Gone to Texas (26 page)

There was a lot of talk about rescuing Viesca, expelling Tenorio before more troops arrived, and preventing Cós from reaching San Antonio. A band of young men sailed for Anáhuac, and on the way elected lawyer William B. Travis as their commander. Captain Tenorio, unaware that more troops were coming, surrendered and agreed to leave Texas. Ellis groaned and his rheumatism flared up when Roark told him the startling news.

“The men in Austin's colonies are badly divided,” Roark continued. From what he'd heard, when Travis and the others returned in triumph from Anáhuac, peace party meetings in all the settlements bitterly denounced them for trying to involve Texians in a war. “If Cós carries out his threats,” Roark added soberly, “we'll be in big trouble, and who can all agree on to lead us? No one. Could be a lot of folks will be headin' for the Sabine.” Ellis gloomily nodded, and tried to ease the pain by rubbing his gnarled hands together.

“Divided like they are,” he said, “I can't see 'em puttin' up much of a fight.” He tried to envision the different things that might happen, and to figure a way he could deal with each possibility. Mexico can send a large army, but if Cós succeeds in disarming one settlement after another, it won't be necessary. If, however, some Texians choose to resist, they'll likely be badly outnumbered and overpowered. And even though he felt sure his friends wouldn't turn against him, Ellis knew that some hothead might shoot him as a public service.

I could slip away to Mexico and wait there till it's over, he thought, then shook his head. If I do that, and by some miracle Texas becomes independent, maybe with U.S. help, they'd never let me come back. I'd lose everything I've worked for, and I might even be forced to fight Americans. I don't aim to do that, but if I threw in with the Texians and they lost I'd be in the same fix.

Unless Cós moderated his stand, he knew Texians would be forced to decide between knuckling under to military rule or taking on the Mexican army. Many of the Old Settlers had developed prosperous plantations, and it was clear they'd rather submit to whatever Mexico demanded than risk losing their land. It appeared, at least for the moment, that the peace party outnumbered the war party, although Cós could quickly change that by carrying out his threats. Hundreds of adventurers had entered Texas illegally after 1830, and many of them talked openly of annexing Texas to the U.S. They were, Ellis was sure, eager for a war, but could they win it? He saw little reason to believe that was likely.

He recalled how it had been in the early years, when Mexican officials had been generous to American settlers, giving them huge tracts of land and even allowing them to have slaves when slavery was illegal elsewhere in Mexico. They had been eager to see Texas become settled and prosperous, but that had changed after Bustamante seized power. Repeated U.S. attempts to purchase Texas had convinced him and other officials that the Americans intended to acquire Texas one way or another, and they were determined to prevent that from happening. And now Santa Anna was preparing to reduce Texians to the status of peons.

In late July, when William Roark stopped for the night on his way to San Antonio, Ellis asked him to deliver a letter to the commander there. He wrote Ugartechea to explain why he hadn't replied to official communications recently. He'd received no answers to his letters, he said, which convinced him his mail had been intercepted. “I have thought it advisable to remain silent under the delicate circumstances. I avail myself of this opportunity to assure you that the majority of the inhabitants of this frontier refuse to take part in a revolution and have agreed to remain quiet, notwithstanding the inducements tendered them by the citizens of San Antonio and those of San Felipe, who have committed grave acts at Anáhuac. And in the vicinity of the Colorado, they have killed a mail courier.”

Whatever happened, Ellis was determined not to commit any overt act of disloyalty to Mexico, at least as long as it was governed under the Constitution of 1824. At the same time, however, he had no intention of helping Cós disarm Texians for supporting that constitution. He'd opposed the Fredonians even though they were Americans because they were clearly in the wrong, and most Texians opposed them for the same reason. If Texians became convinced they had to fight for the constitution and their rights as free men, that was quite another matter. He knew most would prefer to risk their lives rather than submit to oppressive military rule. He feared for the Mexico he knew and loved, for under Santa Anna its future appeared bleak.

Continuing to carry out his duties as Indian agent, in September Ellis wrote President Jackson that Benjamin Hawkins, who was half Creek, had “informed me that a good speculation could be made out of the Creeks by persuading them to move to lands in this country, that a large sum of money could be obtained from them. I promptly assured him that no such thing could take place nor be permitted by me, as it was contrary to the laws of this republic and existing treaties with the United States.” He condemned the avarice and cupidity of individuals who “make a barter of human life,” and he urged Jackson to prevent the emigration of the Creeks. He signed it “Peter E. Bean, colonel of cavalry, commanding the eastern department.”

That same September, the welcome news reached Nacogdoches that Austin had returned to San Felipe after a year and a half in prison without ever having been brought to trial. Texians everywhere rejoiced, including those who previously had been critical of Austin. Here, at the most crucial moment, when the future of all was in the balance, was a leader that both parties respected and trusted. For troubled Texians it was like a sudden break in the blackest of clouds. The storm would still strike, but the sight of the sun was reassuring.

Austin immediately sent a circular to all settlements calling for the election of delegates to a consultation at Washington-on-the-Brazos for October 15. He also urged each settlement to send one delegate immediately to form a permanent council. His concluding words sent a thrill through the war party but struck the peace party like the frigid blast of a blue norther. “War,” he said, “is our only recourse.”

“That's sure to bring Austin's people around,” Roark observed. “They've always followed his lead, and it would be madness not to now. With war certain, what you reckon on doin' when it starts?” he asked.

Ellis gazed off at the horizon, his brow furrowed, his thoughts troubled. “Elisha Roberts told me he aims to lay low and take no part on either side, and that sounds like good advice,” Ellis replied. “It may Cóst me the trust of both Texians and Mexicans—if either still trust me—but it's what I got to do. I can't see any other way for me.” He held out his arm, and patted the sleeve of his buckskin jacket. “I put away my uniform for good,” he said.

In Nacogdoches to visit his children early in October, Ellis saw a rider lope into town waving one arm and shouting. Men quickly gathered around his sweating horse, which stood with lowered head and heaving sides. “The war has started!” the rider shouted. “Ugartechea sent a bunch of dragoons to Gonzales to take back the old cannon they given us. We sent out calls for help and stalled until enough men come, then we crossed the Guadalupe and run ‘em off. It warn't much of a scrape, but we killed one and maybe nicked a few.” He paused to catch his breath.

“Boys,” he continued, “Cós has landed at Cópano and is headin' for San Antonio. As soon as enough men git to Gonzales they'll take after him and run him outa Texas. All you fellers with guns git movin' or you'll miss the fun.”

It was bound to happen sooner or later, Ellis thought, but now that war had come, he felt suddenly old and weary. If they'd let Texians alone and not sent more troops, things might have been settled without a war. But Santa Anna appears set on bullying Texians into submission, and that won't work. I hope by some miracle the Texians can win, but the odds against them are too long to bet on it. Enough men could come from the States to swing it, but will they come in time? He doubted it.

The next morning Ellis stood with Sam Houston, who towered over him, while they and others watched the first party of men, Micajah and his son Angus among them, assemble near the Old Stone Fort. There were men of every description—young, old, and in between. Tall men in greasy buckskins straddled small, half-broken mustangs or nervous little Mexican mules, their long legs nearly reaching the ground. Beardless youths in homespuns perched on placid wagon horses. A woman tried to hand her husband a heavy coat, but he waved her away. “Won't take us all that long,” he said. “We'll be home afore it gits cold.”

“They may not look like an army,” Sam Houston remarked, “but most are dead shots and they won't run from a scrap.” He shook his shaggy head. “Cós must have over a thousand men and plenty of cannon. They can't attack a force like that without artillery, and they're not equipped for a siege. I hate to say it, but their chances of success are pretty slim. I'd go with ‘em anyway if it wasn't for the consultation. I'm a delegate, and that's my first responsibility.”

Ellis watched the warriors ride away, most obviously in high spirits, and recalled the day he and Duncan had set out from Natchez with Nolan's party thirty-five years earlier. “Fightin' trained soldiers ain't like fightin' Indians,” he observed. “Mexico has a few really well-trained battalions, but most of the rest are jailbirds. That doesn't mean they won't fight if they're cornered.” Houston nodded.

Like everyone else, Ellis anxiously followed the bits of news, although he discreetly remained at his ranch most of the time, relying on friends to keep him informed. The Texians who gathered at Gonzales had elected Austin commander, he learned, and on October 12 they cheerfully set out for San Antonio. Two yoke of oxen hauled the little cannon that had precipitated the conflict, until it became too much trouble. Then they happily abandoned it, for they much preferred fighting with their deadly long rifles.

In a little over a week they neared San Antonio, where Tejanos informed them that the Mexican army, which numbered about twelve hundred, was entrenched behind barricades and had at least thirty cannon in place. Austin, Colonel Edward Burleson, and other officers glumly agreed that a siege was their only hope. On October 9, a party of Texians under George Collinsworth had captured the presidio at Goliad, which put them in a position to cut off supplies sent Cós by sea. If Austin's army could bear up under the boredom, inactivity, and shortage of provisions long enough, it seemed possible it could starve the Mexican garrison into surrendering.

On October 15, delegates to the consultation rode into Washington-on-the-Brazos, but it was soon clear that most were with the army. Lacking a quorum, they adjourned until November 1, leaving the permanent council to act for them.

The Texians at San Antonio were as poorly prepared for besieging Cós as his army was for withstanding a siege, but James Bowie and a party of Texians beat off a Mexican attack near Concepcion mission and captured two cannon. Colonel J. C. Neill, an experienced artilleryman, took charge of them. Most supplies except whiskey were scarce, but Erasmo Seguin and other Tejano ranchers kept the army supplied with beef. At least one hundred fifty men left to get winter clothing, but eager volunteers from the States, such as the Mobile Grays, swelled the army to more than a thousand.

In late November, William Roark brought Ellis news of the Consultation that met at Washington-on-the-Brazos on November 1. The delegates had chosen a provisional government consisting of governor, lieutenant governor, and council, but without specifying the powers of each. The governor was hot-tempered Henry Smith; James W. Robinson was lieutenant governor. They named Sam Houston commander of the Texian army yet to be raised, but the men at San Antonio were excluded from his command. “From what I hear,” Roark said, “The governor is for the war party and all the rest are peace party men. That smells like trouble to me, for all must agree on what needs to be done if we're to survive. The council wants to attack Matamoros and cooperate with Mexican federalists in restoring the constitution. Does that make sense to you?”

Ellis took off his straw hat and ran his twisted fingers through his thinning hair. “The chances of cooperating with the Mexican federalists are at best slim to none,” he replied. “If the council sends an expedition against Matamoros—” He shrugged. “That would unite all Mexicans against them. It's the worst thing they could do.” When Roark told him that on October 3 the Mexican congress had replaced the federal constitution with a centralist one, Ellis threw up his hands. “Not even the peace party can accept that,” he said.

Before mid-November, when the Consultation adjourned until March 1,1836, the provisional government had named Austin, Branch T. Archer, and William H. Wharton as commissioners to seek aid in the States. Before he left San Antonio on November 25, Austin had ordered an attack, for he feared the army would abandon the siege after he was gone. The volunteers from the States, accustomed to choosing their own officers, refused to obey. Austin departed in disgust. The Texians and volunteers elected Colonel Edward Burleson to replace him as commander.

The news from San Antonio convinced Ellis that the siege would fail, for many Texians, bored by the lack of action, mounted their horses and rode away. None was under oath, and all felt it their right to come and go at will. Fortunately for Burleson, volunteers from the States continued to arrive and take the places of those who left.

When Samuel Maverick, a Texian who lived in San Antonio, escaped his captors and reported that the siege had greatly weakened the Mexican troops under Cós, Burleson ordered the men to prepare for an attack, and they eagerly complied. To their disappointment, however, the officers voted to lift the siege and go into winter quarters. Burleson was furious, but there was nothing he could do about it. The Texians were also angry, and nearly half of them left in disgust.