The Stars at Night: A Texas Timeline

[Rooster Cogburn]

Originally Posted by Aracnid

I assume that this is going to be a peaceful and honest election marking a new high for the application of the democratic franchise?

That would be my bet.

[Lycaon pictus]

I just got through reading this timeline. I love it, and I love how it's written. I can't wait to see how this election goes.

My one complaint? Now, when I have freedmen settled west of Arkansas as a buffer against Comanches in my TL, everybody will think I stole the idea from you.

[Sicarius]

Part 20
24 Hour Texian Party People

“The treaty has to be renewed.” President Reagan’s normally calm demeanor was strained to the limit. “Are we to wreck our relations with one of our largest trading partners? Leave our frontier protected from Mexico and the Comanche by empty forts? Are we going to pay back our loan? With what? Secret Confederate gold? It must be around here somewhere! No,” he lifted up a stack of papers, “not under here. Hmmmmmm.” He opened the drawer to his desk. “Not in here either. Sir, the path you propose is folly. It is a fantasy. Not only is Texas unwilling to do what you propose, she is unable.”

The normally mercurial William Walker, on the other hand, had the quiet serenity of someone who has made up his mind once and wasn’t looking to do so again. “But you, sir, are not Texas. Texas is its people. And those people will no longer allow foreign parasites to shirk their taxes and tarriffs, growing rich off the sweat of true, hard working Texians. Were the French treated as they should be, Texas would be able to defend itself, and would not need to cling to a foreign power for protection.”

“The French taxation revenues would be negligible compared to the loss in trade. And the expenditures required to equip and train an army large enough to replace the French forts … it would cripple this nation. Let the French sit on our land and lick their chops at Mexico. They are no threat to us.”

“Yet.”

“A cornered dog will bite, Walker. Would you create conflict where there is none to advance your own position?”

“The only party in a corner is you, Mister President. And it is obvious that useless growling is all that will come of this conversation. Good day.” Walker motioned to his aide, who wheeled the man’s chair out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With any hope of a bipartisan approach to the renewal of the Franco-Texian Bill dashed, Texas in the spring of 1865 found itself in the middle of its first major party dispute since the collapse of the Houstonian faction. The Texian Party was still in the minority in Congress, but they were a loud and active faction, and took advantage of procedure to give long, blazing speeches condemning “foreign leeches” and the “political puppets” that robbed the poor Texians to give to the rich French. The Republicans had been Texas’s single party for years, and were at a loss when faced with sudden, strident opposition. While the Republicans had scored victory after victory by inertia, the Texians had fought uphill to even get this far. They were masters of something the Republican Party had ignored for too long: Organization. George Bickley was moving through Texas by train, deploying the ramshackle charisma that had originally organized the White Knights from nothing. During each speech the stage was flanked by fully uniformed Knights in military formation, with torchlight marches after the sun had set. Bickley told people exactly what they wanted to hear: They deserved more, they were the real hard workers, and they would be successful if only foreigners would stop stealing their money. He talked about the military valour of Texians, how they didn’t need a national protector, and would often point to men in the crowd and ask if he correctly recalled that they fought at this or that battle of the Mexican War. They always had done - Bickley’s local Knights supplied him with this information. But to the veterans in the audience, Bickley's apparent dedication to every man he had served with was deeply affecting.

Back in the nerve centers of Texas, William Walker ran the party’s political operations (some would have it that Walker sent Bickley on his tour to get him out of the way and further consolidate his behind-the-scenes dominance of the party). He organized the Congressional tactics of the Texians, making sure that every member remained on point and worked to shut out Republican counter-speakers. William Walker was a master at organizing filibusters.

The Texian Party was more popular than it had ever been. Even lifelong Republicans were - if not joining the party - joining the marches, joining the crowds at speeches, joining the White Knights. With such a groundswell, it was only a matter of time before they began to abandon the rotting ship of the Republicans. If, if, they kept focused on their anger. Bickley was an organizer, focused on putting together crowds today. Walker was a true politician. And he realized that giving a group a victory today meant that they’d be at home tomorrow, basking in that glow. And while the treaty fight was today, the election was months away. Would happy people remember to mobilize, after they felt they had won?

Over his desk in his officially unofficial office at the Texian Party headquarters, Walker had a nearly priceless object, acquired at great difficulty and expense. It was an early flag of the Texas Republic, the lone star and stripes. It was torn, charred, and dirtied. There was a brown-red stain in the corner. “Nobody wants to win more than a man who just got kicked in the teeth,” he said to the Alamo flag.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the appointed day, both houses of Congress gathered to vote. Rumbles of Texian members fleeing to prevent a quorum were silenced by quiet orders from the top. A crowd had gathered in the spring heat outside the Capital, and the tension was palpable. Inside, the vote was strangely muted. Everyone knew there was only one possible conclusion, the question was what came next. Ayes and nays were cast and tallied. The Texians shook their heads and waved their fists and gnashed their teeth. A runner was sent to tell the crowd.

They weren’t happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Texian nominee for the Presidency was obviously going to be George W.L. Bickley. His speeches had electrified the countryside, and to the people he was the face of the movement. But across Texas, others came out of the woodwork, and used the organization Bickley had left behind for them. Nearly every single election in Texas had an opposing candidate, for the first time in the nation’s history. Even traditional Republican strongholds were contested. Pushed over the edge by the Congress’s renewal of the “handouts”, many non-partisan Texians and even a number of Republicans made a formal commitment to the Texian Party.


Some say Bickley's earlier, absurdly massive beard was shaved, or possibly fell off. Others claim it still roams Texas, now known as the chupacabra.

The Texian's issues were well defined: Stop the “flood” of foreigners, cut off the “handouts”, repudiate the Franco-Texian Bill, remove the French troops, and take a strong stance against Mexico and Indians. The Republican platform was nebulous - their party was a big tent, and it was difficult to take any national stance without threatening to drive more members out of the party. They did have an unparalleled record of experience and service, but when the status quo is suddenly wildly unpopular, the fact that you were in charge the whole time isn’t something you want to advertise. Republican candidates were left to fend for themselves, running off the fact that they were already in office, and often well-to-do and influential community members.

John Salmon Ford, a veteran of the Mexican War and editor of the Texas Republican - Austin’s largest newspaper and William Wakler’s biggest competitor - was nominated as the Republican Presidential candidate. Some candidates had demurred from what they saw as a surefire loss, but Ford was a risk taker. Famous for his exploits as a soldier, explorer, doctor, lawyer, and congressman, he had a standing with the people that John Regan lacked, and it was hoped by his backers that he would inspire memories of President Johnston. And indian fighters always did well with the people - Ford had personally killed the Comanche war chief Carne Muerto, son of Santa Anna. [1] Admittedly, it wasn’t that Santa Anna, but politics aren’t noted as a realm of hard-hitting fact. Ford was also an old Houstonian, a fact which he capitalized on to try and split the few remaining Houstonian-Independents from the Texians.


Built Ford Tough

Ford also, importantly, had the support of the south Texas caudillos. Ford had been a minor member of the Circle of Brothers, and had smuggled supplies from Mexico to the Confederacy. He had worked with King personally in ferrying supplies down Texas’s rivers, and the rancher was impressed with Ford’s abilities and mettle. But there was also a higher level game being played - the Republican Party was weak and listless, and between the supporters it was losing and the Congressmen it was about to lose, there would soon be a huge power vacuum. Secure south Texas Republicans would rise in seniority, and the reduced size of the party would allow the formation of a clearer, more focused platform. King was determined that the platform be his.

While the caudillos shared the Texian Party’s desire for further expansion at Mexico’s expense (to further enrich themselves), they were not strong backers of slavery. Slavery was the tool of their competitors, and limiting it would allow their goods to fill the gap. Proponents of free trade (of their goods), they supported the alliance with France. But most importantly, the caudillos were anything but populists. The idea of the people running the country horrified them. Everybody knew a democracy should be in the firm and caring hands of the rich. Thus it was that John Ford came into the election with all of south Texas automatically in the bag. [2]

So as 1864 turned to 1865, the campaigns kicked off. In 19th century style, there wasn’t a ton of substantive policy debate. Of course Bickley talked about the French in every single appearance, in a repeat of his earlier tour. Ford ran a more traditional campaign, seldom giving public speeches, but spoke out through the Austin Republican, mostly focusing on his military record and improving the economy of Texas through internal improvements - especially in linking south Texas to the rest of the country. He also hammered on the indian threat, intimating that Bickley’s anti-French stand was a purely poltical ploy that would endanger Texians by weakening defense on the frontier. And of course the real action was on the local level, where the rallies were almost apolitical in their symplicity - mostly cookouts with singing, dances, and speakers who talked about how damn great Texas was. In this, the Texians had a tight organization, but the Republicans had the money, a lot of it coming from the caudillos. People are apt to go to a party thrown by someone they agree with; they’re even more apt to go to a party with fireworks and free top-quality beef.

In the end, it came down to timing. Texas’s congressional elections were in September, and it was a Republican slaughter. The Republicans were hard hit almost everywhere except the south (which the caudillos had locked down), the west (which was more afraid of indians than mad at French) and the far north (which also hated indians and which favored internal improvements). For the first time in Texas’s history, a party that wasn’t the Republicans controlled Congress. John Baylor, the Texian leader in the House and speaker-to-be, announced that the Texian Party would begin instituting its platform as soon as Congress reconvened.

But William Walker was right. People were so happy that they had elected their men to Congress that a lot of them felt no need to go out in November and vote again. [3] The Texian local organization, based on enthusiasm and the backing of local candidates, collapsed. The Republican organization, based on handing out sacks of cash, kept going strong. Texian candidates were busy packing their things for Austin, while Republicans were still throwing BBQs with a side of burning Carne Muerto effigies. [4]

Election day came and went in November with a surprisingly small number of lynchings, riots, and small arms gun battles, all things considered. With an electoral margin not seen since the Houston/Lamar match-up, it was the Austin Republican that was able to report “FORD VICTORIOUS”. [5] The Houston Star reported on the completion of a local courthouse, which had placed a live horned toad in its cornerstone time capsule. Which is also cool.

[1] I don’t know that it’s especially impressive killing a guy whose name is literally “Dead Meat”, but there you are.

[2] Nathan Forrest, former slave-trader, supporting a candidate who was secretly in support of limiting slavery?! Emphasis on the former part, though. Forrest is a businessman, and his business doesn’t need slaves anymore. His OTL later life shows he was either open to outright niceness to blacks, or at least open to pretending to be open to it, so I don’t think it’s implausible for him to support this on advice from his good friend and in his own financial and political interests.

[3] While still a big deal, Presidential elections weren’t as huge of a deal then as they are now.

[4] A double serving of dead meat!

[5] “Ford and Texas go hand in hand,” declared the paper. “Just look around and you'll get the message: Ford is the best in Texas.”

[Plumber]

I could see Walker running for the Presidency in the wake of this. I'm sure the fact that the door is wide open for him is completely coincidental. Fantastic as always.

[Rooster Cogburn]

LOVE the update. Sicarius, I applaud you for what you've done with Nathan Bedford Forrest, and actually mentioning how he became pro-civil rights in his later years. Quick question though: What happened to Albert Sidney Johnston, who won the 1864 Presidential Election in the U.S., and will you have Bickley die on the same date as OTL, or will you have him live longer?

[Darth_Kiryan]

Hidden Confederate Gold?

*Opens Draws*
*Looks under papers on desk*

Nope. Not here Either.

Nice to see what you have done here. But, what did happen to A.S. Johnston? And Bedford Forrest. That was certainly different.

[Sicarius]

I always got the impression that Johnston really just wanted to go back to his plantation, but shit was always coming up. In this instance, there's no Civil War in his country, but the threat of the American chaos possibly spreading, or Texas's smuggling being caught and leading to war, is enough for the Republican party bigwigs to pressure him into taking the office. Of course once he gets there, that's all over. I don't think being President of Texas in peacetime during the Republican Hegemony is really a super fun job. Especially for the military commanders they recruit, who are used to a little more command power - Texas's executive is weak, not particularly weak, but 19th century weak, and with a single party in control, any nominee is going to share their agenda (or not be the nominee), and that agenda is going to be easily instituted. So there's not a ton to do except order people to kill more indians. Johnston at least had the Confederado influx to oversee, which he was glad of, but beyond that there wasn't a lot going on, so I'm sure he was happy to be back to the farm. I'd say the Republicans approached him in this go-round, but I don't think he 1.) Wanted the office again 2.) Wanted to fight a tough campaign 3.) Entirely agreed with their platform - while no Texian Party member, I think he was probably not very happy with Texas's national defensive capabilities and reliance on France.

As for who the President of the US is and all - I've got that all planned, but I'm waiting for the narrative to come back to a spot where the US is relevant in Texas affairs. Maybe! Or I might just stick it in the next part at random!

EDIT: Oh yeah, and Bickley's death. While his OTL deathdate would certainly liven up Texian politics even further, with his OTL period of tough imprisonment replaced with a prosperous time, all bets are off on when he croaks.

[Space Oddity]

Originally Posted by Sicarius

William Walker was a master at organizing filibusters.

Allow me to chortle maniacally.

[Errnge]

awesome update sic. usually im not all that jazzed about political updates, but this one kept me entertained. well done, cant wait to see where it goes

[Rooster Cogburn]

Originally Posted by Sicarius

I always got the impression that Johnston really just wanted to go back to his plantation, but shit was always coming up. In this instance, there's no Civil War in his country, but the threat of the American chaos possibly spreading, or Texas's smuggling being caught and leading to war, is enough for the Republican party bigwigs to pressure him into taking the office. Of course once he gets there, that's all over. I don't think being President of Texas in peacetime during the Republican Hegemony is really a super fun job. Especially for the military commanders they recruit, who are used to a little more command power - Texas's executive is weak, not particularly weak, but 19th century weak, and with a single party in control, any nominee is going to share their agenda (or not be the nominee), and that agenda is going to be easily instituted. So there's not a ton to do except order people to kill more indians. Johnston at least had the Confederado influx to oversee, which he was glad of, but beyond that there wasn't a lot going on, so I'm sure he was happy to be back to the farm. I'd say the Republicans approached him in this go-round, but I don't think he 1.) Wanted the office again 2.) Wanted to fight a tough campaign 3.) Entirely agreed with their platform - while no Texian Party member, I think he was probably not very happy with Texas's national defensive capabilities and reliance on France.

As for who the President of the US is and all - I've got that all planned, but I'm waiting for the narrative to come back to a spot where the US is relevant in Texas affairs. Maybe! Or I might just stick it in the next part at random!

Edit: Also, will we ever hear from the great Flashman once again, and what he ended up doing as the leader of the Californians?

EDIT: Oh yeah, and Bickley's death. While his OTL deathdate would certainly liven up Texian politics even further, with his OTL period of tough imprisonment replaced with a prosperous time, all bets are off on when he croaks.

Well, I think it also matters that Johnston's political friends (they'd have been Whigs in the U.S.) had been pressuring him to run for President in OTL, in the 1838, 1841, and 1844 election. So I could easily see him having a completely political career. And thanks for clearing up the stuff about Bickley.

Put it in at random, put it in at random!!!!!

[Rooster Cogburn]

Also, will we ever hear from the great Flashman once again, and find out what he ended up doing as leader of the Californians?

[Tsao]

Is this dead?

[Rooster Cogburn]

Originally Posted by Marshal Duan

Is this dead?

It better not be!!! This timeline has entered into the top 10 reasons I get up in the morning

[Rooster Cogburn]

Update please?

[Tsao]

Originally Posted by Rooster Cogburn

Update please?

I think it's dead. He hasn't posted for more than a month.

[Historico]

I must say this timeline absolutley rocks, and as native Texan who up here in PA attending Law School, it warms my spirit to have read this. I know you said you were finishing up Grad School Sicari, but I was hoping maybe the next time you get around to posting on TTL, that you could focus on the development of Slavery in Texas, and if it is any all being limited by its massive terrorital gains in the west and in the south. If you need any reference materials, I would suggest one of the top professor's in my History department at UNT; Randolph Campbell's An Empire for Slaver: The Peculiar Institution in Texas from 1821-1865. It really an engaging read, as it goes through county census information, crop output etc...really fascinating stuff...Keep it comming buddy

[Hero of Canton]

Howdy,

If y'all look back at all the posts y'all will see that the OP sometimes takes MONTHS between posts. I just subscribed and told it to notify me when he posts again to it. It works.

Hero of Canton

[Sicarius]

Yep! It's not dead, just resting. I remember when I had a once a week plan, boy THAT fell through. Real life intervenes, yada yada. But yes! I've got most of the next bit down and the rest all planned out, more or less. And as this thread will also show, I'm highly susceptible to guilt trips (thanks mom!) so I'll probably now get something up soon. Historico, glad you like it! And thanks for the book rec, I'll check that out.

[Rooster Cogburn]

Originally Posted by Sicarius

Yep! It's not dead, just resting.

Thank god, I was worried

[Sicarius]

Part 21
The Rainbow Connection

The White House, Washington City, USA, 1865

"It's certainly ... yellow." His new home was white on the outside, yellow on the inside. Like an egg. Robert E. Lee peered around at the lavish office of the President. His office, now. The aptly-named Yellow Oval Room was bedecked with gilt, damask, and piles of overstuffed pillows. His predecessor likely meant it to be intimidating, a sign of his legitimacy and authority as President, but to Lee it seemed foppish and overwrought, more fit for an Ottoman sultan than the President of the Republic. The desk, though, stood out. Battered, worn, some letters still scattered on it. Obviously used heavily. He opened a drawer and a bottle rolled back and forth. Empty.

"Ah, General." Lee turned. "Or, I beg your pardon, Mr. President. Hmm." Speed toed the edge of a yellow carpet with his toe. "It will take some time to become accustomed to a lack of title." The recent executive didn't look great. His hair, where it still clung whispily to his head, was white. His face was haggard. His eyes were underlined with dark circles.

"I can only imagine." Lee had not expected to meet his predecessor as he moved in. Even in the wake of President Seward's death, security around the President was still dismayingly spotty. He'd have to see to that.

"You won't have to imagine forever, eh? Heh." Speed trailed off. "I wish you luck, Mr. President. Your service to this nation has been beyond reproach," he said, ignoring his own efforts to handicap Lee's post-war efforts at peacekeeping, fearful of a political competitor. Or maybe he really doesn't recall... "I will devote my full efforts to continue the reunification of the nation," Lee said graciously. If anything, Speed had been the biggest impediment to quieting the backwoods guerillas in the deep south. But there was no reason to kick a man while he was down.

"Yes, well. All you can do is your best. Eh? What you think is right. That is my advice to you." Speed leaned in uncomfortably close. "What you think is right. Eh? No matter what they say." The kind of talk you'd expect from someone who had failed to secure his own party's nomination, a rejection not seen since President Tyler. Not that it had done the Freedom Party any good in the race for the White House. Or any race. Even Lee acknowledged his Democrats had rebounded far faster than they had any right to, with the party's uncomfortable association with the rebels, in many minds. But the Freedonians had truly suffered a collapse - even Freedonians who had been re-elected had only succeeded because they rejected the party label, calling themselves "Americans" or "Oppositionists" or "New Whigs".

But there had been a real possibility of a total political meltdown. The Freedonians could barely hold it together, and the election of Ben Butler would have been a disaster which could have reignighted the war - or started a new one, the man nearly dragged Texas into the fighting when he jailed several diplomats on trumped up charges of smuggling. The independents were still an amorphous mass, putting forth several nobody candidates. And the Democrats were little better, torn between 'War Democrats' hated in the South and crypto-Confederates unviable anywhere but the South. Lee's duty was to his state and his nation, and he could not see the years of bloodshed begin again. With his national popularity and standing in the party, he had easily swept the nomination and the election.

Speed was fiddling with a small bust of George Washington on the desk. He turned back abruptly, the jostled statue falling on its face. "Well," he said with a bitter brightness, "it's yours now! Our Republic. If we can keep it. Eh?" And he stalked off without so much as a handshake. What a strange man. Lee prayed that his time in this office would not weigh so heavily. The thought made his chest hurt.

But first things first. He wouldn't be able to bear working in this gleaming office. The President of the United States didn't need this sort of finery. But what would they call the Yellow Oval Room without all the yellow?

Exposition Universelle, Paris, France, 1867

The blues! The blues! Such amazing blues, hinting at unseen, unseeable depths of mystery and beauty! Vincent had never expected to see such work from America. Let alone strange Texas, a land he know to only have sand and horses. But The Body of Christ at Dawn was truly magnificent. It was the light, he thought, sparkling on the deep blues of the Gulf of Mexico, the light was what so filled the work. To see such light! It could not help but lift the gloom from his troubled soul, if only for a moment. Being fourteen is a difficult task.

"How entrancing," said a voice, intruding on his reverie. He turned to find a figure entrancing in an entirely other manner. The woman leaned close to the painting. "Magnificent, would you not say?"

"Ah, ah. Yes. Yes, I was thinking the same." Vincent stuttered in his accented French. The woman’s own words had a light touch of the Germanies. "What a fascinating land, is Texas! I myself am quite taken with it. Many of my people live there now!”

“Ah, yes. I have seen one such artist just now. Right here.” Vincent indicated a large, colorful design of men swooping in fantastical aircraft. The woman pursed her lips. “Yes, yes, Herr Dellschau. He does enjoy his airships! They are very silly things, I think. But I am more of the earth, myself! Come, come, you must see!" She set off, frizzy pile of hair bouncing, glancing behind her shoulder to motion for the still motionless boy. He looked about. Master Huysmans had left him to sketch, and was nowhere in sight. What could he do but follow? The woman led him to the German section of the exhibition, and made a beeline for a white sculpture. The craftsmanship was impressive, he thought, if not the subject matter. A life sized statue of a tall, thin man with a mop of unruly hair and a rifle, wearing a strange fringed coat.

“It is Stephen Austin,” said the woman, “the father of Texas! A commission for the government of that Republic! Soon I will accompany it to its final destination.” She smiled a little, but Vincent couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad. “And perhaps mine.” She turned back to the boy. “And what of you! Why is a little boy alone at this great exhibit?” Vincent blushed at being called a little boy, his face matching his hair. He was quite obviously a young man! He was fourteen! But he calmed himself.

“I am studying art.” He waved his sketch book. “My master thought a trip to the Exposition would be a great opportunity. Although he seems to be missing now.”

“A little artist,” she beamed. Not little!, he thought. “Maybe one day I will see your work in such an exhibit! Maybe along my own even, in the halls of Texas! I understand they have wonderful light for painting there.” Vincent had loved the light of the Gulf painting. He would love to paint such a scene one day. “And the stars,” she continued, “I am told the stars at night are quite breathtaking.”

“Vincent! Vincent!” Huysmans! Damn! Just when he was starting to get somewhere!

“I, uh, I must go.” She smiled.

“Go, little painter! I will see you at our exhibit!” She laughed, but not mockingly. Vincent smiled and gave a small wave before dashing off. He knew that he would be punished for neglecting his studies, but he gave it no mind. All he could think about was the stars.

~~~~

Napoleon III, Emperor of the French, was enjoying the blues that dominated his landscape painting much less. Too much, far too much Prussian blue in Europe. His cousin, the unoriginally if exhaustively named Napoléon Joseph Charles Paul Bonaparte, was pacing the room, blabbering about the obvious.

“We need more men on the border with the damned Prussians,” he said, plopping red-faced into a chair. Walking was exertion enough for the portly prince. “Once they consolidate this ridiculous Confederation of theirs, they’ll turn their eyes on us, and no mistake.”

“I’m aware of this, Plon-Plon,” the Emperor said, “but the Empire needs men as well. Where would you suggest we let fall today, so as to prepare for tomorrow?”

“You know where.”

The Emperor looked with pain at the map’s green.

“Mexico has no reigns of state to seize. What government there is changes month to month, and bandits and revolutionaries control much of the country. Les Texians above them are … strange, and unruly. Their backwards government reminds me far too much of mob republicanism. Our forces were nearly expelled once already. Why wait for the inevitable? I fear, cousin, that the Grand Plan for North America is dead. Why leave good men to waste in the desert, taking potshots at natives, when they could be securing France?”

The Emperor rocked slowly on the balls of his heels. “Texas is one of our main ports to South America. The North may be closed to us - for now - but we must secure our influence to the South.”

“Then keep the men on the coasts! We hardly need veterans watching over docks and scraping barnacles. Bring the men home.”

The Emperor stared at the map for a long, silent moment. “Make it so.”

Northwest Texas, 1870

Blacks and reds. Like a roulette wheel. John Rayner would have shared the insight, but he was pretty sure he was the only person here who knew what a roulette wheel was. But they obviously knew how to take a gamble.

The delegation from the Red River colony stood off to one side, in their rough cut farm clothes and floppy hats, looking suspicious and sullen. The Comanche stood at the other, silent and - to John - unreadable. In the middle stood the wild card - the eagle in the wheel [1] - the black indians. Seminoles, they called themselves. From Florida. They had been sent to Idaho by the Americans, but it didn’t stick, and now they were in Texas. Not a sizable band, a little over five hundred, but veteran warriors against the whites. But what must have struck both sides was their oddity - they looked like blacks, dressed like indians, and acted like … something else. Their leader, Gopher John Horse, had led them from Florida to Idaho and from Idaho to Texas when their creek masters had become too stern. The black Seminoles were slaves once, too.

John was trying to sketch the scene. His father had sent him to college, despite his illegitimacy and the fact that he was born to a slave mother, but North Carolina had become a bad place to be a black man. Let alone an educated black man. Let alone an educated black man whose father had surrendered the capital to the Union. So here he was. He was only even along because he knew how to write. But he was here. In the heat and the sun and the dust, trying to draw indians and blacks and the in-betweens.

John Horse spoke first. He was fluent in both English and the Comanche language, and spoke slowly and deliberately, first in one, then the other. He spoke of his people’s slavery, of the squalor and greed of the tribes of Idaho, who had become white men - worse than white men - and forgotten their ancient ways. He pointed in turn to the head of the Comanche party - a tall, stern man named Quanah, who was known for his hatred of the Americans - to the freedman party, and then to himself. “And we will forget our ways as well. Or we will die.”

He was silent for a long time, staring at the assembled group. Was that it? wondered Rayner. Inspiring stuff.

“Unless,” Horse began again, softly, almost imperceptibly, with the crowd straining to hear (aside from the practiced insouciance of the Comanche Quanah), “we fight the white man together. My people are of two worlds, brought together as one. In the same way, we must all stand together. The Americans have little wisdom, and few wise men, but I have heard one saying from them that is true - ‘We must all hang together, or we will all hang separately’.” He translated it to the Comanches - loosely, Rayner imagined, but nevertheless several of the tribesmen cracked grim smiles.

“Who do you speak for,” came a sneering voice from the Comanche side. It was Quenatosavit [2], their priest, or holy man, or whatever they called it. Rayner had seen him eat a handful of bullets earlier and puke them up, which had been impressive if rather impractical, and not exactly dispositive proof of divine authority [3]. “I speak for the Great Spirit. I flew to his home on the rays of the sun, and he has promised to bless the Comanche with invincible power and total victory over the white man.”

“I speak for myself. I speak the truth. I speak for five hundred warriors who know the ways of the white man. I speak on behalf of the White Buffalo.” With each sentence the Comanche holy man had seemed more off put, but with the final he looked as if he had been physically struck. The freedman delegation seemed riveted, as well.

“There is a reckoning coming,” John Horse said. “It is time to choose: Together unstoppable, or apart, squabbling, easily destroyed. Blood has been shed on both sides,” - mostly on the freedman side, Rayner knew, by Comanche raids - “and it may be again. But unless we fight now, the white man will take this land. We will be moved, and moved again, and scattered to the winds, and our peoples will die in alien places, and our stories will never be told.”

A few minutes later, the Comanche Quanah was shaking hands solemnly with the ‘mayor’ of the Red River colony, a former plantation slave named Onesimus. John had given up on the sketching, he was absolute rubbish at it. One more historic moment that would go unrecorded. He ambled over to John Horse cautiously. The imposing head of the black Seminole looked much more approchable now, smoking a hand rolled cigarette while squatting on a boulder. He even smiled as John approached, probably at the appearance of the uncomfortable sweaty young man in clothes much too nice for the occasion.

"Hello, Mr ... Horse. My name is John Rayner."
"Have a seat, John Rayner," the Seminole said, gesturing expansively to an adjacent rock. "What did you think of the negotiation?"
"It was very affecting," said Rayner, “but if I may, there’s one thing I must know. Who is this White Buffalo you spoke of, who seems so known to Comanche and freedman alike?”
John Horse smiled again, but this time it somehow reminded Rayner of a coyote. An animal he remembered had some mythical significance among more western natives. A trickster, and a shape changer.
“Let me tell you all about White Buffalo and his plans, John Rayner.”


[1] The American roulette wheels Rayner was familiar with at this time often had an eagle on them, representing freedom and liberty and the fact that the house won if the ball landed there. Of course in this case the Seminoles (and mysterious friends) set up the meeting. And the house always wins.
[2] OTL better known by his later derogatory nickname Isa-Tai, which of course in Comanche means a wolf's vagina.
[3] This was just one of Isa-Tai’s many party tricks, another all time hit being him going “Welp, time to go to heaven and chill with the Great Spirit! Take a peep at the sun for a minute and think on that.” And then after everyone was all sun crazy going “Here I go! Whoaaaaaa” and trusting optical illusions to show a blob rising towards the sky. Then he would hide behind a rock until everyone left.