Chapter Forty
Excerpt from Silas’s journal:
SEPTEMBER 15, 1836
“Man proposes; God disposes.” That German writer in the fifteenth century, Thomas Kempis, was right when he penned those words, as Morris would be delighted to hear me admit, though God knows I’ve experienced the truth of them often enough these past couple of years. I sit here now on the eve of my departure to New Orleans wondering where to begin my narration to Jessica of how handily God disposed of my proposal to settle in the black waxy region of Texas. Unless she received my letter of July that I entrusted a soldier returning to Lafayette to deliver, she will not know that the Willow Grove wagon train did not make it to the black soil of my reserved land grant. Once the train had crossed the Sabine and slogged through the bayou country, our people had endured enough. We had survived accidents to limb, wagon, oxen and horses, treacherous quagmires, snakes, and alligators. Two days after we set up camp, exhausted, on a pine-covered knoll, I said to Jeremy out of the blue, “How about here?”
Jeremy looked relieved. He had already exclaimed over the abundance of white-tailed deer and wild turkeys, clear streams, deep, fertile, sandy loam, and the rich variety of trees, but my admiration of the area was based on an additional attraction. The First Congress of the Republic of Texas was offering immigrants who arrived between March 2, 1836 and October 1, 1837 a grant of 1,280 acres for heads of families and 640 acres for single men, provided they lived in Texas for three years. Why would a man pay 12 and 1/2 cents an acre in the land grants of empresarios such as Stephen F. Austin when the land on which he stood was free?
Even though the pine forests would be much harder to clear than the blackland prairies, I saw other advantages to remaining in the region. Not only would the savings in cost of land add to my secret coffer, but I could return for Jessica and Joshua sooner. This time, I would take the Old San Antonio Road and cross the Sabine at Gaines Ferry into Louisiana and bring my family back the same way for an easier and quicker route into Texas.
Lorimer Davis, who’d been within earshot of Jeremy’s and my conversation, asked me to repeat what I’d said.
Jeremy answered for me. “Silas said, ‘How about here?’”
Lorimer grinned from one big ear to another and shouted at his neighbor, “HOW ABOUT HERE?”
When the question was passed from wagon to wagon, a chorus of YEA’s went up and in a meeting the next day, the settlers cast a unanimous vote to settle here among the pines.
And so, on my thirtieth birthday, I managed to hire a surveyor to stake out my acres and to provide me with the necessary figures of location and boundaries to file my claim at the Texas General Land Office when it opens in Austin in December. I made sure to have witnesses to the surveyor’s report testify to my arrival in Texas and should have no trouble obtaining a conditional certificate to possess the land until I take official ownership of it in three years. Even before the surveying was completed, I set about building shelters, fences, barns, and—most important—clearing land for the planting of cotton seeds in early spring. I am glad Jessica was not here to witness how hard I worked our slaves, but we now have a semblance of the beginning of Somerset. I look forward to carrying her over the threshold of our log house. It is rude at best, but it is weatherproof because I made sure the chinks were properly filled. It boasts three rooms and a loft, and a hall from the front gallery to a shed in back where, at no small expense, I have had installed a bathtub for Jessica! I hope she will be pleased. In time, I plan to join another cabin to the original to double our living space, but the addition will have to wait until I address other, more urgent needs.
Sam Houston of Virginia was elected the first president of the Republic of Texas two weeks ago. Perhaps now the new nation will know the beginning of stability. The treasury is depleted and credit for the republic next to impossible to obtain. There are no funds to pay for an army, roads, or postal system. Mexico and the Indians present a constant concern. Houston favors eventual annexation to the United States and peaceful relations with the Indians. His opponents support independence and the removal of the Indians from the entire republic. Who will win out? I see myself someday adding my voice to a political body that decides such matters, but at this point in time, I will concentrate on building the plantation my son and his sons will carry into perpetuity in this new land of promise and opportunity.
I fear Jeremy will not be joining me in a like venture, though he has staked out his 640 acres—“the beginning of The Warwick Lumber Company, my friend,” he proudly announced to my startled ears within a week of our arrival here. “I’m tired of planting cotton, Silas,” he said. “I see my financial future in mining timber.” He went on to say that the logging industry was in its infancy now, but he is certain it will grow as the nation grows, and in that growth was bound to come the need for lumber.
I was shocked that he would be so enticed to jump ship—turn his back on his Warwick heritage—but of course, I wished him well. For me, the only calling of a Toliver is to till land—large parcels of it—and that, I and my heirs will do.
Henri picked his plot on the hilliest, least fertile ground a good distance from the river. He envisions his 640 acres as the site of the town we will build together and has already marked the spot where he intends to erect his mercantile store—a sort of general store at the beginning, he says, but later, when the town is established—“Ah, mon ami such an emporium the public has yet to behold!” To him I wish the best of luck as well and count myself fortunate to have within hailing distance two of the finest men I will ever call friends.
This is my final entry in the journal. Writing it has provided solace for my loneliness at the end of many long, wearying days. Once I’m reunited with Jessica and Joshua, I see no need to commit to paper the daily events I will live with them.
(Note to myself: Before sharing my journal with Jessica, mark the parts to be left unread.)