Comanche Moon Falling

by Drew McGunn

  Will suppressed a smile, as he thought about how best to answer a simple question which had a complex answer. “There are certainly people that we know who are richer than we are, Charlie. But the truth of the matter is that as the General of the army, I am paid well. When we founded Gulf Farms, I put the land I received for my serving in the army and used it to get part ownership. Between the land and some savings, I was able to buy a part of Gulf Farms. Now, when the opportunity to buy into Mr. Morse’s invention came around, I took more savings as well as something called dividend payments that I received from Gulf Farms to buy stock in the telegraph company. I don’t think we’re rich, but I hope these investments will make money.”

  It was an incomplete answer. Texas had based the military pay scale on one being used by the United States in 1836. A brigadier general earned more than three hundred dollars each month. In an era in which the average clerk made twenty dollars, he knew he was doing much better than nearly everyone else. Even though Texas was about as far removed from the financial markets of New York and London, Will also wasn’t afraid to make his own opportunities. He hoped his investments would multiply with time. If he and the other investors could stay the course while Samuel Morse perfected his telegraph machine, Will knew just how profitable it could become. On that note, Will thought a little discretion was in order.

  “As you can see, they’re just now running copper wiring between Houston and Washington-on-the-Brazos. It’s all still rather secret, Charlie. Both Mr. Morse and President Crockett are holding off reporting this to our newspapers. So, just like those reports you see me reading in the evenings that are secret, this one is like that, too.”

  ***

  The stagecoach rolled to a stop in front of a two-story, wood and stone tavern in Houston. As Will stepped out and stretched it felt as though every bone in his body creaked and protested the abuse the previous forty-eight hours had inflicted on it. As advertised, he and Charlie had travelled from Austin to Houston in two days. As he crossed the street to the tavern, Will thought there was an air of pretention among the town’s developers. The street was mostly dirt, the part which wasn’t dirt was mud. But to cross from one side to the other was ninety-two feet from sidewalk to sidewalk.

  Will secured a room for the evening at the tavern. The coach to West Liberty would not leave until early the next morning. After cleaning the grime of the previous two days’ travel, he and Charlie were about to head down to the tavern’s taproom for dinner when there was a knock at the door.

  Perplexed by the sound, as the decision to stay here had been made when they had alighted from the coach, Will wondered who was knocking. As he opened the door, a short, portly man stood in the doorway offering his hand. “Merrill Taylor, at your service, General Travis.” The heavyset man spoke with a clipped English accent. Will looked him over, and there was something inviting about his smile, as though he were genuinely happy to be there. “May I come in? I represent banking interests in London, sir.”

  Hardly what he was expecting, Will opened the door and allowed the Englishman entry. As he settled into the lone, wooden backed chair, Mr. Taylor sighed painfully. “I do miss the comforts of England, General. Truthfully, while I have the utmost admiration for the fortitude and élan in which you Texians excel, I fear I would not last two weeks in this hardy land. But suffice to say, it seems to agree with you and your family.” He nodded briefly in Charlie’s direction, where the boy sat on the bed, studiously pretending to read his novel about Nimrod Wildfire.

  Will acknowledged the comment with a nod of his own but thought it best to let the other man divulge the reason for the visit.

  “I’m sure you’re curious as to what could motivate one such as myself to surrender my comforts and hie to this godforsaken place. I have been commissioned by several investors who have taken an interest in your investments, especially the, ah, Gulf Farms Corporation.”

  Will cocked an eyebrow and asked, “What about my investments has caught your factors’ attention, Mr. Taylor?

  “As I understand it, this year alone, Gulf Farms is projected to produce more cotton than the next five largest suppliers of cotton in Texas. You and your partners’ success is of special interest in that it has been done in defiance of the American South’s particular institution.”

  Will grimaced at his words. “Everything seems to come down to slavery, doesn’t it?”

  Taylor’s normally jovial face was solemn. “That, I regret to say, is as true a statement as can be made, General Travis. My factors were impressed by your impassioned stance during your own republic’s constitutional convention against the American South’s economic interests.”

  Will laughed bitterly. “That’s the irony, Mr. Taylor, I actually favor the South’s economic interest. Where I differ is that I know slavery will be the ruin of their interests, but they’re too mired in the weeds of their system to realize they’ve made a pact with the devil.”

  Taylor said, “Indeed. Your candor deserves the same on my part, sir. The men I represent have been impressed with the way your farming corporation stands on the cusp of changing the way in which cotton is farmed. You are industrializing the process. In England, the textile industry is growing by leaps and bounds. New mills are sprouting up from Liverpool to Bristol and everywhere in between. But their growth, until now, has come from cotton grown almost exclusively from slave labor, in your neighbor’s southern states.”

  Will’s ears perked up. “Are you proposing that your investors wish to invest in Gulf Farms?”

  Taylor tilted his head and pursed his lips before answering. “Not exactly. For reasons that are entirely their own, my factors wish to remain anonymous. Let’s say there are other interests at work in England heavily invested in their own Mexican adventure, and my factors desire anonymity. What they propose is a personal loan facilitated by the Lloyds Bank of London, my present employer, to you directly.

  Several thoughts stampeded through Will’s mind as he digested the news. “Just how, uh, invested do your factors intend to be, Mr. Taylor?”

  Taylor leaned in, conspiratorially, and said, “One quarter of a million pounds, General.”

  Will collapsed on to the bed in shock, where he sat next to Charlie, who had given up any pretense at reading and was staring, slack-jawed at the Englishman. Will strangled out, “Just who in the hell are these benefactors of yours, Mr. Taylor?”

  Taylor smiled, leaned back in the rickety chair and said, “The generosity in the terms of the loan is only exceeded by their strict requirement for anonymity. I would not be giving anything away to say among their number are several of my country’s leading abolitionists as well as several well-connected politicians.”

  Will’s thoughts tracked to Texas’ repeated efforts to obtain recognition from the British government and said, “This wouldn’t hasten Britain’s recognition of Texas, would it?”

  Taylor shrugged apologetically, “I’m afraid I don’t travel in those circles, General Travis. If I could hazard a guess, Her Majesty’s government will do nothing to jeopardize the sizable investments her people have made in Mexico. But an independent Texas, which eschews the United States, may eventually find herself with many more friends. You may even view the loan as an informal means by important men to test such waters.” He paused, letting the words sink in before concluding, “I have overstepped my bounds, General. Let this remain between two gentlemen, if you please.”

  ***

  While Will and Charlie traveled in a small coach from Houston to West Liberty, Will spent much of the time considering how to make use of the loan, having accepted the generous terms. He contemplated buying more shares of Gulf Farms, or perhaps a railroad.

  “Really,” he thought, “the possibilities are nearly endless.”

  As the coach arrived in West Liberty, the only thing he had decided about the loan is no matter which choice he made, eventually he would discover whatever strings the investors had attached to the loan.

  Th
e members of the board of the Gulf Farms Corporation met in Don Garza’s study. He had built in the Spanish style, a beautiful hacienda, with twenty rooms. The study was spacious and held a large table in the middle. Will enjoyed the soft, leather upholstery on the sturdy chair as he looked around the room. He acknowledged Erasmo Seguin with a nod and a smile. The elder Seguin sat at the head of the table, where his position as chairman of the board entitled him to sit. To his right sat Don Garza, who was president and chief executive officer. To the elder Seguin’s left, the chair was empty. Juan Seguin was a member of the board in his own right, but his duties in San Antonio prevented him from attending this meeting. In his vest pocket, Will held Juan’s proxy vote. On either side of the table were Clayton Wynters, the former corporal and another invalid veteran, Nathan Hood, and John Bowles, the twenty-four-year-old son of the elderly Chief Bowles of the Cherokee. As the Cherokee Land Corporation had expanded its holdings, they had made a sizable investment in Gulf Farms. As a result, the board had been expanded to include a designee from the Cherokee Land Corporation.

  Rounding out the Board, at the foot of the table was Charlotte Allen, the wife of Augustus Allen, one of the founders of the town of Houston. Since Allen had invested in the corporation, his wife had acted on his behalf. Everyone else on the board considered the arrangement odd, but since she had a much better head for business than her husband, and had proven to be a woman of strong convictions, no one took issue with the arrangement.

  After Don Garza finished providing the members of the board with a detailed account of the previous year’s activity and the regular business was concluded, Clayton Wynter stood and said, “As each of you have been provided correspondence about this, I don’t want to belabor the issue, but we have had more than a dozen of our best workmen leave our employment over the last year to make a go of their own farms. Their chief complaint was that they don’t own their own land, nor will their families have anything when they become too old to work.”

  Erasmo Seguin asked, “Isn’t it the responsibility of their children to care for them in their old age? That has been the tradition in my family as I’m sure it has been with yours, Mr. Wynters.”

  Wynters shrugged, “My Pa died when I was young, and my mother’s remarriage was an … unhappy time for me. I can’t speak for others, but I wouldn’t waste the board’s time if these men’s’ concerns were unfounded.”

  Will set back, watching the back and forth discussion between the elder Seguin and the former soldier. The two men had very different perspectives. As they sat glaring unhappily at each other, Will chimed in. “My friends. In very real ways, you are both right, but Clayton has a valid point. It is with every expectation that a man can come to work here for us and spend his best years working here. We derive the benefit of his labor, and in exchange, we pay him a fair wage. Hopefully both the worker and the company are well served by this arrangement. But it raises a question of what happens when his body can no longer meet the rigors the work requires?”

  He paused and smiled warmly at Seguin before continuing, “Not all of us will have the good fortune which God has blessed you with, Erasmo. I know your three children and my own son plays with your grandchildren, and I have learned that should you ever stop working long enough to retire to your hacienda to enjoy life, your true wealth isn’t in your land or your many businesses, but in your family. They will honor you and look after you, in the unlikely event you should require it. But Clayton is also right. We must find something that addresses this need our employees have. I believe our employees’ situation demands something that gives them a long-term sense of ownership and security.”

  Seguin nodded and smiled at the compliment. “General, there are times I believe your diplomacy is wasted serving in the army. But what would you have us do about these men who leave?”

  Will stood and took from a satchel a set of papers for each board member. “I’m glad you asked. There are two things we should do sooner rather than later. On the first page, you’ll see an outline of the first proposal. I think we’d all agree that, apart from our employees, our greatest asset is our land. But it isn’t easily divisible. Our stock is how we represent the value of our company. My first proposal is we set aside a portion of our stock, which can be used to reward our hardworking employees for each year of service. When they retire, they can sell their shares to other employees, back to corporation or to whomever they wish. This will reward those employees who have many years of service and it also provides them the means to become better off. Farming is demanding work, and with us holding both the tools of production as well as the land, at the moment all of our employees have nothing for themselves, other than their wage. Giving each of them ownership in our company gives them another reason to stay with for us.”

  As the board members read the details of the proposal, Will launched into the second item. “On the third page, I have outlined another means to retain good workers. It can work in tandem with the first proposal or it could stand on its own merits. As Mr. Wynters has pointed out, not all our men are married, and have no family to care for them when they are too old to work. What I propose is that we create a separate company expressly for the purpose for providing our workers with a pension when they are too old to work, or for the widows of the men who die while working for us.”

  As Will finished, silence descended upon the room, as everyone digested Will’s proposals. Erasmo Seguin was the first to speak. “General Travis, I can see how we could reward our employees with stock. We control the process for determining how many shares exist and how many could be created in any given year. It’s not to my own credit I have never thought of this before, as it has real merit. Your second idea perplexes me, though. How would you go about setting up a pension plan for a company? I have only heard of governments setting up pensions for war widows and old soldiers, and these have always been paid for with public moneys.”

  Will said, “I have in my mind a couple of different ways this can be done. The first is the simplest. Each employee can be given the opportunity to set aside from each month’s pay a certain amount of his wage. That amount is set aside and deposited into an account with this holding company. We’ll call this his pension account. We, as the employer, could encourage the employee’s participation by making an equal contribution into his pension account. This holding company, with contributions from the employees, invests the money into a bucket of investments. For instance, there are many corporations in the United States which sell their stock. This holding company pools the employees’ money together and buys such stocks as makes sense to own. Once the employee retires, he could then could take his money from his pension account and use it to live on.”

  Will looked around the room, and saw each member of the board looking back at him.

  “Good,” he thought.

  He still had their attention. It was about to get more complicated. “The weakness of this system is that there are no guarantees the employee’s account would be enough for his widow to live on. The second part of the pension plan addresses this. Each employee could be given something called an annuity. The value of the annuity would be derived from his own contributions, plus our contributions as the employer, the value accrued over his years of service and the ability of the holding company to manage the stocks in the investment pool.

  Don Garza said, “Isn’t that part of what an insurance company does?”

  Will nodded, “At its core, yes. Let me use an example to illustrate my point. Clayton, if I may, I’ll use you. He’s thirty years old now and let’s say, he works for another twenty-five years. Speaking hypothetically, maybe he makes a hundred dollars each month. Every month he invests five dollars into his annuity and we match that five dollars. Over the next twenty-five years, three thousand dollars is contributed to his annuity. The insurance company will maintain what’s called an actuarial table. This examines many factors which determines how long a man in Clayton’s condition will tarry on this mortal c
oil. For the purpose of this example, our hypothetical Wynters lingers on another fifteen years, arising to meet his maker at three score and ten years.”

  Wynters muttered, “From your lips to God’s years, General.” Everyone around the table laughed.

  Will smiled at the former soldier before continuing, “Mr. Hypothetical Wynters’ three thousand dollars has been invested by the holding company over the entire time and now has grown to more than four thousand dollars. It pays him a monthly payment of twenty dollars until he dies. It matters not if he lives another thirty years or five. The payments are guaranteed until he dies.”

  Wynters said, “What if I’m married, what will that do for my wife?”

  Will nodded, “I’m glad you caught that, Clayton. That’s one example of what you can do. If you’re married, you would probably opt for what we might call a joint survivor annuity. Simply put, it pays until both you and your wife have fled this life for glory. Because of a greater probability your wife will outlive you, the payments are somewhat less than if it were just for your own lifetime.”

  Will watched as the information he provided sank in. Slowly around the room the light dawned in each board member’s eyes. Garza said, “I see. This could be done in several different ways. An annuity pays out to the worker or his wife until both have died, while a pension creates an account which could pass on to the worker’s estate.”

  Will said, “Yes, that’s correct.”

  The board discussed the merits of Will’s proposal throughout the day. When they adjourned for the day, they had passed a resolution to set up Texas’ first insurance company, Republic Annuity and Insurance Company of Texas. Additionally, they agreed to set aside fifty thousand dollars in the next year’s budget to fund it.

  Chapter 21

  The day after leaving West Liberty, Will and Charlie arrived at the Trinity Gun Works. Will sat across from John Berry, who was the master gunsmith and owner of the works. Berry and his sons had been awarded the army contract to maintain and repair the Patterson Colt revolvers and the Halls Carbines three years before. What began as a modest contract, the work of which was done between custom rifles projects, now accounted for nearly all the production of the Trinity Gun Works. Since awarding the contract in 1837, five hundred pistols and three thousand carbines had been purchased for use by both the army and the national guard, all of which had cycled through the repair shop. In keeping with the terms of licensing with the Patterson Arms Manufacturing, Berry was limited to building replacement parts for the pistol. A similar arrangement with the United States Armory and Arsenal at Harpers Ferry allowed Berry to manufacture replacement parts for the carbine.