The Black Jacks Read online

  Singletary noticed that when Leah McAllen recognized him her delectable body went rigid. The City Gazette's editor approached the porch, touched the brim of his hat, and smiled at her—not too sardonically, he hoped.

  "Good morning, Mrs. McAllen. Your beauty immeasurably enhances our fair city. To what does Austin owe the honor of your presence?"

  "Mr. Singletary." She did not deign to answer his query; in fact, she was just barely civil in her greeting.

  "Good morning, Count," said Singletary, turning his attention to Saligny. "Beautiful morning, isn't it? Enjoying the first absinthe of the day, I see."

  Saligny was a florid, bewhiskered man who wore a somewhat old-fashioned clawhammer coat and doeskin trousers. A snowy handkerchief was tucked just so into his left sleeve, and his apricot-colored cravat was exquisitely arranged. A fastidious and courtly chevalier, Saligny fairly reeked of lilac water.

  "M'sieu Saligny!Bonjour, mon ami!" Whether he really was or not, Saligny always appeared to be delighted to meet a person. He held aloft the tumbler of green liquid which he had been sipping. "Would you care to partake of this nectar?"

  "Thank you, no. I never developed a liking for the flavor of licorice." Singletary nodded to the stranger. "Good morning, sir. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance. I am Jonah Singletary, editor of the Austin City Gazette."

  "Charles Stewart. Major, Royal Scots Fusiliers."

  "Well, well! An Englishman, a Frenchman, and a Southern belle—one would hardly know that we are on the very brink of an uncharted wilderness, now, would one?"

  Singletary glanced at each of them in turn. Leah McAllen was looking at him as though he were an unmentionable something a man might track into the house on his boot heel. Stewart was peering at him with a cool curiosity, while Saligny acted like a man who had something to hide. Obviously not one of them was going to invite him to sit down, as he had hoped. Singletary again touched the brim of his hat to the lady and nodded to the gentlemen.

  "Good day to you all, then."

  He moved on to the porch steps and took a chair at the other end. As he sat down, a tall, scrawny, muscular pig scooted out the front door of the hotel, preceding the establishment's owner. The pig started toward Mrs. McAllen and her two companions, but Saligny cried out "Mon Dieu!" in complete disgust, and the pig snorted and bolted down the steps to disappear beneath the porch, squeezing between two pieces of whitewashed lattice. Wearing a look of utter revulsion, Saligny raised his feet as though he were afraid the pig might stick its bristly snout up through the weathered planks of the floor. Singletary was amused. Bullock was not. He eyed Saligny the way the Frenchman had eyed the pig. A brawny man with a mop of rust-colored hair, he looked like a lumberjack rather than an innkeeper.

  "M'sieu Bullock," said Saligny, exasperated, "must you let your filthy beasts run loose?"

  "That's a Berkshire pig, Count," drawled Bullock. "You have any idea how much he's worth?"

  "I would not give a single franc for him unless he was being served on a platter with an apple in his mouth."

  Bullock grunted, shifting a wad of Kentucky burley from one cheek to the other. He noticed Singletary then.

  "Hello, Jonah," he said without enthusiasm. "Want something to wet your whistle? Some hemlock, perhaps? Or a dash of snake venom?"

  Singletary just smiled. Bullock was a diehard Houston man, so he had little nice to say about the City Gazette or its distinguished editor.

  "Just a cup of spring water, with some ice, if such is available."

  Bullock spat a stream of brown tobacco juice in a ten-foot arc over the porch railing and onto the street. He went back inside and a moment later returned with Singletary's water.

  "Tell me, Jonah, what are you going to do when the Old Chief becomes president again?"

  "I fully intend to enjoy my allotment of three score and ten, but I doubt I shall live long enough to see that day."

  Bullock's grin was mirthless."You can print all the lies you want about Sam Houston—and I'm sure you'll do just that. Won't make a penny's worth of difference, though, in the long run. Folks know they'll be better off with Lamar out of office. He's come near to bankrupting the country. I keep a stack of his redback dollars in the two-holer. That's all they're good for. Now he's gone and got the Comanches riled and good people are dead on account of it. We're going to elect Sam Houston, and then you'll be eating a lot of crow." With a look of smug satisfaction on his face, Bullock went back inside.

  Singletary spent an hour on the veranda, paying no apparent attention to the three people at the other end, but straining his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation still taking place between Saligny and Major Stewart. But it was to no avail. A couple of people paused to visit with him, and he was glad of that, since it justified his continued presence. Yet he paid little attention to what was said to him, so intrigued was he by the situation at the other end of the porch.

  At length Leah McAllen and the Englishman took their leave of the count and entered the hotel. So they were together. Singletary had surmised as much. What a bold and wicked woman Mrs. McAllen was, to go about her infidelities with such brazen indifference to public opinion! Yet the City Gazette editor was more interested in other matters; a moment later, as Saligny prepared to quit the porch himself, Singletary called him over.

  "Tell me, Count, what is that Englishman up to?"

  Saligny chuckled and wagged a finger. "Ne faites pas ça, mon ami. Don't do that, my friend. You know I cannot say. I would be remiss if I shared with you the major's confidences."

  Singletary shrugged. "Can't blame me for asking. That's my job. But come and sit down and let me buy you another absinthe. We shall discuss other matters."

  "Though I should, I cannot resist such a temptation," said Saligny with a melodramatic sigh.

  Singletary called for Bullock; in short order the Frenchman had his absinthe. The two men engaged in small talk for a while. Then Singletary, judging the time was right, steered the conversation into politics.

  "You get along famously with President Lamar, it seems," remarked the newspaperman.

  "He is a man of culture and vision. Such a man is all too rare on the frontier. I can only hope he will prevail against that barbarian Sam Houston."

  "Houston is determined to annex Texas to the United States. I don't suppose that would suit France."

  "It is no secret. France would prefer an independent Texas republic. But what can Houston really do? The Congress of the United States stands in the way of annexation."

  "That's true, for now. So perhaps the British are his only recourse. A Texas strongly influenced by Great Britain may result."

  "Influenced? Qu'est-çe que vous voulez dire?"

  "I mean tied to Britain diplomatically and financially. Texas is like a foal, my dear count. She can barely stand on her time. For the time being she needs support. If she can't get that support from her mother, the United States, perhaps another mare will take an interest in her. How would that play in Versailles, I wonder?"

  Saligny pretended to be shocked. "But, m'sieu, our excellent king, Louis Philippe, has gone to great lengths to improve relations between France and Britain. I remind you of his support for Belgian independence, which was a subject very dear to British hearts. No, no, my friend. France knows her vital interests lay in Europe, not the New World."

  "For four hundred years power and prestige in Europe has depended upon colonial possessions, Count."

  Saligny was delighted. "You are an astute fellow, aren't you, Singletary? That is why I like to talk with you. In this country there are so few men like you—learned, intelligent, cultured."

  "You are too kind." Singletary feigned modesty. "I can't help but think, though, that with her hold on the West Indies and her influence with Mexico, if Great Britain takes hold of Texas the Caribbean becomes a British lake, for all practical purposes."

  Thoughtfully the French diplomat stroked his waxed mustache. "To that my friend Major Stewart
and those he represents aspire. But for Britain to succeed, Houston must be president, n'est pas?"

  "Realistically, Houston's chances are good. The people blame Lamar for their economic woes. These are hard times for nearly everyone."

  "Then perhaps your people would not be averse to a loan from France."

  Singletary sat up and took notice. "Are you saying that you and Lamar have negotiated such a loan?"

  "I am saying no such thing. Merely speculating."

  "A French loan!" Singletary chuckled. "I'll wager Major Stewart disliked the sound of that!"

  Saligny's shoulders moved in a very Gallic shrug. "The British would sign three treaties with Houston were he president—commerce and navigation, a loan agreement, and an agreement to suppress the slave trade."

  "The latter is news to me. That wouldn't sit well with some of our planters. They hope for free access to the slave markets in Spanish Cuba."

  "What a tangled web we weave." Singletary sighed. "Sir Walter Scott. Such passion. Such culture. He should have been a Frenchman." The chargé d'affaires finished his absinthe. "But I have said too much, I fear. I must retire, and attend to my correspondence. Bonjour, Mi'sieu Singletary. As always, it has been a delightful experience."

  Smiling, Singletary watched Saligny go. What a clever dog that Frenchman was! He'd known exactly what he was doing, had said only what he'd intended to say, no more and no less.

  The British had made a grievous mistake sending a soldier like Major Stewart, a man lacking the wile necessary to play the diplomatic game. Had he thought that France would join Britain in supporting Houston? Despite Saligny's protestations to the contrary, France and Britain were not entirely amicable, and France most certainly did not want to contribute to the cause of British hegemony in the Caribbean!

  A tangled web indeed! Lamar dreamed of a Texas Empire stretching to the Pacific Ocean. Sam Houston desired the annexation of Texas to the United States. The United States feared British influence in Texas, but the slavery issue complicated annexation. Britain wanted to make Texas an economic satellite, and France hoped to undermine British influence in the region.

  Enthused, and knowing full well his role in this labyrinth of intrigue, Singletary left the Bullock Hotel and made straight for his office. He had not gone far before someone called out his name. Turning, he saw Major Stewart hurrying after him. Singletary waited for the Englishman to catch up, an amiable smile on his lips. But the smile vanished when Stewart reached him and took him by the lapels and manhandled him into a convenient alley and pinned him against a clapboard wall.

  "Mrs. McAllen told me all about you, old boy," said Stewart. "The things you've written about her."

  "I didn't make them up."

  Stewart bounced him off the wall. "Don't talk. Just listen. You will not mention her again. You will not write about her. Her name will not even pass your lips. Otherwise, you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?"

  Rage kindled in Singletary, but he smothered the fire. Blank-faced, he nodded.

  "Splendid." Stewart let go of him. "Have a good day, Mr. Singletary."

  Readjusting his coat, shirt, and cravat, Singletary waited until Stewart was out of sight. Then he cut through the alley and made his way to the office of the City Gazette. Seated at his desk, he swept the clutter aside, took pen and paper in hand, and began to write with crisp, angry strokes:

  "Recently arrived in Austin, Leah Pierce McAllen, who, as is her custom when her husband it away hunting Comanches, is doing a bit of hunting on her own. This time her prey is a British gamecock. . . ."

  Chapter Twenty-five

  After making his swing through frontier Texas, meeting with friends and supporters to inform them personally of his intention to dethrone Mirabeau B. Lamar in the upcoming presidential election, Sam Houston returned to Galveston, where he had left his wife, Margaret. Her mother Nancy and sister Antoinette, with husband William Bledsoe, had relocated to Galveston, fully committed now to the speculation in Texas lands which Houston had talked them into.

  Things were looking up for Houston. Response to his decision to challenge Lamar had been gratifying, to say the least. Many people were convinced that he was the only man who could rescue the republic from disaster. His financial situation was much improved by a thousand-dollar fee to do some legal work. The only bad news of recent days was the disappearance of Esau and Tom Blue, his two slaves. Houston supposed they had run away to Mexico, and he was sorry to see them go.

  Houston took Margaret to the city named in his honor. Their boat worked its way up Buffalo Bayou past the San Jacinto battlefield, and Houston pointed out the big tree beneath which he had lain wounded. A captured Santa Anna, who had tried to disguise himself as a lowly private, had been brought to him there. His ruse had been betrayed by other captured Mexican soldiers who called out "El Presidente!" as he passed by. Margaret told Houston of the day she had first laid eyes on him, when her future husband arrived in New Orleans a couple of weeks after the battle, and how, despite the severe pain of his festering wound, Houston had graciously presented himself to an adoring public.

  The Houstons were invited to several parties thrown in their honor by influential citizens. Margaret was mortified to discover that since some of her baggage had been misplaced she had only two rather plain dresses to her name. Though the other ladies wore their finery, the young, dark-haired bride of the Hero of San Jacinto nonetheless captivated all who made her acquaintance; she was, declared one of those present, "as regal in calico as if she were clad in cloth of gold."

  Leaving Houston City, the couple traveled north into the piney redlands of East Texas. Their destination was San Augustine, which had elected Houston to the Texas House of Representatives in absentia. Houston learned of the honor after the votes were in, and accepted the job without hesitation. What better platform for the campaign against Lamar than Capitol Square?

  En route to San Augustine, the Houstons tarried in Nacogdoches, where Houston had once lived, and where they attended several dinners and barbecues. On one occasion Margaret was introduced to an old gentleman named Walling and got the surprise of her life.

  "Mrs. Houston, have you ever been to Shelby County?" asked Walling. "Well, you ought to go there, ma'am. General Houston has all of forty children in Shelby."

  Stunned, Margaret glanced at her husband.

  With perfect timing and deadpan delivery, Walling added, "Forty children named after him, that is."

  "I wish," said Houston, good-naturedly, "you would run your sentences a little closer together, Mr. Walling."

  Wearing an impish smile, Walling promised to do better.

  "Texas humor at its finest, my dear," Houston told his wife as Walling moved away.

  Houston was prevailed upon to make a speech at a barbecue to be held in the town square on the following day. Though this gave him no time to adequately prepare, Houston readily agreed. The sooner he started shooting at Lamar, he told Margaret, the more holes he'd put in the Texas president. He had learned a lesson or two from the current contest between Martin Van Buren and William Henry Harrison for the presidency of the United States. Back in 1836 he had not actively campaigned for president of Texas. The people had sought him out. But that way of doing things was old hat. Gone were the days of Washington and Jefferson, when no political aspirant would be caught dead acting like he actually wanted the job. These days a candidate had to seize every opportunity to be seen and heard. He had to go out and earn the votes.

  On the day of the barbecue, John Henry McAllen's arrival in Nacogdoches went virtually unnoticed. With him rode Artemus Tice and the half-breed Joshua. Nearly a thousand people had gathered from far and wide to attend the gala affair. A platform draped in white and blue bunting had been constructed. Several steers and a dozen hogs were cooked on wooden spits slowly turned over fire pits filled with red-hot coals. A parade was in progress as McAllen and his companions rode into the square. A dozen young ladies dressed in pure white, with blue sashe
s and caps adorned with white feathers, led the procession, followed by a band and the local militia company. A variety of Texas flags flapped in the warm summer breeze, ranging from a replica of the famous COME AND GET IT! banner immortalized by the gallant Texas defense of Gonzales to the more recent flag which contained a lone white star on a field of blue. The parade passed before the platform where Houston and his wife sat with the town fathers, and the rousing cheers of the multitude reverberated off the fronts of the brick and clapboard structures facing the square.

  Leaving their horses in Joshua's keeping, McAllen and Tice worked their way through the crowd, making for the platform. As they neared the structure, McAllen felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see a familiar face.

  "Captain McAllen! You don't know how happy I am to see you, sir."

  "Gabriel Cartwright, may I introduce Dr. Artemus Tice. Artemus, Mr. Cartwright is an attorney from San Augustine, and one of the general's staunchest friends."

  "Today I am in fear for the general's health, Captain McAllen."

  Cartwright was a slender, white-haired gentleman whose usually cheerful countenance was furrowed with apprehension.

  "What do you mean, sir?" asked Tice. "Is he ill?"

  Cartwright looked about him. "There is a rumor afloat that Burnet has hired ruffians to follow Houston wherever he goes. That these men have been instructed to disrupt events such as this one. It has even been suggested that they may feel free to do worse."

  "You mean an assault on the general's person?" asked McAllen. His skin crawled.

  "That is precisely what I mean, sir. A couple of years ago, if you remember, Burnet was assaulted on the streets of Galveston by a pair of rogues. While the men were undoubtedly wharf rats, Burnet has always insisted that Houston was behind the attack."

  "That's absurd," said McAllen angrily. "Sam Houston settles his quarrels personally."

  "Of course he does. But try to convince Burnet of that. His animosity towards our mutual friend has become a personal vendetta that knows no bounds. He will stop at nothing, I'm afraid, to deny Houston the presidency."