Ernest awakened in the morning full of curiosity. While Dick Carroll was attending to some business matters, after breakfast, he himself had time to explore his new home. Gonzales was not much of a town, as yet, being smaller than San Felipe. However, it was lavishly laid out, six miles square, in blocks divided off by broad straight streets, which ran out into the open country, the majority indicated only by surveyor’s stakes and some indicated not at all. There were a Market Square, and a Military Plaza, and other public parks (as required by Mexican law); a hotel called Turner’s Inn; a sort of a fort, in case of Indian attacks; a store or two; and about twenty houses of logs and clapboards, and well scattered. On many of the squares there was only a single house; and on others none at all. The main residence section was the southwest corner of the tract, called the “inner” town. To north and east extended the “outer” town, sparsely occupied by ranches.

This Gonzales was located on a timbered prairie, from which trees had been cut for house building. The Guadalupe River flowed in a curve on the west edge of town, and a few families had settled across on the west side of the river. In the north of the “outer” town was a heavy timber patch, which Smith’s Creek separated from a green prairie to the south; and through the town wended Kerr’s Creek, along which the first cabins had been erected, in 1825, when Colonel Green DeWitt (who owned all the vast colony tract) and Major James Kerr, of the Missouri senate, brought in the first settlers.

In honor of Don Rafael Gonzales, governor of Coahuila and Texas, was the settlement named; in 1826 it had been destroyed by the Indians and was rebuilt in 1827.

Even yet it was in constant danger from the Indians, particularly the Tawakanas; and it had been loaned a six-pounder brass cannon by the presidio of San Antonio, for protection. The cannon was not mounted, but it was kept in readiness.

Gonzales was the westernmost of the American settlements in Texas. Further west there was only old San Antonio de Bexar or Bejar—usually styled by the last word, pronounced “Behar.” It was seventy-five miles by road, and was strictly a Mexican town, although Americans lived there. Years before it had been established as a Roman Catholic mission, where were stationed priests and soldiers to educate and control the Indians. The mission part was abandoned, but as a presidio or garrison of Mexican soldiery, and as the principal Mexican military post in Texas, old Bejar was considered of much importance. The road to it was lonely and unsettled.

East of Gonzales, about eighty miles, was San Felipe—Stephen Austin’s town; south sixty miles was Goliad or Goliath, formerly the Mexican military post of La Bahia, on the lower San Antonio River; and down the Guadalupe, below Gonzales, about the same distance, was Victoria. But the country between, surrounding Gonzales, was all wild and unoccupied, and Gonzales was a real frontier settlement.

Dick Carroll “bached” it in his little log cabin; here he and Ernest slept and cooked their meals. Ernest on his first day was set at work herding horses on the prairie north of the houses; and thinking hard while sitting his yellow pony, and listening to Dick Carroll and the other men, in his hours off duty, he soon got a pretty clear idea of the situation in Texas.

“It’s this way,” explained Mr. Carroll. “Texas wants to be a free and self-governing Mexican state, with all the privileges of the constitution of 1824. But instead of that, the blamed Mexican government has joined us to the other province of Coahuila, that lies next to us, just across the Rio Grande, so we’re only a part of the state of Coahuila and Texas. Now, that doesn’t go. Coahuila province and Texas province are different peoples altogether. Across the Rio Grande everything is Mexican and can be run ’cording to Mexican ideas. But Texas is settled up by Americans, used to different laws and different habits, and perfectly capable of governing themselves if only given the chance. Now when we’re tacked onto Coahuila, and the state officers are mainly located in Coahuila, and they’re most of ’em Mexicans, to boot, a small show does Texas stand of putting through the kind of laws that Americans can live and do business under. Santa Anna, though, will help us as soon as he’s president, now that the revolution ag’in Bustamante has won out. And this spring Texas is going to hold a regular state convention by itself, draw up a state constitution, and ask the government to approve it. I reckon Sam Houston’ll be one of the delegates from Nacogdoches; and if so, the constitution’ll be dog-proof and hog-tight. He ought to be down this way right quick. He was over at San Felipe, to meet Austin, last week, I hear tell, and he’s going on through to Bejar, they say.”

Mr. Carroll had spoken correctly, for within a day or two the general (he had been general of the Tennessee militia) did appear in Gonzales. Ernest found him there, at supper time, talking in the midst of a group of citizens. He wore the same big, broad-brimmed whitish hat, and Mexican blanket, and buckskin pantaloons, and looked as large as any two other men.

Ernest stood on the outskirts of the little circle of curious spectators, and gazed like the rest of them. He knew Sam Houston; certainly he did; but although Dick Carroll was there, taking part in the conversation, he felt as if it would be rather nervy of him to elbow in. Still, he hoped that the general would notice him, in some way.

However, Mr. Carroll chanced to see him, and beckoned him forward.

“Here’s another friend of yourn, general,” announced Dick, holding Ernest by the arm. “And he’s a Texan, too. We catch ’em young, in this country. You remember him, I reckon?”

The general smiled his wonderful, kindly smile, and stretched out his great hand, which entirely swallowed Ernest’s.

“I remember him well, and I congratulate him. The hope of Texas is in the youth who shall be reared within its borders.”

Ernest blushed. This was embarrassing, but a warm glow filled his heart, and he determined to deserve those encouraging words. He did not know whether he was doing right, yet now was his opportunity to deliver his message; so he spoke it.

“Tyania gave me a rifle, when I started,” he stammered. “And she said to tell you, when I saw you in Texas, that she would wait for you up there but she didn’t think she’d come down here.”

“Tyania?” mused the general, in his resonant voice. He repeated the name, dwelling tenderly on the syllables, “Tyania? A noble woman, who succored me in the darkest hours of my adversity. She belongs to my past life. I shall send for her, I shall send for her; and my only fear is that she will not come.” He swept a fierce, eagle glance around him. “Let no man ever utter a word derogatory to Tyania Rodgers.”

And in due time Sam Houston did send for Tyania to share his new life; but she refused to leave her Indian people. There, shortly afterwards, she died.

Dick Carroll broke the brief silence that followed the general’s emphatic speech.

“I want this lad to meet Jim Bowie, too,” he said. “Shake hands with Ernest Merrill, colonel. He’s thrown in with Texas, and is going to be one of us as fast as he can. His uncle was wiped out by the Injuns on the Trinity; named John Andrews.”

“I am pleased to meet the nephew,” responded Mr. Bowie, politely, extending a slim, bronzed hand. “I have heard of the unfortunate fate of Sergeant Andrews.”

Ernest bravely shook hands with a tall, straight man, of powerful frame, light, fine skin, and smooth complexion set with small stern mouth and a pair of coldly fierce blue eyes. But he had a gentle manner, and Ernest decided to like him.

“Well, gentlemen, let us to what business there may be,” prompted General Houston.

The group dissolved. The general and Colonel Bowie and several other men walked away; Dick Carroll and Ernest proceeded to their supper.

“Sam Houston’s surely going to stay in Texas,” remarked Mr. Carroll. “You heard what he said about Tyania and his past life. He’s already sort of taken up residence at Nacogdoches, and agreed to be a delegate to the convention, if he’s elected. He and Jim Bowie are bound for Bejar, where Houston talks to the Comanche Indians, to get ’em to attend a treaty council at Fort Gibson and promise to be friendly to the United States. Colonel Bowie——” he added. “Don’t forget that you’ve met James Bowie. He was born in Georgia, but he was raised in Louisiana. You’ve heard of the bowie-knife? Jim and his brother Rezin invented it—mostly Rezin, they say. Jim’s a terrible fighter when he’s called on to fight. They claim he’s the only man who ever roped and rode an alligator, alone, for fun. Rezin and he have been in some powerful Indian tussles, since they came to Texas. He’s married now to the daughter of Juan Veramendi, the vice-governor of state of Coahuila and Texas, at Bejar, and has the license for a big cotton and wool factory, over beyond the Rio Grande. But I doubt if he’s the kind of a man to settle down to that.”

The year had changed from 1832 to 1833, and the people of Gonzales and of all Texas, as far as Ernest could hear, expected great prosperity. Sam Houston had been to San Antonio de Bexar (or Bejar), and had returned eastward by the great highway, the Royal Road, north of Gonzales.

The convention was to meet in April to formulate a constitution and other measures for presentation to Santa Anna as soon as he should be installed as head of the Mexican Republic. Once permitted to elect its state officers and make its own laws, Texas would jump ahead.

The convention assembled at San Felipe on April 1, this 1833. Ernest did not ride over, but Dick Carroll, and other Gonzales citizens, did, to be on hand, so Gonzales was well informed as to what was done.

The constitution was drawn under the direction of Sam Houston, the chairman of the committee to prepare it. Another committee wrote a memorial or address to the Mexican government, explaining what Texas desired. It said that Texas was at a standstill, because of the attacks by the Indians, the lack of sufficient laws, and the restrictions placed upon immigration from the United States; and it asked that the government decree of 1830, which ordered that no more Americans should enter Texas, be officially repealed.

Three delegates were appointed to carry the wishes of Texas to the City of Mexico; but only one made the trip. He was Stephen F. Austin himself, the “Father of Texas.” And when he passed through Gonzales, Ernest saw him for the first time.

It was not difficult to understand why the people of Texas loved Austin so, but he looked more like a student than a pioneer who had brought the first settlers into Texas, a dozen years ago, and had lived here ever since. He was slender and graceful and of only medium height, and wore a fringed suit of soft seal-brown buckskin—although it was said that he had a suit of broadcloth with him, to wear in the City of Mexico. His hair was brown and curly, his smooth face long and fair, and his gray-blue eyes were large and thoughtful. He appeared tired and perplexed, and not very strong. It was claimed that he was a college graduate, and that since coming to Texas he had studied the Spanish language until he could speak it thoroughly, and that nobody was better acquainted with the Mexican laws than he. He and Sam Houston had been born in the same year, in Virginia; but no two men were more different. Sam Houston was massive and majestic; whereas Stephen Austin was slight and modest.

Austin proceeded on for the City of Mexico, where General Santa Anna had been inaugurated as president. Gonzales wished him good luck; he was paying his own expenses, and he was going all alone, and much depended again upon him.

“He’ll fetch back the bacon, if anybody can,” remarked Dick Carroll, rather dubiously. “But sometimes I don’t trust even Santa Anna. You never can tell what is about to happen, down there in Mexico; and Santa Anna may want to be the whole thing, just like the others.”

It was a long journey to the City of Mexico, and weeks would pass before Texas could hear from its petition for a separate statehood. Meanwhile, affairs continued to be not satisfactory at all. For instance, the legislature of Coahuila and Texas, which was more for Coahuila than for Texas, had assembled and among other measures adopted one that declared that petitions to the government “excited disorder,” and therefore no more than three persons should join in any petition. This was not the way Texas felt. Other resolutions also were adopted which seemed to be aimed against the Texas half of the state. And soon afterward Coahuila became even divided against itself, when the legislature attempted to change the capital from the town of Saltillo to the town of Monclova. A little revolution ensued, down there across the Rio Grande. It was evident that Texas could expect small help from Coahuila, and must stand on its own feet. The Mexican way of government was not the Texas-American way.

Other disquieting news arrived. Santa Anna had been president only a few months, when up rose a party of the Mexican people and proclaimed him dictator, an absolute ruler responsible to nobody, much less to the republic’s constitution of 1824. It seemed to be the opinion that Santa Anna had hatched this movement, himself; and although he accompanied an army under General Arista, to subdue the revolutionists, he was accused of making only a pretense at resistance. Then, when General Arista turned revolutionist, and actually seized Santa Anna and insisted that he be dictator, the whole matter looked more suspicious than ever.

But Don Gomez Farias, the vice-president, proved to be honest and faithful. He promptly squelched the movement, and President Santa Anna, finding that the revolution was not going to succeed and that he could not be made dictator yet, pretended to escape, and returned to the capital. He did not like Don Gomez any the better for his honesty; and saying that he needed rest he retired to his great ranch, there to scheme while he waited another opportunity.

Meanwhile, again, Stephen Austin was due in the City of Mexico, bearing the petition from Texas for the national congress to act upon; but with so much confusion and plotting, it would appear that he would arrive at not a very favorable time.

In Gonzales, even, not all the people were agreed. Dick Carroll and some others were strong for securing Texas rights at no matter what cost; but the majority seemed to be in favor of keeping things as they were, if they could not be bettered peaceably. Gonzales was so cut off from the rest of the American settlements, and was so exposed to attack by Indians as well as the Mexican soldiery at Bejar, and so much depended upon raising crops and other supplies, that the town dreaded a general up-setting until it was more firmly established. Indeed, a letter had been dispatched from the town to the Mexican “political chief,” as he was entitled, of the district, at San Antonio, explaining that Gonzales did not wish to take any part in the differences between Bustamante and Santa Anna, and preferred to remain neutral and attend to its own business. It also had declined to take sides in the dispute with the Mexican officials in East Texas.

But when the convention was held at San Felipe, to prepare a constitution and to ask for statehood, then Gonzales sent delegates. On the question of statehood it stood up for Texas. Dick Carroll had plenty of company.

As the weeks sped, Ernest met a number of Texans who were as prominent as Colonel James Bowie. There was Colonel Ben Milam, a Kentuckian who had fought in the War of 1812; had been an Indian trader in Texas before the American settlements; and a leader in Mexico when the people first tried to obtain a republican form of government; and a prisoner there, and afterwards had been rewarded by a large tract of land, and now had another tract, for a colony, but was unable to settle it because of the Indians. A dark, handsome man was Colonel Benjamin R. Milam, who spent much of his time over in Coahuila province.

There was Captain William Barret Travis, from North Carolina, who last summer, at Anahuac on the Gulf coast of East Texas, had been thrown into a dungeon by a tyrannical Mexican official, for resisting some brutal soldiery. Only twenty-two was William Travis. His home was down on Galveston Bay, near Anahuac, but Ernest once saw him while on a trip to San Felipe—a lithe, boyish six-footer, with round freckled face, reddish hair, and steel blue eyes. People said that he was all nerve; nothing could daunt him.

There was “Deaf” Smith, whose real name was Erasmus Smith, but who was hard of hearing. Texas was a great place for nicknames. A small, spare, leathery-faced and wrinkled-faced man was “Deaf” Smith, of New York, who kept very much to himself and rarely had anything to say to anybody. He had come to Texas in 1817, and in 1825 had been one of the first settlers at Gonzales. He had married a Mexican woman and now lived at San Antonio. He was a famous hunter and Indian scout.

And in Gonzales itself there was Colonel Green DeWitt, the founder of the colony and of the town: a rather heavy-set, full-faced, smooth-shaven gentleman, with wavy hair well brushed down, a pleasant smile, and courtly manners. His family were with him.

There was Major James Kerr, the other founder of the town. But he had lost his wife and two children. A little girl was in the care of friends at San Felipe.

There was Captain Matthew Caldwell, an Indian fighter. He was one of the early settlers, and was called “Old Paint” Caldwell because his ruddy complexion was blotched with white.

There was Almeron Dickinson, not far turned twenty, who had settled away out here, found a pretty wife, and was one of the most popular citizens, and altogether a splendid young man.

And there was Ezekiel Williams, the first officially-elected alcalde or mayor, who had come out in 1829, and now lived in the “outer” town, seven miles up the river. And James B. Patrick, the new alcalde; and Almond Cottle, the new sindico or town attorney; and Byrd Lockhart, the surveyor; and Winslow Turner, of Turner’s two-story hotel; and Eli Mitchell, who had a large house; and Dr. Thomas R. Miller, at whose house the council sometimes met; and the McCoys (seven of them), some of whom were original settlers; and the two McClures (Abe and Bart); and the Fulshears (Ben, Churchill and Graves); and the Jacob Darst family, where there was a boy about Ernest’s age; and Andrew Ponton, the smart Frenchman; and bold John Castleman, who contemplated moving on west; and the Fuquas, and Tumlinsons, and Zumwalts, and a lot more, of the “inner” town and the “outer” town—all forming a large family in which scarcely anybody was over fifty, and the majority were under forty.

These and others Ernest met or heard of while Texas awaited word from Stephen Austin at the City of Mexico. He wrote about them and about his fun and work in letters to his mother; he had already told her of the death of Sergeant John Andrews at the hands of the Indians. He did not know when his letters would get to her, and he never knew when to expect replies; for the only way by which mail went and came was by accommodating travellers. A regular mail service was one thing that Texas was demanding from Mexico. Ernest hoped that his mother was not worrying. She said she wasn’t—but mothers sometimes say this anyway.

The summer of 1833 waxed and waned. At Gonzales a flat-boat ferry was built and placed on the river, for crossing back and forth. Report from the east claimed that great numbers of fresh settlers had entered Texas; which was good. But from the southwest, reports out of old Mexico stated that Santa Anna was still scheming on his ranch, that cholera had broken out and that 10,000 persons had died in the City of Mexico alone, and that congress was unable to hold regular sessions. Over in Coahuila the Mexican people were still quarrelling about the location of the state capital, the governorship, and other matters; and nothing that the legislature did, meeting at Monclova, pleased the people of Saltillo, the former capital.

All the Mexican part of Mexico seemed to be in disorder. It was high time that Texas, which knew what it wanted, be granted statehood, so that it could cut loose from Coahuila and pursue prosperity in the American way while the rest of Mexico, south of the Rio Grande, fussed and fought in the Mexican way.

Word was received that Stephen Austin had arrived in the City of Mexico in July, and that he had immediately presented the Texas petition. But the year aged, and little further was heard in Gonzales.

“Why doesn’t President Santa Anna help?” once asked Ernest, of Mr. Carroll. “I thought he was in favor of Texas. Texas helped him in his revolution, didn’t it?”

Dick Carroll banged the supper table with his fist.

“Santa Anna!” he snorted. “He’s going to be dictator, I tell you. He’s staying there on his rancho, so as to let Farias the vice-president introduce republican laws that will make the other parties mad; and when the other parties get strong enough he’ll come out and say that the ‘wish of the people’ must be obeyed. Just now he comes out only long enough to stir the broth with his finger, occasionally. I’ll bet my hat he fools Steve Austin. Austin’s a good man, and a smart man, but some of us rather fear he’s a little too mild. Of course, it’s better to win a p’int by peace than by war, and Austin is a man of peace, as long as peace stands any show. He hopes that if we prove to Mexico we’re honest, Mexico will be honest with us. Besides, we’ve all we can do to fight off the Injuns. But I for one don’t trust Don Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna as far as you can throw a bull by the tail.”

“Did you ever see Santa Anna?” asked Ernest, curiously.

“No, I never did. But Ben Milam and several other men I know have seen him. Milam fought along with the patriots in 1821, when Mexico freed herself from Spain and became a republic. Santa Anna was a colonel then, on the patriot side, although he was born in Spain and was in the Spanish regular army. When the new president, named General Iturbide, turned about and proclaimed himself emperor, Milam and a lot more who opposed him were put in jail; but Santa Anna headed another revolution that deposed Iturbide, restored the republican government, and of course freed Milam and the rest. Santa Anna has always been ag’in a monarchy or a despotism—look what he did in 1832 when Bustamante tried to seize the reins—and we all have thought he would be just the man to understand the Texas ideas. But he’s surely acting suspicious now. He’s a brainy man, and not big to look at. About five feet five, I hear, small-boned, dark complexioned, Spanish type, with good head and smart face, and fine manners. Aged about forty-five. And he’s quite a soldier, too. He’s always been successful in his fighting, to date.”

The year 1834 opened with a terrific “norther” or cold, sleety storm, sweeping struggling Texas almost from border to border. The people of Gonzales were only beginning to thaw out in the welcome sunshine, when from Stephen Austin arrived bad news at last. He had had the cholera. The petition was unanswered, and congress kept postponing any action on it. He finally had told Vice-president Farias that unless something was done for Texas very soon, the settlers would be likely to take matters into their own hands. Also, he had written a long letter to the mayor and people of San Antonio, saying that he did not believe he could accomplish anything and that San Antonio and the other Texas towns had better meet and form a state government, anyway, as permitted by the Constitution of 1824 whenever Texas could prove that she was ready for statehood.

Then, before this advice had been spread far enough to be acted upon, a man on lathering horse rode post-haste from the west into Gonzales. He was Ben Milam. As he drew rein in Market Square excited voices hailed him.

“What’s the matter, Ben?”

“Austin’s been arrested!”