A Time to Stand Read Free Page A

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    But it was worth it. For once, the glib promoters were not exaggerating. Texas proved to be an eye-opening, breathtaking sight.
    “It does not appear to me possible that there can be a land more lovely,” wrote William Dewees, one of the first arrivals. “No language can convey anything adequate to theemotion felt by the visitor,” echoed David Edward, another early traveler.
    And indeed it did defy language, judging from the efforts of Mary Austin Holley, whose handbook became almost a bible: “One feels that Omnipotence has here consecrated in the bosom of Nature and under Heaven’s wide canopy, a glorious temple in which to receive praise and adoration of the grateful beholder.”
    The sheer abundance of everything staggered the imagination. No drought or falling water table had yet taken its toll. The prairie was an endless sea of waving grass and wild flowers—dahlias, geraniums, primroses, carpets of violets. The fresh green river bottoms were thick with bee trees, all dripping honey. Deep, limpid pools lay covered with lilies. The streams were full of fish, and game was everywhere—bear, deer, rabbits, turkeys, prairie chickens. Mustangs and buffalo roamed at will—there for the taking.
    It was enough to give birth to a Texas penchant for superlatives that was destined to endure. Travelers described sugar cane that grew twenty-five feet in a single season … pumpkins as large as a man could lift … a sweet potato so big that a whole family dined on it, and there was enough left over to feed the pigs.
    Exaggerated or not, the reaction was immensely significant. It meant that at last these restless people had found what they wanted. Old sorrows were forgotten in the discovery of this great new land, and from the very beginning, they were determined never to lose it again. “We’re here all united together,” wrote William Dewees, “bound together by an indissoluble tie. As the past has been full of bitterness, we of course look forward to future happiness. …”
    Some moved in among the Mexicans, settling in the sleepy mission towns, the lazy Gulf ports, and especially the oldprovincial capital of San Antonio de Bexar. Often known simply as Bexar, the town had been an important center in the days of Spanish rule. But with Mexico’s independence, it became merely a neglected outpost and soon crumbled into decay. In ten short years, half the population left.
    Yet, the place still had undeniable charm. During the hot, sunny day, brightly dressed Mexicans lolled against the flat-roofed adobe houses that lined the narrow streets. Others bathed in the sparkling little San Antonio River on the eastern edge of town, or gossiped in the two central squares whose names, Main Plaza and Military Plaza, carried a trace of past grandeur. In the evening, fires glowed in every yard, and guitar music drifted from half-closed doorways. Nobody worked very hard in San Antonio—just enough to stay comfortable.
    It was hard for an American not to fall under the spell of this pleasant life. Nat Lewis, a shrewd young man from Falmouth, Massachusetts, opened a store on Main Plaza; by 1832 nearly everybody owed him money. John W. Smith, a versatile Missourian, became the town’s leading carpenter, engineer, entrepreneur and boardinghouse keeper.
    But of them all, Jim Bowie was the one who really stood out. To the settlers in Texas, this tall, sandy-haired man was a living legend. He had grown up in the tough sugar cane country of Louisiana. He had roped and ridden alligators. He had fought in that most famous of all frontier brawls, the Sand Bar Fight, where his big knife killed Major Morris Wright in one fierce thrust. He had used it in other fights too, so it was said, and although the details were hazy, nobody cared to take issue with him. He had made vast fortunes—$65,000 slave trading with the pirate Jean Lafitte … $20,000 on Arkansas land titles that already smelled of fraud … huge speculations in Texas; by