5 MAY 1851
NATCHITOCHES, LOUISIANA
30 September, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 4.1
Previous First
William Walker looked at the sodden grass beneath his boots and forced himself to remember that there was Divine reason behind everything God did. It was hard to see the reasoning behind these travails, though. Had it not been for the mess surrounding Captains Patton and Stewart, he would have been across the Sabine and in Texas by now. Instead, the need to wait for Captain Nelson’s return had placed him on the wrong bank of the river at a time when this week’s rains would make the crossing that much more difficult. It would be even worse if this rain had fallen in Texas as well; there were numerous small rivers and creeks that would have to be crossed without benefit of ferries. It is God’s will that this happen, he reminded himself. The reason would become apparent to him in time.
27 September, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 3.5
Previous First
[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.
[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.
26 September, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 3.4
Previous First
[Continuing chapter three]
Congressman Thomas Reynolds’s office was one of a handful occupying what had once been Washington’s first two-story building, the Hotel Claremont. The building was owned by the government now because the old Capitol was no longer large enough to accommodate both the House of Representatives and the Senate and all of their occupants. And these were the good offices; representatives and senators of lesser stature than Reynolds occupied offices over dry-goods and cigar stores.
The walls of Reynolds’s office were stained by the sticky haze of nearly two decades’ worth of accumulated lamp burnings. In a few places the stains were gummy enough that flies had become trapped; Travis had ample opportunity to study the desiccated corpses while waiting for Reynolds to return from what his secretary had insisted was a brief meeting down the hall. Why, he wondered, am I always the one kept waiting?
It would be different if Reynolds’s wife were here; it would be a pleasure to wait in her company. Susan Reynolds was a damned handsome woman, and Travis never saw her but that he felt that familiar stirring. She had never once given him a sign that she was interested, but he continued to hope. After all, he’d met few married women in Texas he couldn’t conquer, given enough time and opportunity.
[Continuing chapter three]
Congressman Thomas Reynolds’s office was one of a handful occupying what had once been Washington’s first two-story building, the Hotel Claremont. The building was owned by the government now because the old Capitol was no longer large enough to accommodate both the House of Representatives and the Senate and all of their occupants. And these were the good offices; representatives and senators of lesser stature than Reynolds occupied offices over dry-goods and cigar stores.
The walls of Reynolds’s office were stained by the sticky haze of nearly two decades’ worth of accumulated lamp burnings. In a few places the stains were gummy enough that flies had become trapped; Travis had ample opportunity to study the desiccated corpses while waiting for Reynolds to return from what his secretary had insisted was a brief meeting down the hall. Why, he wondered, am I always the one kept waiting?
It would be different if Reynolds’s wife were here; it would be a pleasure to wait in her company. Susan Reynolds was a damned handsome woman, and Travis never saw her but that he felt that familiar stirring. She had never once given him a sign that she was interested, but he continued to hope. After all, he’d met few married women in Texas he couldn’t conquer, given enough time and opportunity.
25 September, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 3.3
Previous First
[Continuing chapter three]
When Pakenham had left, Travis got up and walked to the framed world map that hung on the wall beside the door. So much of it was colored red, for Britain, that even the white of the Empire, dominating Central Europe, was dwarfed. How would this map look, he wondered, had the French succeeded in their revolution? Their great general, Napoleon, had been genius enough to conquer the entire continent of Europe had he not been so bold as to invade Egypt.
The general’s death, and France’s subsequent defeat, he remembered, had directly led to Britain’s claiming Louisiana. Travis had been just two years old when the United States, having rejected Jefferson’s bid for a second term because the man refused to fight for Louisiana, went to war with Britain to drive the old enemy once and for all from North America. After a promising beginning the result had been disaster. “Jefferson’s War,” they called it now, a sardonic tribute to the man who wouldn’t fight, who wasted his own greatness in the pursuit of a goal of mere self-sufficiency that was too small for the country he led.
[Continuing chapter three]
When Pakenham had left, Travis got up and walked to the framed world map that hung on the wall beside the door. So much of it was colored red, for Britain, that even the white of the Empire, dominating Central Europe, was dwarfed. How would this map look, he wondered, had the French succeeded in their revolution? Their great general, Napoleon, had been genius enough to conquer the entire continent of Europe had he not been so bold as to invade Egypt.
The general’s death, and France’s subsequent defeat, he remembered, had directly led to Britain’s claiming Louisiana. Travis had been just two years old when the United States, having rejected Jefferson’s bid for a second term because the man refused to fight for Louisiana, went to war with Britain to drive the old enemy once and for all from North America. After a promising beginning the result had been disaster. “Jefferson’s War,” they called it now, a sardonic tribute to the man who wouldn’t fight, who wasted his own greatness in the pursuit of a goal of mere self-sufficiency that was too small for the country he led.
24 September, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 3.2
Previous First
[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.”
[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.”
23 September, 2019
Writing Racism
Yesterday I wrote about encounters with racism, for the most part what I'd call incidental, in the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century novels I read while I was waiting for my eye to heal following surgery. One of the novels I read was Kipling's Kim, and I didn't say anything about it in the previous post because it made me think about my writing more than my reading, and yesterday's post was already long enough.
Kipling is usually dismissed, these days, as a racist imperialist (or an imperialist racist, I suppose). I'm not really interested in defending him here—my own opinion probably doesn't count for much anyway, old white and male as I am, and anyway I'm not even remotely interested in trying to defend "The White Man's Burden"; oy fricking vey—but from a writing perspective there's something about Kim that jumped out at me as I read it.
Kipling is usually dismissed, these days, as a racist imperialist (or an imperialist racist, I suppose). I'm not really interested in defending him here—my own opinion probably doesn't count for much anyway, old white and male as I am, and anyway I'm not even remotely interested in trying to defend "The White Man's Burden"; oy fricking vey—but from a writing perspective there's something about Kim that jumped out at me as I read it.
Bonny Blue Flag 3.1
Previous First
William Barret Travis leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. The news from Buenos Aires was interesting, to say the least. That nephew of the great Napoleon who called himself Victor-Louis Napoleon had just contrived to have himself elected president of Argentina. From exiled comic-opera revolutionary to head of state in five years, he thought. Almost as impressive as going from failed newspaper publisher to secretary of state of the Republic of Texas in ten years. He smiled, and flicked an imaginary piece of ash from his heavily embroidered waistcoat.
Leaning forward, he wondered what it might be like to be secretary of state for the new Napoleon. I’m willing to wager, he thought, that unlike Texas, Argentina isn’t so strapped for funds that she has to gain most of her foreign intelligence from the columns of the newspapers. Turning the page of the Courier, he saw that the Federals were claiming a victory over the Confederates on one of the islands off the Carolinas. Nobody seemed to be able to exploit their battlefield successes, though, and the conflict between the two parts of the formerly United States looked set to last for years rather than the six weeks everyone had so confidently predicted last spring.
23 APRIL 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
William Barret Travis leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. The news from Buenos Aires was interesting, to say the least. That nephew of the great Napoleon who called himself Victor-Louis Napoleon had just contrived to have himself elected president of Argentina. From exiled comic-opera revolutionary to head of state in five years, he thought. Almost as impressive as going from failed newspaper publisher to secretary of state of the Republic of Texas in ten years. He smiled, and flicked an imaginary piece of ash from his heavily embroidered waistcoat.
Leaning forward, he wondered what it might be like to be secretary of state for the new Napoleon. I’m willing to wager, he thought, that unlike Texas, Argentina isn’t so strapped for funds that she has to gain most of her foreign intelligence from the columns of the newspapers. Turning the page of the Courier, he saw that the Federals were claiming a victory over the Confederates on one of the islands off the Carolinas. Nobody seemed to be able to exploit their battlefield successes, though, and the conflict between the two parts of the formerly United States looked set to last for years rather than the six weeks everyone had so confidently predicted last spring.
22 September, 2019
Re-Reading Racism
I have spent the past week and a bit more or less unable to write—more specifically, unable to type, thanks to retinal surgery—and so to occupy my time I've been reading.
Well, okay, I am always reading, spending easily as much time reading as I do writing. But in this case I've very specifically been reading old novels and stories (following up my journey into Dumas the elder), from the period of the 1880s and 1890s into the first two decades of the twentieth century: titles such as Kidnapped, The Black Arrow, The Wrong Box (Stevenson); The Prisoner of Zenda, Rupert of Hentzau (Hope); Kim (Kipling); The Riddle of the Sands (Childers); and Valmouth, Santal, and Concerning the Eccentricities of Cardinal Pirelli (Firbank). Most of these books I had never read before; all save for the Firbank novels (which truly are uncategorizable) are adventure stories.
And, alas, all are full of incidents of what I'll call casual racism. (And dear lord, don't even ask about the misogyny...)
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| Title page of the novel Kim, from Wikimedia Commons |
And, alas, all are full of incidents of what I'll call casual racism. (And dear lord, don't even ask about the misogyny...)
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