by Drew McGunn
Becky ran her finger along Will’s cheek, “If more wives did that then more husbands would recover faster. The president needs to rest if he’s sick.”
Will said, “I know. But the lack of news is troubling. I pray you’re right, and Emily is just trying to let Lorenzo recover. But if something happens, I worry.”
“Why?”
Will sat up and grabbed a nightshirt. The room was growing chilly, despite the fire burning in the hearth. As he slid the shirt over his head, he said, “I’ve never warmed to Richard Ellis. I know Lorenzo needed the vote of some of the planter types, but I don’t know if he’ll continue your father and Lorenzo’s policies.”
After putting her own nightgown on, Becky said, “You’re worried Richard will try to cozy up to the United States and get us annexed?”
“I married a smart girl,” Will said with a broad grin. “That could be a problem for us. I don’t think the Whigs will win the White House, not after eight years of Henry Clay. The Democrats will win in two years. And if we’ve got Ellis banging the drum for annexation here and the Democrats in Washington, that could destroy everything we’ve worked for.”
A short while later, Will heard even breathing next to him, signaling Becky was already asleep. The idea of Richard Ellis replacing Lorenzo de Zavala kept Will awake long into the night.
***
The glass panes rattled in the window frame as a cold, dry western wind blew through the nation’s capital. John Wharton ran his hand through his brown hair, brushing it out of his eyes. The past week had been one of the most stressful in his life. The death of Lorenzo de Zavala had caught everyone by surprise. Lorenzo’s wife, Emily, had kept her husband’s sudden illness private until his passing forced her to break the news.
Richard Ellis, who had been a nonentity in the Zavala administration, had been sworn in by Chief Justice John Birdsall a few days before. Now, a man who had been an outsider was the ultimate insider in Austin, and men who had relied upon their relationship with Zavala were plunged into uncertainty as they waited to find out what kind of executive Ellis would be.
Wharton ignored the papers on his desk as he swiveled his chair to look out the window. When the structure housing Texas’ state department had been built, he could still see the prairie from his desk. Now, construction blocked his view. More than just Austin had changed since 1841. He had first been appointed Secretary of State under David Crockett. When the formidable frontiersman resigned, Lorenzo had reappointed him to the post.
By any standard, as secretary of state, Wharton had been successful. Under his guidance, Texas had received recognition from France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Russia, Prussia, several other German principalities, and Great Britain.
He had established consulates in a dozen countries and negotiated trade agreements with most of Western Europe, all on a budget that had only inched over a hundred-fifty thousand dollars in the current budget year.
But now he was worried. Michel Menard, from Treasury, had left his office an hour before and he had been only slightly less livid leaving than when he had arrived. Menard had stormed in, saying, “That bastard is going to destroy everything we’ve built.”
When Wharton asked who he was talking about, Menard continued, “Richard Ellis wants to shut down the land bank.”
More than half the government’s revenue came from the land bank. The brainchild of Erasmo Seguin, the land bank extended credit to all new settlers who wanted to build farms or ranches. Nearly two million acres had been financed through the land bank, and millions more were possible over the next decade. All that money flowed into the Republic’s coffers. “What’s he thinking?” was all Wharton had managed to ask.
Menard, cheeks flushed with anger, said, “He wants to expand the number of plantations, and wants all available tracts in the east that are suitable to cotton sold directly to planters able to buy more than two hundred acres.”
Wharton had asked, “Won’t that still bring in revenue?”
“What it will do is hang out a sign to the thousands of European immigrants that Texas isn’t open for business anymore.”
Wharton had gone pale at the news. 1846 had been a record year for immigrants from Ireland, as the Island country was gripped by a famine made all the worse by Britain’s Irish policy. These people were flowing into the handful of manufacturing jobs available around Galveston Bay, but many times more of them were homesteading farms on the frontier, pushing the civilized part of Texas westward.
After Menard left, Wharton digested the news. If Ellis was interested in dismantling the land bank, what else was he going to try to change?
He turned away from the window when he heard the doorknob turn. His clerk poked his head in the doorway, “Sir, President Ellis has requested your presence.”
The Secretary of State for Texas reluctantly stood and grabbed his coat from a rack as he left. If Menard was correct, Ellis was changing direction, and it bode ill for men who had skillfully directed the last two presidents’ policies.
Despite taking less than five minutes to cross the street to the Capitol Building, it felt like the longest five minutes in his life. In less time than he would have liked, Wharton found himself sitting in a comfortable chair across from Richard Ellis.
“John, glad you were able to come for a visit.” Ellis’ smile was warm. A fellow Virginian by birth, like Wharton, he had been in Texas since before the revolution.
“I serve at your pleasure, Mr. President.”
“And a damned fine job you’ve done for my predecessors, John. Over the past couple of years, I have advised Lorenzo on some budgetary concerns. At times he has listened to me, and other times he’s followed his own counsel. In some ways, Texas is like a ship at sea, following a compass heading that is taking it toward dangerous shoals. We must chart a new direction and steer Texas away from the dangers ahead.”
Wharton stared back, impassively, saying nothing.
Ellis said, “I need you, John. The recent war with Mexico nearly destroyed our economy. For years, like David and Lorenzo, I thought we could chart a path wholly our own. But this war showed me the folly of our ways. We are balanced between the Yankees in Washington and John Bull in London, and a fractious, dangerous and unstable Mexico to our south. Safety for our people is my highest goal.”
Wharton broke his silence, “I thought our army, though small, is more than a match against Mexico. I was under the impression our people’s safety was protected.”
Ellis dismissively waved his hand, “Pure luck. Things could have been much worse. I want you to begin laying the groundwork with our friends in the United States for a closer relationship. I don’t think the Whigs can control the White House after the next election. Mark my words, by eighteen forty-nine, a Democrat will be president. When that happens, I want their first order of business to be the annexation of Texas. By joining our lone star to their constellation, we will gain strength and protection.”
Wharton sat, stunned by Ellis’ declaration. In his mind, he saw everything he had worked for going up in flames. “But, President, the Crockett doctrine has worked well for Texas for more than a decade now. Why change?”
Ellis’ eyes turned hard, “Hogwash, John. Every year, David and Lorenzo have moved the nation further away from our foundational institutions. A planter pays more taxes in Texas than he would in Alabama, and not by a small margin. My predecessors’ policies have done too little to encourage a strong cotton economy. We’re going to change that. By seeking union with the United States, we’ll open up our public lands to even more cotton production and a flood of immigrants will come from the right sort of places.”
Wharton had heard enough. He rose to his feet. “I think you’ll need to find another man for the job, Mr. President. You’ll have my resignation on your desk before the sun sets today!”
Without waiting for Ellis’ response, Wharton was out the door and racing down the stairs. He didn’t stop until he was standing in the middle of Congr
ess Avenue. Out of breath, and out of a job for the first time in years, he didn’t know what he would do next. He stepped out of the way of a freight wagon and looked around. Down the street from the Department of State, he saw the Commodities Bureau. If anyone knew what to do about Ellis’ radical changes, it would be Erasmo Seguin.
***
A red cord separated the gallery from the chamber of the House of Representatives. A few dozen chairs were available for the public to use in the gallery, where they could watch the House conduct the People’s business. A few wives watched their husbands, and a couple of men waited for legislation to be introduced affecting their own interests.
In a way, Wharton was there for the same reason. He was focused on one Congressman, with whom he traded looks as the morning wore on. These were the last few days Congress would be in session before taking off for Christmas. He heard the chair next to his scrape the floor and turned as Erasmo Seguin sat. The elder Seguin was showing his age. His black hair had given way to a mane of white, and the wrinkles on his face were more profound and the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced.
“Has Francisco spoken yet?”
Wharton pointed to the man with whom he’d been trading looks, “He was waiting for you.”
The man about whom Wharton was whispering, rose and approached the Speaker of the House. He handed a sheaf of papers to him and waited.
The Speaker turned the pages, skimming as he flipped. “The chair recognizes Congressman Ruiz of Bexar.”
Francisco Ruiz, a long-time friend of Juan Seguin, Erasmo’s son, and an ardent supporter of Texas independence turned and faced his colleagues. In a voice with a lilting Tejano accent, Ruiz said, “I want to thank President Ellis for recognizing the republic’s debt of gratitude to his predecessor. It’s entirely appropriate to have a suitable period of mourning for one of such stature.”
Continuing, Ruiz gripped the podium. “However, I am astounded by our new president’s actions that undermine the gains Presidents Crockett and Zavala have won in the name of Texas liberty. I’m not telling tales out of school, everyone here knows of Secretary Wharton’s resignation because he was instructed to bend every diplomatic resource toward annexation.”
From the chamber, an anonymous voice called out, “If you’re speechless then I’m a ring-tailed panther.”
The chamber erupted into laughter as Ruiz raised his hand in mock surrender. “Fair enough. Then I will use my voice to champion the people’s business. Unlike the Senate, the House of Representatives is often referred to as the People’s House. Let it be said it’s because we are often about the people’s business. The president tells us that we should surrender our autonomy and seek annexation to the United States. I know my constituents in San Antonio, and this isn’t something they would consent to without the voice of all Texians being heard.
“It is because of this, that I have offered up an act requiring a plebiscite of all voters in the republic to express their view on annexation. Should this act pass, the referendum will be binding on the government. If the people are willing that we surrender our independence then so be it. But if the people vote for continued independence, then this new administration will set aside talk of annexation and work to make our republic more secure and prosperous.
“Let the congressional record show that our Republic has been independent for nearly a decade. During that time, we have won every conflict we have had between ourselves and our opponents. Recently we forced Mexico to surrender her vacant northern territory. Before that, we bent the Comanche to our will, forcing them north of the Red River. We are secure within our borders. Our navy is second only to the United States in the western hemisphere.”
Wharton resisted the urge to shake his head. The British squadron in the Caribbean was far more powerful than Texas’ small navy. But of the countries wholly situated in North and South America, Texas’ navy was second only to the US.
He focused on the speech as Ruiz continued, “Setting aside Henry Clay’s anti-annexation policy in the US, were the Yankees to agree to annexation, we’d trade our autonomy for two seats in the US Senate. Two voices among fifty-six? We’d be drowned out by people whose interests may not align with ours. Our voice would be even smaller in their house of representatives. That’s not what my constituents want.”
When Ruiz wrapped up his speech, a couple of other men from congressional districts west of the Brazos River stood and seconded his motion.
One of the men who had been an ardent opponent to both the Crockett and Zavala administrations, James Collinsworth, stood and said, “Mr. Speaker, if I may.”
Of the collection of representatives who were pro-annexation, Collinsworth was more diplomatic than most. Wharton bit his lip, hoping the Speaker would shut him up. It wouldn’t do for President Ellis’ allies in the House to persuade their undecided peers against a plebiscite. But Collinsworth was given permission to speak.
He straightened his jacket and placed his hands on the podium. “My fellow Representatives, just when I think there’s nothing new under the sun, my colleague, Congressman Ruiz, surprises me. It should be self-evident our constituents sent us to Austin to do their business. Imagine the chaos if we had to present every budget to a popular vote?”
There was an uneasy round of laughter as he continued, “If the average citizen understood the challenges of governing they would probably wake up quaking at night. We are charged with protecting our voters from needlessly involving themselves in legislative issues. Every two years, we all canvass our districts and explain what we just did and what we’re planning on doing next. The voters in my district expect me to make the difficult votes.”
Wharton frowned; the congressman was warming to his impromptu address. “I’m shocked Congressman Ruiz seems to have forgotten it was his own town of San Antonio that was attacked by the Mexican hordes. Union with the United States would provide far greater security than what we currently possess. Instead of mustering every man and boy who can carry a weapon when Mexico rattles its saber in our direction, union with Washington would allow us to go on about our business, growing crops and making our fair land bloom while professional soldiers guard our southern border.
“Don’t think of it as two lone votes in their senate. We have natural allies in Washington. As another slave state, we would champion the yeoman farmer and the planters, and seek to protect the farmer and the worker against the exploitation of monied and industrial interests.
“At a time when our peculiar institution has come under attack by folks who choose ignorance over understanding, union with the United States safeguards our institutions and provides us the ability to coordinate legislation and policy with like-minded lawmakers. The wealth of our nation hangs in the balance. Turning a vote over to the mob defies our duties within our democratic republic. I urge you, my colleagues, to vote down Congressman Ruiz’s bill.”
Wharton scanned the room, as a smattering of applause greeted the end of the speech. The proposed bill wasn’t likely to come up for an immediate vote. The foreign relations committee would want to study the proposal.
A couple of weeks later, Wharton sat in the same chair in the gallery. Several pointed editorials had been published in newspapers across the Republic, advocating a plebiscite. Even pro-annexation newspapers favored a vote, and when the vote came to allow a referendum, of the one hundred men in the House, sixty-eight voted for it. The margin in the Senate was similar. Wharton smiled at the results. Even if Ellis were to veto the bill, there were enough votes to override the promised veto. The vote by the people of Texas on the issue of annexation would be held the first Monday of February of 1847.
***
Late December 1846
Will stared at the iron contraption setting on a field near the research campus. Metal pistons poked out of the contraption, and a long rubber hose lay on the ground, connected to the device.
“Stand back, sir. I’ve got to power up the compressor.”
Wil
l stepped away from the contraption as Dick Gatling fired up the loud steam engine. Raising his voice over the compressor, Gatling said, “It’ll take a few minutes to build up pressure. I wasn’t getting anywhere with my research into air guns, like that Austrian one we looked at. But I had read about pneumatic pumps used in mining. From there, it was easy enough to harness a steam engine to an air compressor.”
Gatling grabbed the rubber hose and connected one end to the compressor. “Turns out that was the easy part. Rubber gets brittle in the cold and can melt in our hot southern sun. But I had some luck. I was reading a new publication from the United States, The Scientific American, and ran across a fellow named Charles Goodyear. He’s developed a process called vulcanization, that makes rubber treated through his process resistant to extreme temperature. This hose was ordered from his factory back east.”
Stretched to its maximum length, the hose was nearly a hundred feet long. Gatling said, “This is just a prototype. We’ll need a hose twice this length to cover few acres.”
He produced a cotton boll from a burlap bag and secured it to a wooden board. “Obviously, the boll would still be on the plant.” He handed the hose to Will, continuing, “Hold this and point it at the boll. I’ll open the valve, and you’ll see what I’ve been working on for so long.”
A moment later, Will felt a slight vibration in his hands, and the end of the hose jerked as a blast of compressed air hit the open cotton boll. Tufts of cotton flew away until the boll was an empty husk.
“Dick, you’re a lot younger than me,” Will said, dryly, “I’ll let you chase after the cotton.”
Gatling laughed. “Not to worry. I’ve created a catcher that extends from the end of the hose. All the loose cotton will get captured there.”
Will swiveled his eyes between the tufts of cotton blowing across the ground and the compressor. It wasn’t the cotton-picking machine he’d envisioned. He had reservations it would be as fast as picking by hand, but it was the first prototype that actually worked. And that was something.