Chapter 9

Men from places like San Felipe off to the east had wanted to get into the fight, but got to Gonzales too late, and more than one wanted me to replace a loose lock-spring or just tighten things up in general. Unlike the local folks, they had cash money, so I was glad for the business. I also got caught up on what was going on back east.

Santa Anna had taken charge down in Mexico City and the Constitution of 1824 had been set aside. He hadn’t made himself king yet, as some thought he might, but things that had been left up to the states were now being decided by his Centralists, so in practical terms I figured it didn’t matter what he called himself.

What did matter was whether the new government would recognize land titles, such as they were. I heard from one of the new arrivals that a ring of thieves back east had got their hands on a bunch of signed grants. A speculator could pay them a few dollars if he had ‘em, maybe even swap an old horse for the paper if he didn’t.

The ring’s agent would then fill in the details and hand the speculator a paper granting him title to ten leagues of good land!

Which he could then sell to anybody, Mexican citizen or not, seeing as how the whole thing was crooked to start with! When the new owner showed up to register his title, he found out that he’d been swindled. By then, the scoundrel who had taken his money was long gone.

No question, the signature of the Mexican official was genuine, so most hired a lawyer to see what could be done. As it turned out, not much, for despite that signature the Centralists had finally figured out that all those new American settlers didn’t care a fig for Mexico or what Santa Anna wanted.

So there would be trouble, maybe even a war with the United States if they decided to support the settlers. There had already been disagreements over the boundaries of the Louisiana Purchase and neither side was satisfied with how things had turned out.

The solution, as the Centralists saw it, was to take away the settlers’ guns before they used them on Mexicans.

Including that nearly-useless old cannon.

I was up and around but still limping when Steven F. Austin showed up on October 11^th to take command. That’s when I knowed that the fight that had cost me a horse and paid me with a gimpy knee wasn’t over. Austin was an important man, not one to be getting involved over nothing much!

The skirmish had showed folks that the Mexican government was serious about disarming us. The politicians down in Mexico City either had no experience fighting Indians or didn’t care, but either way they’d left us no choice. We would have to fight, and Austin wasn’t the sort of hombre to let the grass grow under his feet. He was already gathering men to run Mexico out of Texas for good. I liked the sound of that. We’d built homes and businesses and towns, now we would build our own nation! Despite my sore knee, I intended to be part of it.

I made up my mind that when Austin led our men west, I would go along even if I had to ride in a wagon. Edward Burleson was back in town, now a lieutenant-colonel in command of Austin-township’s militia, so I figured he was the man I needed to talk to.

But when I offered to join up, he turned me down.

“Jake, you’re a damned good man and I’d love to have you with us, but as soon as we figure we’re ready we’ll be marching from here to San Antonio de Bexar. There’s no way you can keep up with your knee the way it is, and I can’t afford to lose what men I’ve got taking care of you when your leg gives out.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t help the cause. My boys are fighters, but some only have shotguns or old muskets and that won’t be nearly good enough to drive the Mexicans out of Bexar. They are short of money, my boys, but I’d take it kindly if you’d fix what is needed anyway.” I agreed that I would, and the next day when customers started arriving, it turned out that not a one of them could pay!

Ed brought Steven Austin around to my gunshop, and while we were looking at some of the guns the militia intended to fight with several of the town’s ladies showed up with food. A man I didn’t know spread a cowhide in front of my cabin and we sat down and ate.

While we did, we talked over what Austin and Sam Houston had in mind. “Santa Anna has two choices, the way we see it,” Steven said. “He can cross at Laredo and bring his army up to Bexar, which they hold, and from there turn east.” He was going to explain that other choice, but I interrupted him. “He’ll stick to the old Camino Real, then,” I said, “but he might cross at Matamoros instead of Laredo. From there, he’d follow the Atascocito Road north of Nueces Bay and turn east through Victoria and Goliad. You might want to send a few scouts down there just in case, to make sure Santa Anna doesn’t sneak past you.”

They exchanged a glance, then the conversation turned to other things. I figured they weren’t impressed by my opinion, but they seemed to be interested in me or at least in my gunsmithing. The talk drifted for a bit before Ed looked at Steven, who nodded back like they’d reached some sort of agreement without my knowing. “Jake, you can’t march, but can you sit a saddle?” Steven asked.

“I reckon,” I said. “I’ve done a lot of standing at my bench lately and the knee is holding up all right. It’s a mite sore late in the day and early in the morning, but it’s getting better. You’re thinking I could join up with George Kimbell’s ranging company?”

“No, something else,” Steven said. “How well do you know the country around Galveston?”

“Well enough,” I said, puzzled. The fighting was here, why did he want to know about Galveston? Did Santa Anna have ships enough to transport his army all that way?

“What about north of there?” Ed asked, so I decided that something else was going on.

“Better than most, I’d say,” I confessed. “I crossed from Louisiana quite a few times, most often from Alexandria to San Augustine, but we made a couple of trips to Nacogdoches too. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve got a people’s army that’s short of everything, including people,” Ed explained. “I intend to take Bexar and I reckon I’ve got what I need to get it done, but I don’t have enough men to stop Santa Anna if he gets past me. Indians are a problem, too, because raids started to pick up as soon as they realized that there was no one to stop them.

“I’m thinking of our women and children. With the men off fighting, they’re worried because they’ll be left without protection, and a man that’s concerned for his family won’t be able to keep his mind on fighting Santa Anna. I’ve already been approached by several, wondering what I propose to do about it.”

“I can understand that,” I said, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“If we don’t manage to stop Santa Anna out here,” Edward said, “there’s not a single strong point closer than the eastern settlements. We’ll be forced to retreat, probably all the way to the Sabine, and if that happens we won’t have time to round up our families and take them with us. Leaving them to the mercy of Mexican soldiers ... well, it doesn’t bear thinking about so I won’t. The ones that have talked to me, I want you to guide their families east and see that they’re safe during the trip. Will you do that for me?”

“I don’t know, Ed,” I said. “One man to help me ... I could talk to Jean-Louis, I’m sure he’d go with me, but even so...”