ungentlemanly fashion toward poor Eliza, and when he refused to answer these charges they "posted" him as a coward, after a custom of the day. He did, however, chivalrously defend Eliza: "If any wretch ever dares to utter a word against the purity of Mrs. Houston I will come back and write the libel in his heart's blood!"
Everyone acquainted with Sam Houston knew this was no idle threat.
Aboard the steamboat Red River, bound for the mighty Mississippi by way of the Cumberland River, he had been standing on deck one day, giving serious thought to hurling himself into the sparkling blue waters below, when he saw an eagle soaring against the blazing yellow orb of a setting sun. The eagle swooped low over his head and screamed defiantly. Suddenly he had known, with a pure conviction, that his destiny lay to the west. A few days later he made the acquaintance of Jim Bowie, the legendary knife fighter and adventurer. Bowie's tales of Texas had filled Houston with wonder and excitement.
Billy Carroll, his political foe, who replaced him as Tennessee's governor, had been heard to say sarcastically, "Poor Houston! Rose like a rocket, and fell like a stick." But Houston had risen again, like a phoenix from the ashes. After a sojourn with the Cherokees he had gone to Texas as President Jackson's agent to report on Indian affairs. To Texas Sam Houston hitched his star. He had led that ragtag army of volunteers to stunning victory at San Jacinto, defeating Santa Anna, the self-styled "Napoleon of the West," and an army of veterans who had recently—and with astonishing brutality—suppressed rebellion in Mexico's southern provinces. Houston had gone on to serve as the first president of the Republic of Texas.
But recently it had seemed as though his star was on the wane yet again. Shakespeare was right—there most certainly was a tide in the affairs of men. And his tide had ebbed. He had served his term as president; Texas law forbade him to serve two consecutive terms. Now, God forbid, Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar held the reins of state in his completely inadequate grasp. And Houston, nearly destitute, had resorted to the practice of law in a country burdened with a surfeit of "cornstalk lawyers." Finally, and worst of all, his beloved Texas was in dire straits. The Panic of 1837 which had ravaged the economy of the United States was now having a doleful effect on Texas. Currency was worthless, land could scarcely be bought and sold, and debts remained unpaid. The republic was threatened by Mexican aggression. Now, on top of everything else, Texas would be locked in a terrible struggle with the Comanche nation!
But Sam Houston was not the kind of man who would give up. He had learned from Andrew Jackson that a real man never did. No, he would resurrect himself once more, with the Almighty's help and Margaret's love, and somehow he would save Texas from disaster. Therein lay the reason for his impatience. So much to do in so little time.
John Henry had made a dispassionate and, Houston was certain, completely accurate report of everything that had transpired before, during, and after the Council House fight. In conclusion, McAllen had apologized for failing to prevent the disaster. But Houston was confident the Black Jack captain had done everything one man could be expected to do. In his heart of hearts, Houston felt that Lamar must at this very moment be gloating in his palatial residence in Austin. Surely the man had known something like this would happen. Only a fool could have expected to bring Comanche Indians into San Antonio with their white captives without violence breaking out. And the Comanches had been naive at best to even agree to it. Well, mused Houston grimly, they would never trust a Texan again. It would be a fight to the death now. The blood-chilling strains of the "Deguello," the Spanish martial tune signifying no quarter, echoed in Houston's mind.
A part of Houston wanted to leap into the nearest saddle and
Everyone acquainted with Sam Houston knew this was no idle threat.
Aboard the steamboat Red River, bound for the mighty Mississippi by way of the Cumberland River, he had been standing on deck one day, giving serious thought to hurling himself into the sparkling blue waters below, when he saw an eagle soaring against the blazing yellow orb of a setting sun. The eagle swooped low over his head and screamed defiantly. Suddenly he had known, with a pure conviction, that his destiny lay to the west. A few days later he made the acquaintance of Jim Bowie, the legendary knife fighter and adventurer. Bowie's tales of Texas had filled Houston with wonder and excitement.
Billy Carroll, his political foe, who replaced him as Tennessee's governor, had been heard to say sarcastically, "Poor Houston! Rose like a rocket, and fell like a stick." But Houston had risen again, like a phoenix from the ashes. After a sojourn with the Cherokees he had gone to Texas as President Jackson's agent to report on Indian affairs. To Texas Sam Houston hitched his star. He had led that ragtag army of volunteers to stunning victory at San Jacinto, defeating Santa Anna, the self-styled "Napoleon of the West," and an army of veterans who had recently—and with astonishing brutality—suppressed rebellion in Mexico's southern provinces. Houston had gone on to serve as the first president of the Republic of Texas.
But recently it had seemed as though his star was on the wane yet again. Shakespeare was right—there most certainly was a tide in the affairs of men. And his tide had ebbed. He had served his term as president; Texas law forbade him to serve two consecutive terms. Now, God forbid, Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar held the reins of state in his completely inadequate grasp. And Houston, nearly destitute, had resorted to the practice of law in a country burdened with a surfeit of "cornstalk lawyers." Finally, and worst of all, his beloved Texas was in dire straits. The Panic of 1837 which had ravaged the economy of the United States was now having a doleful effect on Texas. Currency was worthless, land could scarcely be bought and sold, and debts remained unpaid. The republic was threatened by Mexican aggression. Now, on top of everything else, Texas would be locked in a terrible struggle with the Comanche nation!
But Sam Houston was not the kind of man who would give up. He had learned from Andrew Jackson that a real man never did. No, he would resurrect himself once more, with the Almighty's help and Margaret's love, and somehow he would save Texas from disaster. Therein lay the reason for his impatience. So much to do in so little time.
John Henry had made a dispassionate and, Houston was certain, completely accurate report of everything that had transpired before, during, and after the Council House fight. In conclusion, McAllen had apologized for failing to prevent the disaster. But Houston was confident the Black Jack captain had done everything one man could be expected to do. In his heart of hearts, Houston felt that Lamar must at this very moment be gloating in his palatial residence in Austin. Surely the man had known something like this would happen. Only a fool could have expected to bring Comanche Indians into San Antonio with their white captives without violence breaking out. And the Comanches had been naive at best to even agree to it. Well, mused Houston grimly, they would never trust a Texan again. It would be a fight to the death now. The blood-chilling strains of the "Deguello," the Spanish martial tune signifying no quarter, echoed in Houston's mind.
A part of Houston wanted to leap into the nearest saddle and
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