Gone to Texas (An Evans Novel of the West)

by Don Worcester

  “Come meet Antonia,” Duncan said. “She’s the reason for it.” Ellis saw at once that she, like Magdalena, had the poise and dignity of the hacendado class. He noticed that she limped slightly as she came to greet him, but that didn’t detract from her impressive appearance.

  “My husband has mentioned you often,” she told him in her musical voice. “He kept hoping you were alive and that he’d see you again. You two must have a good talk.”

  Ellis stayed a day, and they had their talk. He told Duncan his brothers were also in Texas and hoping to find him. Then he related what had happened in the years after he was taken to Acapulco. When he finished recounting his experiences while serving under Morelos, Duncan smiled sheepishly.

  “While you fought for the rebels, I was on the other side,” he admitted. “Joining the royalist cavalry was the only way I could get out of Chihuahua, and there were no rebels in the north I could join. But at the first opportunity I cut loose, and Antonia’s folks sheltered me. That good deed cost them a daughter, for I couldn’t help falling hard for her.” He hugged Antonia and kissed her forehead, while she pretended to push him away and modestly turned her head.

  “It ain’t hard to see why,” Ellis said.

  Duncan released Antonia. “When we came here, her father let some of his peón families come with us,” he continued, “and he set us up with cattle, sheep, and a few good Spanish horses. Because of the families, we qualified for four leagues and four labores.” Ellis whistled.

  “That’s more than sixteen thousand acres.” he said. “When they gave me one league I thought I was king of the mountain.”

  Ellis rode on the next morning. His league of land, which had seemed half as big as Tennessee and made him feel rich, now seemed small potatoes. Once he got an empresario contract and settled several hundred families on it, he’d own land beyond measure. The thought of it gave him gooseflesh.

  He swam his horse and mule across the Rio Grande and continued on to the village of San Carlos in Nuevo Santander, which was now the Mexican state of Tamaulipas. He’d heard that Gutiérrez was commander general of what used to be the Eastern Interior Provinces, and expected to find him comfortably situated at last. San Carlos was a village of small adobe huts along a wide and dusty street. The only sign of life Ellis saw at first was a pack of scrawny curs snarling and snapping over a bitch in heat. San Carlos appeared anything but prosperous.

  He found Gutiérrez at the barracks, his uniform hanging loosely on his once-bulky body. He can’t be eating well, Ellis thought as they exchanged abrazos. He glanced around at the soldiers lounging in the shade. Their uniforms were shabby, and both they and their horses looked underfed.

  “My pony and mule are kind of worn down,” Ellis told Gutiérrez. “I was hopin’ to swap them with you and maybe borrow a little dinero, but it don’t look like you can spare either.”

  Gutiérrez shook his head slowly and pulled his empty pants pockets inside out. “You’re right,” he morosely admitted. ‘ ‘We haven’t been paid for months, and we’re barely hanging on. You know I’d help you if I could, but I can’t even help my own family. I think the government has forgotten us.”

  Ellis decided it was useless even to ask Gutiérrez for a letter supporting his request for an empresario contract—it would probably embarrass him to have to confess that he didn’t even have a sheet of paper. He cursed himself for not having followed the Camino Real through San Antonio and Laredo on down between the mountain ranges to the Valley of Mexico. He hadn’t gotten what he’d come for, and now he had to cross the Sierra Madre Oriental, which would be hard on his animals and delay his getting to Mexico City.

  He rode slowly south, then crossed the mountain range, which made it necessary to rest his horse and mule for a week. The only food he ate were the tortillas and frijoles that kind-hearted poor families shared with him. It was mid-October when he finally gazed down on Mexico City in the valley below. In the distance snow-capped Popocatépetl gleamed in the sun, and Ellis recalled that the first time he’d seen it he’d been in chains. His hopes rose as he rode past the Indian villages that surrounded the city. A little more time, he thought, and my day will surely come. He rode on through the city’s gate to an establishment that dealt in horses and mules, and sold both animals and their saddles for the little that was offered. At least he’d have money for food and lodging for a week or two if he was frugal. Once he’d gotten what he came for, he could buy a good horse.

  He shouldered his blanket roll and trudged toward the National Palace, where the government met, arriving in the area as the sun neared the mountaintops. Street vendors, mostly Indians, were offering fruits, tortillas, maize cakes, and roast ducks, their voices mingled and their cries almost unintelligible. Although the delicious aroma of the roast ducks almost overcame his determination to make his pittance last as long as necessary, Ellis bought only maize cakes, bananas, and a cup of pulque. He’d learned to like the nourishing drink of fermented maguey juice, which was the favorite of all classes in the city. The first time he’d tasted it he’d wrinkled his nose at the odor, but after a few sips he liked it. Now it warmed his stomach and made him feel almost contented. Then he entered a cheap inn and was ushered into a large room where fifteen or twenty others were preparing to sleep on mats on the dirty floor.

  Ellis awoke at dawn to the shouts of the street vendors. The first was the carbonero, who sold charcoal, and whose cry, “Carbón, señor?” sounded like one unintelligible word. He was soon followed by a multitude of others hawking butter, salt beef, fruit, hot cakes, and dulces. Ellis arose, yawning and stretching his sore muscles. Leaving his blankets with a servant, he went to the street and bought a hot cake and fruit.

  In mid-morning Ellis brushed bits of mud off his frayed buckskin jacket and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. Not much improvement, he thought, but there was nothing else he could do. He entered the National Palace, past guards who eyed him suspiciously but didn’t challenge him, probably because he was an Americano, Ellis suspected. Then he walked the halls until he found the President’s office. When he told the surprised male secretaries he wanted to see the President, they looked down their noses at him and asked him to wait outside. After several hours passed, he realized they had no intention of letting one so shabbily dressed in to see Guadalupe Victoria, so he gave up and hunted for the office of Mier y Terán, Minister of War and Navy. There the same thing happened.

  Cursing under his breath, Ellis continued to prowl the halls, hoping for a chance meeting with either man. Several days later, when he was becoming discouraged and desperate, he saw a Captain López, now a colonel, who’d served under Mier at Tehuacán, and hailed him. López frowned when he saw the shabby figure, no doubt thinking that a lépero had accosted him for a handout. Then he recognized Ellis.

  “Elias!” he exclaimed. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m tryin’ to see General Mier and get a commission in the army,” he replied. “Dressed like this I can’t get near him, but I have no money for clothes.”

  “Let me tell him you’re here,” López said, and left.

  A few moments later the aristocratic Mier strode into the hall and gave Ellis an abrazo. “Come with me,” he said, taking Ellis by the arm and leading him into his spacious office. As they passed the wide-eyed male secretaries, Mier said, “When señor Beans wants to see me, show him in. We were comrades in arms under Morelos.” Ellis felt like he’d just dreamed the world had come to an end and then awakened to find it alive and well.

  Ellis related what had happened after he left Mier at Tehuacán, his marriage to Magdalena, his narrow escape from royalist cavalry, his months with Gutiérrez in the Neutral Ground, and his move to Texas. He made no mention of Candace. “I’m hoping you can give me the rank I held under Morelos,” he concluded. “Then I aim to apply for an empresario grant.”

  The dignified Mier sat with both elbows on his polished desk, his hands touching at the fingertips while he gazed at Ellis.
“Magdalena inherited her uncle’s hacienda, Las Banderillas,” he said. “I know she’ll be delighted to see you.” Then he changed the subject. “For your services to the revolution, Mexico is in your debt. You shall be a colonel again, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t also be an empresario. And while you’re in the city, my house is your house.” He called in a secretary, who stood stiffly with hands by his sides while Mier wrote a note and gave it to him. The young man left but soon returned and handed Mier an envelope, while Ellis wondered what was going on. Mier glanced at the envelope’s contents, then held it out to Ellis.

  “Here’s a hundred pesos," he said. “Consider it a small token of Mexico’s gratitude, and buy yourself suitable clothes. In the meantime, I’ll start the process for getting your commission. Like everything else here, it will take at least a month. When that’s taken care of, I know you’re eager to get to Jalapa. But I intend to appoint you Indian agent for Texas, so you will need to return here by early March.”

  It was mid-December before Ellis was able to leave for Jalapa in the new uniform of a colonel. The coach set out before sunrise, but it made slow progress through the city gate. Entering the city were throngs of Indian men and women bent under enormous loads. Even burdened as they were, the men managed to doff their straw hats and show their white teeth to the passengers. Ellis watched them, marveling at their strength and their good nature; they seemed to have a cheerful smile for everyone. Also entering the city were long trains of pack mules following belled mares, small herds of steers, and flocks of bleating sheep.

  The rough road crossed the fertile plains to the hills, where the vegetation changed as the elevation increased. The coach met or overtook pack trains and parties of horsemen. Despite the jolting ride, Ellis thought of seeing Magdalena at last, and smiled. As the coach ascended the mountains amid huge boulders and stunted firs, his mind roamed to the new uniform he wore and the application for an empresario contract he’d send to the governor of Coahuila y Texas on his return to Mexico City. Eager though he was to see Magdalena, he couldn’t help thinking about becoming an empresario and owning many thousands of acres of Texas land. If it weren’t for that, he thought, I’d be tempted to stay in Jalapa. Then he remembered Isaac Midkiff and his own promise not to abandon Candace. Anyway, I’m in the army, and Mier’s sending me to Texas. I have no choice but to go.

  After frequent changes of teams and jolting along for nearly a week, the coach stopped at Las Banderillas, a few miles from Jalapa. Ellis took his blanket roll, said adios to the other passengers, and stiffly alit. He gazed at the large stone house that was covered with vines and roses and surrounded by gardens. Beyond the house Ellis saw endless cultivated fields. All of it appeared to be well-managed.

  Heart pounding, Ellis shouldered his blanket roll, walked as fast as his sore muscles permitted to the hacienda gate, and looked over it. He was thrilled to see Magdalena in the garden picking roses. She wore a white muslin dress and white satin slippers, reminding him of how she’d appeared in his awful dream. Hearing the heavy gate creaking on its hinges, she looked up and recognized Ellis. With a little cry of surprise mingled with joy, she dropped her flowers and hurried to him. He threw down his blanket roll and ran to embrace her. She was as lovely as he remembered her, only plumper.

  For several days they talked from morning till night. Ellis told her about his months in the Neutral Ground, when he hoped to take part in an invasion of Texas, and his disappointment at missing Mina’s expedition. He told her, too, of his appointment as Indian agent for Texas, and of his grand hope of becoming an empresario and owning a vast tract of land. She told him of her fears for him, not knowing if he’d escaped, and of her daily prayers for his safety.

  Eager for everyone to see the husband she’d often talked about, Magdalena proudly took him on daily carriage rides around Jalapa, while one of her men drove the team. On every side were a multitude of flowers of many shapes and colors; roses grew so profusely on walls and along the streets, they faintly perfumed the air. A great variety of fruit trees flourished, many that Ellis didn’t recognize. In the distance the snow-capped dome of Orizaba rose above a wreath of clouds like the peak of a white sombrero. Jalapa was, Ellis realized, a land of perpetual spring, where life was eternally delightful.

  As the weeks passed, nevertheless, the inactivity made Ellis increasingly restless and eager to pursue his empresario grant. He would send off his application as soon as he returned to Mexico City to give the governor ample time to arrange it before Ellis reached Saltillo. That, he thought, might spare him from a month of waiting for the governor and his staff to get around to approving it.

  “At least this is better than the first time we parted,” Ellis told Magdalena as he prepared to board a coach. “There aren’t any royalists trying to shoot me.” He kissed her as she fought back tears. “I’ll come see you as often as I can,” he promised.

  “Go with God,” she huskily replied.

  In Mexico City, Ellis met John Dunn Hunter, a white man who’d grown up among the Cherokees. Because of his prowess, they’d named him Hunter. When he was about eighteen—he didn’t know when he’d been born, he said—he went to live in Missouri with a man named John Dunn, and had added his name to his Cherokee name. He’d had to relearn English, for he’d completely forgotten it. After living among the whites for ten years and writing a book about his life as an Indian, he’d gone to live again with the Cherokees who had settled in Texas. Mixed-blood chief Richard Fields had sent him to obtain a title to the lands in East Texas that had been promised the Cherokees when Fields was in Mexico City several years earlier.

  Although Hunter was white by birth, his mannerisms reminded Ellis of the Cherokees he’d met in Nacogdoches. Since Ellis was to be Indian agent for Texas, he knew that Hunter could be of great help in getting on friendly terms with Fields and war chief Bowles, and perhaps the chieftains of other immigrant tribes like the Delawares, Shawnees, and Kickapoos.

  “Mexican officials promised Fields they would set aside land for us,” Hunter told Ellis. “They haven’t done so, and now they’re letting Americans settle in East Texas. We and the other tribes went to Texas to get away from Americans; if they keep coming, it will be the same story—sooner or later they’ll force us to move again. We must have a title to protect our homes—it’s either that or fight for them. The Cherokees are growing desperate; the officials Fields talked to when he was here are gone, and the new ones claim they know nothing about the agreement. If they refuse to give us a title, it won’t take much to put the Cherokees into a mood for lifting scalps.”

  Ellis respected and admired Hunter, and the prospect of the Indian war he indicated was frightening. There were at least one thousand warriors among the immigrant tribes, and most had guns and knew how to use them. All had compelling reasons for resenting and distrusting whites, and as Indian agent, he’d be in the middle of any trouble. His assignment promised to be dangerous as well as difficult. He hoped that Mexican officials had the good sense to realize that the Cherokees’ request wasn’t one to be ignored or even delayed. They must send Hunter home with title in hand.

  In early July, Ellis learned that the legislature of Coahuila y Texas was considering a bill to free all slaves in the state. Since there were none in Coahuila, or elsewhere in Mexico, for that matter, the proposed law was aimed at Texas planters. Ellis mentioned it to Guadalupe Victoria and asked for advice, for without slaves no cotton could be grown, and it was the only cash crop. The tall, lean old warrior, who’d been a lawyer before he joined Morelos, astutely suggested a way to get around the law. After his talk with Guadalupe Victoria, Ellis wrote Stephen F. Austin.

  “I have not the honor of being acquainted with you.” he began, “but I think it my duty to inform you as a friend that I heard about the proposed law in Saltillo that all slaves in Texas will be set free. I spoke to the President, as he is an old friend of mine, and he believes it will pass. But there is a way your settlers can get around it. That
is to go in person to an alcalde and state how much each slave cost, and that when he repays it by labor there will be no charge against him. Say that he discounts it at so much a month, like pay for any hired hand. Then it will be the same as before, and will no more be noticed. Communicate this also to the men of Ayish Bayou, so they can take the same measure with their slaves. Do it as quickly as possible, before the law goes into effect, for then it may be too late.

  ‘‘I have nothing else worth your attention. Please inform the widow Long that it is impossible for this government to allow her any pension, for her husband was not known as a general here, nor had he any commission from this government.”

  Ellis finally left Mexico City on July 21, heading up the Camino Real to Saltillo, itching to have his empresario contract in hand. He arrived in September, and met both the Baron of Bastrop, who represented Texas in the state legislature, and John B. Austin, the empresario's brother. They spoke of the grant Ellis had applied for, which was in the twenty-league border reserve between the Sabine and Nacogdoches, where it would be easy to attract families who came to Texas on their own. He should have an easy time fulfilling his contract there, they said, without the expense of advertising in newspapers. Aware that Ellis had served under Morelos, they were certain the contract was as good as his. Elated by their confidence, Ellis failed to notice the governor’s excessive politeness while being quite vague, almost evasive, about when the contract might be confirmed. Instead of becoming suspicious, Ellis felt it was safe to go on to Texas without waiting for the governor to deliver the grant.

  What Ellis didn’t know was that listing Magdalena as his wife, rather than clearing the way for his contract, had raised serious obstacles. One of the officials in Saltillo who saw his application had been in Nacogdoches, and he felt sure that Ellis had a family there. About the time Ellis set out from Mexico City, the governor had instructed the political chief in San Antonio to investigate Ellis’ marital status. Political Chief Saucedo then requested Austin to conduct an inquiry and to report the result.