Gone to Texas (20 page)

The news from Mexico made it clear that Iturbide wasn't likely to last long, and Ellis found some satisfaction in that. Iturbide had quarrelled with the congress, then ordered it to disperse and replaced it with a junta of his own. After squandering huge sums on the coronation, his government had no money left to pay its generals, and they turned their backs on Iturbide. Seizing this opportunity, a disgruntled officer named Antonio López de Santa Anna had led an uprising against the Emperor, who abdicated in the spring of 1823. Good riddance, Ellis thought, recalling that Iturbide had badly defeated Morelos at Valladolid.

The following August, everyone was relieved when Stephen F. Austin finally returned to his colony after a year in Mexico City getting his
empresarío
contract reconfirmed. The contract his father had received, having been made before Mexican independence, was no longer valid. Iturbide's threadbare empire had passed a colonization law, but Austin was sure all imperial laws would be revoked, so he had to stay. Finally he appealed to the congress. Displaying its confidence in him, it reconfirmed his contract, then rescinded the imperial colonization law. The other men seeking
empresarío
grants would have to wait until the republican government enacted its own law. The same month that Austin returned, Candace gave birth to Louiza Jane.

Ellis and other Americans were elated when the Mexican Republic adopted a federal constitution in the fall of 1824. It was largely the work of the liberal priest, Miguel Ramos Arizpe, who had been guided in part by the outline of the U.S. Constitution Austin gave him, in part by the Spanish Constitution of 1812. Ellis was even more delighted to learn that the election had placed his companions of revolutionary days in power. Guadalupe Victoria was President, Nicolás Bravo was Vice President, and Mier y Terán was Minister of War and Navy. “If I ever need a favor from the government,” he told Candace, “I know where to go.”

Early the following year, the
alcalde
announced that the congress had combined Coahuila and Texas into the State of Coahuila y Texas—neither had sufficient population to qualify as a state. The capital was at Saltillo, hundreds of miles away, but Texas would be governed from San Antonio by a
jefe politico
, or political chief, José Antonio Saucedo.

The new Mexican constitution authorized the states to regulate immigration, except that no foreigners would be allowed to settle within thirty leagues of the border or coast. Coahuila y Texas adopted a state constitution in February 1825, and the state legislature quickly enacted a generous colonization law. Any family could acquire a league of grazing land and a labor (177 acres) of farm land, on its own or as a member of an empresario colony. Empresarios would receive five leagues and five
labores
for each one hundred families they introduced.

Immediately after the state colonization law was announced, a number of men hurried to Saltillo to apply for empresario grants. There was much talk about Austin and the others—
empresarios
were important men, colony builders who would soon own enormous tracts of land.

“I wish Papa was here,” Candace said wistfully one day. “He'd have made a wonderful
empresario.”
Ellis agreed, and that started him thinking. He'd felt rich owning nearly forty-five hundred acres of good land. If he were an
empresario,
what he had now would be a trifle, for he'd eventually own thousands upon thousands of acres, and men would speak of him in the same respectful tones they spoke of Austin. That thought made his head swim.

“With the friends I have in Mexico City,” he remarked one day, “I don't see why I can't get an
empresario
contract.” Candace stared at him in surprise, then frowned.

“Will you have to go there to get it?” she asked. He nodded.

“I'll go this summer,” he said. She pursed her lips but made no reply.

Late that spring of 1825, Vidal Flores rode up to Ellis' ranch accompanied by a tall, bearded Anglo in a buckskin jacket and homespun pants. Vidal, a slender, handsome Tejano with a neatly trimmed mustache, had settled with his family on a nearby grant. Both riders were in their early thirties. Ellis, who was splitting pine logs for firewood, looked up when his hounds bayed.

“Here's a man who wants to talk to you,” Vidal called in English as they dismounted. Ellis wiped the sweat from his forehead, then swung his axe with one hand so the blade stuck in a log. He appeared glad for an excuse to stop.

“I reckon you caught me doin' woman's work,” he said, walking toward them. The Anglo in the buckskin jacket looked vaguely familiar, like someone he'd met years ago, but Ellis couldn't place him.

“I'm Micajah McPherson,” the man said, extending his hand. “I'm hopin' you can tell me some news of Duncan.”

“Micajah! You were just a little feller when Dunc and I left for Natchez.” Ellis paused, his brow wrinkled. “Wish I had some news, but the last I knew Dunc was at Chihuahua, and that was about eighteen years ago. I heard they let all American prisoners leave in 1820. Maybe by then he'd got hitched and stayed put.” He told them about his year in Acapulco and serving with Morelos.

Micajah gazed around at the corrals, and at the cattle and horses grazing in the distance. “I like your place,” he said. “We're goin' to be neighbors, but Robert and William promised DeWitt they'd go to his colony, or they might have settled here too. Vidal and I are on the way to pick a spot for me right now.”

“How'd you two come to know each other?” Ellis asked.

“We were both with Gutiérrez in '12. I knew from Lt. Pike's report that Nolan's men were in Chihuahua, and I had a silly notion that maybe I could rescue Dunc, so I joined the Gutiérrez-Magee army in the Neutral Ground. Damn near cost me my life; it would have but for Vidal.”

Candace came out of the cabin to see who the visitors were, and Ellis introduced her. After she returned to the cabin, he said, “I'm headin' for Mexico City in a few weeks, and on the way I aim to visit Martin de León and Gutiérrez. Maybe one of them will know something about Duncan.” He followed them a short distance after they'd mounted. “I've got a wife in Mexico,” he said. “When the revolution died down I figured I'd never be able to go there again, so I hooked up with Candace. Now I'm goin' after a commission in the army and an
empresario
contract.”

“Good luck”, Micajah said. ‘‘I hope you get both.”

Early in June Ellis kissed the solemn-faced Candace, who held Louiza Jane in her arms, then chucked his daughter under the chin and patted the wistful Isaac on the head. “I can't say how long it will take,” he told Candace. “They take their sweet time, and if you try to hurry them they sit on their hands. But I'll be back with the bacon one day. You can count on that.”

Candace brushed away a strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her face. “Don't be any longer than you need to,” she said, her lips quivering. “It'll be hard on us bein' alone here.”

“Micajah and Vidal both said to call on them any time you need help,” he replied. “And they'll check on you regular.” Picking up the lead rope of his pack mule, he mounted his mustang cowpony. “Wish me luck,” he said, and rode south, dragging the reluctant mule. A hundred yards away he turned and waved, then rode on without looking back again. Candace waved weakly, then her arm fell limply against her side.

Ellis rode among the scattered cabins at San Felipe hoping to see Stephen F. Austin, but the
empresario
was in San Antonio. When the
alcalde
learned that Ellis was on the way to Mexico City, he asked him for a favor. “While you're takin' care of your business,” he said, “try to get the government to give Dr. Long's widow a pension. Long tried to free Texas, so it's kind of like he fought for the revolution.”

“I've heard him called a filibuster,” Ellis replied, “but I'll do what I can for her.” He knew that Dr. Long had led an expedition to Texas about the time Mexico became independent, but had been captured at La Bahia and taken to Mexico City. Right after he was released someone killed him.

Ellis rode on to Victoria, the capital of Martin de León's colony, which had been settled mainly by families from Mexico. He found the affable León and introduced himself. “I was a colonel under Morelos,” he said, “and for that they gave me a league near Nacogdoches. I have a wife in Jalapa, if she's still living, and I'm on my way to Mexico City to get my rank back and apply for an
empresario
contract. I figured you could give me some advice on how to go about it.”

León took off his straw hat and scratched his head. “Just say you're a citizen with a Mexican wife and that you've established residence in Texas. Serving under Morelos should help, for some of his officers are in the government. They can't give you a contract—you have to apply to Saltillo for that—but their support will certainly do you no harm. By the way, how long have you been in Texas?”

Ellis gazed off in the distance as his mind roamed back over the years. “I first came here with Philip Nolan in 1800. After troops killed him, they held us at Nacogdoches and San Antonio for about six months. I came back a couple of years ago to claim my league.”

“You were with Nolan? That's odd. One of my colonists was with him. You probably know him, name of McPherson.”

Ellis laughed. “Duncan McPherson? You bet I know him. We left Tennessee together. I lost touch with him when they took me to Acapulco. His brothers are in Texas now. Where can I find him?”

León pointed the way to Duncan's
hacienda
; Ellis thanked him for his advice and rode there. He saw a fairly large adobe house and several small ones; beyond them were a stable, sheds, and two round pole corrals. He spotted a tall man in Mexican clothes and a high-peaked
sombrero
standing outside one of the corrals, his hands on the top rail and a booted foot on the bottom one. Ellis had to look twice to be sure the man was Duncan. Inside the corral two
vaqueros
with rawhide riatas were holding a struggling mustang. In the other corral were a few fine-looking Spanish horses.

Ellis rode up behind Duncan and dismounted. “Hey, Duncan!” he called. “Look who's here!”

Duncan turned and stared at him in amazement. His jaw dropped and a com husk cigarette fell from his mouth. “Ellis! Is it really you?” They shook hands fiercely, both grinning with delight.

“You look like a real
hacendado
for sure,” Ellis said, staring at Duncan's Mexican jacket and hat. ‘ ‘With your own
vaqueros
and everything.”

“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.”