Michener, James A. (79 page)
Read Michener, James A. Online
Authors: Texas
These last remarks were not well received by the patriots gathered to honor the Texan victory, because every anglo in the audience, and the audience was ninety-nine percent anglo, believed that the questions Garza raised had been settled, so I felt it incumbent upon me as chairman to come to Garza's defense. 'We wanted a Hispanic spokesman on our Task Force, and as you can see, we got a good one.' Two people clapped. 'Every battle has aftermaths, both for the victor and for the loser. Professor Garza has identified some of those which still perplex our state, and now we will accept questions or statements from the audience.'
To my disappointment, the first man to rise was not one of the local experts; he was a belligerent rancher from South Texas, who got us off to a miserable start: 'If Professor Garza don't like how we handled affairs after San Jacinto, why don't he go back to Mexico where he come from?'
I pointed out that since Garza's family had lived in Texas for a much longer time than any other family represented this day, Texas was where he came from, but that did not satisfy the protester: if he's Mexican, he accepts the rules we lay down. San Jacinto settled that.'
Eagerly 1 searched the audience for a more gracious speaker, and my eye lit upon a woman who had written two small books about the San Jacinto area, and she asked: if Mexican troops defeated us four times and we defeated them only once, why was San Jacinto so determinative?' and Quimper had a prompt answer: 'Ma'am, quite often it depends on timin' . . . and luck. When we won at San Jacinto, Santa Anna was far from home base and gettin' worried. Psychology, ma'am, sometimes it turns the tables.'
A Houston oilman, a friend of Rusk's, had for some years supported scholars working in early Texas history, and wanted to know: 'Was this battle as important as you claim?' and Ransom responded: i admitted in my opening remarks that great historical currents were already under way which might have carried part of Mexico into our orbit, whether we won here at San Jacinto or not, but the magnitude of those currents and their ultimate significance were intensified by our victory. It caught the imagination of the American people. It showed a light in the darkness. It stimulated the later concept of Manifest Destiny. It made conquest to the Pacific inevitable. Important, Tom? It was far more important than I stated. It was the major gift of Texas to the United States. It awakened patriotism . . . and the idea that we Americans had a duty, a responsibility, to bring democracy to the entire continent.'
Tom persisted: 'I was taught that those things came as a result of the Mexican War in 18 and 46.'
'They did,' Rusk agreed, almost eagerly. 'But remember the irresistible sequence. The Alamo led to San Jacinto. San Jacinto led to a free republic. The free republic led to 1846. And 1846 led to the United States boundaries as we know them today. And never forget, Tom, it all started with a handful of the bravest men this land ever produced, who said at the Alamo: "We will die rather than surrender our freedom." ' He paused. 'They said it, Tom, and they did it.' The crowd roared its approval, and Rusk added: That may still be our major gift. Courage. Optimism.'
Another woman asked: 'Why do you men always claim it was only men who made the difference?' and Quimper replied: 'Because in battle, ma'am, it's the men who do the job,' but Miss Cobb interrupted: 'That's a cogent question, madam, and in my book our Mr. Quimper's other ancestor, Mattie Quimper, who seems to have done most of the work, who kept her family afloat when her husband was away, and who finally destroyed her ferry and burned her inn to keep them from the Mexicans, was a greater Texas hero than her son, Yancey, who captured Santa Anna when the battle had already ended.' Several women applauded, and after acknowledging their support, Miss Cobb resumed: 'Texas has al-
ways underrated its women and I suppose it always will. Therefore, we must, when it's appropriate, remind our men, as you have just done, madam, that we, too, helped build this state.'
Quimper leaped to his feet: 'Let me tell you! I'm just as proud of Mattie Quimper as I am of her heroic son Yancey.' The women applauded this generous concession.
After twenty minutes of similar statements, a thoughtful man rose and said: 'I'd like to return to that first question. "What patterns will the anglos and the Mexicans devise for sharing our state?" And I'd like you to answer, Mr. Chairman.'
I spent nearly a minute with my hands folded over my chin, for I realized that this meeting would be the first to be widely reported and I did not wish to damage our Task Force before it was well launched. I wanted to say exactly the right thing, so facing the two television cameras, I spoke carefully: 'I could well be the only person in this hall whose ancestor fought in the Alamo. Moses Barlow marched from Gonzales to die there. So I've had to contemplate your question many times, sir, and I've concluded that no heavier cloud threatens our state than our reluctance to define the future relationship between the so-called Mexican and the anglo. This uncertainty keeps us fragmented into unwarranted cells, and I see no solution to this ugly estrangement.
This morning we've heard two conflicting views. "Critical battles settle everything" or "They settle very little." The truth is that a successful battle can sometimes establish general direction for several decades, but basic, long-term results evolve slowly . . . inevitably . . . remorselessly. San Jacinto determined that Texas would be ruled in the immediate future by anglos and not Mexicans. But the long-term relationship between the two groups is far from settled.'
'Are you saying that the Mexicans might ultimately take over . . . ?'
'Not at all. What I'm saying is that Appomattox determined that the North would establish the rules for our Union ... for the next hundred years. The North would set the freight rates so damaging to the South. The North would determine the tariffs that made it so rich and kept the South so poor. The North would determine everything, it seemed, and would do so perpetually. But look at the situation today. Where is the power flowing? Always to the South. Where are the seats in Congress coming? To Texas and Florida. Where would you like to live if you were young and active and hopeful? Vermont? Or the Sun Belt?' The audience cheered.
'Battles can be terribly important. Thank God, we won and not
Hitler. I'm glad that in the Far East we decided things, not Japan. No man on this earth ever fought a more just war than Chester Nimitz of Texas did in the Pacific in 1943.' This brought more cheers. 'But look at Europe and the Pacific today. The losers in battle are the victors in peace, while the victors seem to be losing. And that's because it is not the climactic battle but the slow, inexorable force of history that determines the future.'
We had discussed these historical truths for some time when a wiry man in his sixties rose, caught my eye, and then made a statement so startling that few who heard it could believe: Tm proud to be here today, in the presence of Lorenzo Quimper. My grandfather fought beside Yancey Quimper on this field in 1836.'
'Did you say your grandfather?'
'I did. I'm Norman Robbins, born 1922. My father was Sam Robbins, born in these parts in 1879. His father was Jared Robbins, born in 1820, aged sixteen at the battle.'
'That's right,' a woman who specialized in genealogies called from a back row. 'The two Robbins men married late.'
Suddenly Texas history became very real, and we looked in awe at a man whose family bridged so many great events. How young the state of Texas seemed at that moment! No one in Massachusetts had a grandfather who had fought at Concord Bridge, but Norman Robbins had heard from his father a firsthand account of the launching of Texas.
Miss Cobb snapped us out of our reveries: 'Let's go to the battleship for our punch,' and as we walked across the field we could almost hear the rifles firing, because the fighting seemed so recent.
Rusk, walking with his friend the Houston oilman, said: 'Our state contains hidden powers which manifest themselves in unexpected ways at unexpected times,' and he led us onto, the Texas.
■^bH
VII
THE TEXIANS
Washington—
onthe-Brazos
THE TEXIANS
w
■ ■
HEN THE SOVEREIGN NATION OF TEXAS, STANDING COMpletely alone and allied to no one, inaugurated Sam Houston as its first elected president, Otto Macnab was fourteen. Thus he and the new republic would grow up together, and the major problem of each would be the same—to find a home: Otto, one in which to attain that love and security he had sought since first seeing those lights shining across the Ohio River; Texas, a secure place within the family of nations.
It was a natural affiliation, Otto and Texas, because the two had much in common. Both were self-reliant, both tended to solve problems with the gun, both believed in simple, forward action rather than in philosophical speculation, both were suspicious of Mexicans and despised Indians, and both vaguely wanted to do the right thing. Most important, both entertained lofty aspirations they could not always voice or define. It would be a lively decade as these two matured.
The nation quickly found that conducting a successful revolution was relatively easy compared with organizing a stable society thereafter. Along a hard-drinking frontier it often seemed that the major problem was to find any official who was sober, President Houston being especially addicted to the bottle.
Nevertheless, the fledgling nation made a series of critical decisions which helped establish its permanent character. Fiercely republican and abhorring the dictatorial chaos witnessed while part of Mexico, it decreed that its president would be allowed to serve only three years and then be required to sit out a term before being eligible to run again. Clergymen were forbidden to serve in the legislature, and slavery was not only permitted but protected: 'No free Negro shall reside in Texas without consent of Congress.'
The basic attitudes of the nation could be summarized in a series of adjectives: individualistic, aggressive, volatile, rural, egalitarian insofar as white Anglo-Saxon Protestants were concerned, and often violent; but the overriding characteristic during these early years would be national poverty. Texas had the bad luck to start its history as a free nation just as financial panic paralyzed
the United States and slowed down transactions in Europe. With no solid economy on which to construct a currency and minimal trade on which to levy taxes, the poverty-stricken republic stumbled along, always on the verge of bankruptcy, and since the United States had no paper money or coinage to spare, Texas had to depend upon the most dubious banknotes issued by entities not much more solvent than it was. Currency issued by states like Mississippi and Arkansas circulated at fifty-percent discount, with only the more solid notes of New Orleans and Alabama retaining a value of a hundred cents to the dollar. Mexican money was good, but most prized of all were the notes of Great Britain and France. Even so, the rule among merchants was: if you take money in before eleven, pass it along to somebody else before five.'
Of course, Texas did try to float its own paper money, but the result was disastrous: issued at a hundred cents on the dollar, it was immediately discounted to eighty cents, then to sixty cents before it stabilized at about fifty cents. And that was the so-called 'solid dollar backed by collateral.'
But the nation did have one sovereign currency which kept it afloat: millions of acres of unassigned land, and it employed the most ingenious devices for turning this land into cash. It gave free acreage to anyone who had served in its armed forces. It lured residents of the United States with roseate promises. And it hired a firm of New Orleans speculators, Toby and Brother, to print and sell certificates entitling any purchaser to a spacious homestead. The history of Texas in these formative years was an account of how men without money used land to keep afloat.
In the social life of the republic there were subtle changes. People began dropping the name Texican; they became Texians. Spanish accents on some words were eliminated and names simplified, so that the old Bejar became Bexar; Bexar became San Antonio. The Rio Grande lost its accent, and all other rios lost not only their accent but also their Spanish designation; henceforth they would be rivers. The lovely word arroyo became creek. As if to symbolize the transition from Spanish lyricism to Kentucky realism, poetic family names like Trevino became Trevino for the anglos, and the music was lost.
To facilitate administration, counties had to be established, and in time almost all the heroes participating in the battles were honored by having counties named after them: Austin, Bonham, Bowie, Crockett, Fannin, Houston, Lamar, Rusk, Travis, and all but Travis also had towns named in their honor. To the delight of future schoolchildren, Deaf Smith's county would retain his full name.
The names of certain famous places also became enshrined as counties: Bexar, Goliad, Gonzales and Victoria, with San Jacinto following later. The first-named was awarded an area much larger than many European nations; from Bexar County, in decades to come, well over a hundred normal-sized counties would be carved.