Michener, James A. (107 page)

There will be no speeches,' Berninghaus assured us. 'I wanted you to imagine yourselves as Spanish immigrants coming here to settle, four hundred years ago. I wanted you to see the great empty Texas that they saw.'

On the trip back, following an unmarked trail through mountains and canyons, I noticed that Berninghaus maintained a sharp lookout, and finally he announced: 'If I remember correctly, it's in the next valley that our little cheerleaders climb the hillside,' and when we reached the crest from which we could look across to the opposite hill we saw a bewitching sight, for the entire hill from creek to crest was covered with something I could not identify.

'Look at them, the golden leaves at the bottom, the beautiful green at the top. And tell me what they are if they aren't a gaggle of girl cheerleaders in the stadium on a bright autumn day.'

From a distance, that's what they were, a host of girls in the green-and-gold of their team, scattered at random over a sloping field of some fifty acres, as jaunty a performance as nature provided.

'What are they?' one of the students asked, and Berninghaus said: 'Sotols. Dead leaves golden at the foot, new leaves green at the top. I feel better about life whenever I enter this valley.'

So for sixty miles along a forsaken road we picked our way toward Marfa, one of the choice cattle towns of the West, with a flawless courthouse. There we turned east, and when we reached the outskirts of Alpine, to which most of us now wanted to move, we saw our third sign:

U.N. OUT OF U.S. U.S. OUT OF TEXAS

A

S SOON AS IT WAS CONSONANT WITH HIS UNDERSTANDING

of military honor, Persifer Cobb resigned his commission in Vera Cruz, but when he submitted his papers to General Scott's aide, Brigadier Cavendish of Virginia, the latter tried to dissuade him: 'Colonel Cobb, since the days of Washington we've always had a Cobb among our leaders. We can't let you leave.'

'I will never again accept the humiliation I've had to suffer in this war. Deprived of a rightful command. Sentenced to work with those Texans.'

'Are you aware that we've sent your name up for promotion?'

'Too late.'

'You mean you won't accept it if it comes through?'

Cobb was polite but resolute: 'No, sir.' He thanked Cavendish for his concern and was about to leave when the brigadier pushed back his chair, rose, and took him by the arm: 'Perse, my dear friend . . .'

In the formal discussion it had been 'Colonel Cobb,' as was proper, and this sudden switch to the familiar unnerved Persifer, who mumbled 'Yes, sir' with the respect he always accorded superior rank.

'Could we walk, perhaps?'

'Of course, sir.'

In the public park that fronted the sun-blinded Gulf of Cam-peche the two officers stared for some moments at that bleak fortress out in the bay, San Juan de Ulua, where Mexican prisoners sentenced in Vera Cruz rotted in their dark dungeons. 'How would you like seven years in there?' Cavendish asked.

i have much different plans.'

'Then you won't change your mind? You're definitely leaving?'

i decided that two years ago ... at least.'

'And I understand your bitterness. But do you understand why we cannot lose you?'

'I can think of no reasons.'

'I can.' Very cautiously the Virginian looked about him, as if spies might have been planted even in this Mexican port city. Taking Cobb by the arm, he drew him closer and said in a con-

ARKANSAS

Caddo Lake

RED RIVER RAFT

IShreveport

MISSISSIPPI

Vicksburg

\ Birmingham

San Augustine \

atchitoches

'r '

&.

Natchez

TEXAS

a

ALA

spiratorial whisper: 'Many of us are looking ahead.' Then, fearing that Cobb was not alert enough to have caught the signal, he continued: 'We're on a collision course.'

'Meaning?'

'Two irresistible forces—South, North.'

'You think . . .'

'I see it in signs everywhere. I read it in the papers. Even my family hints when they write.'

is it that bad?'

'Worse. The North will never stop its aggressive pressure, and if it intensifies, as I'm sure it will, we'll have to leave the Union, and that means . . .'

Cobb had not interrupted. The brigadier had hesitated because as a loyal officer he was loath to utter the word, so Cobb said it for him: 'War?'

inevitable. And that's why it's important to keep in uniform. Because when the moment of decision comes . . .'

Cobb, reluctant to contemplate another war so soon after finishing one he had found so distasteful, tried to end the conversation, but Cavendish, having parted the veil that hid the future, kept it boldly open: 'Each man in uniform will have to decide. Men like

SOUTH CAROLINA

..Social Circle

Macon

Montgomery a,

BAMA

GEORGIA

Savannah'

>v

^

A T LA N T i C OCEAN

COTtOM TRAIL

me, we'll fight for the South till snow covers Richmond sixty feet deep. Stupid bullies like some we know, they'll stay with the North. I suppose men like Robert Lee will, too, out of some sense of loyalty to West Point. But really able men like Jefferson Davis, Braxton Bragg, Albert Sidney Johnston, they'll give their lives to defend Southern rights. And you must be with us.'

i'm still sending in my resignation,' Cobb said, and he returned to his quarters, where packing had to be completed before reporting to the waiting ship.

When he stepped ashore at New Orleans, a civilian, and saw the mountain of cotton bales ready for shipment to Liverpool, where world prices were set, he was eager to hurry back to his family plantation on Edisto Island and assume command of its cotton production. Prior to enrolling at the Point he had known a good deal about cotton, for the Cobb plantation had for many decades produced the best in the world: the famed Sea Island, with the longest fibers known and a black, shiny seed which could be easily picked clean even before the invention of the gin.

As soon as he had located a hotel and arranged for his journey northeast, he asked the way to the offices of a journal which his family had read since 1837 and to which cotton growers looked for

guidance. When he introduced himself to the editor of New Orleans Price Current, a scholar from Mississippi, he was warmly greeted: 'A Cobb from Edisto. Never expected to see one in my office. You are most welcome, sir.'

i'm returning home after military service and wanted to learn how things are going in the trade.'

'Never worse.'

'Do you mean it?'

The editor slid his yearly report across the desk, and before Cobb had finished the third paragraph he grasped the situation:

The commercial revolution which had prostrated credit in Great Britain, and which subsequently spread to nearly all parts of the Continent of Europe, and to the Indies, put a sudden check to our prosperous course . . A still more severe blow was given by the startling intelligence of a revolution in France, and the overthrow of the monarchy. This movement of the people in favor of popular rights rapidly spread to other countries of Europe, and in the tumultuous state of political affairs, commercial credit was completely overthrown and trade annihilated . . .

All this produced a more rapid depreciation in the price of cotton than we remember ever to have witnessed. At Liverpool sales were made at lower rates than were ever before known for American cotton . . Many English mills simply shut down, while others were compelled to resort to part-time working . . .

Cobb, feeling his mouth go dry, asked: 'How bad is it?' and the editor handed him the price report for Middling as sold at New Orleans: 'Here's how bad it is.'

As Cobb took the paper he asked: 'What do you figure it costs to raise and deliver a pound of cotton these days?' and the expert replied: 'With care, seven cents.' When Cobb saw the record he felt dizzy: 3 September 1847 r 12%^ and a modest profit; 26 November, after the first flood of bad news, IV24, right at the no-profit level; 28 April 1848, when Europe was falling apart, 6^, which meant a cash loss on each sale.

'Do you see any relief?' Cobb asked, and the editor pointed to his explanatory notes for this dismal year: