by James Haley
There was no tent, but they slept on their blankets beneath a tarpaulin, grateful in the chill of the morning to awaken to hot bread and coffee. “General’s compliments,” said the man who had been minding them. “Would you be so good and to stop and speak with him before you return to Bolivar?”
At different times Bliven and Sam walked out into the undergrowth beneath the pines to relieve themselves, and straightened their uniforms before returning to Houston’s tent. They found him taking his ease in a folding chair before it, and he rose at their approach. “Morning, boys. Did you sleep well?”
“Indeed, General, we did.” Bliven did not dare say that he had cast off his blanket in the middle of the night when he awakened in a sweat, and then again while still damp, with a chill. It was only six days back to Bolivar, and medicine, and he hoped it was not the opening of a prolonged siege.
Houston held out a folded paper to each of them. “I have here your commissions, given under my hand and personal seal. No one can call you pirates and have any legal standing for it.”
Unless, thought Bliven, we are all pirates in Santa Anna’s eyes, but he kept that to himself.
“Now, on your way back down to the coast, I wonder if you would stop in Nacogdoches long enough to hand some letters off to Captain Sterne, who has been such a leader in that community?”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam, “we’d be happy to.” Houston handed him a packet of letters tightly wrapped with string.
“And you, Captain Putnam, you have heard Mr. Bandy recruiting men into the service of Texas on the promise of liberal bounties of land.”
“I have, yes, sir. It has proven to be a most effective recruiting technique for him.”
Houston laughed, revealing large, square, cream-colored teeth, a couple of which were missing. “Captain, I understand that you are already a man of property in Connecticut, and we know that you are continued in the service of the United States service as you are seconded to this duty. That does not lessen, however, the boon that you are conferring on our country with your activity here, and you should know that you are also now entered on the rolls for land bounty.”
Bliven was taken aback. “That is generous of you. My thanks indeed.” He did not know whether, being in United States service, he was allowed to accept such an emolument, but for the moment he would consider it extra pay for the trouble and risk he was running.
“You can’t miss the Sterne’s house: it is the especially nice one on Bonita Creek, on the east edge of town. I believe Captain Sterne has returned; he was lately in New Orleans, where he raised two companies of volunteers and paid for their equipage out of his own pocket. He is a German, some years younger than ourselves, and a good man and a true friend to Texas.”
Sam tucked the letters in his pocket. “We will give him your best regards, General.”
“And to his wife, my godmother.”
“Sir?” asked Bliven. “I don’t understand. Would that not make her a bit old to be—”
Houston waved his question down lightly. “No, no, when I first came here four years ago, the only way to get land was to become a Catholic. Sterne was the town’s leading citizen and we were friends back in Tennessee, but he is also a Jew and was of no help in the realm of religion! His wife, however, is a good Catholic and stood as my godmother when I got sprinkled in their parlor.”
The morning was chill but not freezing, and they were ready for something hot to drink by the time they reentered Nacogdoches and arrived at the Sternes’ house. It was of the same form as Sam’s and most of the houses in Texas except larger, with clapboard siding and a wing that extended from the rear. They found a dozen men on the front gallery and in the yard before it, downing coffee and hot biscuits and jam as they discussed the momentous politics of the day.
“Ah, so you have come from General Houston,” said Sterne when they were presented to him. He was an ample man but not fat, with a round face, an open, frank expression, and wavy brown hair surrounding a perfectly round bald spot, giving him the look of a monk in an order.
“Yes, sir, he asked us to deliver these letters to you.”
“You wear uniforms, gentlemen, but not like our New Orleans Greys. What is your duty, will you say?”
“We are the beginnings of your navy, Captain Sterne,” said Sam. “We had to arrange some matters with Houston and now we are on our way down to the coast.”
“Ah, yes, we are familiar with Captain Hurd and the San Felipe. She is a brave little ship, and if you can assist Mr. Hurd it will be very well.”
Bliven smiled to himself. If this was all that even the involved citizens knew of their navy, so much the better for the Gonzales.
“Houston?” A young man of perhaps twenty spoke up. “That stinking-drunk Indian lover?”
“Gentlemen,” said Sterne, “I introduce you to my son, Charles, of whom I am not always extremely proud. Charles, Houston will be made commander of the armies that will fight the Mexicans.”
“Ssht,” he hissed. “Well, if he wants to help us throw off the damn Mexicans, that’s well enough, but I wouldn’t take orders from him, so he needn’t try it.”
“Young man, if you are in the army, you will take the orders of the officers over you or you will land in big trouble.” He waved his hands helplessly. “And you have said this in front of these other officers, so now none of them will have you!” The yard echoed with their laughing. “And I will tell you, my little Achilles, General Houston was shot to pieces in the service of his country when he was the same age you are, by God.”
“And you think that excuses his morals?”
“When we were young, he showed me the wounds in his shoulder, so that I could see the bones working out of them. I believe he drinks because he is in pain. The only thing I say about his character with women”—Sterne lowered his voice—“is that he is frank in admitting his shortcomings, unlike other men, who are hypocrites.”
Charles stalked away with an oath, but Sterne raised a finger after him. “And what is more,” he shouted, “Houston was shot while fighting Indians, my little hero! He was shot with bullets and an arrow, both. We shall see how you do when your time comes.” Sterne folded his arms across his chest as he watched his son disappear. “Gentlemen, I tell you the truth about a thing.” His accent was heavily German. “A rebellious son is a curse from the Almighty.”
The other men stood in quiet sympathy until Sam lightened the atmosphere. “Hell, is he the only one you got? I have two like that.”
When Sterne began to smile, the others laughed. His shoulders lifted and fell. “Then, my friend, you are cursed indeed.”
“I do not wish to speak out of turn,” said Bliven, “but we were just with Houston, and he was as sober as could be.”
“I have known him for many years,” said Sterne. “He befriended me when I was an itinerant peddler selling goods out of a wagon. I believe that reports of his wild nature are an exaggeration.”
“Still,” said a man who had not been introduced, “there is that wife back in Tennessee that he abandoned.”
“No, my friend.” Sterne pointed at him. “I will tell you a thing. Everyone believes that Houston left her to come raise trouble in Texas for Jackson. But I happen to know that it was she who left him, because she did not love him and was forced by her family to marry him!”
“Your pardon, gentlemen,” said Bliven. “We have a long trip ahead of us, and we must make haste.”
* * *
* * *
It was six days back to Bolivar, near Velasco, and it was the fourth night that they stayed in a well-appointed plantation, the only one that could afford them a bed in a guest room. Sam was awakened in the predawn by Bliven’s shaking, and upon lighting a candle found him pouring sweat.
Their saddle horses would not take to harness, so Sam obtained the loan of two draft animals. They made Bliven a pal
let in the bed of a wagon, and it was in this state that they arrived back at Sam’s Halcyon. While Dicey nursed him watchfully, Sam and his hand Silas rode down to Velasco. Sam went to find a doctor with quinine water, and Silas he dispatched to the beach to keep watch for the Gonzales and hail its boat as it crossed the bar. He also supplied Silas with a letter to show the men who would question him that he was there at the direction of his master. This siege of the malarial fever passed, and their reunion with the Gonzales was smoothly effected and attracted little attention, as they met their boat on the beach, not at the little dock in Velasco. March was nearing its end when they entered the harbor at Galveston and quickly located a new armory by its flag and sentries. Bliven found this letter waiting for him.
In Camp on the Colorado
at Burnham’s Ferry
March 18, 1836
Dear Sir:
If you are reading this it means you have reached Galveston, and have made contact with Lieut. Besanson, who is to receive the cache of arms lately taken by your ship.
And if you have touched upon Texas soil you have doubtless learned that contrary to expectations, General Santa Anna has made his invasion, sooner than expected, and you must have learned of the melancholy fate of the Alamo and the brave men who defended it, who were killed to the last man after a stout defense of the place that lasted thirteen days. With San Antone gone, that leaves only Colonel Fannin with perhaps four hundred men at Goliad, as the only fighting force in Texas besides the men under my command. I have ordered him to abandon Goliad, blow up the fortress, and join his force to mine so as to mount an effective defense, but he has not done it. Therefore, he must alone face General Urrea who landed at Cópano with Santa Anna’s Southern Army and is covering his right flank. If Fannin and Urrea meet, it must be a pointless and unnecessary sacrifice.
Since your visit to me near Nacogdoches, we have learned items of significance regarding Santa Anna’s plans for Texas that have not been widely disclosed. It is commonly believed that he has invaded our country for the purpose of punishing the guilty and restoring an order loyal to Mexico. So far from that being the case, he was overheard in frank conversation among diverse persons at a diplomatic reception as long ago as December, saying that his purpose when he should invade Texas, was to fortify the Sabine River boundary with the U. States, who as you may know recognize the Neches River as the true boundary. In so doing, it is his intention to sweep all American settlement from the country and repopulate it with Mexicans loyal to him, who will take possession of fifteen years of American improvements in redeeming a productive country from what had been a wilderness. This terrifying dispossession of thousands of innocent civilians, fleeing willy nilly on foot and in carts, has begun, and it is sickening to watch. The dictator now has divided his army into four columns, well separated, to make sure that no Americans are left behind.
In that December reception, Santa Anna made so bold as to use the exact language, that he meant to “run that boundary at the mouths of my cannon,” and teach old Andy Jackson to keep his people at home where they belong. This all was recently confirmed by intelligence from Washington itself, that the dictator’s Foreign Minister Señor Gorostiza avowed the same thing to Jackson’s very face. This was a costly error, for it put the Old Chief into a fearful temper.
Now, Captain, how this concerns you is just this: Santa Anna entered our country with artillery enough to reduce the fortress of the Alamo, but not nearly enough to fortify the three hundred miles of boundary with the U. States. We have intelligence in hand that Santa Anna is expecting a large shipment of heavy guns, powder, and ball, to be landed on our coast, and forwarded on to him by General Urrea. These guns doubtless will be used against me if the opportunity presents itself, before arming a picquet line of fortifications along this eastern boundary that they claim. This intelligence is enforced by the practical consideration that the huge amount of powder and ball that they expended in the protracted siege of the Alamo must be replenished from some source if their expedition is not to exhaust their ammunition.
I remind you once more that the port of Cópano is in the enemy’s power, and that is the likeliest place where such matériel would be landed. It is also possible that as I draw Santa Anna eastward, the guns may be landed at some other more easterly remote point on the coast, so as to have less distance overland to traverse. I judge this unlikely, for the ship would have no knowledge of Santa Anna’s location after she leaves port, whereas Cópano is safely in their hands and Urrea is in close communication with his Master.
Therefore I urge you, Captain, to direct your operation to the southern reaches of our coast, and intercept all the vessels incoming to that place. You may achieve an inestimable good for your country, and they are powerless to stop you.
As for me, I am safe for the time being, Santa Anna plays the cat and I am the mouse. The Colorado is in flood. I have crossed, and burnt the ferry, and the ogre when he arrives will find that he cannot follow. There are those in my army who grumble daily that we should turn and fight, and that as I lead them in endless retreat I am no kind of man nor commander. They do not understand that if we fight we must not only win, but win every battle against four several armies of fresh soldiers. Their abuse is hard to bear, but all will be revealed in the fullness of time. Remember Fabius!
Godspeed and good hunting to you, Captain Putnam.
Yours with high consideration, &c., &c.,
Sam Houston
Commdr. in Chief
Bliven Putnam
Capt. Commdg Texas Warship Gonzales
Galveston
Bliven got the arsenal officer’s attention. “Lieutenant Besanson?”
“Captain?”
“How are your men doing with the unloading?”
“Five or six more trips in the lighter should suffice, I believe.”
“Good. Keep them at it, if you please. We must put to sea urgently, and I do not wish to miss the tide.”
Sam came down the board sidewalk and stood by him. “We are equally impatient to be gone, I think.”
“Yes.”
“But as long as we are stuck ashore, there is a matter that I would like to attend to, of a personal nature.”
“Of course. Can you take care of it in a couple of hours?”
“Actually, sir, it involves you. May we?” He pointed back up the sidewalk, and they walked slowly together.
Bliven found himself concerned. “What is it, Sam?”
“I believe we are both confident of a good outcome to what lies ahead, but the fortunes of war are fickle. Even in a victory, a stray bullet, or spark near powder, and disaster will befall our families.”
“It is possible, yes, although unlikely.”
“You are a gallant man, Bliv, but a cautious one as well. No doubt, you have undertaken all the legal steps to ensure that your wife and family will inherit smoothly if anything should happen to you.”
“Of course.”
“I am in a different case. You know the Mexican law here in Texas is different than back home. Women can inherit and own property here same as men.”
“But you’re having a revolution against Mexico.”
“Exactly my point. If we win the war, there is every chance that we will adopt American law, and—more to the point—the law of the Southern states. I want my property to go to Dicey and our children, but I cannot be sure that will happen. There are those here who oppose even having free blacks stay in the country.”
“I see. Look, here are chairs on the sidewalk. May we sit? I am not feeling well.”
“Of course. I am sorry.”
“What about your two sons with Rebecca?”
Sam turned to make himself comfortable in his chair. “I am sorry to say this, but after long thought I have to look the truth in the face and say that they are no good. They s
plit with me years ago and have no expectation.”
“So what is your answer?”
“I have my new will with me, that if Dicey and the boys cannot be freed, and be secure that their freedom will be recognized”—he hesitated—“I am leaving everything to you, on condition that you or an agent appointed by you will sell it all and use the money to get Dicey and the boys to Connecticut, where you can free her and no one will question it. Are we still friends enough that you would do that for me?”
“If we are on the same ship, we may die together. What then?”
“In that event my property will have become yours, which will go to your wife.” Sam chuckled quietly. “I do believe we can rely on your wife to be willing to free my slaves.”
“Ha! Yes, with Clarity that is a safe assumption. Very well, then, Sam, that is how we shall have it. But now, what about your other slaves, your field hands and so on?”
Sam shrugged. “It would probably be best to sell them along with the place. They don’t know anything but cotton. I doubt they could make their way at the North.”
“Well, if things do come to such a pass, and you do not come home, I do know people in the colored town in Boston who could help them find places. They may always be laborers, but they would be free.”
Sam reflected for a moment, then smiled. “You mean, you are thinking back to that chamberlain, or whatever he was, in the court at Algiers?”
“Jonah, yes. He died a few years ago, but he took the Putnam name for himself, and he spun together quite some little web of tradesmen who have helped Southern Negroes—forgive me, refugees—start to earn a living there. My wife and I are kindly regarded among them. I am sure they would help settle your people.”
“You have eased my mind more than I can say. My God, you look like hell. Let’s get you back aboard.”
“I would be grateful.”
