Texas was another matter. He’d been promised a league of land—4,428 acres—for serving in the revolutionary army. He’d forgotten that, too; the rebel army had been defeated, so it hadn’t been worth remembering. Now it came back to him, and he wondered if Mexico would make good on that promise. He thought of owning nearly forty-five hundred acres, and tried to figure just how long it would take to ride over them. Let’s see, he thought, a section is six hundred forty acres, and that’s a heap of land, a square mile. A league must be at least six sections. Imagine me owning all that. I’d be rich, at least in land.
When the horsemen rode on in the morning, Ellis and Isaac watched until they were out of sight. “Isaac,” Ellis said, “I was promised a league of land, nearly forty-five hundred acres, for fighting in the revolution. Let’s go to Texas and try to collect. If they won’t give it to me, we can go on to Austin’s colony and get land there.”
“I like it fine here,” Isaac replied, “but forty-five hundred acres!” He whistled. “Let’sdo it. But first you go back to White County this summer and collect what’s owed me. I’d go but for my rheumatism. Times are better now, and they should be able to pay, though they probably won’t admit it. Otherwise, I’ll never see my money, and we can use all you can pry loose from them.”
One morning that summer, Ellis kissed Candace goodbye and shook hands with Isaac, then rode off on his way to Tennessee. In his saddlebags was a letter from Isaac authorizing him to collect the debts. At Memphis he fell in with a distinguished-looking gentleman and his party, who were on their way to Columbia. His name, the man told him, was Sterling C. Robertson, and he lived in Nashville. Some of his friends had heard about a colony in Texas and were cuRíous. Did Ellis know anything about it?
Ellis told him about his experiences in Texas and the Mexican Revolution. “I’m on my way to White County to collect some debts for my father-in-law,” he added. “Then we’re all headin’ for Texas to get the land they promised me for serving in the revolutionary army. Tell your friends Texas is worth lookin’ into for sure.”
It took him three weeks to collect the money owned Isaac, but he refused to quit until he had it all, in cash, animals, guns, or tools. Then it took another week to sell or trade everything he didn’t want to keep or couldn’t take with him. By the time he left he had more than three hundred dollars in his saddlebags. Feeling satisfied with himself, he rode steadily, eager to get back and head for Texas.
When he finally reached the cabin and dismounted, Candace ran out to him. “What took you so long?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Collecting the money was like pulling teeth. I came as fast I could. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Papa. He’s so sick and I didn’t know what do.” The tears fell. Ellis put his arms around her and she pressed her head against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and hurried in to see Isaac, who lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. His face was gaunt, his breathing labored. He weakly held out his hand, and Ellis gently squeezed it.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Isaac said, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. Did you have any luck?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I got it all,” Ellis assured him. The sense of satisfaction he’d felt had left him. Isaac half-smiled and closed his eyes. He didn’t open them again. They buried him near the cabin, and Ellis rolled a big boulder from the creek for a headstone.
A few months later, in January 1823, Ellis hired two youths from the little settlement to herd the cattle and hogs, then loaded the wagon with all their possessions. Before he helped Candace and little Isaac into the wagon, they walked to the grave, and Ellis removed his battered hat. “Goodbye, old friend,” he said. “I wish you could have come with us.” Candace wept.
They traveled slowly south into Louisiana, and in February ferried the wagon and animals across the Red River at Natchitoches. “This is familiar country,” Ellis told Candace as the oxen plodded on to Gaines Ferry at the Sabine. “I don’t know why, but I’m as excited about getting back to Texas as I was comin’ here with Nolan. And I was just a kid then.”
They traveled on through the growing settlement at Ayish Bayou to Nacogdoches. Ellis pointed to the Old Stone Fort. “I was a prisoner there a long time ago,” he told Candace.
“That was after they killed Nolan.”
“I wonder you wanted to come back here,” she said.
Ellis found alcalde Luis Procela, a small, wrinkled old Tejano, in the cubbyhole that served as his office. “Señor,” he said, rising to his feet, “what can I do for you?”
“I served under Morelos in the revolution,” Ellis told him. “I was promised a league of land, and I’ve come to get it. What do I have to do?”
“All you need do is find some unclaimed land and have it surveyed. I’ll send in your papers, and after they verily your service, your title will eventually get here. Things move slow—we’re so far away they forget we exist, so it may take a year or two. But no one else can claim the land.”
“Any suggestions where to look?” Ellis asked. Procela’s wrinkled brow became all furrows.
“Almost anywhere to the south or west it’s mostly unclaimed,” he replied. “You might look out west toward the Neches, around Mound Prairie. No one has filed there, and the land is excellent. The Indians used to have cornfields there. People believe they built those mounds, but I wouldn’t know about that.” He gave Ellis directions. “It’s under thirty miles,” he added.
They saw the largest mound from several miles away across the prairie; it was oval-shaped and nearly thirty feet high. Nearby were two smaller mounds, and a mile and a half beyond them was the Neches. Lines of trees marked the courses of several streams that crossed the prairie to the river. Ellis was thrilled.
“What do you think, Candy? I only wish your father could have seen it. Look at the grass! ”
She wrinkled her tiny nose. “Except for those little piles of dirt, it’s kind of flat. Aren’t there any mountains out here? I’ve never lived where I couldn’t see mountains. It just doesn’t seem right.”
Ellis chuckled. “You’ll get used to it, and those mounds will look bigger each year.” He picked up Isaac, who stood beside Candace holding her hand, and they climbed the largest mound to gaze around. “Just look,” Ellis said. “About as far as you can see will all be ours: In the morning I’ll put the boys to cutting logs for the cabin, then go to town and arrange for a survey before someone beats us to it.”
With little to do but watch his livestock grow and increase, Ellis often spent two or three days at a time in Nacogdoches, getting accustomed to the feeling of being a big land owner. He followed events in Mexico as best he could, questioning newcomers who arrived almost daily and reading the newspapers they brought, no matter how old. The alcalde received reports and occasionally newspapers from Mexico City that officials in San Antonio sent with a courier every month or two. Even though the reports were several months old by the time they reached Nacogdoches, Ellis welcomed them. Much of the news was about Emperor Agustín Iturbide. When Ellis first heard that Mexico had an emperor, he spat in disgust. Morelos and the other martyrs hadn’t given their lives to take Mexico away from one king only to give it to another.
The news from Mexico made it clear that Iturbide wasn’t likely to last long, and Ellis found some satisfaction in that. Iturbide had quarrelled with the congress, then ordered it to disperse and replaced it with a junta of his own. After squandering huge sums on the coronation, his government had no money left to pay its generals, and they turned their backs on Iturbide. Seizing this opportunity, a disgruntled officer named Antonio López de Santa Anna had led an uprising against the Emperor, who abdicated in the spring of 1823. Good riddance, Ellis thought, recalling that Iturbide had badly defeated Morelos at Valladolid.
The following August, everyone was relieved when Stephen F. Austin finally returned to his colony after a year in Mexico City getting his empresarío co
ntract reconfirmed. The contract his father had received, having been made before Mexican independence, was no longer valid. Iturbide’s threadbare empire had passed a colonization law, but Austin was sure all imperial laws would be revoked, so he had to stay. Finally he appealed to the congress. Displaying its confidence in him, it reconfirmed his contract, then rescinded the imperial colonization law. The other men seeking empresarío grants would have to wait until the republican government enacted its own law. The same month that Austin returned, Candace gave birth to Louiza Jane.
Ellis and other Americans were elated when the Mexican Republic adopted a federal constitution in the fall of 1824. It was largely the work of the liberal priest, Miguel Ramos Arizpe, who had been guided in part by the outline of the U.S. Constitution Austin gave him, in part by the Spanish Constitution of 1812. Ellis was even more delighted to learn that the election had placed his companions of revolutionary days in power. Guadalupe Victoria was President, Nicolás Bravo was Vice President, and Mier y Terán was Minister of War and Navy. “If I ever need a favor from the government,” he told Candace, “I know where to go.”
Early the following year, the alcalde announced that the congress had combined Coahuila and Texas into the State of Coahuila y Texas—neither had sufficient population to qualify as a state. The capital was at Saltillo, hundreds of miles away, but Texas would be governed from San Antonio by a jefe politico, or political chief, José Antonio Saucedo.
The new Mexican constitution authorized the states to regulate immigration, except that no foreigners would be allowed to settle within thirty leagues of the border or coast. Coahuila y Texas adopted a state constitution in February 1825, and the state legislature quickly enacted a generous colonization law. Any family could acquire a league of grazing land and a labor (177 acres) of farm land, on its own or as a member of an empresario colony. Empresarios would receive five leagues and five labores for each one hundred families they introduced.
Immediately after the state colonization law was announced, a number of men hurried to Saltillo to apply for empresario grants. There was much talk about Austin and the others—empresarios were important men, colony builders who would soon own enormous tracts of land.
“I wish Papa was here,” Candace said wistfully one day. “He’d have made a wonderful empresario.” Ellis agreed, and that started him thinking. He’d felt rich owning nearly forty-five hundred acres of good land. If he were an empresario, what he had now would be a trifle, for he’d eventually own thousands upon thousands of acres, and men would speak of him in the same respectful tones they spoke of Austin. That thought made his head swim.
“With the friends I have in Mexico City,” he remarked one day, “I don’t see why I can’t get an empresario contract.” Candace stared at him in surprise, then frowned.
“Will you have to go there to get it?” she asked. He nodded.
“I’ll go this summer,” he said. She pursed her lips but made no reply.
Chapter Nine
Late that spring of 1825, Vidal Flores rode up to Ellis’ ranch accompanied by a tall, bearded Anglo in a buckskin jacket and homespun pants. Vidal, a slender, handsome Tejano with a neatly trimmed mustache, had settled with his family on a nearby grant. Both riders were in their early thirties. Ellis, who was splitting pine logs for firewood, looked up when his hounds bayed.
“Here’s a man who wants to talk to you,” Vidal called in English as they dismounted. Ellis wiped the sweat from his forehead, then swung his axe with one hand so the blade stuck in a log. He appeared glad for an excuse to stop.
“I reckon you caught me doin’ woman’s work,” he said, walking toward them. The Anglo in the buckskin jacket looked vaguely familiar, like someone he’d met years ago, but Ellis couldn’t place him.
“I’m Micajah McPherson,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m hopin’ you can tell me some news of Duncan.”
“Micajah! You were just a little feller when Dunc and I left for Natchez.” Ellis paused, his brow wrinkled. “Wish I had some news, but the last I knew Dunc was at Chihuahua, and that was about eighteen years ago. I heard they let all American prisoners leave in 1820. Maybe by then he’d got hitched and stayed put.” He told them about his year in Acapulco and serving with Morelos.
Micajah gazed around at the corrals, and at the cattle and horses grazing in the distance. “I like your place,” he said. “We’re goin’ to be neighbors, but Robert and William promised DeWitt they’d go to his colony, or they might have settled here too. Vidal and I are on the way to pick a spot for me right now.”
“How’d you two come to know each other?” Ellis asked.
“We were both with Gutiérrez in ’12. I knew from Lt. Pike’s report that Nolan’s men were in Chihuahua, and I had a silly notion that maybe I could rescue Dunc, so I joined the Gutiérrez-Magee army in the Neutral Ground. Damn near cost me my life; it would have but for Vidal.”
Candace came out of the cabin to see who the visitors were, and Ellis introduced her. After she returned to the cabin, he said, “I’m headin’ for Mexico City in a few weeks, and on the way I aim to visit Martin de León and Gutiérrez. Maybe one of them will know something about Duncan.” He followed them a short distance after they’d mounted. “I’ve got a wife in Mexico,” he said. “When the revolution died down I figured I’d never be able to go there again, so I hooked up with Candace. Now I’m goin’ after a commission in the army and an empresario contract.”
“Good luck”, Micajah said. ‘‘I hope you get both.”
Early in June Ellis kissed the solemn-faced Candace, who held Louiza Jane in her arms, then chucked his daughter under the chin and patted the wistful Isaac on the head. “I can’t say how long it will take,” he told Candace. “They take their sweet time, and if you try to hurry them they sit on their hands. But I’ll be back with the bacon one day. You can count on that.”
Candace brushed away a strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her face. “Don’t be any longer than you need to,” she said, her lips quivering. “It’ll be hard on us bein’ alone here.”
“Micajah and Vidal both said to call on them any time you need help,” he replied. “And they’ll check on you regular.” Picking up the lead rope of his pack mule, he mounted his mustang cowpony. “Wish me luck,” he said, and rode south, dragging the reluctant mule. A hundred yards away he turned and waved, then rode on without looking back again. Candace waved weakly, then her arm fell limply against her side.
Ellis rode among the scattered cabins at San Felipe hoping to see Stephen F. Austin, but the empresario was in San Antonio. When the alcalde learned that Ellis was on the way to Mexico City, he asked him for a favor. “While you’re takin’ care of your business,” he said, “try to get the government to give Dr. Long’s widow a pension. Long tried to free Texas, so it’s kind of like he fought for the revolution.”
“I’ve heard him called a filibuster,” Ellis replied, “but I’ll do what I can for her.” He knew that Dr. Long had led an expedition to Texas about the time Mexico became independent, but had been captured at La Bahia and taken to Mexico City. Right after he was released someone killed him.
Ellis rode on to Victoria, the capital of Martin de León’s colony, which had been settled mainly by families from Mexico. He found the affable León and introduced himself. “I was a colonel under Morelos,” he said, “and for that they gave me a league near Nacogdoches. I have a wife in Jalapa, if she’s still living, and I’m on my way to Mexico City to get my rank back and apply for an empresario contract. I figured you could give me some advice on how to go about it.”
León took off his straw hat and scratched his head. “Just say you’re a citizen with a Mexican wife and that you’ve established residence in Texas. Serving under Morelos should help, for some of his officers are in the government. They can’t give you a contract—you have to apply to Saltillo for that—but their support will certainly do you no harm. By the way, how long have you been in Texas?”
> Ellis gazed off in the distance as his mind roamed back over the years. “I first came here with Philip Nolan in 1800. After troops killed him, they held us at Nacogdoches and San Antonio for about six months. I came back a couple of years ago to claim my league.”
“You were with Nolan? That’s odd. One of my colonists was with him. You probably know him, name of McPherson.”
Ellis laughed. “Duncan McPherson? You bet I know him. We left Tennessee together. I lost touch with him when they took me to Acapulco. His brothers are in Texas now. Where can I find him?”
León pointed the way to Duncan’s hacienda; Ellis thanked him for his advice and rode there. He saw a fairly large adobe house and several small ones; beyond them were a stable, sheds, and two round pole corrals. He spotted a tall man in Mexican clothes and a high-peaked sombrero standing outside one of the corrals, his hands on the top rail and a booted foot on the bottom one. Ellis had to look twice to be sure the man was Duncan. Inside the corral two vaqueros with rawhide riatas were holding a struggling mustang. In the other corral were a few fine-looking Spanish horses.
Ellis rode up behind Duncan and dismounted. “Hey, Duncan!” he called. “Look who’s here!”
Duncan turned and stared at him in amazement. His jaw dropped and a com husk cigarette fell from his mouth. “Ellis! Is it really you?” They shook hands fiercely, both grinning with delight.
“You look like a real hacendado for sure,” Ellis said, staring at Duncan’s Mexican jacket and hat. ‘ ‘With your own vaqueros and everything.”
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