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[Continuing chapter three]
“Unfortunately, sir, the feelings of the population do matter here,” Travis said. “And the blunt fact is that the people of Texas still want to be able to own slaves. They fought the Mexican Empire for precisely that right. Well, that and the ability to govern themselves without having to deal with a corrupt court and regent. But I cannot order Texans to change their minds. If we are to abolish slavery, it must be at our own speed and because it is our own idea.”
Pakenham smiled broadly. “I understand,” he said. “Really I do. So far as I’m concerned, you can keep your slaves until the Judgment. Africans are nothing but trouble in my opinion, and if you want to take that on yourselves you’re welcome to it.”
His smile faded. “Sadly, my opinion—which I believe is shared by the prime minister, for what that’s worth—isn’t all that matters. The fact is, my dear sir, that the middle classes, pious idiots though they may be, have quite a bit of power now. Much of that power is commercial.” He said the word with some distaste, as though he were still learning to pronounce it properly. “And our commercial interests have a ready supply of cotton grown without the use of slaves. Louisiana may not be as fecund a place as your Texas, sir, but the growers there charge lower prices per ton than do you. That makes it entirely too easy for those hypocritical mill-owning Dissenters to present themselves as doing God’s work while conveniently enriching themselves. If you want to make your cotton-growing a viable proposition, my dear Travis, you’ll have to drop your prices.”
“What’s to keep the Louisiana growers from dropping theirs in response? That’s what they did the last time we dropped our price to your mill-agents.” Travis adopted Pakenham’s light, disinterested tone of voice—and truth to tell, it wasn’t difficult. He had no interest in, and therefore little sympathy for, farming. The big plantation owners especially deserved no tears, he felt. They’d done nothing to help him when his businesses had suffered, first the legal practice in Alabama, then the newspaper in San Antonio.
“I can’t guarantee they won’t,” Pakenham said. “We have no control over the behavior of farmers in Canada—contrary to what some here might think,” he added with a smile as Travis opened his mouth to respond. “Please understand, Travis, that I would like nothing better than to see Texas grow and thrive. I wouldn’t be here otherwise—I have enough of a connection at the Foreign Office that if I wished I could be posted to my choice of embassies.”
Your choice of any embassy in the Central American Isthmus, Travis thought sardonically. Still, you have spoken out on our behalf in St. James—my agents confirm that. “I know that we have a friend in you, sir,” he said. “But you must know that the question of Texan independence is far from settled. Aside from the Mexicans, who remain a nuisance when they aren’t something worse, there are powerful forces, both here and to the east, that wish to see us enjoined to either the Confederate or the United States. If we cannot obtain either commercial concessions or more favorable terms for the loans we require until our economy is better established, then the pressure will increase here for us to make a settlement with one of those suitors.”
“I am aware of the situation,” Pakenham said drily, and Travis felt a pang of envy at the intelligence resources the Englishman had available to him. “But we’re in a bit of a bind, aren’t we? And it all comes back to the subject that began this discussion.
“If you could just show some sign that Texas was at least beginning to consider a move to ban slavery, then I would have some powerful ammunition to support my arguments to the cabinet.”
“What about a move to further restrict slavery?” Travis knew he had little room for bargaining, but he had to try. The chances of his being able to persuade people like Thomas Reynolds and James Fannin to agree to even consider a slavery ban were so minute as to be almost immeasurable.
“It’s unlikely that would be considered sufficient,” Pakenham said. He leaned forward. “Unless you could present me with some truly concrete proposals that I could present as leading eventually to a ban. You wouldn’t have to actually propose such a ban yourselves—you could even deny such a thing for domestic consumption. Nobody in London reads the Washington papers, I assure you. What they know about Texas is what I tell them.”
“It’s worth a try.” In spite of himself, Travis had to admire the way Pakenham’s mind worked. It’s all about perception, really, he thought. The English don’t really care about the rights of Africans any more than we do. It just suits them to present themselves as if they do. He could smell the mint pastilles Pakenham chewed to sweeten his breath; the scent reminded him that he meant to try them himself when he knew he was going to be in the company of women, who in his experience tended not to like the smell of cigars on a man’s breath.
“Please tell your superiors in London, then, that the government of Texas is now formulating a plan to restrict the practice of slave-trading in the republic. You can hint to them that you have been assured, in private, that this plan will eventually lead to a complete cessation of slavery in Texas. Of course, I can’t give you any sense of when that will happen.” Because it’s highly unlikely ever to happen, he said to himself.
“That’s not necessary,” Pakenham said with a smile. “At least, not at this time. I may have to provide some semblance of a time-table at some point. But rest assured, Mister Secretary, that I’ll inform you of any such information I’m forced to send on to London.”
“That would be good of you,” Travis said, trying to keep his tone as level and dry as Pakenham would have done delivering such a line. Unlike the Englishman, he did not laugh at his own wit.
“Very good of you to see me this morning, sir,” Pakenham said as he got to his feet. “I’m aware that I should have been here yesterday. I was just enjoying myself too much. This really is a lovely country, you know. Much better than Louisiana, for instance. I’m actually thinking of suggesting to the PM that he encourage emigration to here—especially from Ireland.”
“That would be… interesting,” Travis offered. “We’re actually having a bit of trouble absorbing the influx of Germans and Italians right now, I’m afraid. It might not be the best time to encourage another wave of immigrants.” Not immigrants from the United Kingdom, at any rate. It was bad enough that the English were buying land and owned most of what manufacturing Texas possessed. The last thing Travis wanted was thousands of new citizens who owed any debt of allegiance to the great power that commanded the Mississippi and separated Texas from its natural family in the Confederacy.
“If you think that Prussian and Bohemian peasants who can’t speak a word of English are the sort of citizen you want, who am I to disagree?” Pakenham offered his hand; Travis shook it, musing on how strange it was to find the man reasonably pleasant while disliking so much of what he represented. “Thank you again, Mister Secretary,” Pakenham said, moving to the doorway. He stopped there, and turned. “Shall I offer your greetings to that bounder Bromowski?”
“If you would.” I’m going to have to set up another meeting with that Austrian rogue, Travis thought. I can’t keep depending on English money to keep this country afloat. If only the Empire had as much money as it does history and culture.
“I will pass the details of the loan to your secretary of the treasury,” Pakenham said, “once I have them myself. The gold is on its way now, I’m told, and may well be here before the end of the month. Good day to you, sir.”
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