Chapter 19

Victoria being the biggest town around, folks just naturally showed up when they needed things done that they couldn’t do themselves. I worked on their guns and while I did, they brought me news from other parts of the Republic. Sam Houston was about to step down from being president, but I figured he wouldn’t just go off and hide.

Mirabeau Lamar, the vice president, was all set to take the office. I remembered him from San Jacinto and I’d heard more of him later. Complicated man, Lamar. About the best-educated man in the Republic, some thought. He’d published a newspaper, wrote poetry, was a philosopher, whatever that was, and in a fight brave as a man could be. But after David Burnet put him in charge of the Army, the men figured they had the right to elect their own general. So he quit the army and got himself elected Vice President. Always on the go, it was said, never wanting to stay still, but after being elected vice president he spent much of his time away from Texas. He considered Sam Houston’s policy of seeking peace with the Indians appeasement. It was said of him that “he hated Indians and he hated Sam Houston, not necessarily in that order.”

A messenger showed up one day with a note to let me know that Eureka was anchored in Lavaca Bay. I’d already been thinking about her for a while. In the usual way of things, my factor in Linnville received her cargo, saw to temporary storage in John Linn’s warehouse, and over the next few weeks, sold what wasn’t intended for merchants in Linnville or Victoria on to San Antonio, Gonzales, and places that didn’t have names yet. I’d gotten to depend on that income, but lately it had been less than I expected.

I talked to my uncle Henry about it, wondering if the men I’d hired to sail the ship were to be trusted. But after he explained, I understood what was likely happening. Eureka was old; her spars, rigging, sails, and even the hull itself needed near-constant upkeep. If she was to remain afloat, it was time to overhaul her. “I had a letter last month from Captain Matthews,” Henry said. “A voyage that took eight or nine days back when you sailed as crew now takes a full two weeks and sometimes more. She needs a careening to scrape off the weeds and barnacles, but to do that you’ve got to strip her down to the hull and lay her on her side on shore.

“I don’t recall us doing that while you were crew, so likely you need an explanation of what’s involved. The sails will have to come off her to start with, and it only makes sense to have the sailmaker make a new set while you’ve got the chance. Her sticks will have to come out, and more’n likely when you do you’ll find a lot of the standing rigging needs replacing. After that, the cargo has to be offloaded, everything, right down to the ballast, before the crew tows her ashore and lays her on her side. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that she’ll need a few new planks as well as a re-caulking, and it might even be that a few frame members have gone rotten.

“She won’t last forever, Jacob, but if you take care to see to her needs in a timely way, why, she could be sailing these bays a century from now! Captain Matthews was my bosun when I had her, and a good man he is; if there’s aught needing to be done, he’ll know. A word of advice, nephew; done right, Eureka is good for ten, maybe twenty years before she’ll need another rebuild. Done wrong, she could sink in the next storm.” I promised I’d keep it in mind, and so long as Matthews could pay for what he needed out of ship profits I would be satisfied. In any case, I would need to hear what he had to say, so it was time for us to have a talk.

A fast trip down, meet with Matthews and also have a talk with John Linn, I figured. He’d built a wharf that would make unloading easier, but if he wanted too much for Eureka using it I reckoned Matthews could keep on anchoring out in Lavaca Bay and transferring Eureka’s cargoes by longboat. I expected to be gone three, four days at the most. The ride would do me good, seeing as I was spending most of my time working in my shop or talking to visitors.

Then Priscilla stuck her oar into the doin’s. “You can’t leave before Thursday, Jake! You’re not going without me, and Sharon will want to come too. We’ll need the nannies for the babies, so make sure there’s room in the cutter for everyone. And our trunks, of course!”

So much for my fast business trip! Now that the women had took command, there was no telling how long I’d be away!

I’d met John Linn a time or two before, but just to say howdy to.

I figured we’d see more of each other, now that he’d just been elected mayor of Victoria, but it hadn’t worked out that way. He spent at least as much time taking care of his business down in Linnville as he did in Victoria. Linn got along well with Tejanos and Mexicans, who called him Juan Linn, which I saw as being in his favor. Mayors and businessmen ought to get along with everybody. John was a businessman and a good one, which was why I’d recently commissioned my own warehouse in Linnville. He was a touch too good, I figured, which would last as long as he had a monopoly on Lavaca Bay’s seaborne trade!

I’d thought to catch him in Linnville, but I missed him again; he’d just gone back to Victoria. Except for that, my trip went well and as for the women, I was just glad I’d been too busy to tell them what I thought of the dresses and hats that were being sold in the new millinery store! A man ought to stay as far away from doin’s like that as he can. Otherwise, he’s just bound to get himself in trouble.

There was no tide to speak of when we set out the next morning, but we caught a good onshore wind that took us almost all the way up Garcitas Creek. After it shifted, we rowed the rest of the way and as soon as we came in sight of the landing, people started heading for the dock to help unload.

Getting everything on shore was easy nowadays. We’d built the dock first, and after that I’d described what I wanted to Martín, one of my workmen. He had sunk the bottom-ends of two big cypress logs alongside the dock, as deep into the sandy bottom as he could manage, with them leaning so that the tops crossed about 20 feet up. Sailors knew the contraption as jeers. I’d forged the iron straps that fastened them together myself, and with the help of a couple of hands, climbed up and bolted everything in place. I’d done that job myself too, them not wanting to work that high up.

After checking to make sure the link was solid, I hung a double-block from it, using a chain that I’d forged myself. Jean-Louis had showed up about then and decided to get in on the fun. Working together, the two of us ran a line through the king-block, then through the snatch-block that lubbers called a falling-block because pulling on the lines made it go up and down, and finished the jeers by feeding the line back up through the double-block’s second pulley.