Part 6

This gentleman did not hesitate to confide to me that his mission was to purchase arms and ammunition for use against the invaders of his country. This was a delicate matter because, if United States officials favored his scheme, it might have involved our government in difficulty, or even war with France, with which country we were friendly, although all loyal Americans, from the President down, sympathized deeply with Mexico in her struggle for existence. I could not betray this gentleman’s secret, and he proceeded to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Gen. James H. Carleton was in command of the United States troops, and thence to Washington City; and it was not long before several hundred stands of arms in New Mexico were condemned as being “unserviceable” and were moved down to Las Cruces, fifty miles north of El Paso, and advertised for sale at public auction. These rifles, with ammunition, were purchased by my friend, Don Juan Zubiran, and were to be delivered to the Governor of Sonora at Conalitos, in the State of Chihuahua, near the Sonora line, and were to be received and paid for there. _Somehow_ these arms found their way over the boundary line to Conalitos, and now comes the interesting part of their story—if it has any interest at all.

Mr. Zubiran was about to send an express to Hermisillo, the capital of Sonora, to notify Governor —— that the arms were ready for delivery, but it would have been a long and dangerous journey, and as I had a deputy collector of customs (one McWard) at Tucson, nearer Hermisillo, Mr. Zubiran requested me to forward his letter under cover to McWard, and ask him to send it by messenger to Governor —— and ask him to reply through the same channels. This was done, and in due time there came a reply to Mr. Zubiran, written on the printed letter-head paper of the “Executive of the State of Sonora,” signed by the Governor, and to every appearance genuine. But the contents of this letter were startling. It stated that the Governor regretted that he could not receive or pay for the arms; that the Mexican cause was hopeless, and it advised my friend Zubiran (than whom Mexico had no stancher patriot) to give in his allegiance to the Empire of Maximilian!

We were astounded; but there was the fact in plain black and white.

Some weeks later an express rider came in great haste from the Governor of Sonora, with a letter to Mr. Zubiran, asking why such delay about the rifles, and urging haste, and stating that the money to pay for them was already at Conalitos.

We finally got at the explanation of this chapter of misunderstandings. A former Governor of Sonora had espoused the cause of Maximilian, had fled from his country, and taken refuge at Tucson, carrying with him some of the stationery of the State, and had become intimate with Deputy McWard, who had betrayed to him the contents of Zubiran’s letter, thus enabling him to prepare and forward the bogus reply, with such appearance of genuineness.

The arms were delivered and paid for, and it is needless to state that the faithless Deputy McWard lost his official head.

PRESIDENT JUAREZ’ GOVERNMENT AT CIUDAD JUAREZ, NEAR EL PASO—1865-66.

For more than a year, in 1865 and 1866, the village of Paso del Norte (now Ciudad Juarez), opposite El Paso, was the actual capital of the Mexican Republic. Benito Juarez, the patriot President, with his Cabinet and a little remnant of his army, had been driven from his capital by the French troops and the Mexican adherents of Maximilian, and were making a last stand on this frontier, the French troops having possession of the city of Chihuahua, only two hundred and twenty-five miles to the southward.

The writer happened at that time to occupy the most important United States office on the frontier. He spoke Juarez’s own language well, and Juarez knew that he sympathized as deeply with the republican cause in Mexico as the Mexican President sympathized with the cause of the Republic of the United States. Our Government had at that time no minister near the Juarez Government. I visited the President very often. Was it strange if we held many conversations, in which each confided to the other his hopes and fears, as to the success or failure of the two simultaneous efforts then being made to destroy the two greatest Republics in the world—our own countries? In January, 1866, I informed President Juarez that I contemplated a journey to Washington City, and before I started he confided to me a letter to the Mexican Minister, Señor Romero, and also one to his wife, who, with her two daughters, were then at Romero’s house in Washington, refugees from their own country.

A VISIT TO WASHINGTON—POLITICAL CONTESTS.

This journey was made by stage coach via Santa Fe as far as Kansas City, thirteen hundred miles, in midwinter, and was not without interesting incidents, one of which I will relate. We left Santa Fe with six passengers, Judge S. Watts, two young ladies, two merchants and myself. There was also the stage driver and the driver of a wagon which carried our provisions and baggage. The weather, for the greater portion of the time, was intensely cold, the ground being covered with snow. We slept under a roof only twice during the journey of twelve days.

My brother, Anson Mills, was then a cavalry captain in the army, but I had not heard from him for many months, and had not the slightest idea in what part of the country he might be. One very cold day, about noon, when approaching the Arkansas River, we met a train of wagons bound for Santa Fe, and the wagonmaster informed us that he had the day before been attacked by a party of Indians at the crossing of the Arkansas, but had stood them off, and had moved on, uninjured. He advised us to return to Santa Fe, but, incredible as it may seem, we decided to proceed on our journey. I do not call this courage; to me, after so many years, it appears more like foolhardiness!

Nearing the river, but before we could see down into the valley, we saw, far to our right, and apparently flanking us, two men with rifles, whom we supposed might be Indians.

The coach was halted, we four male passengers, with our arms, moved toward the strangers and beckoned them to approach. They did so, and I soon recognized the familiar uniform of United States soldiers! I asked, “Where are you camped?” Reply: “Down yonder at the crossing.” “Who is in command?” “Captain Mills.” “What Mills?” “_Captain Anson Mills._”

The ladies slept that night in the captain’s tent and we brothers, by the camp fire, told each other our adventures since we had separated at El Paso, five years before, each to take his chances in the desperate game of war.

Captain Mills gave me his application for promotion to present at Washington, and after the stage had started he called to me: “Get me a leave of absence, and I will go to Washington and return your visit.”

Arrived in Washington, I presented the application for promotion to Gen. John B. Steedman, who indorsed it thus: “Captain Mills served on my staff for three years. He is the best officer of his rank I ever knew; intelligent, efficient and fearless. I recommend him for promotion.”

A few days later I went with some New Mexican friends to call on General Grant, who was then Secretary of war. I told the General about meeting my brother, and asked a leave of absence for him. The General replied that such applications must come through the regular channels. I showed the Secretary the application for promotion, with Steedman’s indorsement, and told him something of our troubles at El Paso at the outbreak of the Rebellion. He read the papers and seemed pleased, but continued talking with my friends and dispatching business. On rising to take our leave, I told General Grant that I was sorry not to meet my brother at Washington, but I could not complain, as I saw good reasons for the refusal. To which he replied: “The telegram has gone, sir; your brother will be here in a few days.”

He came, and got his promotion also.

Soon after this I was summoned to the State Department for an interview with the Secretary, William H. Seward. He asked many questions about President Juarez and his cause, and about the real sentiment of the Mexican people, and about their probable ability to drive Maximilian and the French out of Mexico “without assistance.”

Mr. Seward asked me about our consul at Juarez, Henry J. Cuniffe. I replied that he was an able and patriotic gentleman.

The Secretary then said that in the absence of the United States Minister, our consul ought to have an extra allowance of money for expenses during the Mexican President’s stay at Juarez, and asked me what amount I thought would be sufficient.

I replied $2,500 a quarter, and the Secretary said that would not be too much, and if the consul would make requisitions they would be honored.

I wrote my friend Cuniffe immediately.

This was before the days of “Retrenchment and Reform.”

Now came one of my hardest battles. My term of four years as collector of customs at El Paso, under Lincoln, was about to expire, and there was objection to my reappointment—_there always is_—but in this case there was a serious charge of misconduct in office to the effect that I had permitted the exportation of large quantities of arms and ammunition from my district into Mexico to be used against the French, in violation of the instructions from my own Government and the neutrality laws; and “on the face of the returns” the charge appeared to be true, and my enemies believed my defeat _certain_.

Andrew Johnson was President. When I called on him, with some friends, to make my formal application, we met, by an awkward accident, a delegation of my enemies, and we “had it out” then and there. I stated my own case, and though the President was noncommittal, I felt sure of reappointment, though my friends did not. A few days afterward, when Judge Watts was talking to the President on other subjects, the President said: “Judge, where is your young friend from Texas? Is this his appointment which I signed to-day?” When told that it was, he said: “I intended from the first to appoint him. I like that young man.”

In the Senate there was opposition to my confirmation. Senator Conness of California made a sensational speech against me in executive session, and presented what he called “proof.” I saw the Senator personally and made some explanations, which it is not necessary, or proper, to repeat here, and he withdrew his opposition and moved my confirmation, and I was unanimously confirmed.

In May, 1866, the President’s private secretary, Col. Henry Cooper, asked the Texas Republicans then in Washington to agree upon some Texan to be appointed “Visitor to West Point.”

These appointments are strictly Presidential, not requiring confirmation by the Senate, and are much desired and sought after, being considered a high honor and a special favor from the chief executive of the nation. We met and selected a very distinguished Texan, Judge George W. Paschal, and sent up his name.

A few days later Colonel Cooper said to one of our friends: “The President does not like the selection of Paschal. He says he is going to appoint Mills. Tell Mills to come and see him.” I called and thanked the President, and had some conversation with him, but later gave my brother, Capt. Anson Mills, a letter to the President, requesting him to substitute his name for mine, which was done.

I have known and conversed with four Presidents—Lincoln, Johnson, Grant and McKinley—and have held office under all of them; but I knew Andy Johnson best, and I liked the rugged, stubborn Southerner, who had stood firm as a rock against rebellion in his own section. If I had been older, or bolder, I am vain enough to believe I might possibly have been of service to him. He had inherited his Cabinet from Mr. Lincoln, and some of them were, from the start, not very devoted to him personally. He was being flattered and cajoled by his late enemies, and he had been fretted and angered by certain Republican leaders, “wise men of the East,” who believed that no good could come out of Nazareth, and he was about to make the mistake of his life—_the break with his party_. I was pleased when, years later, he came to the United States Senate, supported by the votes of his best and truest friends—the Union people of Tennessee.

RECONSTRUCTION—CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION OF 1868-69.

In 1868 I was elected to represent El Paso county in the State Constitutional Convention, which was to meet at Austin in May of that year, to frame a constitution under which Texas might be readmitted into the Union. At the start I was opposed for that office by Major Joseph Smith, a popular Democrat, who had been honorably discharged from the United States military service at El Paso, but early in the contest I badgered him into saying that if he found a single “Nigger” in the convention, he would resign.

I then suggested to the Mexican audience that if he had that much race prejudice, he would not do to represent _them_. Major Smith soon saw certain defeat before him, and withdrew, and I was unanimously elected.

During April of that year, I went in a buggy, with a single companion, Hon. W. P. Bacon, Judge of our district, to San Antonio, en route to Austin, seven hundred and forty miles, in seventeen days, without change of animals (two horses). We “camped out” and did our own cooking, and traveled much at night, because marauding Indians were then abundant on that route. I arrived at Austin a total stranger to every soul in that capital. The convention had ninety delegates, only ten of whom were Democrats. There were nine colored delegates, a large contingent of carpetbaggers, and several new recruits to the Republican party, who claimed from the day of their conversion to be more “loyal” to that party than any of us. But about one-half of the body were able, representative, old-time Texans, who had taken the Union side of the secession question and had become Republicans. These were led by Gov. A. J. (“Jack”) Hamilton, a man of Southern birth, once a slave-owner, who had been from the start the most prominent, boldest and most eloquent of the Union men of Texas, if not of the whole South. He was a member of Congress in 1861, and denounced secession both there and at home, and later was appointed a brigadier general and Provisional Governor of Texas by President Lincoln, and had gained a national reputation as an orator. And now the usual thing happened. “He who surpasses or subdues mankind must look down on the hate of those below.” The small men in the convention combined to down the greatest one.

A resolution was passed the first day of the convention, without opposition, requiring all delegates to take what was then known as the “Ironclad Oath.” This would have excluded several delegates who had, in one way or another, given aid and comfort to the rebellion.

The next day, Mills of El Paso, a Republican, moved to reconsider that resolution and to admit all who had been elected by the people. He urged that we were not officers of the United States, but of Texas, and scarcely that, because we could do nothing which would bind any one. Our work would have to be approved by the people, and then by Congress, etc., etc.

Governor Hamilton came to the rescue and Mills’ motion was passed and all elected delegates were admitted. (The published records of the convention bear out the above statement.) And now the first charge was heard against Governor Hamilton, both in Texas and at Washington, that he had “sold out to the rebels.”

The opponents of Governor Hamilton had the tact to put forward, as their leader, Col. E. J. Davis, a Texas Union man, who had done good service during the war, and against whom nothing can be said except that he was inordinately ambitious, vain, vindictive, and that he was then, and for years after, surrounded and influenced by as lordly a set of unscrupulous adventurers as ever tyrannized over or wronged the people of any Southern State. He and Morgan Hamilton, a brother of Jack Hamilton, were almost the only leaders of respectability in the whole “Davis party.”

The three questions upon which the Davis Republicans and the Hamilton Republicans wrangled so long in that convention were these:

1st. Davis contended that all who had participated in the Rebellion should be disfranchised. Hamilton opposed.

2d. Davis contended that all laws passed by the Legislature during the Rebellion were null and void, _ab initio_.

Hamilton contended that only such laws as contravened the Constitution and laws of the United States were void.

3d. Davis contended for a division of Texas into three States, and Hamilton opposed.

(The proposition to divide Texas was finally killed on motion of the writer of these chapters, and if any Texan thinks that the State was not then in danger of being divided, let him remember old Virginia.)

Hamilton won on all three of these propositions, and a constitution was framed in accordance with his views, and submitted to the people. I quote below a report of the last day’s stormy session of this memorable convention, by Whilden, the brilliant correspondent of the Galveston News:

“TEXAS CONVENTION.

“Austin, Texas, February 8, 1869.

“Special to the Galveston News.

“Precisely at what point to begin I am in doubt. This convention, which we thought was to give civil government to Texas and to which we necessarily attached some dignity, has in the end proved itself to be a farce on the civilization of the nineteenth century. Jack Hamilton and a few others did all that genius could do to turn its purposes to legitimate ends. Partially they failed; but in that failure they left the impress of brains upon the wild waste of passion which this convention has given to the world. * * * All mortal things shall ever have an ending, and this convention is as all other mortal things.

“Strategic movements on the part of Davis and Hamilton have filled up the time. Between these two men there can be no comparison. * * *

“On last Friday night the cloud burst, and for a few moments the curse of heaven seemed to hang as a pillar of flame over the convention hall.

“Stern as Davis is, he quivered when Mills of El Paso tore from his bosom the thin gauze with which he hoped to hide the dark, selfish and damning purposes of his heart. Yes, he quivered, but it was for a while only. The devil never deserts his own for a long time at once. Davis rallied and poured the long pent-up passion of his heart upon Mills. Confusion ensued. The issue was now made. Davis was right and Mills very wrong, or Davis was wrong and Mills the Nemesis of the night. A majority of the convention agreed with Mills. But Davis has his tools. The convention had one more than a quorum. This quorum must be broken or Davis meets a Waterloo defeat. Two of Davis’ tools resigned their seats then and there. Thus was a quorum, under the standing rules, broken, and fortune for a while declared for Davis.

“But Hamilton was not thus to be defeated. He brought all his forces up against the political traitors, raised a point of order as to whether a quorum consisted of a majority of ninety members, which the convention ought to have had, had every delegate been in his seat, or of a majority of those who, at that time, were entitled to seats. Plausibility and common sense were on Hamilton’s side. Davis’ wrath was terrible. Mills must be punished. The convention could not see it through his spectacles, and he ordered the sergeant-at-arms to take Mills in custody. It was a wordy order. Davis, seeing his inevitable defeat, on his own motion, declared that the convention, as no quorum was present, stood adjourned till next day at 10 o’clock, and, with the mien of a lieutenant of his satanic majesty, left the rostrum.

“Before he had gotten half way down the aisle, Armstrong of Lamar had been elected president. Davis ordered the doorkeeper to open the doors so that members could go out. The doorkeeper refused.

“Then ensued a scene which cannot be described. Hamilton arose and spoke under all the excitement of the evening—spoke as only those can speak who are orators born—spoke until, if I had been in Davis’ place, I would have prayed that the capitol might crush upon me and hide my awful shame.”

The constitution was then adopted as a whole and this revolutionary attempt to break up the convention and prevent the reconstruction of the State and her readmission into the Union met a humiliating defeat.

The good General Canby, being then in command of the Department, approved of our course of action and submitted the constitution to the people.

Three days later, February 8, 1869, at Austin, Texas, the writer married Mary, eldest daughter of Governor A. J. Hamilton, who in this year of Grace 1900, still abides with him; but that is “another story,” which he reserves for a later chapter.

HAMILTON-DAVIS CONTEST OF 1869—ADOPTION OF CONSTITUTION.

The reader may think it strange that I give so much space to so common an occurrence as a State election, but the explanation is simple. It was the first reasonable attempt to carry our State back into the Union. The Democrats had made one effort and had failed, because they had offended the dominant sentiment of the country by “Apprentice Laws,” and other measures which virtually reduced the freedman to a state of slavery, and by electing to the United States Senate a man who had presided over the convention which carried Texas out of the Union. Because of this failure, the Democrats, as a party, took no part in the second effort to reconstruct the State, but divided, those of them who voted at all, between the two Republican candidates.

Thousands of them sullenly refused to vote at all. It was therefore a contest between _men and ideas_. _The questions were all new._ True, there have been many State elections since then, but the results have all been foregone conclusions, so that the younger generation of Texans know nothing of the excitement, the strenuousness, the manliness, of a real contest for the political control of a great State.

Davis and his party publicly denounced this constitution as being “framed in the interest of rebels,” and swore to defeat it either before the people or at Washington. Will the reader believe that a month later these same men publicly declared _in favor_ of this same constitution, and for E. J. Davis as their candidate for Governor under it? But that is history.

Hamilton also became a candidate for Governor. Gen. J. J. Reynolds was in command of the Department of Texas, and the elections were held under military supervision. Although both candidates were Republicans, General Reynolds and others secured the support of the national administration and the Republican National Committee for the Davis faction.

This Reynolds, a stranger to the people of Texas, desired to make himself United States Senator from the State, and with that purpose in view, permitted the frauds which defeated Hamilton, and he (Reynolds) declared Davis elected by a majority of only seven hundred votes, several whole counties being denied by Reynolds the right to vote at all. The Davis Legislature _did_, later on, elect this same J. J. Reynolds to be Senator, but the Senate of the United States refused to admit him, and he was subsequently suspended from the army by sentence of a court-martial!