Gonzales: The Lexington of Texas

It’s often been observed that the Texas Revolution bears a lot of similarities to the American Revolution, which had been fought sixty years earlier on the same continent. The Texians were well aware of this likeness. They deliberately modeled their constitution on that of the United States and hoped that their own revolution would be as successful as its predecessor.

By the 1830s, the Texian colonists had formed a strong sense of identity and self-governance. Under the Mexican Constitution of 1824, the Texians—along with the citizens of other Mexican states—enjoyed a great deal of autonomy. But in 1835, the Mexican government, led by Santa Anna, repealed this constitution in a move toward centralization of power. Like the American colonists before them, the Texians pushed back against the tyranny and injustice of a distant regime. The Mexican government was quick to respond to the Texians' resistance. Just as British troops were sent to seize the colonists’ arms and ammunition in Concord, so were Mexican forces dispatched to retrieve a cannon from the town of Gonzales. And like the Massachusetts militiamen, the Texian citizen-soldiers anticipated this move, and got there first.

The cannon in question was a Spanish-made bronze piece of six-pound caliber. It had been given to the Gonzales colonists in 1831 by the Mexican government as a defense against hostile Native Americans. In September 1835, the Mexican commander at San Antonio de Bexar, aware of mounting tensions among the colonists, sent a corporal and five soldiers to retrieve the cannon. But the colonists did not surrender their weapon. They took the soldiers prisoner, buried the cannon in a resident's peach orchard, and notified the Mexican commander that they would be keeping their cannon, thank you.

Rightly guessing that another, bigger force would be sent from San Antonio to get the gun back, the colonists sent word to the settlements along the Colorado River to gather at Gonzales. By the time Lieutenant Francisco de Castaneda arrived at Gonzales with a hundred cavalry troops, the cannon had been dug up from the orchard and mounted on the front wheels of a cotton wagon. Two young ladies of Gonzales, Caroline Zumwalt and Eveline DeWitt, quickly put together the first version of one of the most soul-stirring flags ever to fly above the Lone Star State: a white field with the image of a cannon in black, along with the defiant words, "COME AND TAKE IT."

Knowing that the situation was volatile, the Mexican commander at Bexar had ordered Castaneda to do all he could to avoid open conflict. By now, militia units from along the Colorado had reached Gonzales, and more arrived soon after Castaneda reached the west bank of the swollen Guadalupe River.

The Texians soon opened fire on the Mexican troops. Castaneda withdrew to a more defensible position and requested parley. The remarkable exchange between Castaneda and the Texian commander John Henry Moore was recorded by a Texian participant.

Castaneda…demanded of Colonel Moore the cause of our troops attacking him, to which Colonel Moore replied that he had made a demand of our cannon, and threatened, in case of refusal to give it up, that he would take it by force; that this cannon had been presented to the citizens of Gonzales for the defense of themselves and of the Constitution and laws of the country; that he, Castaneda, was acting under the orders of the tyrant Santa Anna, who had broken down and trampled underfoot all the state and federal constitutions in Mexico, excepting that of Texas, and that we were determined to fight for our rights under the Constitution of 1824 until the last gasp.

Castaneda replied that he himself was a republican…that he did not wish to fight the Anglo-Americans of Texas, that his orders from his commander were simply to demand the cannon, and if refused, to take up a position near Gonzales until further orders.

Colonel Moore then demanded him to surrender with the troops under his command, or join our side, stating to him that he would be received with open arms, and that he might retain his rank, pay, and emoluments; or that he must fight instantly.

Castaneda answered that he would obey orders. (H.W. Brands, Lone Star Nation)

By now the flag had been raised beside the cannon, inviting the enemy to “COME AND TAKE IT.” Upon Moore’s return to the Texian lines, the cannon fired a charge of metal scraps in the direction of the Mexican forces, and Texians armed with Kentucky rifles began their advance. Castaneda soon quit the field and returned to San Antonio.

Casualties were light on both sides, but as at Lexington, the die had been cast. The Texians were going to war.

My latest Harlequin Heartwarming book, Hill Country Hero, combines a modern-day love story with an old mystery from the time of the Texas Revolution. Paralegal and historical author Annalisa Cavazos is finally cutting ties with her lifelong crush, Javi Mendoza—being friends is just too painful. But when Javi finds an artifact at his classic car shop that leads to a discovery for Annalisa’s book, they’re thrown together on a search that just might rewrite Limestone Springs, Texas, history—and their feelings for each other.

A Very Texan Battle

If you’ve ever been to Texas or known someone from there, you’re probably aware that it has a distinctive national character. I say “national” because Texas was once its own nation, something that we Texans are proud of and like to work into the conversation whenever we can. In fact, pride, bordering on arrogance, is one of the chief traits of that national character, along with determination, optimism, confidence, friendliness, and an independent spirit that chafes at being told what to do. The Texas Revolution put all these qualities on full display. The truly amazing thing about the Texas Revolution is not so much that the Texians (as they called themselves back then) fought back against the tyranny of Santa Ana’s regime, but that they ever managed to organize themselves into a cohesive force capable of winning. In the 1830s, when the Revolution took place, many militia soldiers were still electing their officers rather than having them appointed from above. A group of volunteers from the town of Columbia was unable to agree on a single captain and instead elected a committee. “We are all captains and have our views,” said one of the Columbians. In the words of H.W. Brands, author of Lone Star Nation, this statement “might have been the motto of the Texas army.”

The Campaigns of the Texas Revolution

This independent spirit, coupled with courage and gumption, led the Texians to some stunning victories and some heartbreaking defeats. But the battle I want to write about today was just plain embarrassing.

It happened during the first siege of the Alamo, when the Mexicans, not the Texians, were the defenders. After weeks of inaction, the Texians received word of a Mexican column approaching San Antonio from the south. Somehow they got the idea that the column was carrying silver to pay the Mexican soldiers. Bored with the siege, and not averse to acquiring some booty, the soldiers put together a force of about forty men, cavalry and infantry, with James Bowie at their head. The Mexican column outnumbered the Texian force three or four to one, but the Texians attacked anyway. Reinforcements came from both sides. Finally, under cover of artillery fire from the town, the Mexican column escaped, leaving their pack animals behind. The Texians opened the packs, only to find them stuffed with grass. The relief column wasn’t bringing payroll for the Mexican soldiers, but fodder for the horses and mules in the town.

This incident, called the Grass Fight, did not improve morale among the Texian troops. But it wasn’t the end of the war. Eventually, General Houston was able to pull his mass of undisciplined men into something resembling a regular army, and hold it together long enough to win a decisive victory at San Jacinto.

The Battle of San Jacinto, by Henry Arthur McArdle

My latest Harlequin Heartwarming book, Hill Country Hero, explores what might have happened if a load of Mexican silver really had made it into Texas during the revolution. Paralegal and historical author Annalisa Cavazos is finally cutting ties with her lifelong crush, Javi Mendoza—being friends is just too painful. But when Javi finds an artifact at his classic car shop that leads to a discovery for Annalisa’s book, they’re thrown together on a search that just might rewrite Limestone Springs, Texas, history—and their feelings for each other.

Are you a maverick?

Susan Page Davis here. When I was younger, I was an avid fan of the western show Maverick. Now I’m more intrigued by the man whose name gives us that word.

Samuel A. Maverick

By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions],

via Wikimedia Commons

Samuel Maverick is known as the man who wouldn’t brand his cattle, although he did a lot of other things in his life—important things. The word “maverick” has come to mean independently minded, and here’s how that started.

Samuel Augustus Maverick was born in 1803 in South Carolina, the son of a Charleston businessman, also named Samuel Maverick, and his wife, Elizabeth Anderson.

Maverick was probably home schooled and then studied with a tutor. He graduated from Yale in 1825. He worked with his father to learn about business, then studied law in Virginia. He became licensed to practice in both Virginia and South Carolina, and then ran for a seat in the South Carolina legislature but did not win.

It seemed Maverick did not enjoy farming, or at least not plantation style. His father gave him 25 slaves to operate a new plantation in Alabama, but Maverick did not like supervising slaves. In 1835, he moved to Texas, where he bought large tracts of land near San Antonio.

This photo shows the house at Montpelier, a plantation in Pendleton, S.C.,

once owned by the Maverick family.

Public Domain photo via Wikimedia Commons

The Texas Revolution began in September of that year. The commander of the Mexican Army in San Antonio distrusted the Americans living there and ordered many not to leave the city. A guard was posted at the door of the house where Maverick was staying. The Texan army arrived soon, and began the Siege of Bexar by Oct. 24. Maverick kept a detailed diary during this time. He and his fellow prisoners were able to send out letters telling the Texans what was going on in the city.

Maverick was allowed to leave the city on Dec. 1 and was instrumental in the attack that followed four days later. Although the provisional Texas government declared land sales after August 20, 1835 would be voided, Maverick continued to buy land. He stayed with the garrison at the Alamo.

The Alamo, used by permission

When the fortress was besieged, he left with messages to the Texas Independence Convention. By the time the convention could act, the Alamo had fallen.

Maverick signed the Texas Declaration of Independence and helped draft the new Texas constitution. This document did make some of his land claims invalid, but it also gave all residents land grants. After this, he returned to Alabama for a short time. While there, he married Mary Ann Adams. He sold his Alabama plantation and moved with his wife to New Orleans. They visited his family in South Carolina and in October, 1837 left for Texas. They now had a son, Samuel Maverick Jr. Mary’s brother Robert also went with them.

Maverick bought land around San Antonio again and rented rooms until they bought a home in early 1839. Maverick got his Texas law license and began practicing. In January, 1839, he was elected mayor of San Antonio for a year. He also joined the militia and acted as a justice of the peace and city treasurer while practicing law and buying and selling land. By the end of 1840, he owned more than 4,600 acres and had almost 13,000 more acres under survey.

The Mexican War began in 1842, and Maverick joined Texan army troops to fight. He was in San Antonio in September, when the city was attacked by Mexican troops. With about sixty other Texans, Maverick was captured and forced to march toward Mexico. Rescue attempts failed, and after a three-month march, they reached San Carlos Fortress in Vera Cruz, where they were imprisoned and set to hard labor.

Samuel was elected to the Texas Congress while he was in prison. He was offered his release several times if he would support Mexico’s claims to Texas, but he refused. He was finally released on March 30 and returned home May 4, 1843.

He continued to serve in the Texas Congress. According to tax records, he owned 35,299 acres outright in 1844 and had more than 20,000 under survey, as well as twenty-one town lots. He was truly a land baron, and after Texas became a state, he served in the Texas Legislature. He also served again as mayor of San Antonio. Maverick County was named in his honor.

Photo by Carol M. Highsmith [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

So what did cattle have to do with it?

Over the years, Maverick repeatedly refused to brand his cattle. This didn’t sit well with some people, but he said he didn’t want to inflict pain on them. Other people later suggested his motive was to round up any unbranded cattle and claim them as his own. Most historians say he was just too busy with other things and wasn’t interested in branding.

Branding Cattle, By Unknown or not provided

(U.S. National Archives and Records Administration)

[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Records only show that Maverick ever owned a small herd of about 400 cattle. These were given to him in payment of a debt, and Maverick apparently didn’t want them. But there they were. He had a family tend to them, but apparently, the branding was sketchy and a lot of cattle wandered away, perhaps to be claimed by other ranchers. More than ten years later, he still had about 400 cattle when he sold the herd. Most people think Samuel Maverick just didn’t want to be bothered with his cattle.

Nevertheless, his name has become associated with independence. The word maverick now has two standardized meanings: an unbranded range animal or motherless calf, and a slang term for a person acting with stubborn independence. A more modern usage is a person who does not go along with a group or party, but thinks independently.

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Susan Page Davis is the author of more than eighty novels and novellas in the historical, romance, mystery, and suspense genres. She’s always interested in unusual events of the past. A Maine native, she now lives in western Kentucky.