal with any captives. Would you consent to using your connections within the Catholic church to establish a refuge of safety at one of the nearby missions where any children taken captive can be taken, where they will be cared for and protected against any retaliatory depredations from our loyal citizens?”
“Think nothing of it, Mr. President.” As Erasmo joined Will and Juan outside, He turned and added, “I count it as no favor to ask for an act of charity for those innocents who will pay the price for their elders’ war.”
Chapter 6
The small room in the newly constructed hotel felt much larger once the Seguins left Harrisburg with the sunrise, returning to San Antonio. Will lingered in town, at President Crockett’s behest. He pulled his pocket-watch from his vest pocket and, seeing the time, decided to walk across the few muddy streets to the president’s humble house.
He picked his way down the streets, dodging muddy craters in the road, his hands tucked into his pockets, warding off the morning chill.
“Asphalt. That’s what I should invent,” Will thought as he misjudged his step and felt his bootheel sink into the mud.
“Would make tons of money selling paving material to towns,” he muttered, shaking mud from his bootheel.
Crockett, with a buffalo robe wrapped around his shoulders, sat on the porch to his “Texas White House,” talking with several congressmen. As Will approached he heard Crockett saying, “I understand the problem with specie, Tom. The fly in the ointment is that without both a tariff and property tax, even as low as what has been proposed, we can’t protect our borders or defend our trade at sea.”
Crockett grinned ruefully at the other man, before continuing, “It’s not like any of us was surprised that Santa Anna was denounced when he got to Vera Cruz or that the Corro administration in Mexico City rejected the treaty Santa Anna signed with us. The truth of the matter is without a standing army and navy we can’t protect our trade or our territory. If we can’t do those, then we might as well go to Washington with our tail between our legs and hat in our hand.”
The congressman said, “What’s so bad about that, Mr. President? Annexation would give us room to grow and lower our tax burden.”
Crockett glowered, “And for how long, Tom? I know Andy Jackson’s on the way out in March and there will be that Van Buren fellow next, and I hear tell he’s not sweet on annexation. I’d rather we chart our own path. And part of that path means we must figure out how to pay our own way. Taxes, and I hate ‘em as much as you, are a necessary evil. Now, Tom, I’ll be glad to talk solutions with you, but I’m afraid that General Travis here and I have a packet-cutter to catch. We’re off to Galveston this morning to review the island’s fortifications.”
Crockett bade farewell to the men as he stepped off the porch into the muddy road, grabbed Will by the elbow and headed toward Buffalo Bayou, where a small schooner was anchored.
“I hope you don’t mind the change in plans, but last week, I submitted my budget, along w
ith some new taxes and as you can imagine, I got some of our congress critters angrier than wet hens at me. Getting out of town for the day suits me fine.”
They boarded the schooner from a skiff, which transported them from the shore. The boat weighed anchor, and swung around, heading for the open waters of Galveston Bay. The president stood next to the railing, watching the shore slide by as the small double-masted ship picked up speed when the northerly breeze filled the canvas sails. Will finally asked, “Are we really going to check on the fortifications on Galveston or is this just an attempt to dodge a few unhappy politicians?”
“Both, actually. Did you know that Andy Jackson sent his congratulations to David Burnet over our independence? And he sent a personal letter to Lorenzo congratulating him on his election as vice president. But he knows how to hold a grudge. He never has forgiven me for fighting him on what he did to the Cherokee. I heard from Stephen Austin that he’s tabled any action on recognizing our independence.”
Will grimaced. “Any chance Jackson’ll relent?”
Crockett guffawed, slapping his palm on the railing. “Jackson’s too pigheaded to do that. But never mind him. Steve has met with Van Buren and has received his promise that recognizing our independence will be one of his first actions come March.”
“That’s good. How is your former electoral rival doing as Minister to the United States?” Will asked.
“Like a fish to water, I’d say. I know he’d rather be playing the role of impresario, but the constitution’s pretty much put paid to that. I expect once Van Buren is in office that Steve’s job will get a bit easier. But he’s had a fair degree of luck scrounging up a loan here and there and a few gifts as well. That money, as you well know, is coming in handy.”
Will glanced down into the murky depths of the bay before asking, “What about Europe? Any word from our ministers there?”
