Jubilee Trail

by Gwen Bristow

  “You mean they’re soldiers now?” Garnet exclaimed.

  “Exactly. The fellows say if news of the war had been delayed a few weeks more, those raiders would have been chased out of the country. But coming when it did, now they think they started the conquest of California when they made that bear flag out of a sheet and a red flannel petticoat. And that,” said Florinda, “is the difference between being a hero and a hoodlum.”

  “Please stop. You’re making me laugh, and it hurts.”

  “Sorry. But it really is funny. Come down whenever you’re ready, Texas. There’s a pot of beans on the hearth-stove.”

  Florinda kissed her hand to them and shut the door. Garnet felt a warm rush of happiness. If she could not go back to her country, it was good to have her country come to her.

  Texas still stood by the washstand. Thinking he might be waiting to give her some instructions, Garnet turned her head toward him. But Texas was not looking at her. He seemed to have forgotten she was there. He stood looking at the floor, restlessly moving his hand back and forth along the side of the wash-basin. The candle, standing where he had set it by the pitcher, shone up into his face.

  As she looked at him, Garnet frowned and pushed her hand over her eyes. At first she thought she was not seeing him clearly. She was still weak, and it was easy to be mistaken about things. But after a moment she knew she was not mistaken about Texas. The candlelight shone full on his bearded face, and on the cheeks above his beard she saw the glint of tears.

  The tears trickled down into his beard. Suddenly, as though remembering he was not alone, he turned on his good leg, and without saying anything he limped across the room and went out, shutting the door behind him. But he did not go down to the kitchen. Over the gay noise, Garnet heard him sit down on the top step of the staircase, his stiff leg bumping awkwardly as he did so.

  She hoped he did not know she had seen his tears. Maybe later on when she did not feel so limp, she would understand them. But tonight she was baffled. Texas should have been happy at Florinda’s news, like the other Americans, like herself. But he was not happy. The United States army was marching into California, and Texas was crying.

  During the next few days Garnet learned more about the war.

  The Republic of Texas had won its freedom from Mexico ten years before. Texas had been settled by Americans, and the Texans wanted to join the United States. But though the leading countries of the world had recognized Texas as a nation, Mexico still looked on it as a rebellious province. If Texas joined the Union, the Mexicans said they would fight.

  There were many Americans who did not think Texas was worth a war. This had been the main issue in the election of 1844, when James K. Polk and Henry Clay ran for President. Mr. Polk wanted the country to grow westward, war or no war. Mr. Clay thought the United States was big enough. Mr. Polk was elected, and Congress made Texas a state. After this came a few nervous months while each side waited for the other to shoot first. Then in April, 1846, the war began on the Texas border.

  At this time the Pacific fleet of the United States was at Mazatlán on the west side of Mexico. Commodore John Drake Sloat, commander of the fleet, knew his country wanted not only Texas but California too. On hearing of the battles in eastern Mexico, Sloat sailed up to Monterey, capital of California. Here he raised the Stars and Stripes over the customhouse.

  Señores Pico and Castro, the civil and military heads of California, had long been so busy quarreling with each other that they had not thought of anybody’s coming in from outside to depose them both. Neither Pico nor Castro was in Monterey when Sloat got there. Nor was there anybody else in town who had authority to accept or refuse Sloat’s demand for surrender. Neither, apparently, was there anybody who cared.

  This happened on the seventh of July, 1846. Two days later Captain Montgomery of the sloop-of-war Portsmouth ran up the flag at Yerba Buena. Pico and Castro tried to raise an army of Californios to fight for Mexico. But it was too late. The Californios frankly had no love for Mexico. The American flags rippled from the flagpoles, the bands played American tunes in the village plazas, and Yankees and Californios alike seemed well content with this state of things.

  On July 15 the USS Congress, commanded by Commodore Robert F. Stockton, reached Monterey. Since by this time northern California seemed to be well taken care of, Stockton sailed south to occupy Los Angeles. The marines were expected to march in any day.

  If this was a conquest, it was the simplest one in history.

  Texas was spending all his time at the saloon, taking care of Garnet and her baby. Even at night he did not go home, but slept on a blanket in the hall.

  He did not go near the bar. Whether this was because he did not want to drink or because he did not want to discuss the war, Garnet could not tell. He never once mentioned the conquest of California. If anyone else spoke of it, he stood by silently.

  Everybody else was delighted. Silky came up and kissed Garnet’s hand and told her it filled him with pride to have a new Yankee born under his simple roof. Florinda dashed up as often as she could, to bring news of what was going on. In the street below the window Garnet could hear the Yankees laughing and congratulating each other all day. “You’d think they had done it themselves,” Florinda said. “Even the ones who don’t like to tell how they got here are pleased about it. I guess they figure the army has got something better to do than look up everybody’s record and put ’em in jail for some little matter that happened three thousand miles back.” She winked, and Garnet laughed, remembering New Orleans and the widow’s veil. But Texas, who sat by the window, looking out toward the mountains, did not laugh.

  Garnet thought a good deal about what she would name her baby. His father’s name was the obvious choice, but she rejected it. Oliver had disillusioned her too deeply, and speaking his name in any connection still hurt her. She asked Florinda to make a suggestion. Florinda said she thought Leander was a grand-sounding name, and so was Murgatroyd.

  Garnet thanked her, but said these were not exactly the sort of names she had in mind. After a moment’s reflection, Florinda smiled with a sudden idea.

  “Why don’t you ask Texas to name him?” she said.

  “Why Florinda,” Garnet exclaimed, “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you really believe he’d be pleased?”

  “I think it would mean a lot to him,” said Florinda. She paused thoughtfully, and added, “Texas has something on his mind, Garnet.”

  “So you’ve noticed that too.”

  Florinda nodded. “I don’t know what it is. But he thinks so much of you, maybe if you sort of made a gesture toward him, letting him know you like him, it might make him feel better. Does that make sense?”

  “Why yes, that makes plenty of sense,” said Garnet. “I’ll ask him today.”

  That afternoon, when Florinda had gone down to the bar, she asked Texas to help her choose a name.

  Texas grinned proudly. He sat down on the wall-bench, clenching his eyebrows in thought. His stiff leg stuck out in front of him. He could bend the knee a little, but not enough to keep him from looking clumsy.

  “Is there a man you especially admire?” Garnet asked. “A man with a fine strong character, the sort a boy would be proud to be named for?”

  Texas stroked his beard. “Why yes ma’am, there is.” He smiled at her shyly. “You might name him for Stephen Austin,” he suggested.

  “Stephen Austin?” she repeated doubtfully. “I don’t think I know about him.”

  “The fellow who started the Republic of Texas,” he explained. “Stephen Austin was a man with a lot of nerve, Miss Garnet, He got things done. His father had the first grant of land for settlement in Texas, but his father died, and it was Stephen Austin who brought in the first Americans. He was only twenty-six years old then. And later, he led the revolution that made Texas a free country.”

  There was such enthusiasm in his voice that Garnet asked, “Did you know him?”

  “Yes ma’am, I kn
ew him. I remember him from when I was a boy. He was a good friend of our folks. In fact,” Texas added, unconsciously lifting his chin with the pride of it, “we went into Texas with him.”

  “Then you weren’t born in Texas?” Garnet asked.

  “Oh no ma’am. I was born in Mississippi. There weren’t any Americans in Texas when I was born.” He smiled, and his soft brown eyes had a wistful look as he added, “I was eleven years old when we went to Texas with Stephen Austin. He was a fine man, Miss Garnet, the sort of man a boy respected.”

  “That’s the sort of man I meant,” she said. “Thank you, Texas. The baby’s name is Stephen. Stephen Hale.”

  “Well, well,” said Texas. He looked at the basket, and held out his finger so Stephen’s hand would curl around it. After a little silence he stood up awkwardly. “Er—Miss Garnet, I sure do thank you for letting me name him. It was quite an honor.” He stuck his hands into his pockets, stood in the middle of the floor as though he did not know what to do next, and finally said he guessed it must be about time for beans. He’d better go down to the kitchen.

  He opened the door, but on the threshold he paused and looked back at Garnet and the baby, and the look he gave them was so tender, and so sweet, and so wistful, that she hurt with seeing it. He closed the door, and Garnet remembered what he had said to her that day at Don Antonio’s rancho. “Don’t try to understand any of us. We’re just a lot of lost souls.”

  She looked over at her tiny pink baby asleep in his basket. Stephen Hale, named for Stephen Austin. She wondered what had happened to Texas since the time he had been a boy following his hero.

  Her eyes began to sting. Maybe it was foolish to shed tears for something that was over and done with, but she could not help it. She knew by now that in the matter of medical skill Texas was no amateur. He had delivered the baby and taught her to nurse him, and during the past few days he had continued performing the most intimate services for her, and he was neither unsure nor self-conscious. He went about everything with the serenity of a man doing the work he was meant to do. Texas might have had a brilliant career, if only something had not gone wrong.

  Garnet wondered what had gone wrong. She did not know. All she knew was that he was here without friends or family or even a name, a cripple now who would probably never ride the trail again. She wondered if his drinking bouts occurred when he could no longer bear the desperate loneliness of feeling that nobody cared what happened to him.

  Well, she cared. She was never going to forget what his presence had meant to her the night Stephen was born. As long as she and Texas lived in the same world he was going to have a friend.

  On the thirteenth of August, 1846, when Stephen was five days old, the Americans entered Los Angeles.

  Texas made a nest of blankets on the wall-bench so Garnet could sit by the window and watch the men march in. There were United States marines; and the seamen led by Commodore Stockton; and Frémont’s battalion, consisting of the army explorers who had come with him and the volunteers who had joined him in the north. They marched in with flags and music, while the Angelenos looked on, interested but slightly puzzled by the whole business, and the Yankees cheered and laughed and shouted a welcome. Here as elsewhere in California, nobody made any resistance. Pico and Castro had fled to Mexico. They had gone separately, for they had quarreled so long that not even a foreign invasion could make them get together.

  Garnet felt goose-bumps run up and down her back as she watched the blue uniforms and the bright familiar flags that she had not seen for so long. Her hand on the baby’s basket, she wondered if Stephen would ever love his country as much as she loved it. She shook her head. No, he would not love it that much, not unless some day he too found himself an exile.

  The parade had gone by. Some of the onlookers hurried toward the plaza to watch the raising of the flag, others headed for the taverns to get refreshments after standing so long in the sun. From beneath her, Garnet could hear the rattle of jugs and cups and the sound of voices. The noise sounded blurry under the lilt of Yankee Doodle from the band in the plaza.

  Her back had begun to ache. She turned her head, to tell Texas she would like to lie down now.

  But Texas was not there. Garnet had been so much interested in the arrival of the Americans that she had not heard him go out. But now, through the music and the noise at the bar, she heard an uneven thumping step on the stairs. The steps crossed the little passage at the foot of the staircase, went past the kitchen, and on to the bar.

  Garnet put her head down on her hand. She was so sorry for him. She did not understand why he had to get drunk today, but she felt that if she had understood it, she would have known all about his wrecked and wasted life.

  The baby woke and started to cry. He was hungry and his diaper was wet, and for the first time Texas had forgotten him. Garnet changed the diaper, and took the baby into bed with her and gave him her breast. It was awkward to be doing all this without Texas to help her.

  The whole town was full of hubbub. From the saloon below her, and the native wineshops, and Estelle’s place down the street, and the street itself, Garnet could hear songs and laughter. Everybody seemed to be having fun. She wondered if Texas was having any fun.

  The day began to fade. On the wall-curtains the light turned from gold to pink, from pink to blue, and then dwindled down to gray. The floor shivered from the merriment downstairs. Garnet yawned, and moved her position in bed. She was tired. She was also hungry, for she had had nothing to eat since before noon. Now and then Stephen woke up and cried, and she soothed him back to sleep. She began to have a hungry headache.

  It was dark when Florinda finally brought her some supper. Florinda’s hair was coming down, there were splashes of liquor on her dress, and one sleeve was partly torn out of its armhole. In one hand she carried a candle and in the other a bowl of beans.

  “Darling, I’m so sorry,” she said as she set down the candle and gave Garnet a towel to tuck under her chin. “You must be starved. Here, eat this. I’ll take the baby, soon as I’ve washed my hands.”

  Garnet thanked her and began to eat. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, Florinda laughed and sighed together. “Whoops, how I do look. What with the army, the navy, and the marines, all clustered around me at once, it’s a marvel I’m not torn to shreds. But they’re fun, Garnet.” She poured water into the basin and rolled up her sleeves. “And also,” she added, with a mischievous glance over her shoulder, “how they do spend money!”

  “How long are they going to stay at the bar?” asked Garnet.

  “I don’t know. But I think the officers have set a time limit. I’ll pour drinks as long as they’ll pay for them. Oh, there’s Mickey,” she exclaimed as she heard a knock on the door and went to open it. Mickey handed her a tray. “He’s brought some hot tea for both of us,” said Florinda. “That Mickey, he’s a tower of strength.” She picked up Stephen, made him comfortable in his basket, and sat down on the wall-bench to pour the tea.

  For a few moments they both sipped tea in silent enjoyment. Then Garnet asked about Texas.

  Florinda shrugged, and answered with terse regret. Texas was drunk. He was very drunk. And he had been having a crying jag. He had sat on the floor in a corner, a bottle in his hand and tears running down his cheeks, until Florinda could stand it no longer. She had told two of the bar-boys to take him home. That was why Garnet’s supper had been delayed: Florinda could not leave the bar until the boys came back. Yes, they had got him home safely. His landlady, Señora Vargas, had promised to take care of him. Texas paid her a good rent and she was used to his ways. Florinda begged Garnet not to lie there worrying about him. “Just be nice to him when he comes out of it,” she said. She added, with a sad wisdom, that this was about as much as anybody could do for him, and Garnet had to agree that it probably was.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  BUT THE CONQUEST OF Los Angeles did not prove to be as easy as they thought it was.

  At first it looke
d simple. Commodore Stockton sent Frémont north to seek recruits among the Yankees there; and as Los Angeles was perfectly quiet, Stockton himself went to Yerba Buena, where the people had planned a celebration in his honor. He left Captain Gillespie of the Marine Corps in Los Angeles with a token garrison of about fifty marines.

  Captain Gillespie could have asked advice of the Yankees who had been trading in Los Angeles for years. If he had done so, they would have told him that he need not expect the Angelenos to make any resistance to American rule. This was one of the least warlike neighborhoods on earth. Now and then wild Diggers raided an isolated dwelling and armed men went out to put them down. Sometimes two lads fought over a girl, or a man borrowed a saddle and forgot to bring it back. But these disputes could usually be settled by the alcalde, a local officer like a mayor.

  There were no more than a thousand people who lived in the village all the year round. But it was a busy little place, the market for the southern ranchos, the end of the caravan trail from Santa Fe, and a center of supply for ships in the hide trade. Most of this business was in Yankee hands. Generally speaking, the native Angelenos went their way in a lazy good-humor. They had little to complain about. Fresh beef was so cheap that it was their staple food. There was no poverty. Most people did not even have locks on their doors. Life in Los Angeles consisted of a little work and a great deal of music, wine, and dancing, and the Angelenos took this as the natural state of things. The Yankees could have told Captain Gillespie—in fact, they did their best to tell him—that he had been set over a cheerful folk who would remain cheerful if only they were let alone.

  But Gillespie did not ask advice and did not listen when they gave it. He began to issue orders that first astounded the people and then enraged them.

  In this fun-loving town, Gillespie forbade social gatherings. He had private homes searched for firearms. He ordered that liquor be sold only when and where he gave permission. His countrymen warned him that guns were more necessary to California dignity than shoes. They told him the Californios would resent a curb on their red wine as much as the American colonists had resented the tax on tea. But he paid no heed. Gillespie was left in command on the last day of August; by the middle of September the people were muttering and turning their backs when an American passed them in the street. They went into the Yankee trading posts only when they had to. The native bar-boys stopped coming to work at Silky’s.