by Drew McGunn
Potter jeered at Will, “Pretty words from a newborn abolitionist.”
Will jabbed his finger in the Southerner’s direction, “Potter, I have earned the right to change my views when I helped to protect you and your rights on the Rio Grande and the Nueces. What the hell have you done for Texas? You lounge about and reap the reward that others have earned, growing fat and lazy on other men’s labor.”
Will was beyond any sense of caring and was ready to beat the other man into a bloody pulp when Potter hurried around the end of his table and, standing in the middle of the nave, cried, “You insult me, you yellow pup. If it weren’t for Colonel Crockett, Santa Anna would be dancing on your grave!”
Will slid across the table and took two steps toward Potter, swinging his fist at the other man’s nose. Potter’s head snapped back as he fell against a table, blood running from his nose. As the president of the convention, Burnet allowed things to go too far; he pounded his gavel on the table, shouting. “Order!”
Potter turned toward the other Southerners, a look of triumph shining in his eyes. “I have been insulted and struck. I demand satisfaction!”
President Burnet repeatedly slammed the gavel, “Order! Sir, Order! Potter you’re out of order. And Colonel Travis, striking another delegate! You’re out of order and sit, before I find you in contempt of the convention!”
Realizing his temper had gotten the better of him, Will immediately returned to his seat beside Crockett and in a low voice asked, “David, What I have done?”
Crockett shook his head, “Buck, if you’re going to hit someone, hit ‘em hard enough they go down and don’t get back up. Bob Potter has gone and challenged you to a duel.”
Will gulped. This wasn’t how he imagined the day going. He knew better than to let his temper get the better of him. “How do I get out of this?”
“If you’re of a mind to do so, go apologize for striking him.”
Will began to stand, only to have Crockett push him back into his seat. “I said, if you’re of a mind to do so, Buck. But before you go and do that, you need to think through what happens next if you do. First, your standing in the convention will suffer. Oh, I know it ain’t right, and it may not make a lick of sense, but most of these Southern boys, they’d rather tar and feather you as an abolitionist than as a coward, and I’m afraid if you apologize, it will damage your reputation. It could even cost you your position in the army, so before you get in a mind to go apologize, consider the cost.”
Will swore under his breath and replied in a voice as low as Crockett’s, “Will you be my second, David?” It struck him as entirely too bizarre, to risk permanent disfigurement or death over a perceived slight of honor. “But I did nearly manage to break his nose.” Will thought with momentary satisfaction.
On each table in the Church’s nave, there was a small stack of paper. Will took a sheet, and inked a pen and hurriedly wrote across the paper, “Accepted. As the challenged, by rights I choose the saber as the weapons.”
He quickly folded the sheet and gave it to David. “If I recall correctly, as my second, you’ll arrange the details?”
Crockett opened the letter and read Will’s note. He raised his eyebrows when he reached the line about sabers. He closed the letter and leaned in. “I’ll give him the note. But what the hell are you thinking about Sabers. He may insist on pistols. I know, he challenged you and by rights, it’s your prerogative to choose weapons, but most of our august body would view it favorably if he requests pistols for you to agree.”
Will shrugged in response. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He had taken a semester of fencing in college, and fancied himself halfway competent back in the day. But since finding himself in Travis’ body, he found a certain enjoyment practicing sword drills with Juan Seguin, and he felt confident between the techniques learned in college and the recent practice he had an advantage over Potter.
Crockett rose from his chair and ambled over to Potter’s table where he leaned in and in a whisper traded words with the hot-tempered North Carolinian. A moment later he handed the note to William Menefee, originally of Tennessee, who Potter had chosen as his second.
After Crockett returned to his seat, Will eyed the two men at the table, as Menefee opened the note. He raised his eyebrows as he arrived at the note’s end. He handed the note to Potter, who read it. When he read Will’s weapon selection he raised his head and looked over to Will with a perplexed look. Will smiled, baring his teeth, daring the man to question his choice of weapons.
The matter temporarily settled, the many eyes which switched from watching Potter one moment to Will another, eventually focusing their attention back on the current debate, as though there was nothing more interesting than discussing the ways and means by which a slave owner could free his property. At one point, the parish priest came in and lit the lamps along the walls, at twilight. As the evening grew late, and consensus proved elusive, Menefee, as Potter’s second passed a note to Crockett, who read it and handed it to Will.
Let the matter be settled tomorrow morning at nine sharp. Should I win, you withdraw your opposition. Should you win, I will drop my petition. Robert Potter
Will nodded, and Potter stood and upon recognition by Burnet, said, “Let us end our debate tonight regarding my proposal, and reconvene tomorrow at noon, where a vote shall be taken.”
Will seconded the motion. Given the recalcitrance by the Southerners throughout the evening’s debate, Will worried the only option left to him was to kill Potter.
***
The sun was well into a cloudless sky when a few minutes before nine, Will and Crockett walked out of the Alamo gate, heading toward the site Crockett and Menefee had selected the previous night. The duel would take place a few hundred yards west of the fort on the east bank of the San Antonio River.
A footbridge lay across the acequia running along the western wall. Scrub brush and plants grew along the narrow banks, and the scent of honeysuckle was heavy in the April air as the two men walked through knee-high green grass. Will breathed in deeply, thinking this was simply too good a day to die.
James Grant, serving in his capacity as surgeon, was already in place, a long trundle table set up next to where he stood. In the distance, Will could see Potter and Menefee riding over the bridge across the San Antonio River. Both parties arrived on the field of honor at the same time. Will desperately wanted to tell Potter this was simply a misunderstanding. He wasn’t afraid to fight. Will’s entire adult life proved that, but a duel seemed stupid. Crockett had reminded him he wasn’t simply fighting to determine the rights to free one’s slave but also to avoid any taint of cowardice.
Will knew his heart, and the fear he felt, while not the voice of an old friend, was one he had grown use to long before he displaced Travis. He’d learned to live with fear in the desert sands of Iraq. Crockett and Menefee approached the table and examined the sabers. To avoid giving Will an apparent advantage, Will’s own saber remained in his office. The two weapons had been provided by Erasmo Seguin.
Will looked back at the wall of the Alamo and saw Juan Seguin standing atop the wall, along with several hundred other soldiers, watching as rules for the duel were settled between the two men’s seconds. It was too late to order them to their duties. He realized it wouldn’t matter anyway, as the eastern bank of the river was lined with people from town, who came to watch.
While he tried to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand, Will overheard Crockett talking with Menefee at the weapons table. “Bill, are you sure your man won’t consider retracting the challenge?”
Menefee shook his head, “Not going to happen, David. Bob’s mighty riled. Your man shouldn’t have struck him. It was intemperate. Bob demands satisfaction. Until one or the other is unable to continue.”
Crockett pursed his lips and nodded, returning to Will’s side. “I guess you heard it all?”
With an economy of motion, Will nodded once. “Let’s do it.”
Crockett placed his hand on Will’s chest. “Just one second, Buck. I got a feeling Bob’s not interested just drawing blood, I suspect he’ll try to kill you.”
Will barked a harsh laugh. “That’ll make two of us, then.”
Silk sashes had been laid across the ground where Will and Potter stood ten feet apart. Will held the saber in his hand. Its balance was very similar to his. He observed his opponent and saw Potter held the saber correctly in his right hand.
Menefee spoke quietly, but in the still morning it echoed in Will’s ear like a gunshot. “Begin!”
The two duelers stepped across their lines at the same time. Will held his weapon at the ready, advancing on Potter. With less polish, his opponent sprang forward, blade outstretched. With his right side facing Will, Potter shuffled his feet forward, rapidly closing the distance. Will twisted his saber, parrying. He stepped to his right, as Potter continued forward.
As Potter turned around, Will lunged, attempting to skewer him. Potter backpedaled. The tip of the blade grazed his vest with no visible result. Retreating a step, Will returned to his en garde position. Potter fingered the vest where he found a tiny rip. His face grew florid and he pursued Will across the grass, swinging the saber in tightly controlled arcs. Will retreated, parrying each swipe, watching his opponent’s eyes as they blazed in anger, looking for his opportunity.
Having fallen back a dozen paces, Will twirled to his left, swatting Potter’s weapon aside. He sank back into his defensive position, waiting to see Potter’s next move. The other man whirled around, and stormed toward him. Rather than retreat, Will brought his saber up, as the blades clanged together, and he pressed forward, pushing Potter’s blade back. Potter’s face, distorted with rage was only inches away. Will ground out, “Yield!”
Potter tried forcing the blade away and spat back, “Never, you damned nigger lover!”
Enough was enough, Will thought, as he pushed forward with his blade, forcing Potter to step back. Potter attempted to parry the coming lunge, only to find Will had feinted. Turning his lunge into a powerful slash, his blade slammed into Potter’s just above the pommel. The saber sailed out of Potter’s stunned fingers, landing in a patch of lush, green grass.
While his opponent registered the loss of his saber, Will nicked Potter’s arm, drawing blood. Disarmed and bleeding, Potter’s eyes blazed in anger for a moment, as he stared into Will’s eyes. With a subtle glance towards his second, Potter diverted his eyes and placed his hand over his injured arm and quietly said, “I yield.”
Will wanted to hate Potter, as his opponent stood on the field, disarmed, holding his right hand over a cut on his left arm, where blood oozed through his fingers, dripping to the ground. But the other man, now composed, returned his stare, unflinching. Gritting his teeth, the other man said, “You have bested me, Colonel Travis. For now. As agreed, I will withdraw my petition.”
Will smiled widely, as he heard cheering coming from the walls of the Alamo. His soldiers lustily shouted his name, “Travis! Travis!”
The Bexarenos on the east bank of the river were also cheering. It appeared that everyone loves a winner. As Will laid the weapon back on the table, Crockett patted him on the back and said, “Nicely done, Buck.”
Will grinned. “Are you going to remind me I’m mortal, David?”
Chuckling, Crockett shook his head. “Lordy, I hope you don’t need me to remind you of that. But I would suggest you get used to having enemies. You won today, but Potter’s not going anywhere. Today it was swords, but look to your safety, Buck. Who knows what he’ll bring next time.”
***
When the convention reconvened in the afternoon, following lunch, Robert Potter, with his left arm wrapped and in a sling, withdrew his petition. But if Will had hoped that the day would take the deliberations in a more amiable direction, he was wrong.
Thomas Rusk stood and upon recognition by President Burnet, said, “In an effort to provide an orderly set of provisions by which citizenship shall be conferred, I would like to enter into record the attached general provision.” He walked up to Burnet’s table and gave him the proposed provision.
Rusk returned to his table and read it aloud, “All persons, excepting Africans, the descendants of Africans, and Indians, who were residing in Texas on the day of the declaration of independence shall be considered citizens of the republic and entitled to all the privileges of such. All citizens now living in Texas who have not received their portion of land in like manner as colonists shall be entitled to their land in the following proportion and manner: Every head of a family shall be entitled to one league and labor of land; and every single man of the age of seventeen and upward shall be entitled to the third part of one league of land. All citizens who may have, previously to the adoption of this constitution, received their league of land as heads of families, and their quarter of a league as single persons, shall receive such additional quantity as will make the quantity of land received by them equal to one league and labor, and one-third of a league, unless by bargain, sale, or exchange they have transferred, or may henceforth transfer, their right to said land, or a portion thereof, to some other citizen of the republic; and in such case, the person to whom such right shall have been transferred shall be entitled to the same as fully and amply as the persons asking the transfer might or could have been. No alien shall hold land in Texas except by titles emanating directly from the government of this republic. But if any citizen of this republic should die intestate or otherwise his children or heirs shall inherit his estate, and aliens shall have a reasonable time to take possession of and dispose of the same, in a manner hereafter to be pointed out by law. Orphan children whose parents were entitled to land under the colonization laws of Mexico and who now reside in the republic shall be entitled to all the rights of which their parents were possessed at the time of their death. The citizens of the republic shall not be compelled to reside on the land, but shall have their lines plainly marked.”
Will felt a heavy hand resting on his shoulder and turned and saw Crockett, wearing a deep frown, shaking his head slightly at him. After the intensity of the previous day, Will was inclined to heed Crockett’s unspoken advice, for the time being. Will then saw Sam Houston, who was standing next to his friend, Chief Bowles, wearing a stormy expression. Once Burnet acknowledged him, he said, “I move that the word ‘Indians’ be stricken from the provision.”
The room erupted into turmoil as several of Rusk’s allies booed Houston. President Burnet, clearly frustrated, gaveled the delegates to silence. Bowing slightly to Burnet, Houston continued, “I allow that, at the moment, a state of war exists between us and the Comanche, but no such conflict exists between us and our Cherokee neighbors. We have been given an opportunity by a merciful Providence to do the right thing and correct one of the few things that Andy Jackson got wrong.”
While there were glares from some of the men sitting amid the bloc of Southern-born delegates, there were many thoughtful faces around the room. Houston continued, “Not only should we grant them their land in the treaty recently negotiated, but we should extend citizenship to those in the civilized tribes, like the Cherokee, who swear allegiance to the ideals of the Republic and our constitution.”
Several men rose in quick succession, speaking both for and against Houston’s amendment to Rusk’s provision. An idea sparked into Will’s mind and he stood as the last speaker finished. Burnet looked at him and said, “Colonel, you’re not going to incite any more violence this afternoon, I hope.” Will wasn’t certain how to take it, until he saw a glimmer of a smile on Burnet’s normally dour face.
Will smiled wryly and replied, “No, Mr. President.” As he weighed his words, he had always thought the reservations were a terrible injustice, wondering what the US might have looked like had the country been willing to integrate the American Indians into the melting pot which he thought defined the country. “My fellow Texians, I agree with General Houston that any member of the civilized tribes, l
ike the Cherokee, who reside in Texas should have citizenship bestowed upon them, upon meeting the requirements he proposed. I differ with him in one respect. Our American tradition rightly has always prized the right of any man to own his own homestead. It is a cardinal principal of common law we hold dear. While I would happily yield my understanding to Chief Bowles, as I understand it, the Cherokee have a somewhat different appreciation of land ownership. I believe that view, when it has come into conflict with ours, has invariably left the Cherokees as the beggars in the relationship. Rather than deeding land to the tribe, by treaty, I propose that any Cherokee brave currently living in Texas today, be allocated six hundred forty acres of land in the area wherein they currently reside, deeded to them individually, just as legally binding as the deeds to our own lands.” Will stopped there, figuring that the other delegates didn’t need to hear his melting pot theories.
Like the previous day, this session ran late into the evening. More amendments to the original provision were proposed and most of the delegates spoke for or against the various amendments. When the convention voted on the proposal, they voted that Indians would be allowed citizenship if their tribe agreed to individual ownership of property, and if the tribes divested any communal ownership to the individual members.
Also removed from the original provision was the term, “descendants of Africans.” A clear majority of the delegates adamantly insisted the constitution include no language restricting the ownership of slaves. But, apart from a plurality of delegates from the American South, there was no consensus on what percentage of blood made one of African descent. On that issue, the only consensus the delegates found was leaving that for a future congress to decide.
Chapter 17
Winter died with a whimper, and spring seemed to be on life support, Will thought as he sat in the same chair, at the same table as he had for the better part of three weeks. The nave of the church was muggy and warm as the mid-April afternoon waned. Will’s tenure in the convention, he knew, had been filled with contention as he worked to mitigate the worst excesses of his fellow Southerners. As he stood, he felt like he had a large target affixed to his chest as President Burnet recognized him, “My fellow delegates, I would like to submit the following general provision for consideration.” Will took a loose piece of paper and placed it in front of Burnet, as dozens of men had done over the preceding weeks.