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[Concluding chapter three]
Travis shook his head. The man would be next to useless as an ally, save that for reasons completely alien to Travis, some people were actually prepared to listen to Thomas Reynolds. “I have been led by Lord Pakenham to understand,” he said slowly, as though speaking to an idiot child, “that he might be able to obtain for us better terms on future loans if we were to present Great Britain with the appearance—note that I say appearance only—of a move toward eliminating slavery in Texas.”
Reynolds’s back stiffened and straightened, and when the congressman turned around his color had returned to normal and the usual fanatic gleam was in his eyes. “I have explained too many times to count, Mister Secretary, my unwillingness to budge on this issue. I will not countenance the violation of our sacred heritage and the Word of Almighty God by abandoning the practice of Abraham and Israel.”
“Not to mention the pharaoh who was destroyed by God for enslaving people,” Travis said quietly.
Reynolds’s eyes and mouth opened wide. “Forgive me,” Travis said quickly. “I can’t imagine what made me say that. No, sir, I am not asking you to violate your principles. I am merely suggesting that there is plenty to be gained by proffering the impression that you might be prepared to do so. You don’t even have to make this known within Texas, save to those of us who are participating in the deception; you can deny it to anyone here if it will make you feel better. Lord Pakenham has assured me that it is public opinion in Britain that we must persuade. Nobody of any importance over there cares about slavery, Reynolds. But they do care about what their merchants and doctors and lawyers think, and those people don’t like us because we keep slaves.
“If we put up a show of planning to eliminate slavery, I believe that we can obtain enough money at good enough rates to pay off all of our outstanding debts and fund government expenditures for the next decade or more. By the time these new notes come due, the Republic will have taken its place among the great nations of this earth, and we won’t need British money anymore.”
Travis got to his feet and faced Reynolds, extending his hand and hoping the man would take it. “Are you with me on this, Reynolds? Will you trust me? If we work this correctly, we can help rescue our country from foreign bondage at a price small enough that history will understand perfectly why we did it.”
Reynolds held his ground and did not shake Travis’s hand. “I appreciate your confiding in me, sir,” he said. “And I respect the love you feel for our country, a love so strong that you would apparently sacrifice even honor for its sake.” He narrowed his eyes in what presumably he thought was a stern expression, but which to Travis merely made him look myopic. “I, however, cannot afford that luxury. Without my principles, sir, I have nothing.” Except your plantation and your slaves and your wife’s property, Travis thought bitterly. “I cannot,” Reynolds thundered as though he was speaking to the combined Congress, “participate in even the appearance of abandoning an institution for which Texans shed their life’s blood.” You managed to hold on to all of yours, I note, Travis thought. He tried to remember if Reynolds had been in the army during the Revolution, and failed. Why, he asked himself, did I allow myself to believe that this man could be reasoned with?
Reynolds dropped his voice back to a conversational level; Travis felt himself forced to agree that whatever the man’s intellectual deficiencies, he could indeed speak well. “I am heartily sorry, sir, that I cannot join you.” Now Reynolds clasped Travis’s hand in both of his. “I do agree with you on one thing, though, sir. Our country must be liberated from this vile cabal of foreign merchants and bankers. And we will do it. We will do it, though, in a more honorable and”—his voice faltered and his face flushed again, and Travis wondered if there was some malady Reynolds was trying to keep hidden. “A more honorable and open fashion,” Reynolds said after a pause. The phrase emerged sounding considerably less noble than the words required, but Travis recognized nevertheless that this interview was over. He apologized for taking the congressman’s time, and found himself back on the rain-dampened wooden sidewalk. The sky had clouded over again, and he was uncomfortably aware of how cool it was today.
The optimism with which he had entered the building was now gone, and he dreaded the thought of returning to work. He began walking in the opposite direction.
He should not be doing this, he knew, and his sense of guilt grew with every step. It was a sin, it marked him as a weak and vile man; but he could not stop it, had been unable to stop it since coming to Texas. At the end of this street, on the outskirts of the city, was Maria Pena’s farm. He would refresh himself in the Spanish widow’s lush body, and through her find the will to return to work and look for another way of achieving the liberation of his country. It was sin, and he hated himself for needing it. But perhaps when the time of Reckoning came, God could be made to understand why it was sometimes necessary to do small wrongs in order to achieve a greater good.
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