But recently it had seemed as though his star was on the wane yet again. Shakespeare was right—there most certainly was a tide in the affairs of men. And his tide had ebbed. He had served his term as president; Texas law forbade him to serve two consecutive terms. Now, God forbid, Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar held the reins of state in his completely inadequate grasp. And Houston, nearly destitute, had resorted to the practice of law in a country burdened with a surfeit of "cornstalk lawyers." Finally, and worst of all, his beloved Texas was in dire straits. The Panic of 1837 which had ravaged the economy of the United States was now having a doleful effect on Texas. Currency was worthless, land could scarcely be bought and sold, and debts remained unpaid. The republic was threatened by Mexican aggression. Now, on top of everything else, Texas would be locked in a terrible struggle with the Comanche nation!
But Sam Houston was not the kind of man who would give up. He had learned from Andrew Jackson that a real man never did. No, he would resurrect himself once more, with the Almighty's help and Margaret's love, and somehow he would save Texas from disaster. Therein lay the reason for his impatience. So much to do in so little time.
John Henry had made a dispassionate and, Houston was certain, completely accurate report of everything that had transpired before, during, and after the Council House fight. In conclusion, McAllen had apologized for failing to prevent the disaster. But Houston was confident the Black Jack captain had done everything one man could be expected to do. In his heart of hearts, Houston felt that Lamar must at this very moment be gloating in his palatial residence in Austin. Surely the man had known something like this would happen. Only a fool could have expected to bring Comanche Indians into San Antonio with their white captives without violence breaking out. And the Comanches had been naive at best to even agree to it. Well, mused Houston grimly, they would never trust a Texan again. It would be a fight to the death now. The blood-chilling strains of the "Deguello," the Spanish martial tune signifying no quarter, echoed in Houston's mind.
A part of Houston wanted to leap into the nearest saddle and ride hard for Texas. But he no longer enjoyed a bachelor's freedom to act on impulse and go or come as he pleased. The day before yesterday he had married Margaret Lea.
Thoughts of Margaret softened the grim lines of his craggy face.
In May of '36, a month after the victory at San Jacinto, Houston had sailed into New Orleans aboard the trading schooner Flora, and among the hundreds gathered at the levee to see the bigger-than-life hero of Texas were young ladies from Professor McLean's school, who had traveled by stagecoach all the way from Marion. One of McLean's pupils was seventeen-year-old Margaret Lea. Slender and fairly tall at five-foot-seven, Margaret was a beauty, with violet-blue eyes, light brown hair streaked with gold, and a serenity that made her seem more mature than her years.
Her family was one of the most distinguished in the South; her ancestors had fought in the American Revolution. Prominent soldiers and lawyers and politicians inhabited her family tree.
Her father managed a prospering plantation on the Cahaba River in Alabama. A pious and proper young lady, Margaret was also clairvoyant, and on that day in New Orleans she confided to her closest friends that she had a very strong feeling she would meet Sam Houston again.
After the expiration of his term as president of Texas, Houston had visited the United States to drum up investors for the Sabine City Development Company, of which he was a major stockholder. Town-building was all the rage in Texas, and Houston was confident that a community located at the mouth of the Sabine River would flourish. He also wanted to buy some blooded horses, and pay Andrew Jackson a visit. The last thing on his agenda was finding the woman of his dreams.
At Mobile he called on a prominent local businessman named Martin Lea. Lea invited Houston to his country home, Spring Hill, where his wife was entertaining her sister Margaret and their mother Nancy. When he saw Margaret, Houston fell in love at first sight.
That night, a thoroughly beguiled Sam Houston sat and stared at Margaret, clad in a beautiful tarlatan dress, soft candlelight gleaming in her hair as she played the piano. Since leaving the McLean school, she had attended the new Judson College for girls, becoming an accomplished pianist and harp player, and impressing everyone with her flair for poetry. Later that evening, Houston walked with her in the azalea garden. He picked a pink carnation and presented the blossom to her. She put it in her hair. The moonlight filtering through the pecan trees, the romance in the sultry, magnolia-scented air—even now Houston could vividly recall that evening stroll.
He was forty-six years old, she only twenty, and yet she fell in love with this gallant adventurer. For his part he had given up on achieving personal happiness. Ten years had transpired since his disastrous marriage to Eliza Allen. During his exile among the Cherokees he had carried on a tempestuous relationship with Tiana, daughter of "Hellfire Jack" Rogers, the Scots trader, and his Cherokee wife. But that, too, had ended badly, due in no small measure to his fondness for ardent spirits, an affliction that prompted the Indians to nickname him Oo-Tse-Tee-Ar-dee-tah-Skee—Big Drunk.
To the dismay of Nancy Lea, Houston courted Margaret for a week, all business forgotten. Houston was charming—this much Nancy would concede. But he was a drinker, a profane man, a duelist, an adventurer, and there were those rumors about his former wife and that Indian princess. Houston was completely candid with Margaret about his many faults, and Margaret decided it was God's will that she should be His humble instrument in saving Houston's life, not to mention his immortal soul. At the end of this week-long whirlwind romance, Houston asked Margaret to marry him and she accepted.
She was his Esperanza, he declared, the "One Hoped For." "My heart is like a caged bird," she wrote him, "whose weary pinions have been folded for months. At length it wakes from its stupor, spreads its wings, and longs to escape."
The ceremony had taken place only two blocks from the Lafayette Hotel, at the home of Henry Lea, Margaret's brother. The house, built in the Virginia Colonial style, and nestled in a pleasant grove of oak and elm trees on Greensboro Street, had a large reception room perfect for the occasion. It had been Houston's happiest moment, marred only by Henry's last minute suggestion that the groom owed the bride's family an explanation of the failure of his marriage to Eliza Allen. "That subject is closed," Houston had replied sternly. "I have nothing more to add to what I have previously said. If you insist upon this, sir, you may as well pay the fiddlers and stop the wedding."
Henry Lea had not called Houston's bluff. But later, when he was alone with his new bride, Houston did what he had never done before. He had never told his side of the story to anyone. Honor would not permit him to do so, for the truth would sully poor Eliza's reputation, and that he would not do, not even to save his own good name.
But now, finally he told Margaret the secret of his break with Eliza. Before he had entered her life, Eliza had fallen madly in love with a young man who suffered from consumption. The young man was forced to go to another climate for his health, but soon thereafter died. Eliza's family pressured her to marry Houston, then governor of Tennessee and obviously a man destined for fame and fortune. Though she had not gotten over her first love, Eliza gave in. Shortly after the wedding, Houston came home unexpectedly to find Eliza weeping dreadfully over her loved one's old letters. Only then did Houston learn the truth. She confessed that she had married him only for the position he afforded her as wife of a governor. Houston's temper got the better of him. He angrily scribbled his resignation and thrust the paper at Eliza. "Here is your position!" he roared.