11
Dicey
It was not like a sensation he had felt before. It was not like an ocean swell, deep and rolling, nor even like the chop of a bay that buffeted him. It was irregular, surging and halting, such as he imagined the rapids of a river might be. He was aware of it for several seconds before he opened his eyes to find himself encased in a blanket laid upon straw. He saw the sides of a wooden box on either side of him and in an instant of terror thought he was in his coffin, but then realized he could see above him the purple and peach-colored clouds of either morning or evening. As he regained his senses he heard the creak of wheels and the plodding of a draft animal. “Hello? Where am I?”
He recognized above his head the seat of a wagon. “Ho, horse, ho.” The motion stopped and a figure leaned back from the seat. “Are you awake?”
“Sam? Sam, what the hell! Where are we?”
Sam tied the reins to the brake handle and lowered himself into the bed of the wagon. He felt for fever on Bliven’s forehead. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
“I was on the beach in Velasco, but I couldn’t get to you before you fainted. You’ve got a nasty knot on the back of your head.”
“And the swamp fever as well, I fear, for some weeks.”
They heard a horse walk up beside them. “Captain, are you all right?”
“Mr. Ross! I am heartily glad to see you. You made it off the ship.”
“Of course. Do you not remember?”
“I don’t—I am not certain. Sam, where are we going?”
“Home, to Halcyon, if it is still there. We should be there by noon. Will you be comfortable until we can get you there?”
“Yes. But if I was so injured, was there no doctor in Velasco?”
“Well, there was, but let’s just say people began asking too many questions. All that the crew knows is that they volunteered for the Texas Navy in New Orleans, but I didn’t want anyone getting to you.”
“I see. Well done. Let us continue, I am all right. Help me sit up.” When he could see over the side of the wagon he caught his breath, for the prairie over which he and Sam had passed the previous winter was now alive with wildflowers. Above a ground nearly solid with deep blue-violet lupines rose spikes of bright coral red, sprays of yellow, and great pillows of brilliant pink. “What in the world, Sam?”
Sam clambered back onto the seat, released the brake, and they rolled on. “April is our prettiest month, hereabouts. The flower show is a little past its prime by now. We drove all night,” he said. “I stopped long enough to rest the horses, but my friends’ house where we stopped before, their house was burnt down. They’re not the only ones. The Mexicans came through this country for sure.”
For the next six hours Bliven alternately slept and watched the clouds in the blue window of the sky above him, framed by the sides of the wagon. As the heat of the day warmed he pushed aside the blanket and felt the wagon stop, then make a sharp turn to the left. It took some effort, but he rose up again and saw the sign marking halcyon pass by them. He reclined against the side of the wagon, looking ahead to see what condition the house might be in.
“Well, it’s pretty well deserted,” said Sam, “but somebody’s been through here. All the animals are gone. The house is standing open. And look at this.” Sam descended from the wagon and helped Bliven slide off its tail.
“Captain.” Ross put in his hand a polished mahogany cane. “I acquired this in Velasco before we left there. I thought you might find it useful.”
Good, good Ross; what would he do without him? Sam led them a short distance to a shallow hole in the ground with Dicey’s sewing box beside it, open and empty, with needles and buttons and spools of thread scattered about it. “The Mexicans must have seen fresh dirt, figured something was hidden.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “That was where we kept our money. Well, now I guess I start over again—again.”
Bliven laid a hand on his back, trying to think how best to say that as soon as he got home he could send some money without it sounding like charity.
“No, sir, they only thought they took everything.”
“Dicey?” Sam turned at the sound of her voice and saw her standing at the edge of their clearing, her hand against a gnarled and ancient oak.
She walked into the clearing, wiping her hands on her apron. “I left the small coins in my box as bait, where I figured they would find it. I got your gold pieces safe and sound, some on me, some buried in the cane.”
“Dicey!” He strode toward her, his arms outstretched, and she flew toward him until they enveloped her, and he held her, swaying her gently from side to side. “Oh, my Dicey! Where have you been?”
After some seconds she pushed herself back, still holding him by the waist. “Pshaw, Sam! You think a colored girl don’t know how to hide herself in the woods? What has happened? Is the war over? A Mexican patrol came through here weeks ago, and I been stayin’ in the cane ever since. Nobody’s come by to say if it’s over, or who won, or nothin’.”
“Oh, Dicey, we won. All is well, Texas is going to have a free government, and the Mexicans are on their way out of the country.”
“Praise the Lord!”
“Where are the children?”
“They should be all right. I sent them up into Bolivar to stay with your friends the Harrises. They packed up and ran away with everybody else. If the war’s over, they should all be fine and come back directly. The Lederles across the road have run away, too, but I expect they’ll be back.”
“Why on earth didn’t you go?”
“Me? Shoot! I may hide, but I ain’t running from nobody. Cap’n Putnam! Lord, if you don’t look a sight. What happened to you?”
“He was in a sea battle,” interposed Sam, “just off Velasco, and his ship was blown up. The boats got him and his crew to shore.”
“Lord have mercy! Let’s get him inside. Who is this?”
“Oh,” said Bliven, “excuse me. This is my steward, Mr. Ross.”
“You are welcome, sir.”
“Most kind, thank you, ma’am.”
The sound of it made her turn. In her own house she was accustomed to being more than a slave, indeed she was mistress of the house, but she could not remember any white man ever calling her “ma’am” before. They approached the house, whose front door stood open, the jamb splintered where it had been kicked in. Sam pointed. “They took my brass lock set, the thieving bastards.”
Dicey fished in her pocket. “I don’t know what good they think it’ll do them when I got the key.” She pressed it into his hand, their laugh expressing less her witticism and more their joy at still having a roof over their heads.
They passed inside. “The house appears to be all right. Why did the Mexicans not burn it down? They burnt out so many others.”
“Well, I got one idea.” She took his hand and led him through the left door from the hall into the bedroom. “Lookee there.”
She had laid her red and yellow shawl across the dresser and on it two candles flanked a wooden cross, crude, of two orange-brown pieces of mahogany, whittled straight and tied together with thread. Her beaded necklace lay before it, and in front of the dresser was the footstool from the living room. Sam and Bliven both looked at her quizzically. “What have you done?” asked Sam.
“Well, all of us hereabouts got word that the Mexicans were coming, and I heard people say that sometimes, if they know that the people in a house are Catholic, they would leave it alone. I thought it was worth a chance, so I made this here little altar before I quit the place. Now, I have to tell you, I had to knock out the back of the bottom drawer to get the fancy wood. I hope you don’t mind. It looks like it worked, though.”
All burst out laughing in relief that Sam’s home was intact. “Was it a miracle?” Bliven smiled. “If miracles really happen, maybe I need to change my religion.”
“No,” said Sam, “the real miracle comes if there is anything to eat around here. The Mexicans cleaned everyone else out to feed the army. What do you think, Dicey?”
She had taken the beads from the dresser and hung them about her neck. “Thank you, God, for watching over our home. Well, they took the chickens, sure enough. I turned the pigs out before I left; they may be all right, but maybe not. We can go look for them. But we got some food. I took some beans and cornmeal, and some ham, into the cane where I was hiding. I’ll go fetch it. Can you boys manage to get Cap’n Putnam up into the loft to bed? He looks like he’s about ready to fall over.”
“Cap’n Putnam?” He heard the voice distantly, somewhere beyond the dark.
“Cap’n Putnam!” There was a pressure on his shoulder, and his eyes opened of their own accord, without will, the reflex of decades of the instant alarms of beating to quarters.
The room was dim, but slowly he came to and recognized the loft above the parlor in Sam’s house between Velasco and Bolivar, and the figure that distended the mattress as she sat beside him. “Dicey.”
“How you feelin’?”
He breathed quietly for a few seconds. “Better, I think.”
“I made you some of that yaupon tea you like so well. Do you feel like sitting up and having a little?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She helped him to sit up, placed the large pillows behind him, and placed the cup to his lips, hot but not too hot. “Oh, that is good.” He reached up and took the cup from her. “Thank you, I can hold it. How long was I—”
She placed her hand against his forehead, then on his throat. “Why, your fever’s broke. Oh, Cap’n, you was out of your head most of a week. You was thrashin’ and talkin’ crazy.”
“Oh, no.” He sighed and took a second sip of yaupon tea. “Not very dignified, was I?”
“No, sir, not so very. You was shoutin’, ‘Hard astarboard,’ ‘Fire at the turn,’ all that navy talk, like you was still fightin’.”
“Well, that’s not so bad.”
“You thought I was your wife part of the time.”
“Oh, no! What did you do?”
“Well, sir! I told you we was both married.” She lowered her voice. “But I said if we wasn’t, I’d jump on you like a duck on a june bug.”
He coughed and snorted tea when he started to laugh. “I wish I could remember that. I am sorry; I must have been so much trouble.”
“No, not so much. That nice man, Mr. Ross, he been lookin’ after you most of the time. Not too much for me to do.”
“Oh, Ross! Is he here?”
“Of course he’s here. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh. Oh, yes. He rode up here beside the wagon, didn’t he?”
“That’s right. He’s not here just at the moment. He’s gone into town for a few things.”
“It was the swamp fever again, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, and that knock on the head you took. The doctor came down from Bolivar; he said to keep giving you quinine water, stronger than before. You fought it, but he said keep givin’ it to you—said you was too insensible to remember how bad it taste once you come around.”
“He was right, I don’t. This tea is good, though.”
He looked up and saw Sam ducking through the door. “Well!” He stood up to his full height as he got under the peak of the roof. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Sam!” He held up a hand and Sam took it. “Are you all right? What all has happened, can you tell me?”
“I can, but it will take a while. Do you feel up to it?”
Dicey stood up to leave. “I’ll let you boys talk about the fightin’. Cap’n, I’ll bring you some more tea in a little bit, if you have a notion for it.”
“Yes, Dicey, thank you, I would love some more. Sam, you can just tell me the main points, but I must know. I believe that I remember, someone told me on the beach, that your war has been won. Is this the case?”
“It most surely is. I guess the easiest explanation is Santa Anna chased Houston until Houston caught him. After he wiped out the Alamo, the Mexican army chased Houston almost to Galveston Bay, and drove all the Americans out of the country before him. Then Houston turned and whipped the living tar out of him. Now all those people are turning around and coming back.”
“Oh, I am glad to hear it. Did you get him our message, that we intercepted the artillery before it could be used against him?”
“I did, for a fact. The Mexicans only had one cannon at the big battle, a brass twelve-pounder, they said.”
“Did the American army cross the border and join the fight?”
“No, they did not. You remember the plan was, Houston would lure Santa Anna into the Redlands, and if the Mexicans crossed the Neches, General Gaines would come west across the Sabine. Well, as the Mexicans came on, the government in San Felipe broke and ran for the coast like quail scattering out of a bush. Santa Anna figured if he could catch them, that would end the revolution at one stroke, so he left his army behind and ran ahead with less than a thousand light infantry. Houston got wind of it from captured dispatches, and he drove his volunteers near sixty miles in two and a half days. The two armies faced off and had a skirmish, and I reached Houston that evening. Once he knew he wasn’t facing a line of heavy guns like something out of Napoleon, he attacked the next day.”
“I see.”
“But now listen to this. He didn’t attack right away. He knew the Mexicans were ready for it, and he let them wear themselves down in expectation all day. It was three in the afternoon, the Mexicans decided he wasn’t coming after all and were taking their siesta, then he swarmed them. My God, you never saw such a slaughter. He inflicted casualties of maybe a hundred to one.”
Bliven smiled. “I am certain it must have seemed so.”
“Oh, now, listen here, my man!” Sam rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know, I was one of those tasked with searching for survivors in the Mexican army. By my count, Houston lost eight dead and about thirty wounded. The Mexican dead were north of six hundred, not counting those that sank in the marsh and were not found. Lots of wounded, but I do not know that count.”
“God almighty, how did he achieve such a thing?”
Sam’s gaze cast down as he pursed his lips. “Well, Bliv, that is less praiseworthy. I heard one of the boys say before the attack that after the massacres at the Alamo and Goliad, their blood was up so high, Houston was dreaming if he thought prisoners were going to be taken. It was obvious to me that many of their wounded were finished off where they fell—throats cut, stabbed through the body—then they moved on.”
“My God, I am sorry to hear it, and sorry that you had to see it. But wait a moment. I heard about the fall of the Alamo, but what is Goliad?”
“Oh, Christ, you won’t believe it. That was where Fannin surrendered his southern force. General Urrea offered them terms and treated them as prisoners of war. When Santa Anna heard about it, he went over the moon. By express order, he censured Urrea and had Fannin’s whole army lined up and shot—something like four hundred of them.”
“Oh, good God.”
“So Houston’s men were in a wicked mood when he formed them up to attack. He gave them a talk right before they crossed; he said some of them would be killed, but they should remember the Alamo and remember Goliad. He had tried for weeks to discipline them, get them to march and wheel and fire by companies. They got off one volley, then they just went at ’em, every man on his own. That whole sight must have been terrifying, for the Mexican line broke in an instant. The whole battle was over in less than twenty minutes. The Mexicans just turned and ran like hell, but there was no place to go.”
“How do you mean?”
“Santa Anna made his camp with Houston in front of him, a river on his right and a swamp behind him. Hundreds of them ran into the marsh and got stuck in the mud and cut down like target practice. Some ran north, which was the only dry ground, and our cavalry was right there waiting for them and chased them down.”
“Houston couldn’t stop it all?”
“He tried; I was right by him. He rode up and down, hollerin’ at men to regroup and take prisoners, and they just defied him and went right on killing.”
“Heavens. He led the attack?”
“He did, for a fact. Got one horse shot from beneath him that I saw, got shot in his left ankle by a musket ball, but he sought no medical attention until the battle was over. It was a very dangerous wound; his ankle was shattered and bone fragments went everywhere. The chief surgeon did what he could for him, but he realized they had to get him to New Orleans for some expert treatment.”
“I see.”
“Then listen to this: Do you remember in Nacogdoches we learned what a lightning rod Houston is, how some people love him and some just hate his guts?”
“Yes.”
“Well, his enemies in the government refused him permission to leave the army to get treatment. By God, they were hoping he would die of his wound.”
“They could be that petty?”
“I met the chief surgeon, a good man named Ewing. He got Houston down to Galveston and onto a boat for New Orleans. Ewing was cashiered from the army, and they tried to charge Houston with desertion, but after winning such a victory they realized the army might mutiny if they did, so they backed down.”
“And that is the government that they fought to establish?”
“Ironic, huh?”
Bliven lay back on his pillows and sighed. “Well, it’s all over now, I guess. You have your country, and I get to go home. Except—”
Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “You rest now. There is more to tell you, but we need to get you well just as fast as we can.”
Bliven so surprised himself that tears welled up. “Sam, I blew up my ship.”
“Yes, I was on the beach, remember? They told me you moved all that powder you captured from the magazine up to your cabin and the wardroom. She burned to the waterline, and all that powder touched off. Blew her stern halfway to Caracas.”
Bliven nodded sadly. “I suppose I should confess that I prefer she have this ending than to be broken up or sit in some muddy harbor as a hulk.”
“You won’t like this so well, either: one of the Mexican ships sent a prize crew aboard, to see if they could put the fire out, see if they could find the log or any other papers. They didn’t get off in time; they were blown to atoms.”
Bliven shook his head. “Poor bastards. There weren’t any papers on board that could tie us to the United States, anyway. Ross got them all.”
Sam stood to go. “Really, now, you get some more rest.”
“What is the time of day?”
“Late morning.”
“Well, since I have proven somewhat hard to kill, and my body is still functioning, I probably need to go explore your bushes sometime soon.”
“Oh, yes. There is a jar here by the bed if you need to make water. If you need to do more, I’ll help you downstairs. Do you feel strong enough?”
A chamber pot would have been a great convenience, but Bliven’s instinct was to be as little trouble as possible. “Yes, why don’t you help me down.”
It was curious, but taking up a corncob and walking into the brush with its spice-scented air seemed to wake him up, and he returned to the house feeling better than he had since the whole onset commenced.
Sam met him on the back porch of the house, where he was seated with an empty chair beside him. “Here, Dicey has made some beef soup and some cornbread. Can you eat?”
“Oh, yes, I am very hungry. Where did you find the food?”
“Some of the public cattle were up between here and Bolivar, and I hunted one down. We will have a big fat catfish for dinner. Your friend Ross has proven to be quite a fisherman. A boat came into Velasco with a cargo of meal and other things. I was able to get what we needed, since Dicey was sharp enough to keep the damn Mexicans from getting their hands on my money. We’ll be all right until I get a new crop.”
“Oh, there are potatoes and carrots in this soup. This is very good.”
“Yes, the Lederles across the road had some vegetables when they came back. I had more beef than we could use, so we made a little trade. Now, my old friend, there is something I have not told you yet.”
“Why? I have not been strong enough to bear the news?”
“Something like that. As much as I enjoy your company, we have to get you out of here and back home just as fast as you are strong enough to travel. It seems, Captain Putnam, that the whole Texas government has situated itself right down in Velasco. The president, the cabinet, part of the army, and Santa Anna with them as their prisoner.”
“I don’t understand. Why ever here?”
“I guess it was because Santa Anna didn’t come through there. This was Urrea’s area of operation. Santa Anna’s intention was to burn all of us out of the territory and start over. Washington is burnt, San Felipe is burnt. Urrea had more of a conscience about it.”
“Maybe he should have been president.”
Sam pulled the sheeting back from the evaporator and poured a cup of water from a pitcher. “Maybe if he had been, we wouldn’t have had to fight. We got along for years under all the different governments they threw at us, but this murdering son of a bitch was just too much. Anyway, Velasco is still here, and the mouth of the Brazos is sure to remain an important port. But then it’s also remote enough that the government can keep people away from Santa Anna until they figure out what to do with him. Most of us would like to hang him from the highest tree we could find. I’d like to offer you some buttermilk to follow your soup, but they took our cow.”
Sam took a sip of water and handed Bliven the cup. When he drank he looked up in surprise. “That contraption really works, doesn’t it? Your water is nice and cool.”
“Yeah. Now listen: there is a schooner that’s come into Velasco, the Comet, leaving for New Orleans in three days. As much as I hate to get rid of you, it would be wise for you to be on it. The first thing Potter did when he got here was walk down to the beach and have a look at the wreck of your ship. He doesn’t know where you are, but it won’t take him long to figure it out.”
“It’s all right, I think I can stand the trip. Can Ross go with me?”
“Yes. Dr. Haffner has already vamoosed, but he was able to leave the ship with his medicine chests. He gave the store of quinine water to Ross, so you should get to New Orleans all right.”
Vamoosed. It made Bliven smile that Sam should be aware of the new slang. “That all sounds very well, Sam. I thank you for your trouble.”
“You take it easy today and we’ll hitch up the wagon and leave in the morning.”
That evening Sam moved chairs out to the front gallery and they drank Madeira. Bliven looked back into the hall. “Where is Dicey?”
“She said after she got the kitchen cleaned up, she and Silas were going to plant some corn and peas, get the garden going again. I don’t know: it may be too late for peas, but maybe it won’t get too hot too quick. Maybe . . . maybe . . .” His voice trailed off. “Seems like everything is a maybe anymore.”
“Sam, I don’t know quite how to say this. I know we are not as close as we used to be, and I won’t pretend to understand everything about your life here, but I am very glad that we have had time together.”
Sam laughed softly. “Remember old Commodore Dale?”
Bliven smiled and nodded. “Friends forever, he made us swear.”
“As watchful for your honor as my own.” They reached out and touched their glasses together.
When Sam pulled his wagon to a halt at the riverbank just outside Velasco, they found it in commotion, and not one but two small schooners at anchor in the stream. Sam braked the wagon at the top of the rise, away from the crowd. “Bliv, you just pull your hat down and wait here. I’ll go find out what is going on.”
He made his way through an angry crowd to an even angrier man shouting at them, and he heard someone address him as “Mr. President.”
“You are Mr. Burnet?”
“I am.”
He was moderately short and of truculent bearing. He carried his shoulders back and his head high so that he could affect to look down at people despite his stature. His mouth was wide and set like a rattrap.
“Then shame on you for the way you treated General Houston after he was wounded—and Dr. Ewing, too. That was all nasty business.”
Burnet harrumphed. “Stand away, sir. You are not helping this situation.”
“I can if you will let me, you old fool.” He caught the attention of Velasco’s liveryman. “Hiram, what is the meaning of all this?”
“Mr. Sam, on one of those ships they mean to send that butcher back to Mexico, and after what-all he’s done, we won’t have it.” He gestured to the head of the wooden pier, where a medium-sized Mexican in dirty civilian clothes stood with his back to a piling, within a square of four armed sentries. “We mean to string him up.”
“Well, I am sure sorry, Hiram, but you can’t. All right, now, listen to me, all you people!” called Sam loudly. “I was with General Houston at the battle, and I was with him when he questioned this prisoner. Houston understands your anger. Texas is a new country now, and Santa Anna alive guarantees our safety. He has recognized our independence, but if you kill him, all that goes right out the window. If you kill him, all those Mexican armies still in Texas will turn around, burn the whole country to ashes, and you could never stop them. Houston’s positive order is that he is not to be harmed.”
“And we say he ain’t leavin’ this place,” a voice in the crowd hollered.
“All right, then, keep him a prisoner here, but don’t you harm one hair on his head.” He turned to one of his guards. “Where are you boys camped?”
“Just east of town.”
“Well, get him through the crowd; you can use my wagon up there. Let’s just get him out of here. Hiram, which one of those boats is the Comet?”
He pointed. “That one on the left, there.”
“Can I use this boat long enough to row a passenger out there? He is expected.”
“Sure. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’ll bring it right back.”
The mob parted for them, and back atop the rise he helped Bliven down from the wagon. “Here,” he whispered, “lean heavily on your cane like you are really sick. Don’t speak to anyone.”
When the sentries and the dictator followed, Santa Anna’s eyes met Bliven’s for just a moment before he and Sam walked down to the river.
“What a common-looking man,” said Bliven quietly. “You could never picture him doing all he has done.”
“Well, I’m sure the forky-tailed devil will say the same thing when they finally meet.”
It took the Comet a week to reach New Orleans, but in all of Bliven’s years in the Navy it was the first time he ever felt seasick. The schooner’s small size and cruising just off the shore rendered her broadside to the Gulf swell, exaggerated her roll into a deep and rapid wallow. What a hellish way, he thought, for all those immigrants bound for Texas to sail off to a new life.
Once afoot in New Orleans, it took little time for him to be directed to the firm of McKinney and Williams, which when he entered he found in commotion.
“Mr. McKinney?”
“Captain Putnam! I am glad to see you again. I understand that you played your role most nobly in winning the freedom of Texas. Both the present and future generations will owe you thanks. I regret that you find me in great haste. How may I help you?”
“My steward, Lieutenant Ross.”
“Your servant, sir. It is good that you gentlemen found me, for in another three days’ time you should have walked into an empty warehouse.”
“You are not going out of business!”
“Certainly not, Captain! With Texas safe, thanks in no small part to you, we are relocating our main operation to Quintana, at the mouth of the Colorado, to be proximate to the line of settlement as it spreads to the west.”
“My steward and I find that our duty is accomplished, we need passage to get home, and we find ourselves in New Orleans with little more than the clothes on our backs. I am myself a man of some means, however, and if you can advance us the fare through to Cincinnati or, even better, Pittsburgh, I can draw on a bank there for the rest of the means to continue and remit your outlay back down to you.”
“Of course. This incipient Republic of Texas is already into me for over eighty thousand dollars, so adding your passage to Pittsburgh will not make a noticeable difference.”
“My word, Mr. McKinney, when I was ashore in Texas, I saw very little in the way of cash in circulation. Do you believe you can recover such an outlay?”
“No matter.” McKinney waved it off. “With an American population safe in an independent Texas, and with statehood sure to follow, I calculate on recouping my investment just in commerce to supply the growing population, over and above hoping for satisfaction from their government. Mr. Tomlinson!” McKinney shouted, drawing the attention of a man at the rear of the warehouse. He approached, very tall, with high, raw cheekbones and thinning blond hair. “Mr. Tomlinson, write a note, run it over yourself right away, to Captain Furlow of the steamboat Boadicea. Tell him to reserve passage for two officers who will board shortly. He may charge their passage to our account. Gentlemen, he will sail early in the morning, but I recommend you board at once, just dressed as you are, and avoid being too much seen between here and the wharf. Someone might recognize you.”
“Still an object of inquiry, am I?”
“Oh, God, Captain, you have no idea. Perhaps you are not aware, the vessel that you lightened of so many field guns, the Five Points, was insured by the Boston United Maritime Company. Of all the financial concerns in the North, none are more heavily invested in Mexico and its economy. Directly after your encounter, she put into New Orleans and reported you and the Gonzales as pirates and posted a five-thousand-dollar reward for your capture, either alive or for your dead body. At least four armed privateers went out after you. I shouldn’t be surprised if some are still hunting you.”
Bliven was seized with a curious notion. “Do you know, was one of them a steamship, two large guns, either eighteens or twenty-fours?”
“Yes, the Umbria. The Mexican consulate here had her armed and at sea within three days of the Five Points coming in.”
“Did she fly the Mexican flag?”
“Yes, she registered as a Mexican privateer, conformably to law. I heard that she carried a note from the Mexican consulate to put in at Cópano and take on a couple of heavy guns and soldiers to operate them. The other ships I could not say one way or another.”
“Then I would believe it likely that she, operating in conjunction with a Mexican naval schooner, were the vessels that destroyed my ship.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear it. Were any of your crew captured?”
“No. We managed to damage them both so heavily that they retired. We fought just off Velasco, and my crew made it to shore and were pulled in by a friendly crowd. It was her steam engine that made the difference. Her course was not limited by the wind, and she was able to outmaneuver us, rake our stern, and set us afire. It makes me believe, in future, that steam power will render sailing ships obsolete and useless in combat against them.” Bliven allowed himself a moment to assimilate all that he had been saying. “Well, Mr. McKinney, I am unsure whether to regret or celebrate my status as a wanted man. But I will say that I regret to hear of a Boston firm so financially engaged with a regime dedicated to repression and dictatorship.”
“Hardly the only one,” said McKinney. “The Eastern financiers have not been our friends. In fact, when General Austin and Wharton came through here raising money, he got a quarter of a million in New Orleans, somewhat less in Nashville, but Washington and New York, he hardly raised a half dime.”
“I am sorry not to be surprised. Back in my days as a young lieutenant, I was confronted with our economic hypocrisy once before.”
“Really?” In the face of such a story, McKinney seemed to forget his haste for a moment. “In what connection?”
“New Englanders are supposed to be so hostile to slavery. It was a great shock to discover how many of those slave ships operated to the profit of Boston owners.”
“Well.” McKinney said the word with a finality that signaled his time was exhausted. “I am sorry for the loss of your ship, but of course officially she was broken up and no longer existed anyway.”