by Drew McGunn
Caldwell sat at the table, cleaning supplies scattering before him, as he cleaned a spare cylinder. He looked up when addressed. “Mostly quiet, sir. I’ve received reports from our fort on the North Fork of the Trinity saying they’ve seen signs the Wichita have crossed the Red River, heading north. If their client tribes see the writing on the wall, then I hope even the Comanche should see reason. Otherwise, why would so many of their chieftains show up here?”
Will was about to add his own thoughts to the conversation when the door swung inward. Sam Houston stepped into the room, accompanied by a slender Cherokee, dressed in brown wooden pants and a gray jacket, and closed the door behind them. “Gentlemen. The Cherokee have arrived.”
Both Will and Caldwell were surprised to see the Texian commissioner to the Cherokee show up. Crockett climbed to his feet and offered his hand to his fellow Tennessean. “Sam, I’m glad you got my letter. How many men were you able to bring?”
As Houston sat on the edge of the Table, he said, “We raised a company of Rangers, by God. And I’ve brought them with me. I’d like to introduce De-ga-ta-ga Waite. He’s just arrived from Georgia, leading more than a thousand of his people west. The Cherokee counsel of Texas has appointed him commander of their militia.”
Will stared at the dark-skinned man before him and saw a soldier. The gray jacket he wore bore Georgia militia buttons. His hair was combed back and cut below the collar. For reasons he couldn’t put his finger on, Will felt as though he had seen the Cherokee before, but no amount of sifting through Travis’ memories brought an answer to the niggling question of who he was.
As Houston took the last of the four chairs, the Cherokee extended his hand to Will. “De-ga-ta-ga is ‘one who stands.’ My Christian name is Isaac Stand Waite.”
As Will shook his hand, the name connected in his mind. There was a Confederate general in the Civil War named Stand Waite. He was the only American Indian to rise to the rank of general during the war. Will wasn’t sure he was the same man, but at thirty years of age now, it was certainly possible.
“We had been evicted from our homes in Georgia, and were on our way to the Indian Territory to the north, when the Raven here,” he indicated to Houston, “implored us to come to Texas. He said Texas would protect our property rights which Georgia has failed to do.”
As the meeting broke up, Will was joined by Waite in the small parade ground. “I’ve heard much about you, General Travis, over the past year. Even during the tragedy of our eviction from Georgia and our travel west, I heard of your victory against Santa Anna. Since our arrival in Texas, your exploits against the Comanche have been warmly received in our towns.”
As the two officers, one white and the other red, stood under the night sky, talking, it was clear Waite was articulate and well-educated. Will liked him. As they walked across the parade ground Will learned Waite had also brought a few volunteers who wanted to serve in the Texas army. Will’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Hell, yes, Mr. Waite. You bet I can find a place for them to serve.”
***
The following morning, all the significant bands of Comanche were represented by a total of fourteen chiefs. They were assembled beneath a tall live oak tree, growing beside the languidly flowing Brazos. They sat on blankets in a wide semicircle. Across from them, also under the branches of the same live oak, Crockett, Houston, and Will sat in wooden chairs. Behind Will stood Juan Seguin, who could translate from Spanish. Houston had brought a Cherokee youth with him, who stood by his side. The teenager had been captured by the Comanche several years earlier, but traded back to his own tribe later. He spoke fluent Comanche.
Houston leaned toward Crockett and whispered loud enough for Will to hear. “Always pays to know what they’re saying. A lot of them speak Spanish and I’m sure we could negotiate with them in that language, but this way seems better, don’t you think?”
Crockett rose from his chair and stepped forward. “I am David Crockett. I am the elected chief for all the people of Texas. I have come here to meet with you, the chieftains of the Comanche People, in the hope that we can find peace between our peoples.” When this was translated he sat in his chair and listened as the Cherokee youth translated each chief’s introduction and greeting. The last to speak was the eldest. “I am called Spirit Talker. It has been more than fifty winters since my first raid. I agree with your chief. We want peace, too. But peace should start with goodwill. Show us your goodwill by freeing our wives and children. It isn’t right for the Comanche to be imprisoned behind your walls.”
When the youth finished translating, Crockett tilted his head in agreement. “Chief Spirit Talker, I have heard you give good counsel to those in the Comancheria who will listen. Over the many years you have served your people, the Apache and Cheyenne have learned to fear your name. I share your desire to see all prisoners returned to their families; both yours and ours.”
Spirit Talker nodded his agreement. “We agree to release those of your people who we have taken captive. Our chiefs have decided all our white prisoners will be released as soon as you release our wives and children.”
Crockett turned and sat back in his chair. “It isn’t enough. War between your people and ours is inevitable as long as we look at the same land and say it is ours. We have defeated the mighty Mexican army and our treaty with them defines our boundary. The people of Texas will not rest until all of the land south of the waters we call the Red River is under our flag.”
As the youth finished translating this into Comanche, Crockett’s words were met with dark looks and scowls. Another stood up and spoke, “I am Buffalo Hump. I command the war band of the Penateka Comanche. You cannot eat a flag. We follow the buffalo, and it provides all our needs. We have always followed the buffalo and without it, you would have us die.”
After hearing the translation, Houston laid a restraining hand on Crockett’s arm. “May I, David?”
As Crockett acquiesced, Houston rose and walked to the middle of the circle made by the two sides. “I am called the Raven by my brothers among the Cherokee. Among the Texians I am called Sam Houston. Until recently I was the war chief of my people. I see things differently than you, Buffalo Hump. If the buffalo provide your every need, why do you wear that calico shirt?” Turning to another chief, he pointed, “Why does he wear a leather belt and carry a steel knife?” He pointed to a third and said, “Even the horses you ride originally came from the Spanish.”
As he watched the Comanche grumble, he resumed, “If the buffalo is the only thing the Comanche need to survive, why do you burn our homes to the ground and carry our women and children into captivity? I have checked, and let me tell you, they are not buffalo!” As the words were translated, several chiefs glared back at him, while others laughed at his wit.
Spirit Talker neither glared nor laughed, although his lips curled up at the translation. With the sound of joints popping, he stood and said, “The People do not change quickly or easily. I think that you, Raven, adopted by the Cherokee, would understand that. Yet, it has become impossible to ignore that you Texians are like the flood after a spring rain. You wash over the land and change it. Even since the last winter, we are fewer in number than we were. You are more. I speak only for my band. I see you have the power to attack us whenever we attack you. And when you attack, you kill many of the People. Your guns which speak many times makes sure of that. Maybe it is time the People and Texas no longer wage war against each other. But we need the buffalo.”
Houston had returned to his seat, and Crockett now stood. “Peace starts with the release of all prisoners. We will agree to release all the Comanche we have captured, if every band agree to release all whites and Mexicans you have captured or adopted.”
Crockett’s words elicited consternation among the chiefs. Buffalo Hump stood and explained, “Many among the People who were once white or Mexican do not want to leave the People.”
From his seat, Houston burst out into laughter. “I can relate to that. I ran
away when I was sixteen years old. Those years among the Cherokee were some of the best of my life.” But he grew serious. “However, as our president has said, this is a requirement. If those who you adopted wish to return to live among your people, then we will not stop it, when they are counted as adults among our people. Our laws do not recognize a child’s right to make such a decision.
Will watched the chiefs as they listened and then discussed the matter among themselves. It struck him, each of these were intelligent men. Some of the concepts about which Houston talked were odd to them, such as the legal rights of children. But even so, they talked among themselves, sometimes amiably and at other times, contentiously. But in the end, all the chiefs reached consensus. Both sides would trade back all prisoners and adopted children. Neither side would take as slaves those from the other side.
After both sides had agreed to the prisoner swap, the issue of land remained. As the sun dipped below the western horizon, Spirit Talked said, “I fear the easy part is now behind us. I can’t argue we use more than just the buffalo,” he fingered his cotton shirt’s embroidery as he spoke, “but we need the buffalo to survive.”
The other chiefs nodded their heads in agreement. “We have decided, we agree the land below the river of the red clay flies your flag. But, the buffalo do not know your flag or our shield. They go where the Great Spirt leads. They are our life, to keep us from them is to hold a knife to our throats.”
Crockett said, “It isn’t our wish to see the Comanche no longer riding the great plains or no longer hunting the buffalo.”
He turned to Will and Houston and asked, “What if we allow them to hunt below the Red River, but to limit their villages to north of the Red River? They can still hunt the buffalo, but their towns stay north.”
Will and Houston readily agreed. Such a treaty could buy Texas twenty or more years before the issue resurfaced. A lot could change in that length of time.
Crockett turned back to Spirit Talker. “Your hunting bands can travel below the Red River, following the buffalo. But your villages must stay north of the river. If any of your warriors attack any Texian farm below the Red River, then the warrior’s band will be required by this treaty to turn him over to Texas for justice.”
While there was unhappy muttering among the chiefs, Spirit Talker said, “It is good to respect each other. The People will agree to this, provided the same rule applies to Whites or Mexicans who attack us north of the river of the red clay. If you agree to surrender to us any who attack our villages, then we can have peace.”
Crockett looked to Will and Houston and saw agreement on their faces. “We agree.”
Will shuddered at the thought of Comanche justice, but the alternative was worse. When he considered the attack more than year before at Fort Parker, the alternative was far worse.
As the meeting broke up around midnight, Will walked with Crockett back to the fort. The president confessed, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to force that last provision through the Senate, when they ratify the treaty. We have a mite different idea about justice than they do. But it’s a fair deal to both sides.”
Will agreed. “David, if the Senate ratifies this, I think we could see peace for a generation with the Comanche. The challenge for the future comes back to the issue of land. Our view of land ownership is alien to the Comanche, far more so than how the Cherokee see private property rights. Unless they change, as we grow, eventually we’re going to come into conflict with them again.”
Crockett said, “Maybe even sooner than that. The Comanche don’t have a clue about the Adams-Onis Treaty. Steve Austin has notified the Van Buren administration we have agreed with the terms of the treaty, as it defines our national boundary with the United States. Somehow or another, men like Spirit Talker and Buffalo Hump will have to understand the world around them is changing. If they raid into the US, they may find that The United States will give them less of a fair shake than we have.”
Chapter 15
The road from San Antonio to Harrisburg remained rough and uneven between the two population centers. But Will found the ride relatively smooth, as he sat opposite Erasmo Seguin in a plush carriage. The coiled springs under the carriage absorbed the worst of the jostling as the iron rimmed wheels dropped into the poorly maintained road’s potholes. He had been summoned to Harrisburg along with Señor Seguin to meet with President Crockett.
“Are you sure you don’t know why the president has summoned us, Señor Seguin?”
The elder Seguin exhaled noisily. “General, for the last three days, you have plied me with the same question. I am as much in the dark as you about why President Crockett has summoned us.”
As the weak, December sun retreated across the western sky, the carriage rolled through the rapidly expanding warehouse district which ran alongside Buffalo Bayou. As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the town’s only hotel, Erasmo and Will alighted from it and walked into the ramshackle building.
The next morning, the two men met with President Crockett in the log cabin which served as both his residence and office. Since Will’s last visit, another room had been added, accessible through an open-air dogtrot. As Will and Señor Seguin joined Crockett around the familiar large table which sat in the middle of Crockett’s office, a young woman came through the door with a wooden pitcher in hand. As she set the pitcher on the table, she produced a few battered tin cups from her apron and placed them next to the pitcher.
Since the arrival of Crockett’s family earlier in the year, this was Will’s first opportunity to see the young woman the president affectionately called “my Becky.” Her face was thin and angular. Like her father, her eyes were blue and her hair the color of roasted coffee beans. There was no doubt in Will’s mind as to why Crockett had been turning away suitors. The president’s daughter’s slight frame and pretty face caught Will’s attention. In a town, like Harrisburg, with far more eligible bachelors than available single women, Will thought Becky Crockett could have the pick of any of them.
As she turned to leave, Will’s eyes followed her to the door. When she stepped through, she looked back, and saw Will staring at her. As she closed the door, the last image Will had was a smile on her face.
Crockett cleared his throat. “Ah hem. Buck, you know, she’ll be at the Christmas party at the Liberty Hotel tomorrow evening. You might consider staying for a couple of days before returning to San Antone.”
Will’s cheeks colored when he realized his interest had not gone unnoticed. “A party? I, uh, don’t know. Señor Seguin was kind enough to provide his carriage for our trip here. If he needs to get back to his affairs, I may not be able.”
The elder Seguin enjoyed watching Will’s discomfiture. “I’m sure my business interests will wait a few days. My Josie would not forgive me if I didn’t bring back a detailed account of what the ladies of Harrisburg are wearing at such festivities.” He paused, savoring the awkward look on Will’s face, before turning serious. “My business interests, or rather the Republic’s interests are what you wanted to talk about, Mr. President.”
The levity forgotten, Crockett said, “Señor Seguin, between your reports and those from our soldiers stationed at Fort Moses Austin, near Laredo, I have concerns over the allegiance of some of the Mexicans who’ve been coming into Texas.”
“I wasn’t aware my reports would be of concern, Mr. President.”
Crockett pushed a few pages toward the elder Seguin. “Your reports are focused mainly on the Bexar district, and I don’t know that there’s a direct threat from Mexico as far as the folks coming across the Rio Grande. But as these other reports indicate, we have some evidence Mexico’s got agents in Laredo and possibly in other towns in Texas. As a best guess, over the past two years nearly two thousand people have crossed the Rio Grande into Texas. That’s an awful lot of opportunity.”
Crockett continued, with a report from the Rangers. “I’m a bit concerned there has been an effort to have an election in Laredo,
where they want to vote on returning the town to Mexico.”
Seguin’s eyes arched in surprise. “I hadn’t heard of that.”
Crockett nodded, “Given our presence nearby at Fort Moses Austin, several families, if I have heard correctly, have moved back across the river. They’ve taken to calling the town on the southern bank, Nuevo Laredo.”
Listening to Crockett and Erasmo Seguin talk, Will was puzzled, “David, does it bother you they are moving back into Mexico?”
Crockett smiled wryly. “Only my ego, Buck. Apart from that, no. If they don’t see themselves as Tejano, then let them live in Mexico. I’d far rather our Tejano community be loyal to Texas, and it’s a good bet, those who relocate themselves south probably aren’t going to share that loyalty.”
Seguin shook his head. “I pride myself on keeping a close eye on things within my community and my information from Laredo is sparse. I will ask my son-in-law, Jose, to go down Laredo way and see what he can learn about the latest Mexican government trying to stir things up, Mr. President.”
Crockett smiled widely at the older Tejano. “Erasmo, please my friends call me David. And between the three of us, I’d just as soon set aside titles.”
Erasmo smiled in return as Crockett set the reports from Laredo to the side. “I can scarce wait to see what your son-in-law finds out. The other reason I wanted to meet was to discuss the status of the Commodities Bureau.”
Seguin’s smile faded. “And here I thought it was going to be all fun, Mr. ah, David.”
Crockett said, “I confess, the reason I asked Will to join is for two reasons. Most of the money we raise flows into paying for our army and navy. The second is, he’s pretty good with figures, and this was his idea.”
