Yellow Rose of Texas, Freedom Fighter, 1836-1865

Preface

Have you ever wondered about the real Yellow Rose of Texas? Who was she? Where did she come from? Did she really keep Santa Anna busy while Sam Houston's Army of the Republic of Texas prepared a surprise attack? What happened to Rose after the War of Texas Independence? Now you can be one of the few who know the real story, of the Yellow Rose of Texas, Freedom Fighter through Two Wars, 1836-1865.

This is a work of fiction. Most of the characters are fictitious. Historical characters are given fictional dialog. They include: Sam Houston, Deaf Smith, Emily West, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, Juan Seguin, Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar, Col. Urrea, Juan José Andrade, Vicente Filisola, Rev. Needham Judge Alford, and Francis Smith.

I have tried to make all historical events and dates accurate.

Some of the historical events involved in the story of Yellow Rose of Texas:

---The Great Slave Rebellion of 1811

---1835 Emily West, hired by James Morgan to work in his hotel

---Battle of the Alamo

---Battle of Goliad

---Cincinnati, Ohio's contribution of Twin Sisters Cannons to the Republic of Texas Army

---Wartime use of the Schooner Pennsylvania and the Paddle-Wheel River Boat Yellow Stone

---Battle of San Jacinto

---Massacre of Comanches by Texian soldiers and Texas Rangers at San Antonio peace conference in 1840

---Comanche raid on Victoria and Linnville, 1840

---Infamous Civil War prisoner of war Camp Douglas in Chicago, 1845.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to the Texas State Historical Association and its wealth of material on Texas history. Thanks to my critics who checked the manuscript before publication: Marona Posey, Nancy Riddick, Jim Hazelip, and Joanna Hewitt.

Thanks to Ann Fields, author, who served as cultural consultant and critic. Being an African American is but one of Ann's qualifications. I hoped the reader of Yellow Rose of Texas would feel some of the emotions the slaves felt. Ann told me that I had succeeded. Ann said for her to read about slave/plantation times is emotionally painful, "But you're a good writer who tells a compelling story.

I found the story engaging. I enjoyed the roundedness of the slaves, their multi-dimensional lives in spite of their hard circumstances, Ann said.

---Joe B. Hewitt, February, 2016

Cover: Dallas Model Kimberly Collyear

Cover design by Andrea Davies

Yellow Rose of Texas

Freedom Fighter, 1836-1865

CHAPTER 1

April 21, 1836, Rose age 22, at San Jacinto, Texas

Mexicans had abolished slavery seven years earlier, but General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna did as he pleased. He eagerly accepted Rose, a beautiful gift from Major Hidalgo Gomez as his personal property.

Santa Anna’s army rested near the Sabine River at a place called San Jacinto, after chasing the Texian Army in zigzags from San Antonio de Bexar. There Santa Anna had claimed victory but left 1,500 of his men in shallow graves, killed by the 182 defenders of the Alamo.

A gentle breeze delivered promised springtime. The cool, clean air passed over patches of blue flowers among new grass and wafted through openings in the presidential tent and over a wide sleeping pad where Rose reclined on satin sheets.

The general, in a black and scarlet uniform, gleaming with gold braid and medals, entered, and stood a moment to adjust his eyes to the shaded tent. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The general paused, studying Rose's dark cream complexion and long black hair. I have been neglecting you. But now I’m not so busy, since I’m resting my Army.

Rose looked up at the handsome general, hoping her smile looked genuine. Come lie with me, general. I have a present for you.

You are the best present, Santa Anna replied, removing his scarlet tunic heavy with gold decorations.

Isn’t that what Delilah said to Sampson?

I wouldn’t know about that, I have some opium for you, Rose said as she extended her hand with a gray ball of opium gum the size of a grape.

Where did you get it? Santa Anna asked as he popped the opium into his mouth.

Out of your kit.

You are too generous. He laid a hand on her cheek and caressed back a lock of hair. He studied her clear, dark brown eyes. A tiny ray of sunshine pierced through a crack in the tent door and liberated amber highlights in Rose's hair.

Rose put a hand on each of his cheeks where ringlets of his black hair fell over a fair complexion accented by a neatly trimmed black moustache. She pulled him to her and kissed him. His breathing became heavier. She slowly began to unbutton his shirt. She expertly kissed and caressed him, and his gentleness came as a pleasant surprise. Rose helped him disrobe, and she slipped out of a simple cotton dress revealing her smooth skin, black pubic hair and full breasts unencumbered.

Outside Santa Anna’s presidential tent a young captain approached Major Hidalgo Gomez, Santa Anna’s aide de camp. After the long march, my men need a siesta, but the general put us on alert. I can’t authorize it without the general’s express order, so may I please see him?

The general must not be disturbed, Major Gomez said emphatically. He is occupied with much more important matters than a nap for common soldiers.

But for just a moment. . . The captain began.

No. I said no. Other companies are resting. Go ahead and tell your men to have their siesta. Houston’s rag tag mob is far from here.

But the general’s order. . .

I will take the responsibility. There is more danger of being shot for disturbing the general than facing the enemy in battle.

The captain saluted smartly, turned and marched quickly away.

The camp fell quiet except for groans of pleasure coming from the presidential tent.

Half an hour later, Rose lay still beside the naked general, listening to the long, relaxed breathing of a man whose sexual tensions have just been wonderfully released. I must keep him quiet, Rose thought, and her mind retraced the steps that had brought her to this time and place.

CHAPTER 2

1828, Rose age 14 on a Louisiana Plantation

Rose remembered growing up wealthy, by slave standards. Relative to the other slaves, Rose had it easy as a servant in the big house of the Calhoun cotton plantation on the west side of the Mississippi River near New Orleans. She had plenty of good food, and dresses handed down from the master’s daughters. The Negro field hands resented Rose’s half white mother and called her a house nigger. Because Rose' complexion was even lighter than her mother, they called her a high yellow house nigger.

On a spring morning after Rose turned 14, she served her master cured ham, eggs, and biscuits for breakfast on the front porch. Bright orange rays pierced through the trees and played on the house’s tall white pillars and the master’s close cropped white beard. As Rose poured his second cup of coffee from a silver pot, he touched her arm. With a crooked finger he motioned for her to come close. Rose bent down and put an ear close to his mouth.

After supper, go to my bedroom, take a bath, get in the bed and wait for me.

The order startled Rose and alarms went off in her mind. What will he do to me? Am I to take mamma’s place? she thought.

She must have looked astonished. Likewise, a puzzled look came over the master’s face. Rose blurted out, What about the mistress?

She’s gone to New Orleans to see her mother.

Rose knew better than to question any order from her master. After the breakfast dishes, Rose hurried to the tiny log cabin occupied by Rose’s mother, Pansy, and Pansy's man, whom Rose considered a step-father. The Calhoun family had built the cabin 50 years ago. It consisted of one square room with a fireplace on one side and next to the opposite wall stood a small bed and a large bed close together. A homemade table in the center served as kitchen counter, dining table, and social center.

Rose sat on the larger bed. Her mother pulled up a homemade chair and took both of Rose's hands in hers.

With terror and tears Rose reported on what the master had said. What do I do, mamma?

Her mother moved over to the bed and embraced her and spoke quietly. Do as he says.

Ain’t he my natural father? Rose asked.

"No. The master wasn’t the only white man using me. His foreman, a red headed handsome man was your natural father.

I never saw a red headed foreman.

Oh, he dead now, got kicked in the head by a mule when you still a baby.

I wish I could have known him.

Better that you didn’t. Pansy stood. He wouldn’t have claimed you his child. Pansy put her hands on her hips and thrust up her chin. You just a slave to white folks, even your natural daddy.

I know the master use you when the mistress is away. Rose backed away and looked pleadingly to her mother. I don’t know what to do.

The master been using me for twenty years. If he quit, your step-papa should be glad.

"You mean he use you too?

No, baby. He don’t use me. Your step-papa love me. They’s a big difference.

What do I do in bed?

Pansy's face brightened. She lowered her arms from their defiant position.

We slaves, baby. But we got the best life a slave can have. Do whatever he want. If you don’t like it, pretend you do.

I don’t think I’ll like it.

No matter, you got to make the master think you like it and that he be the greatest lover in the world and you love him. She paused, looked down, and continued, I always did please him. In times when he was pleased real special, he told me he love me. But I always remember, no matter how good he be to me, he can be that much bad or worse.

Pansy pulled her chair over to the table. Let me tell you something.

Rose stood up from the bed, pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down with her mother. Rose took a deep breath of the stale wood smoke flavored air and said, Tell me.

Before you were born, a big bunch of slaves had a rebellion on an island they called Hate. It was a place where the French people grew lots of sugar cane and they brought slaves from Africa to work the cane fields. The slaves broke loose and ended slavery on that island. They run off all the Frenchmen that they hadn't killed, and took over the island. It's all run by black folks now, Pansy said.

I don't know what that's got to do with . . . Rose started to say.

Just listen, child, I'm getting to what it has to do with us, Pansy said, impatiently. Right here in St. Charles Parish, a bunch of Negros decided to do the same thing. Men from several plantations quit working, and picked up tools to use for weapons and left. They all run off together. They was hunted down by army soldiers and Louisiana militia soldiers and caught. Our master, Hezekiah Calhoun, was one of them that did the catching. Altogether they caught 45 men. The soldiers sent them back to their masters' plantations to be shot. Seven of them were brought back here. The soldiers made all the Negros watch while the master shot the seven caught ones and then cut their heads off. Tears rolled gently down her cheeks. Pansy reached Rose's hand and laid her hand on it. I watched him. When he had shot all seven dead, he started with a butcher knife to cut each man's head off, and finished each one with a hatchet. Just remember, the master can be real good to you, but he can also be very bad, so be careful, very careful.

Rose followed her mother’s instructions. For the next two years she occupied the mistress’s bed any time she was gone. Often between those visits, the master met Rose in her family slave cabin, which he had enlarged by adding a room with a wood floor, and installed a large bed.

When the master did not occupy the large bed in the slave cabin, Rose had it to herself. It provided her a private place to read. Each step of learning the master's daughters made, Rose did the same, and often bypassed them because Rose had more interest and determination, although she dared not show it. The master was aware that Rose had learned to read, and tolerated her getting books from his private library as long as she was discrete. He did not want to be accused of violating the law by teaching a slave to read and write.

Rose had no idea of how she would get her freedom, but she believed deep down in her heart that some day she would get it, and diligently prepared herself by reading and learning everything she could. The master's library was a treasure for Rose. He had textbooks from his years in Columbia College in New York City. Rose's goal was to read every one and learn everything she could.

The master's daughters' laziness also contributed to Rose's education. They had Rose doing their homework and book reports for them.

One of the old slaves had previously served a church pastor and became an enthusiastic preacher of the Gospel, in spite of a handicap of illiteracy. His master, the pastor, died, and Hezekiah Calhoun bought the estate's five slaves, including the slave preacher, who was old and came at a cheap price.

When the old slave preacher learned that Rose could read, he formed a secret partnership with her. As he prepared his weekly sermon to the slaves, he had Rose read the Bible to him. This became another avenue of learning for Rose.

CHAPTER 3

1832, Rose age 18, on the Calhoun Plantation

On a hot June evening the slaves gathered for a wedding. Dusky darkness surrounded a bright fire in the center of a circle of dancing couples. Hurryboy, a handsome young man who had been born on the plantation, played his homemade fiddle. The slaves sang and danced around a young couple as they jumped over a broom. Hurryboy kept up his lively fiddle music as the slaves lined up to congratulate the bride and groom with back pats kisses and hugs.

Field hands started making up words to Hurryboy’s music, making fun of Rose, calling her the high yellow house nigger who slept with the master. Hurryboy’s fiddle went silent. The congregated slaves faced the ridiculers with disapproval on their faces. Rose sat still on the sideline. Dusk turned to dark, but the slaves continued to sing and socialize without accompaniment

The biggest field hand was also the most respected among the slaves. His dignity prevented him from singing the provocative songs. Rose’s mother took the man aside, and went with him into his cabin. I’ve heard enough bad stuff being said about my Rose, people calling her a whore. She a slave like you and me. She do what she’s told. Now I’m tired of all this talk about Rose. You got influence. You can put a stop to it.

The big man nodded his head.

The master love Rose more than anybody on the Calhoun Plantation. One word from her and you’d be whipped.

The large black man looked her in the eyes but still said nothing.

From now on everybody treat Rose with respect. It ain’t her fault she be where she is. If I tell her, she’ll tell the master on anyone who treat her bad and they’ll be whipped.

The tall muscular man uttered one word, Yessum, And left the cabin.

As the bride and groom left for their cabin, the slaves cheered and continued with the celebration.

One of the cooks brought out a keg of home brew he had made without the master knowing it. The free-flowing beer sent a yeasty smell to mix with the wood fire smoke. The men filled tin cups. One of the women tasted it and spit it out. You'll get used to it, another said. The crowd voted by drinking. Half didn't like the concoction. The smell made Rose curious about it. She had tasted wine and liked it, but never beer. Her mother took a half filled cup and passed it to Rose. She tasted it. How can anybody drink this stuff. It tastes awful.

Suddenly quiet descended on the festive group as the sound of approaching men filled the area. The cook who had brought the beer and several other men crowded around so the keg would be out of sight. However, there was no hiding the smell of home-made beer.

People standing around the fire brought their attention to two white men who drug a black man, bound hand and foot to a post in the center of the hard dirt area where the slaves had gathered. One of the white men was bigger than any man Rose had ever seen. He had black hair and a thick black beard with a white scar diagonally across his left cheek. The black man they dragged in had obviously been beaten. His eyes and lips were swollen and blue. Where his shirt had covered his back, bloody whip marks oozed blood.

The slave master, Hezekiah Calhoun, appeared in the circle of light. Leave him there, tied to the post. He'll have some time to think about not ever running away again.

After the slave catchers left, Rose sat on a log under the spreading arms of a large oak tree. Most of the slaves went back into their cabins.

Speaking French, the master congratulated the big slave catcher, and they left together.

The center fire burned down leaving only a few embers to decorate the dark night. What had been festive with music and dancing became quiet as death. With his fiddle under his arm, Hurryboy sat beside Rose. Rose, you know I loves you, don’t you?

You told me enough times, Hurryboy. Thank you. It’s good of you to say so.

Do you like my music, Rose?

Yes, I do, Hurryboy. You do real good.

I’m making a new song now.

Oh?

Yea. It’s about Jimmy. You know Jimmy ain’t quite right. He keeps stealing the master’s crackin corn. The master put me in charge of keeping Jimmy out of it. I tries, but still once in a while I’ll hear that popping sound. And there’s Jimmy, at it again.

That doesn’t sound much like a reason to make a song. Wouldn’t jumping a broom be better?

Maybe. But I’m gonna try to finish one about Jimmy. Hurryboy put hands on her shoulders and said softly, Rose, let’s you and me jump the broom.

Rose’s eyes met his like lightning strikes. "I ain’t gonna marry