Though he had sworn never again to risk his own heart to romance, Ashbel Smith was glad that his good friend had found a mate of Margaret Lea's obviously high caliber. After all, the young lady had already performed a miracle—she had induced Big Drunk himself to forswear hard liquor, even in her absence! That was no mean feat.
"Regretfully," replied the physician, "though nothing could please me more than to accept the great honor which you bestow upon me, General, I cannot go. As you probably know, I ignored all the signs of the coming of hard times. Up until a few months ago, I continued to purchase property. I'm not sure exactly how many thousands of dollars I invested. Now land will not command cash, and what little currency I possess is worth perhaps sixteen cents on the dollar. As to the money owed to me by others, how can I collect a debt in cash when no one has any?" Smith morosely shook his head. "Three years ago I averaged thirty dollars a day in private practice. The position of surgeon general was worth four thousand dollars per annum. And my real estate was worth, conservatively, thirty thousand. Now I cannot even afford to attend my best friend's wedding!"
"Cheer up, Ashbel," said Houston. "We'll pull through. Who knows? There may not even be a groom at the wedding. I'm somewhat strapped for funds myself."
"I have almost a thousand dollars in notes issued by a Louisiana bank," said McAllen. "You are welcome to all or part of that sum, General. They'll bring you ninety cents on the dollar in specie."
"I gratefully accept the loan of a few hundred dollars. I will, of course, repay the loan with interest." Houston knew that McAllen was chronically short of cash himself, and he hated to dip into the man's savings. But he had to get to Alabama and take Margaret for his bride! He stared at McAllen. "Tell me, John Henry—how did you come by these notes?"
"Through my factor, Robert Mills of Brazoria. Part of the proceeds from the sale of last year's sugar crop. A few Louisiana banks have survived the depression thanks to their conservative practices."
Houston chuckled. "I can't blame you for steering well clear of Texas paper. Lamar's damned redback dollars are an unmitigated disaster."
McAllen sipped his sour mash. "We all hope you will run for president next year."
"I just hope the republic can survive that long," said Smith. In his opinion, Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar's entire administration had been disastrous. Lamar had vowed not to pursue his predecessor's negotiations with the United States for annexation. Envisioning a Texas republic that stretched to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, Lamar had talked about launching a military expedition to conquer Santa Fe, which would lead in all likelihood to another war with Mexico. Lamar's executive pretensions had resulted in prodigal expenditures that had come close to bankrupting the republic, and his reckless issuance of paper money had sent the suffering economy reeling to the brink of total collapse.
"Lamar," muttered Houston darkly. The name left a bad taste in his mouth. "In '36, when most folks were trying to get across the Sabine into Louisiana to escape Santa Anna, Lamar crossed into Texas with sword in hand and asked every person he met where he might find my army. He performed well at San Jacinto, and I mentioned his bravery in my battle report. I did not know then what kind of man he was. I confess, he had me fooled."
"Colonel John Morgan said that even though you might at times be a bit intemperate," reported McAllen, "you're worth a thousand Mirabeau Lamars."
Houston laughed. "Perhaps he would have said ten thousand, had he known I now practice temperance." But his amusement was short-lived. Concern deepened the lines in his craggy face. "Ashbel, you say you hope the republic survives long enough for me to replace Lamar. But I had never hoped it would service even this long. Indeed, my hopes were that by now Texas would be a state in the Union. Yet this damnable issue of slavery, or rather the extension of that peculiar institution, has rendered the politicians of the United States impotent. By God, even Old Hickory himself seems to have lost his nerve in this instance. I felt certain he would ram annexation down the throat of Congress."
"General Jackson is a great man," allowed Smith. "But he is still only one man."
"Well, I'm not done with them yet," fumed Houston. "I'll force them to take Texas into the fold. In a few weeks' time I expect an Englishman to arrive here in Texas. His name is Major Charles Stewart. He has no official capacity. But he is coming to look and listen, and he will report back on what he sees and hears to the highest levels of government in London. Ashbel, since I must go to Alabama to claim my bride, will you serve in my stead as Major Stewart's host when he arrives?"
Ashbel Smith smiled wryly. "Old Chief, I do believe you have something up your sleeve. You know the English want an independent Texas. They are as adamant in their opposition to the expansion of slavery as any abolitionist, though for a different reason."
All three men knew what that reason was. British entrepreneurs had made huge investments in Mexico, and they feared American designs on that southern republic. An independent Texas would act as a buffer zone, not only to protect Mexico, but also to stymie American desire for California. If the United States took possession of Pacific ports, Great Britain would find it had a powerful rival in the valuable China trade. In short, British opposition to slavery in the American South was largely based on economic principles rather than moral ones.
At the same time, an independent Texas bolstered by British money and bayonets was the worst nightmare of American expansionists, and even of many opposed to expansion who nonetheless suffered chronic Anglophobia. Houston was well aware of this sentiment. He was hoping, Smith knew, that annexation would be hastened if it appeared that Texas and Great Britain were becoming too amicable.
"Major Stewart is a veteran of the Opium Wars," said Houston. "By all accounts he is a dashing beau sabreur, and will no doubt prove quite popular with the ladies. I trust, Ashbel, that you will keep him from mischief. From personal experience I know how good you are at that sort of thing."
"I will do my best."
Houston turned to McAllen. "John Henry, there is something you can do for me."
"You need only ask, General."
Again Houston was moved. The unquestioning loyalty of men like John Henry McAllen did him great honor, and gave him cause to hope that Texas could be redeemed. "Lamar's Indian policy has been the greatest disaster of his administration. My God, you need only look at what he has done to the Cherokees!"
McAllen nodded gravely. Last spring, Texas Rangers had killed a Mexican spy on whose body had been found documents linking the Texas Cherokees to Mexico in a secret treaty which pledged the tribe to wage war against the Republic of Texas. Lamar promptly declared that the perfidious Cherokees had to be driven out. Texas volunteers commanded by the inveterate Indian fighter Edward Burleson provoked a fight. The Cherokees were defeated, and Houston's old friend, Chief Bowl, was killed. It was said that Bowl was wearing a red silk vest, a present from Houston, when he fell. An outraged Houston had proclaimed the old chieftain a "better man than his murderers." Their will to resist removal broken, the Cherokees were embarked on a second Trail of Tears, north across the Red River.