by Texas
'What you doin'?' Trajan asked, indicating that the boys should put up their guns.
'One more step!' the first boy warned, and Trajan realized that he meant it, so he stopped, held out his empty hands, and asked: 'What you doin', boys?' And after a pause in which the first boy looked back to the second, they confessed that they were taking their family's cotton to Galveston.
'Where's your father?'
'Dead at Vicksburg.'
'You got no uncles?'
'They're at war.'
'Your mother?'
'She's workin' the farm.'
'Galveston is not the best—'
'Don't you take a step. They told me people would try
And then Trajan saw that the two boys were near to exhaustion, for the one in back had begun to cry, at which his older brother shouted: 'Stop that, damnit. We're bein' held up.' But the younger boy could not stop; these days had been too long and cruel, and now to be accosted by a bunch of slaves who intended cutting throats: 'I want to go home.'
'Course you do. So do I.' And something in the way Trajan spoke softened the heart of the boy in front, and now he, too, began to cry.
'Now, you hold on to your guns, boys. But you got to get some rest,' and hardly had he led the two wagons to his four than the two young fellows were sound asleep. Trajan lifted them onto his wagon, and as they slept, the most powerful and eon fusing emotions swept over him, for the boys were about the age his son had been when he was stolen. Endlessly he had brooded about his lost son, wondering where Hadrian could be, and now he asked himself: Was he as brave as these two youngsters were in defending their bales of cotton?
When the boys at last awakened, aware that they were at the mercy of the strange Negroes, Trajan did his best to comfort them, but whenever he tried to explain why they must not go to Galveston, where the Federal ships prowled trying to steal Confederate cotton, they suspected trickery, so always the slave said: 'All right, all right. We'll go as far as we can together. Then you hie off for Galveston and the enemy.'
The oldest boy, Michael, was eleven, and old enough to think that there might be something most suspicious about Traian and his three companions, especially Jaxifer, who looked very black and ferocious.
Trajan himself had no clearer view of things, for he knew that in delivering cotton to Matamoros, he was aiding the Confederacy', which was determined to keep him a slave forever, and therefore what he was doing was stupid, but he also knew that through the years he had lived in moderate decency with the Cobbs of Fdisto, and that they had not changed for the worse m moving to Texas He suspected that within his lifetime all slaves would be set free, for he had heard through rumors and the surreptitious teaching of Methodist ministers that there were large parts of the nation where blacks were free and where food and clothing and medicine were just about as available as in Texas
He had known perhaps a dozen slaves who had tried to escape to Mexico; most had been recaptured quickly with the aid of
tracking dogs; others had returned of their own will, unable to cross the great expanse that seemed to encircle the little green paradise at Jefferson; and he had seen both groups savagely whipped for their attempt to escape bondage, but he also knew that a handful had either made it to freedom in Mexico or died in the attempt. He had never felt impelled to run away from the Cobbs, for they were about as decent as the system provided, despite Reuben's hot temper at times, but he did know that if the new masters who might be taking over at Lammermoor proved brutal, he would flee.
Why, then, did not he and the other three plan at that moment to get as close to Mexico as practical, take the money for cotton, and run for freedom? They were restrained because all they knew, all they loved, centered on Lammermoor. In Trajan's case there was another factor: he had been given a responsibility, and as a man of honor he must discharge it.
He was considering these conflicts, answers to which could determine his chance for freedom, when he was faced by a more immediate problem. 'We want to go to Galveston,' Michael said one morning as he and his brother faced the four slaves. 'We think you're kidnapping us and stealing our cotton, and we want our guns back.'
'You have them,' Trajan said. 'You've always had them.'
'Then can we go to Galveston?'
'You're going to Galveston. That's always been understood.'
'Where is it?'
Now Trajan asked the boys to sit with him, and as they perched beside the road, he had to confess: 'I don't know where it is. But the first person we meet on this road, we're goin' to ask.'
The boys could not believe that Trajan was telling the truth, and they wanted desperately to draw apart and discuss the trap into which they had fallen with their mother's cotton, but they were afraid to do so lest the slaves kill them right there. So they were overjoyed when they saw coming at them from the south a group of riders, and they were especially relieved to see that they were white.
But when the riders reined in at the lead wagon, they were far less pleased, for the leader was a terrifying man, very tall, covered with hair, dirty, mean-looking, and topped by a panther pelt which he wore with the tail hanging down the left side of his face. 'Sergeant Komax, Confederate army. On duty with these men to gather all cotton wagons headed for Matamoros and bring them in safely.'
'Which way is Galveston?' Michael asked very politely.
'Don't matter. Ever'body goes to Matamoros. You niggers, what you doin' 7 '
Very carefully, very politely, Trajan directed Jaxifer to show the paper which the judge had written, he certainly did not pn to show his copy lest the soldiers keep it When Komax had of his men read the safe-passage to him, he grunted: 'We find a lot of slaves takin' their plantation cotton south, join up.'
Komax had little trouble convincing Trajan to agree, but when he turned to the two boys he found himself looking into the same cumbersome rifles that had stopped the slave 'We're goin' to Galveston,' Michael said in his quavering voice, and he was supported by his brother, who cried: 'You come closer, we shoot '
To Trajan's surprise, the big, hairy man halted immediately and withdrew: 'Do somethin' with them kids!'
'You act as if they's gonna shoot.'
'At their age I'd of shot.'
So once more Trajan had to convince his two charges that going to Galveston was not only impractical but also forbidden. With the gravest foreboding that they might be slam or their cotton taken from them, the boys lowered their guns, but during the rest of this dangerous journey they remained close to Trajan, for Panther Komax terrified them.
By the end of that week three other wagons had fallen in line, and during the week after, four more. The plodding caravan had now passed Victoria and was about to skirt the dangerous port city of Corpus Christi, blockaded by Union ships. By the time Komax was ready to ford the shallow Nueces River, other Confederate scouts had rounded up a dozen or more creaking wagons, and Panther gave stern orders: 'Yonder, the Nueces Strip. We keep together for three reasons. Benito Gar/a and his bandits might attack. Union troops comin' at us from the sea might attack And if you fall behind, you will perish for lack of water Git!'
It was about a hundred and forty miles, in the hottest tune of the year. The draft animals sometimes staggered in the blazing heat, and men fared little better, so that even the slaves, who were supposed to be impervious to heat, sweated and groaned. At tunes there seemed to be not a single living thing on the vast coastal plains, so flat they were, so devoid of pleasant vales and cool streamlets. The drivers wrapped rags across their faces and looked like ghosts gray with dust, but still the dreadful heat assailed them.
Water was rationed, and at the worst of the journey exhausted men and animals simply lay on the ground during the sunlight hours, sweating and jabbing at insects; there was no shade except under the wagons. It seemed stupid to be King bathed in sweat,
but the brief rest enabled the teams to travel through the cooler night. And then the miracle of Texas happened, because wherever in this v
ast state one traveled, arid and forbidding land finally ended and green pastures appeared. Komax had brought his caravan safely into the valley of the Rio Grande, that fragile paradise where a few industrious farmers were beginning to coax the waters of the river inland to produce the finest fruits and dairy cattle in this part of the world. Rarely were travelers more delighted to find shade and cool water.
At Brownsville the difficulty that Petty Prue had fore-seen eventuated. Overland convoys like the one Panther Komax had brought through safely were arriving constantly, and with only one small, overworked ferry available for carrying the bales across the Rio Grande, a swirling confusion developed. Men with the loudest voices and the roughest manners preempted the ferry, and even though Panther was strong in both departments, he had learned that he had little chance of forcing the cotton of these slaves and their two small boys onto that precious craft.
'Why wait?' he said to Trajan. 'You can swim it acrost.'
'Me?'
'Yes,' Panther explained. 'You lug them bales to that river's edge, and then you shoves 'em in and you follow. And you kick your feet like a puppy dog, and pretty soon you're on the other side.'
'Not me!'
'If you don't do it, it ain't gonna get done.' He showed the slaves how to muscle the bales right down to the river, and then he demonstrated how Trajan must jump in after the bale and push it to the far side, but Trajan was terrified.
'Cotton don't float, and Lord knows, I don't float.'
'But it does float. Enough air locked in there, makes it a boat.'
'Water hit cotton, it's ruined.'
it's packed so tight, water don't penetrate quarter of an inch.' Carefully Panther explained that perfect safety prevailed: 'Cotton floats. You float. Nothin' gets wet but your black hide. You ride back on the empty ferry.'
If Trajan was scared of the water, Jaxifer and the other two were paralyzed, and there seemed no way that the Cobb bales were going to be delivered to the people on the south shore who were eager to pay a fortune to get them. So, cursing all black men in words which ought to have shriveled Trajan's skin but which affected him not at all, for he was not going into that river, Panther shed most of his clothes until he stood a forbidding, hairy ape at
the side of the Rio Grande. Instructing the slaves how to get the heavy bale into the water, he swore and plunged in after it, but he had taken only the first few kicks when off to his right he heard a boyish shout: it's easy!' and Michael was steering across the first of the many bales he would manage that day
Swearing a new set of oaths, Komax crawled out of the water, grabbed Trajan by the neck, and thundered: if he can do it, you can.' And Trajan, trembling like an aspen, edged into the water, kicked, and found that it would require fifty strong men to sink that bale of air-filled cotton.
On the next trip, even the smaller boy, Clem, swam his bale across, but no one, not even Komax with all his profanity, could get Jaxifer and the other slaves into that river.
Returning on the ferry after each trip, Trajan and the boy their entire cargo across, and then the slave offered the lads a proposition: 'Clem, you the littlest, you swim over to the other shore and mind our cotton. Jaxifer, you stay here. Michael, you and me is gonna earn a fortune.' And they did. Well practiced now in swimming, they invited cautious owners to shove their bales into the water, where they took charge, maneuvering them to the Mexican shore.
They charged for this service, and so jammed were the supply lines that after several dripping days, they had accumulated quite a few dollars and would have been willing to continue the traffic indefinitely, for as Michael said: 'After you been without water in the Strip, this is fun.'
But now problems of a much different nature confronted them, because they must arrange a deal for their cotton and see that it reached some waiting cargo ship off the Mexican shore, and this threw them into the tremendous chaos of Matamoros, which stood twenty-seven miles inland from the Gulf. More than sixty small sailing craft crowded the river, clinging meticulously to the Mexican half, with each owner screaming: Til carry your bales out to the big ships waiting in the Gulf.' And if one did elect one of these boats, greater confusion followed, for when the open sea was reached, the pilot must turn immediately south and take refuge in Mexican waters, where two hundred ships from all the ports of Europe posted seamen on their decks who bellowed: 'We'll take your cotton to Liverpool.' Off to the north, sometimes less than a hundred yards away, hovered warships of the United States Navy, never leaving American waters but always ready to pounce upon any ship laden with cotton that moved even a foot north of the international line.
Day after painful day the comedy was played out. Cargo ships
owned by supposedly loyal Northern merchants in New York sailed blithely to some British or French port—or to any neutral port—where they were instantly issued papers by European powers hungry for cotton. Then, as privileged ships of that nation, they sailed to join the fleet waiting at Matamoros, hoping to acquire a load of cotton. In exchange they would give the Confederates shot and shell, muskets and hardware, cloth and food. If the Confederate government could move its cotton onto a European ship, it could acquire in exchange almost anything it needed.
But how, in this welter of thievery, chicanery and murder, could a slave like Trajan or two boys like Michael and Clem hope to get their bales from Matamoros to the waiting fleet? There was a way. The Confederate government had assigned a clever, manipulative man to Matamoros, and his job was to collect the cotton ferried or swum across the river and move it overland to the improvised Mexican seaport of Bagdad—a line of shacks along an open beach —and there turn it over to an even more ingenious Mexican conniver who saw to it that the bales got aboard ship.
The Confederate was big, jovial Yancey Quimper, dressed in full uniform, ideally qualified as an expediter and willing to pay any graft to accomplish his ends; the Mexican was a dapper man in a bright-red uniform laden with medals known as El Capitan. The two connivers were well matched, with Quimper's military rank as spurious as El Capitan's medals, and together they controlled the movement of cotton to the world markets.
The finances of this sleazy operation were interesting; cost of growing, 7? a pound; value on an interior Texas plantation, 1 3 A 4 value delivered on the north bank of the Rio Grande, 22^; on the south bank, 37^; delivered by General Quimper to Bagdad, 49 ?, of which he pocketed 6^; delivered to a waiting ship by El Capitan, 89^, of which he pocketed 7?; placed on the dock at Liverpool, $1.60, of which the shipowner retained a large portion.
Since thousands of pounds were being moved daily, it was obvious that the two expediters were getting rich, but so were many other patriots who managed to escape battle. There could have been unpleasantness over the fact that the captain was stealing a penny more per pound than the general, but Quimper also had a neat plan working whereby he bought for his own account, and not the government's, five or six bales each day if he could force some unfortunate seller to unload them at bottom price. These bales he disposed of through a special, undocumented arrangement with a Russian ship captain.
One praised a man like Major Reuben Cobb for being loyal to his theory of honor, or Sam Houston for being loyal to his theory
of government, but it was also possible for a man to be loyal only to himself and to adjust quickly to every whimsical gale which affected his interests. Yancey Quimper saw in the Union effort to strangle the Confederacy a chance to make his fortune, every situation in which decent men exalt noble sentiments is us< a chance to profit by those who look at such sentiments cynically
One Confederate soldier assigned to help Quimper in his work, a veteran who had fought at Shiloh, summarized it well: This is a rich man's war, a poor man's battle.' Quimper, evaluating the same evidence, said: 'When bugles blow, wise men know.'
How had this man of no character and limited talent found himself in so many theaters of the war: at the Kansas preliminaries, at the massacre of the Germans, in charge of the hangings alo
ng the Red River, and now supervising operations in the cotton exchange, not to mention months spent tracking down draft evaders hiding in the Big Thicket northeast of Houston? Two reasons: the war was appallingly prolonged, with the nation's best men dying year after hideous year, and this provided time for those left at home to pursue many activities; indeed, a man like Quimper was forced into them. He was in Brownsville because the Confederacy needed him there. Also, when good men like Somerset Cobb and Otto Macnab were engaged in battle, only the dregs were left to manage scandalous operations like those along the Rio Grande.
It was highly improbable that naive cotton handlers like Trajan and Michael could bring their bales into Quimper's maelstrom and end up with any money at all, but they had one advantage: Panther Komax had grown to love Texas, and this meant that he hated Abe Lincoln and the North, and if he had brought his convoy so far, he was determined to see that his bales, at least, reached their proper destination. More important in the present situation, he had once watched helplessly as Yancey Quimper stole his bootmaker, Juan Hernandez, so when he overheard the general trying to pluck off the cotton of his charges, he suddenly leaped from behind a stack of bales, gun drawn and shouting: 'Quimper! You'll take these bales to your Russian captain, and you'll pay nobody, not even yourself.'
Terrified and sweating, with the gun at his belly, Quimper took the boys and their cotton out to Bagdad, waved away El Capitan with the warning 'This is special/ and concluded a deal which gave the amateurs an honest profit. And Komax and the boys watched from the beach as the Russian ship raised sail and started for Europe.
In Brownsville, Komax arranged for their funds to be transferred by a letter of credit on an English bank: 'So they don't steal them
from you on the way home.' The boys did not trust this, fearing that Panther would cheat them the way General Quimper had tried to, but Trajan, who had seen letters of credit at the mill, although he could not read them, assured the boys that Komax was telling the truth: 'The money be waitin' for you when you gits home. Gemmuns do bidness this way.'