In Harm's Way

by Drew McGunn

  The men around the table grew quiet as they absorbed De Bow’s words. Lamont swallowed a bite of eggs and said, “They’d destroy our way of life.”

  De Bow nodded, “And happily do it, too. The industrialist in Boston or Philadelphia sees the Southern planter as a competitor. We compete for the same banker’s dollars as he does. When a bank loans you ten thousand dollars to expand your fields, that’s ten thousand dollars he doesn’t have to loan the industrialist. Banks know we make better partners. Our loans are secured by our property which, if we fail to repay the loan, they can seize and sell. We’re a good investment. The industrialist, if he goes bankrupt, has only the machines and buildings. If the industrialists can destroy us, the banker has no choice but to lend money to the riskier industrialist. Vanderbilt and his lackeys are happy to toss money at abolitionist politicians, but it’s not because they care one whit for our negroes and how we care from them. It’s because they want to destroy their economic competition.”

  Exasperated, Lamont asked, “What are we supposed to do?”

  Like a teacher educating his student, De Bow said, “That’s the question we’re here to discuss, Mr. Lamont. If we’re to survive, we must expand. The first step has already been taken. Our fellow Southerners in Texas have formed a provisional government. Left to their own devices, I’m not sure they can depose of Travis. We must aid our fellow countrymen and defeat Travis. Once that happens, we’ll petition Congress to allow Texas and Wisconsin into the union, then we’ll carve as many slave states out of Texas as needed to keep parity with the north.”

  Lamont wanted nothing more than to get revenge. He’d dreamed of burning the Texas capitol building down with Travis trapped inside. But dreams were easier than reality. There were plenty of things that could go wrong. “What happens if the north rejects our bid to bring Texas in?”

  De Bow placed his napkin on his empty plate. As he stood, he said, “Then we secede.”

  ***

  Lamont was glad to escape the stifling heat of the Texas Restaurant, which had been converted into the convention hall. Despite the gulf breeze and open windows, more than a hundred delegates made the large room uncomfortably warm.

  He took a pail of food from a matron by the door and saw William Yancey staking out a spot under a tree. He’d been looking for a reason to talk with the Alabaman since arriving the previous day. As Yancey spread a blanket under the boughs, he said, “Would you mind a bit of company, Mr. Yancey?”

  Taking a seat next to Yancey, he dug into his pail. As Lamont was about to bite into a drumstick, he saw James De Bow approach. “Would you gentlemen have room enough for a third under the shade?”

  Soon the three men were drinking beer and eating lunch. When he was finished, Lamont stretched out, his feet sticking off the end of the blanket, content. Before he could drift off, Yancey said, “Mr. De Bow, what do you think Lewis Cass?”

  “The president? About the best we can hope for, after eight years under Henry Clay. The question you should be asking is how does he view the situation in Texas. While I know he’d support annexation of Texas if the winds were favorable, he’s not going to meddle in their affairs. If Travis crushes the provisional government, then Lewis Cass would wring his hands and moan that annexation just isn’t going to happen,” said De Bow.

  “Why?” Lamont said. “Surely he understands that the preservation of the Union justifies the acquisition of Texas. We can’t let the Yankees dominate us in the Senate like they do in the House.”

  De Bow offered a smile in Lamont’s direction. “You’d think so. But Cass is a northern man, even though he’s a Democrat. He understands the needs of the South, to a point. That’s why he favors annexation. But he doesn’t want to get drawn into a messy civil war in Texas. Sure, he’ll cheer as loudly as any Southern man if Travis is defeated. But he’s not going to let the Federal government get drawn into Texas’ mess.”

  Yancey said, “What are the odds that the provisional government can defeat Travis?”

  De Bow shrugged. “We’ll hear from the Texas delegates tomorrow. But I’m not optimistic. The provisional government controls most of Texas east of the Neches River, in the southeast corner of the Republic. Maybe twenty counties. Perhaps a hundred thousand folks live in that area, and about twenty thousand are slaves. We don’t know what portion of Texas’ regular army has gone over to the provisional government, but for the sake of argument, let’s say that none of them do. There are two branches of the militia in Texas.

  “The first is a reserve group. They get the uniforms and weapons from their armories, more drill time, and money. Most of these men served in Mexico in Texas’ last little war. There are perhaps five or six battalions of men the provision government can call into service from the reserves. Then there is the second, larger group. The rest of the militia is made up of all the other men of military age. Not much in the way of uniforms or weapons from the armories. Maybe there are seven or eight battalions that can be mobilized from that group.”

  Lamont said, “For sparsely populated Texas, that sounds like plenty.”

  “You’d think,” said De Bow, “but that’s less than ten thousand men. They would face Travis’ regular army. There are three battalions of regular infantry, another two of cavalry and one of artillery. They are well armed and well trained. If General Johnston betrays his people and stays with Travis, then they also have a damned fine commander. If he can manage to mobile even half the reserves and militia against the provisional government, Johnston could command an army of twenty thousand.”

  Lamont was aghast. “The provisional government and annexation are doomed if that’s the case.”

  “Not necessarily,” De Bow said. “The whole reason we’re assembled here is to discuss how best to help our fellow Southerners. Tell me, Jason, how many men are in Southern militia companies?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  De Bow said, “Two years ago, according to your state’s militia report to Washington, there were more than fifty thousand men in the common militia. In my state, Louisiana, more than forty thousand are enrolled. Across the entire South, there are more than a half million men enrolled.”

  “I’ve seen the men in my county drilling,” Lamont said, “and most of them aren’t worth a tinker’s damn as soldiers. How many of these half-million could actually be called to service?”

  “Fair point,” De Bow conceded. “Even so, many of the volunteer companies like the Washington Artillery in New Orleans are ready for service. There are tens of thousands serving in these volunteer units across the South. If the convention decides to aid our fellow Southerners in Texas, we can mobilize these men and send them to put down Travis and his abolitionists in Austin.”

  A smile creased Lamont’s face. “Damn, that’d be a sight to behold. Do you think the other delegates would support intervention?”

  In response to De Bow’s nod, Lamont leaned forward, “What can I do to help?”

  The three men discussed their strategy until the convention was called back into session.

  ***

  The party in the restaurant showed no signs of slowing when Lamont felt a tug on his sleeve. William Yancey yelled above the din, “There are a couple of men who wanted to meet you.”

  A few minutes later, the two men were in the relative quiet of the hotel’s salon, sitting across from the two commissioners from Texas. Thomas Rusk was heavyset while his companion, James Collinsworth was tall and lean. A fifth joined them. He wore the gray uniform of the Louisiana militia. He wore shoulder boards with a single embroidered golden star.

  De Bow said, “I’ve asked G.T. Beauregard to join us this evening. He holds the commission from Governor Walker as commander of our state militia.”

  Collinsworth said, “How quickly can our Southern allies get men and matériel to our provisional forces along the Neches?”

  De Bow’s chuckle was warm and friendly. “You certainly don’t beat around the bush, Mr. Collinsworth. The reason I asked
General Beauregard to join us is that he’s well acquainted with other militia commanders as well as the resources available.”

  Rusk appeared embarrassed by his younger colleague’s direct speech. “What Mr. Collinsworth is saying is that our provisional government is not yet ready to move against Travis and his abolitionist forces to our west.”

  Lamont, hearing Travis’ name, muttered a curse against the man who had crippled him. “The sooner that abolitionist is dead and gone the happier I’ll be. Why haven’t you moved against that traitor to our institutions?”

  A shadow passed over Rusk’s face. “Many of our leaders have served in Texas’ Congress, and when Travis sent an envoy, they voted to listen to Travis’ man.”

  Collinsworth spat into a cuspidor, “A few damned fools still think there’s a peaceful way out of this. Travis won’t abdicate, and we won’t relent. War is the only way forward.”

  Rusk placed a restraining hand on his fellow delegate. “Not everyone agrees with us, Jim. Although I’m convinced force of arms must eventually settle the matter, time favors us more than Buck Travis. Especially given the promises this convention has given us. But if it takes a bit more time for the provisional government in Beaumont to realize it, then so be it. The question we need to know is how many men can we expect and when?”

  Beauregard leaned forward, an expression like a hunting dog on his face. “While there are more than half a million men enrolled in the various state militias across the South, the reality is that only a small fraction are worth a damn. Take a unit like our Washington Artillery. There are a couple of batteries ready for service. There’s a sister infantry unit, also ready for service. Across all of Louisiana, I can mobilize a light, mixed brigade and could have them ready to support you by the end of October.”

  Rusk’s smile was guarded. “On paper, the provisional government has three brigades it can call upon, perhaps as many as ten thousand. What’s your light brigade in comparison?”

  “Less than two thousand. But that’s two thousand men who are trained, armed, uniformed and motivated,” Beauregard said. “More than that. Give me time to coordinate with my counterparts in Mississippi, Alabama, the Carolinas and elsewhere and I can give you ten times that many men. By the spring of eighteen-forty-two, I can lead an army of twenty thousand men on Austin.”

  Rusk said, “That’s a tall promise, General Beauregard. But what of your President Cass? Is he going to stand by while the Southern state militias engage in the world’s largest filibuster?”

  Still thinking of Travis, Lamont interjected, “He will if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “There’s a plan in place to deal with Lewis Cass,” De Bow said. “We control half the Senate, and we will introduce a bill supporting your provisional government, on the grounds that Travis’ ill-conceived Free Birth bill will cause servile unrest throughout our country. We’ll tie the federal government in hearings and votes until long after G.T. here has defeated Travis’ army. Once that’s done, we’ll present President Cass a fait accompli. In the Senate, we’ll package Texas and Wisconsin together as a deal, one slave state and one free. Sectional balance is preserved. Northern Democrats won’t be able to resist it, and Daniel Webster’s Whigs won’t be able to stand against it.”

  As Beauregard explained his strategy, Lamont let his thoughts return to that cold night several years earlier when Travis stood over him after putting a bullet in his leg. He had never felt more helpless. He wouldn’t stand by and let others do all the fighting. Like a mad dog, Travis needed to be put down, and he’d be damned if he’d do nothing more than attend a conference.

  As Beauregard stopped talking, Lamont said, “We’ll all do our duty to seeing things put to right in Texas. I promise to raise a regiment of men for service and will personally lead them.”

  De Bow slapped him on the back as the others praised his commitment.

  “Don’t be too quick, General Beauregard, I’d like to be there at the end to see Travis get his,” Lamont said with a fierce grin. He stood and walked over to a nearby bar where he liberated a tray of glasses and a decanter. As he passed the drinks out, liquor sloshed about.

  He turned to the other four men and lifted his glass, “To victory or death!”

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  About the Author

  A sixth generation Texan, Drew McGunn enjoyed vacations to the Alamo as a kid. Stories rattled around in his head throughout school, but as with most folks, after college the nine-to-five grind intruded for many years.

  His passionate interest in history drove him back to his roots and he decided to write about the founding of the Republic of Texas. There are many great books about early Texas, but few explored the what-ifs of the many possible ways things could have gone differently. With that in mind, he wrote his debut novel Forget the Alamo! as a reimagining of the first days of the Republic.

  Drew’s muse is his supportive wife, who encourages his creative writing.