by J. T. Edson
Although the General did not know it, his words were the cause of consternation to a man in the wine cellar. Short, plump, middle-aged and wearing the white clothing of a Mexican house servant, he was kneeling on the top of one of the wine racks. He held a glass tumbler with its bottom to his right ear. The upper end was pressed against the ceiling, which was also the floor of the study.
The Latin temperament had always been highly susceptible to intrigue, and the wine-rack being used by the man was sited to allow eavesdropping on private and confidential conversations in the study. Don Sebastian Carillo de Biva had had that in mind when turning over his mansion to be used as Houston’s headquarters. A wealthy land owner, de Biva was running with the hare and hunting with the hounds. So, although he was giving his support to the Texians, he had also allowed his major domo to organize a spy ring with which to supply information to the Mexicans. By having done so, he hoped to emerge from the present situation no worse off than he had been before the declaration of independence whichever side should be the victors.
De Biva and his family were no longer at the mansion, having moved west to their hacienda in what would later become the American State of New Mexico and which was not involved in the Texians’ bid for freedom. Staying behind, the major domo, Juan Juglares, had put his knowledge of the premises to good use. He spoke English far better than he admitted and, by listening from the top of the wine-rack, had already been successful in his spying task.
Having noticed the excitement caused by the arrival of a dispatch rider, Juglares had sensed that something of more than usual importance was in the air. So he had come to the wine cellar and taken up his position. From various comments that he had overheard between Houston, Bowie and Travis, he realized that the matter under discussion was likely to prove well worth the risks of listening. He had no wish to be driven from his point of vantage while there was still more to be learned.
‘Not for me, thank you, sir,’ Hardin replied, much to Juglares’ relief.
‘Have it your own way, boy,’ Houston drawled and indicated a sheet of paper which was lying on the desk. ‘Let’s get down to business. You’ll most likely know why Stephen Austin’s Commission went to New Orleans, seeing that your Uncle Marsden was one of the Commission.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hardin agreed. ‘To try and recruit men, obtain weapons and generally raise support for our cause. That’s pretty common knowledge, sir.’
‘Too common,’ Houston grunted, and went on as the younger man stiffened. ‘I’m not blaming Marsden for that, boy. We never tried to keep it a secret.’
‘Is that a report on how they’re getting on, sir?’ Hardin inquired, relaxing as he saw that his uncle was not being held responsible for disclosing the purpose of the Commission.
‘It is.’
‘Are they being successful?’
‘To a certain degree, although they’re having some difficulties. However, they have obtained five hundred new cap-lock rifles and ten thousand rounds of ready-made ammunition for them and are arranging for them to be shipped to us.’
‘Five hundred caplock rifles?’ Hardin repeated eagerly. ‘That’s bueno, sir. We can really make use of them.’
‘I see that you’re one who doesn’t have any doubts about the caplock system,’ Houston remarked.
There was considerable controversy between the adherents of the flintlock and the newer caplock mechanisms as a means of discharging a firearm.
‘I don’t, sir,’ Hardin confirmed, and indicated the weapon in the loop on his belt. ‘This Manton ix pistol of mine’s percussion-fired.’
‘But not your rifle?’
‘It is too, sir, in a way. You see I use what Uncle Ben Blaze calls a ‘slide repeating’ rifle. He bought it from some feller called Jonathan Browning x while he was up in Illinois last fall. Way I see it, though, the caplock’s going to replace the flintlock completely. It’s more certain, easier to load—I’m sorry, sir, but I feel strongly about it. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, five hundred caplocks are worth double their number of flintlocks; particularly in wet weather.’
‘You don’t have to persuade me,’ Houston stated with a grin. ‘Some of us worn-out old fogies can see the advantages of the caplock as well as you smart young men.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Hardin apologized.
Down in the cellar, Juglares moved restlessly and wished that the men above him would get down to business. Every minute he remained in such a compromising position increased his chances of being caught. Retribution would be swift and final if that should happen.
‘Anyway, boy,’ Houston went on, waving aside the apology.
‘They’ll be at Santa Cristobal Bay, that’s about ten miles north of the Matagorda Peninsula, in seven days. You’ll collect them from the ship and deliver them to me at Washington-on-the-Brazos, or wherever I might be at the time.’
‘Seven days, sir?’ Hardin repeated, thinking about the distances involved and the type of terrain which he would have to traverse. ‘How long will die ship wait?’
‘No more than two days, and it will only run into the Bay at night While we’re in control pretty well from the Brazos to the coast, there’s the Mexican Navy to be taken into consideration. They’ve a frigate blockading Galveston, with a ten-gun brig patrolling between it and Matamoros. So the captain daren’t hang around in the vicinity for too long. It’s vitally important that the shipment doesn’t fall into Santa Anna’s hands.’
‘I can see that, sir. Those five hundred caplocks and their ammunition—’
‘It goes much deeper than that, boy,’ Houston interrupted. ‘In fact, it could have an adverse effect upon any future supplies and aid from the United States. We’re involved in a very delicate situation. As I said, we didn’t try to keep the Commission’s purpose a secret. Santa Anna found out what we were hoping to do. So his consul in New Orleans and the Mexican Ambassador up at Washington, D.C., are raising all manner of protests over it.’
‘That’s only to be expected, sir,’ Hardin pointed out philosophically. ‘But it won’t stop our kin and friends back in the United States from helping us.’
‘It might,’ Houston corrected. ‘There’s considerable opposition from the anti-slavery faction to any suggestion that, after we’ve won our independence, Texas should be considered for annexation by the United States. Their contention is that by allowing that to happen it might result in the formation of further ‘slave’ States. xi Rather than have that happen they’d sooner see Texas remain under Mexican rule. So they’re demanding that the United States refuses to allow even private support or aid for us.’
‘But surely we’ve our own supporters in Congress, sir,’ Hardin protested.
‘We have,’ Houston conceded. ‘And they’d be willing to stand by us more openly if it was only the Mexicans and the anti-slavery faction involved. But Santa Anna’s made representations to various European countries. He’s claiming that our “rebellion”, as he calls it, is preventing him from bringing about settled conditions which will allow expansion, development and overseas trade. As the Europeans are interested in the latter, seeing a chance of profit, they are taking the line that the United States has no right to interfere in the domestic problems of another country. So far our supporters in Congress have been able to evade the issue by pointing out that there is no proof that aid has been given since the declaration of independence.’
‘And the shipment would furnish that proof, sir,’ Hardin said quietly.
‘It would,’ Houston confirmed. ‘It’s true that the arms were donated by private individuals and have nothing to do with Congress, or the United States, but it will embarrass our supporters and lessen their chances of winning the annexation issue. So you can see why it’s very important that the shipment doesn’t fall into the Mexicans’ hands. If it does, there will be pressure put on Congress to stop all aid.’
Crouching on the wine-rack, ignoring the ache in his legs and neck, Juglares was congratulating himself.
What he had heard was of lie greatest importance. Not even the discovery that Bowie and Travis were going to hold the Alamo Mission had been of such value. While his first inclination was to leave immediately and arrange for the information to be passed on without delay, he refrained. The more he could learn, the greater use it would be.
‘Even granting the extra two days, sir,’ Hardin said, after a few seconds’ thought. ‘That doesn’t leave me much time to have Company “C” join me from the regiment, then get to Santa Cristobal Bay. Particularly taking along wagons to carry the shipment.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Houston admitted. ‘Especially as the longer the ship is delayed, the greater chance of it being captured. There’s one thing, though, you won’t be using wagons. Like you said, they’d slow you down too much. Mules’re faster and better suited to the kind of country you’ll be covering.’
That’s true enough, sir. But do we have enough of them available?’
‘Ewart Brindley does. Do you know him?’
‘I’ve never met him, sir. But I’ve heard tell of him—-’
‘And most of what you’ve heard is true,’ Houston said with a grin, having noticed the inflexion in the younger man’s voice. ‘Old Ewart’s just about as ornery and cross-grained a cuss as ever drew breath or drank corn liquor; but there’s no better hand at working a mule train.’
‘That’s what I’ve always heard, sir,’ Hardin answered.
‘And that’s one of the reasons I’m sending you, boy,’ Houston went on. ‘Your Uncle Edward has already spoken highly of your ability to get along with people. You’ll have to handle Ewart real carefully though, even with the letter I’ll be giving you for him. It’s no good going along and expecting him to doff his hat, touch his forelock, say “Yes sir, captain,” and take your orders. He’s too cantankerous for that and, the way he sees it, as they’re his mules, neither you, I, nor anybody else can tell him how to use them.’
‘There’s some might say that it’s his duty to use them, sir,’ Hardin commented.
‘If they did say it, he’d tell them to go straight to hell and take their notions of duty with them.’
‘Isn’t he for the Republic, sir?’
‘Old Ewart’s never been for anything in his whole life,’ Houston warned with a grin. ‘He’s always against. Bear that in mind when you get to his place at Gonzales and you’ll get along fine.’
‘Will he be there, sir?’ Hardin inquired.
‘Di sent word he would be, getting everything ready to fall back with us.’
“‘Di”,sir?’
‘Ewart’s granddaughter. Her name’s Charlotte Jane Martha, but I wouldn’t advise you to call her any one of them. He’s reared her since the Kiowas killed her momma and daddy back in ‘Twenty-Two. They do say she can throw a diamond hitch faster, tighter and better than any man. That’s where the “Di” comes from. Old Ewart thinks the world of her. So if you can get her on your side that’ll be as good as half the battle,’
‘I’ll keep it in mind, sir,’ Hardin promised.
‘You do that, boy,’ Houston ordered, but in a friendly manner. ‘Now, about an escort. I can get you as many men as you think you’ll need from one or other of the outfits who’re in town.’
‘I’d sooner not do that, sir,’ Hardin objected. ‘For one thing I’d rather not be using men I don’t know and who don’t know me. And, anyway, to get them we’d have to explain to their officers why they’re wanted. I think the fewer who know about the shipment the better. There’s less chance of word getting to the Mexicans that way.’
‘I’ll go along with you on that, boy,’ Houston conceded, nodding his approval. ‘So far, at this end only you, Colonels Travis, Bowie and I know about it. And they don’t know when or where if s due to arrive.’
‘In that case, sir, I’d rather not take an escort from town. It would attract too much attention. From all I’ve heard, Ewart Brindley and his muleteers are pretty tough hombres.’
‘They are,’ the General confirmed. ‘They’ve taken mule trains through Indian country more than once and come back with their hair.’
‘Which means they can hold up their end, comes shooting,’ Hardin said with satisfaction. ‘If it’s all right with you, sir, I’ll not take an escort from town.’
At that moment, Juglares heard the handle of the cellar door being turned. With a surge of alarm he realized that whoever was outside would be able to enter. Such was his eagerness to overhear as much as possible of the General’s conversation, that, on arriving, he had merely closed the door behind him—
And had left the key in the lock!
Even as the door began to creep slowly open, Juglares acted with commendable speed. He knew that he could not stay where he was and hope to remain undetected. Although it was late afternoon, the window in the outside trapdoor—through which barrels of wine were lowered into the cellar—was still letting in too much light. Nor could he think of any acceptable reason for being on top of the rack and the tumbler might give away his true purpose.
Swiftly, but quietly, Juglares rolled across the rack and lowered himself to the floor with it between him and the door. Having achieved this without making enough noise to betray himself, he peered between two of the shelves to find out who had disturbed him.
The intruder proved to be a thin, sharp-featured infantry soldier. Before entering, he looked back into the basement in a furtive manner. Apparently satisfied that he was not being observed, he advanced, subjecting the cellar to a similar cautious scrutiny. His whole attitude implied that he was not carrying out any official, or even lawful duty.
For a moment Juglares thought of remaining in concealment and allowing the soldier to do whatever he had come for and then depart. However, he saw the objections to such a course. Having stolen some of the liquor, which was almost certainly his reason for visiting the cellar, the soldier might lock the door on leaving. While Juglares could still escape by the trapdoor, the grounds were heavily guarded and he would be in plain view of a sentry. Of course, as major domo, he had every right to be in the cellar; although he would have to think up an explanation for making his exit that way instead of through the basement
The decision was taken out of Juglares’s hands.
‘Hey!’ yelped the soldier, coming to a halt and staring at the rack behind which the major-domo was standing. He seemed to be on the verge of turning and dashing out of the cellar. ‘Who-all’s there?’
‘Only me, senor? Juglares answered in soothing tones and, knowing that to do anything else would be futile and would arouse the other’s suspicions, he walked from his place of concealment. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Who’re you and what’re you doing down here?’ the soldier demanded, but his voice lacked the authority of one who had the right to be asking such a question.
‘I am Don Sebastian Carillo de Biva’s major domo, senor? Juglares said, adopting his most imposing tone and manner. ‘It is one of my duties, particularly in Don Sebastian’s absence, to take care of the wine cellar.’
‘It is, huh?’ the soldier grunted, sounding impressed but still dubious and suspicious.
‘Si, senor,’ the major domo confirmed and went on craftily, ‘If you wish, we can go and see the first sergeant He will tell you who I am.’
The gamble paid off.
‘Shucks, there ain’t no call for that amigo,’ the soldier said hurriedly, just as Juglares had believed that he would. ‘I’ve been sent down for a couple of bottles of whiskey, if you’ve got ’em. So if you’ll give ’em to me, I’ll get going and leave you to your work.’
‘Certainly, senor,’ the major domo replied. ‘Don Sebastian keeps whiskey for his Texian friends, I will get it for you. Will two bottles be enough?’
‘Well,’ the soldier began, his eyes taking on an avaricious glint. ‘The cap’n did say three now I come to think back on it…’
‘Three it is, senor,’ Juglares declared without hesitation.
Walking to the rack in whi
ch the bottles of whiskey were stored, the major domo felt relieved and cheerful. He was sure that the soldier had lied to him, but he did not care. The information he had already garnered was worth far more than the three bottles he had been asked for. Once he had handed them over, the gringo would go. What was more, he would be unlikely to mention that he had found anybody in the cellar as he should not have been there himself. When tike soldier had left, Juglares hoped to resume the eavesdropping and find out if there was anything else to be learned.
Before the major domo could take out the first bottle, he heard heavy and authoritative footsteps descending the stairs and crossing the basement. So did the soldier and an expression of consternation came to his face. It grew rather than diminished as the burly figure of First Sergeant Gladbeck loomed through the open door
‘What’s all this?’ boomed the non-com, looking from the soldier to Juglares and back.
‘I heard a noise in here and come to see who it was, serge,’ the soldier answered. ‘Found this feller here. He allows it’s all right for him.
‘It is,’ Gladbeck stated, having recognized and identified the Mexican. ‘But you’d best get going afore I grow all suspicious and ask what you was doing down here in the first place.’
‘Sure, serge,’ the soldier replied and scuttled hurriedly away.
‘What was he after, liquor?’ the first sergeant inquired, turning his attention to Juglares.
‘Si senor, the major domo agreed. ‘He said he’d been sent to collect three bottles of whiskey.’
‘Three, now that’s what I call being greedy,’ Gladbeck grinned. ‘Have you got everything you need for tonight? The General’s entertaining his senior officers to dinner, there’ll be eight of them.’
Since the non-com’s arrival, Juglares had been thinking fast and had revised his line of action. While he had hoped to continue listening to what was said in the General’s office, he had now decided against taking the chance. He already knew when and where the shipment of arms would arrive, that the officer charged with receiving it would go first to the town of Gonzales, and that he did not consider it necessary to take a military escort Such information was far too valuable for him to risk being caught eavesdropping. What was more, he had just been given a perfect excuse for leaving the mansion and passing on his findings.