by Drew McGunn
Remembering the effectiveness of Crockett’s dedicated marksmen on the Rio Grande, Grant duplicated that with the riflemen under his command. He spread a hundred teams of three along the northern bank of the Nueces, over a width of more than two hundred yards.
Will sat atop his horse on the southern bank of the Nueces River, next to Captain Seguin. They watched Seguin’s Tejano mounted troopers ride by, splashing across the shallow water of the ford. They galloped to the rear of the Texian line, passing by Colonel Grant, who stood opposite Will on the northern bank of the river.
Apart from Will and Seguin, Crockett’s riflemen were the only remaining Texians south of the Nueces now. Will speculated that the latest scattering of shots nearby announced Crockett’s current position. No sooner had the thought formed in his mind than he watched a couple of dozen riflemen sprint down the road, splashing across the ford’s foot deep water. Crockett, still afoot, paused by Will and Seguin and watched the last of his men splash across the chilly water.
After the last of their men reached the northern bank, Will reached down, offering Crockett a hand up. Along with Seguin, the two crossed the shallow waters, reaching the north side as the first Mexican troops arrived on the southern bank. A flurry of shots rang out as the Mexican infantry hastily fired at the three officers. Bullets buzzed around them and Will felt something slam into his horse. He tried using the reins to control the beast, but as the horse pitched to one side and fell, it threw the two men hard to the ground. Winded as he slammed to the ground, Will rolled to the side, tumbling into a rifle pit. He looked up, trying to catch his breath and saw several men kneeling in the trench, looking back at him, just as startled as he felt. A second later, Crockett fell in on top of him. Without missing a beat, the Tennessean drawled, “Well, boys, me and Colonel Travis thought we’d drop in on y’all and say our howdys.”
The Mexican officers, following immediately behind their soldados, saw the narrow and shallow Nueces, and shouted for their men to hurry across. No sooner had the first Mexican infantryman stepped into the languidly flowing brook than a dozen bullets struck him and his companions. An instant later, the entire Texian side of the river was ablaze with rifle fire, sweeping dozens of soldados from their feet. An enraged shout erupted from the men of the activo battalion and with encouragement from their officers, they slogged across the shallow water.
The riflemen, from their entrenched positions, swapped weapons with their reloaders and swiftly fired again into the surging ranks of Mexican infantry, who ran, with bayonets fixed through the shallow water. They were barely more than halfway across the narrow waters when a third, more devastating volley swept the river clear of charging soldados.
A hazy pall of smoke hung low over the river as a lone Mexican infantryman splashed onto the northern bank, and as he looked behind him, he sagged when he realized he alone was left standing. Behind him, the waters of the Nueces ran red with the blood of his companions, those who had not fled back to the dubious safety of the scrub brush and mesquites through which they had passed just minutes earlier.
Will watched, from the rifle pit dug in the bank of the river, as to a man, the Texians held their fire. The lone soldado edged back into the river, and slowly retreated to the other side, never turning his back on his foes. In one of those peculiar moments in history, this lone survivor tested the edge of endurance and fortitude, was rewarded by his opponents with the one thing he still had to give, his life. Will would never find out who this lone soldado was, nor if he survived the battle, but in the years afterward, when soldiers got together and swapped tales of the Battle of the Nueces, the story of this lone survivor was often told.
As the men, in their cotton, white summer uniforms filtered away from the river, Will saw the banner of the Aldama battalion coming forward. He remembered their bravery from when they splashed across the Rio Grande a few days before. From where the flag fluttered in the chilly breeze, Will figured they were stopped a good distance from the river, but the dense brush and tree cover made it impossible to see clearly more than a couple of dozen yards beyond the southern bank of the river.
Two more banners came forward, representing the Toluca and the Zapadores battalions. It was impossible to gauge the size of the assembling force, as long as they remained behind the thick cover of mesquite trees. Minutes passed leaving Will to wonder if Santa Anna would try something different. It seemed to Will, the dictator was a slow learner, but he had learned to put scouts out ahead of his column. Will was uncertain of the dictator’s next move. He told himself, “We’re committed here, and second-guessing is counterproductive.”
Finally, as Will’s nerves started to wear, he heard bugles echoing from the Mexican line. Above the stubby mesquite trees, he watched the banners bobbing along and knew his questions were about to be answered. When the three battalions of advancing Mexican infantry were around a hundred feet from the river, the Texian riflemen began firing as they saw the advancing infantry through the dense cover of shrubs and trees. The trench was crowded with five men in it, but Will edged to the side where he could watch their front as Crockett stepped up beside him and fired at a target. The other three men fell into the role of reloaders, trading their loaded rifles to Crockett, for empty ones. Despite the heavy fire coming their way from the Texian line, the three battalions advanced at a run. The charging men understood they had to cross the river to close with the Texians and stop the murderous punishment.
When the lead elements of the Mexican battalions cleared the tree line, Will guessed he was looking at less than a thousand men. Even as officers and NCOs attempted to dress their ranks, the soldados ignored them as they ran, with their bayonetted muskets pointing toward the Texians. The average soldado wanted nothing to do with standing and trading shots with the deadly Texians. Those along the road ran down the sloping track into the water, while those on the flanks leapt down the banks, landing in the riverbed. Every few seconds a hundred bullets crashed into their ranks, tearing into soft flesh, maiming and killing dozens.
Will loosened his sword as he watched hundreds of soldados splashing through the shallow water toward their defenses. From behind him, he heard Captain Carey’s distinctive voice shouting, “Battery A! Fire!”
To his left, Will heard the three closest cannons add their explosions to the staccato sound of rifle fire. He was staring at the surging Mexican line when three hundred bits of scrap iron and lead balls slammed into the rushing men. Will gawked, his mouth agape. It was like a scythe swept through the men, knocking scores of them off their feet.
Will thought it was like someone running headfirst into a solid door, as he watched the rushing Mexican force grind to a halt, as close to half their number were now thrashing in the shallow river or lying dead, their blood mixing with the languorous water as it flowed downstream. He barely had time to take in the shocked confusion on the survivors faces when the three cannons to the left of the ford swept the remaining soldados.
The sound of more artillery firing echoed from both flanks, as Will imagined a similar devastation wrecking the remnants of the three Mexican battalions. A bitter cloud of smoke clung to the river’s surface, but dissipated quickly as a chilly northern breeze swept across the battlefield. To his immediate front, he saw no foe rise and flee southward, even though to both sides of the ford he could hear the sound of men running away.
Despite his years as a soldier, Will had never seen anything like this. He stared at the carnage along the river bed. At least at the Rio Grande, the river carried off most of the enemy casualties with the current, away from the battlefield. The Nueces didn’t afford the dead and dying that courtesy. Along the shallows of the ford, where the water was less than a foot deep, he saw the bodies piled two and even three deep. Meandering downstream, the water flowed crimson along the entire breadth of the river, staining the shoreline. Will tried to maintain his composure as he felt a tear slide down his cheek. Along the length of the defensive line he heard cheers from his victoriou
s soldiers. There was no joy for Will, seeing the mangled bodies clogging the shallow water. He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Crockett from the corner of his eye. The frontiersman’s expression was equally somber as he said, “Let ‘em holler, Buck. They won a great fight today and gave Santa Anna a horrible bloody nose. The flower of Mexico may well have died here today. Our boys, they’ve earned it.”
Chapter 12
The echo of the cheers from the Texian defenses still reverberated in Will’s ears as he crawled from the crowded rifle pit. He looked across the Nueces as the remnants of the three battalions disappeared from view, hidden by the mesquite trees and scrub brush that lined the river. He glimpsed down at his jacket and saw it was covered with dirt from the pit. As Will knocked the dirt from his jacket, he saw Colonel Grant followed by Juan Seguin coming down the road, emerging from a defensive position, walking toward him.
From below, in the rifle pit, Will heard, “Buck, you got time to help an old man up or you going to stand there slack-jawed?”
After helping Crockett up from the rifle pit, Will greeted Grant and Seguin as they arrived. “Well done, Colonel Grant. That was well fought.”
Grant smiled wearily, “Our men are the ones who earned the honors, Colonel Travis. But were it not for Colonel Crockett’s idea for using our marksmen so effectively, I canna’ say for certain that we’d have been as successful.” In his thick Scottish brogue, he continued, “Let me lead the men in attacking Santa Anna’s army now, while they’re disorganized and confused.”
Seguin jumped into the conversation, “Allow me and my men to lead the attack, Colonel Travis. We have earned the right to pay back Santa Anna for all he has done to the people of Texas and Mexico!”
“Seems to me that there’s probably enough of ol’ Santa Anna to go around.” Crockett gently chuckled, good naturedly at the Tejano and Scotsman, and continued, “If y’all ain’t done twisting his tail yet, then why don’t we all go over yonder and remind him that he ain’t Napoleon.”
While the officers stood next to the rifle pit on the bank of the Nueces River, Will felt a heavy burden on his shoulders. The sleepless nights during the retreat were catching up to him, as he stifled a yawn. Every skirmish Will and Crockett had led was defensive and from behind cover. He knew Crockett and Seguin were suffering from the same fatigue, yet both were eager to come off the defense and attack.
Four years before, Will went the better part of a week on very little sleep during the chaos that defined the battle of Fallujah. This was no worse, he rationalized as he attempted to push through the exhaustion. To his right, Crockett looked back at him, with an expectant look. Quietly sighing as he struggled to get a handle on his exhaustion, Will turned to the Tennessean and asked, “What are your thoughts, David? Go on the offense or wait for Santa Anna?”
Crockett looked across the Nueces River, toward the location of the Mexican camp. He stared for a moment, as if he could see the retreating soldados, despite the dense brush and mesquites, “We got Santa Anna right where we want him at the moment. Up ‘til now, we’ve been the greased pig and he’s been the city slicker playing at farm work. Now, he’s gone and hurt himself while wrestling this here pig. I reckon now is the time we learnt him a lesson; we’re not just a greased pig but a greased boar. Our tusks are sharp and deadly.”
Will knew that Crockett was every bit as tired as he, so he did his best to shake off the fatigue and said, “David, I believe you have the right of it. Let’s get this done. Colonel Grant, instruct Dickinson and Carey to assemble their men as a reserve company. If we do this right, we’ll be only a few minutes behind the Mexican retreat.” Will fervently hoped there wouldn’t be time for either side’s artillery to play a role.
Instructing Grant, he said, “Take the men from Ward’s battalion that are armed with muskets and have them form up a second reserve company.” Disappointed to not lead the attack, Grant saluted and moved off to organize the men.
Juan Seguin had stood by, shifting from foot to foot while Will spoke with Grant. “What about my Tejanos, Buck? It’s only right that we get in on this fight!”
“And you will, Juan. You’re going to command our cavalry. Take your men, as well as the other mounted riflemen, split them up and cover both our flanks. Santa Anna still has the Dolores Regiment that we know of. Be careful. All these mesquite trees and prickly pear cactuses play to the infantry’s advantage.”
Seguin ran off to collect the mounted soldiers, leaving Will and Crockett standing alone, looking across the river at the tangle of mesquite and brush that separated the two armies. “I believe that’s going to give you around four hundred fifty men, David. Same setup as before. I want one hundred fifty teams of three men each. I know you’ll have a lot of muskets mixed in, so if we can, let’s close to within a hundred yards of their camp and kick ‘em while they’re down.”
A few minutes later, Seguin led his cavalry across the ford, threading though the brush and mesquites. He led half to the left flank of Crockett’s men, while the other half took to the right. With sword drawn, Will walked beside Crockett, just behind their riflemen, where he watched those he could see, sort themselves into three-man teams, the best marksmen leading. He felt silly carrying the sword, but saw the approval in the stares of nearby riflemen. Behind him, Will heard the artillerymen, carrying muskets, following behind Colonel Ward and another sixty men.
It was difficult enough for Will and Crockett stepping around scrawny bushes and prickly pear cactuses, but it was clear that the same cluttered terrain which earlier slowed Santa Anna’s attack now worked against the Texians, as they attempted to cross the same arid terrain.
Evidence of the Mexican battalions’ retreat across the same ground just minutes before was everywhere, as Will stepped over a blue-jacketed body, likely a soldado from the Activo Toluca Battalion, who had succumbed to his wounds. Ahead, Will saw one of his riflemen pause as he came across a wounded soldado. The rifleman, clad in a buckskin hunting shirt, took his canteen, knelt by the injured soldado, and held the canteen to the other man’s lips. In a way, as Will advanced with his men toward the Mexican army, he was reminded of the battle of San Jacinto. He recalled more than half the fatalities suffered by the Mexican army came after it was destroyed as a fighting force. “David, let’s not let things get out of control. I want our officers making sure that our boys take prisoners whenever possible.”
Crockett nodded, “Good thinking, Buck. I recall a time or two in the Creek War, some of our boys let their blood get up and did things that no Christian ought to do.”
Ahead of their advancing line, Will noticed the further away from the river they advanced, the less tangled the undergrowth and mesquites became. As the men in front of him broke through the mesquite, they paused. When he joined them, Will saw what drew them up. In the center of the field he saw the Mexican army had stopped setting up their camp as the broken men of the failed attack streamed back across the open field. Will had no doubt that the men milling around the camp were not expecting their compatriots to stream back in a state of disorder and shock. When the soldados in the camp realized Will’s riflemen were hard on the heels of their retreating comrades, some started pointing toward the long, thin line of Texian riflemen. Will likened it to a child kicking an ant pile as the camp realized, for the first time since Santa Anna brought his Army of Occupation across the Rio Grande, the Texians were attacking.
Several men from the Dolores Regiment sprinted to their horses and in their haste, rode bareback toward the Texian line; their knees gripping their horses’ flanks, as they lowered their lances at Seguin’s flanking cavalry. In front of the camp, several officers and NCOs struggled to assemble their men into their companies and battalions. At the center of the encampment Will saw a couple of battle standards flying, around which several hundred men appeared to be galvanizing. But the shattered remnants of the Aldama, Toluca, and Zapadores battalions barely slowed down as they looked behind and saw the Texians hard on their hee
ls. Will stared agape as some of the defeated soldados threw down their muskets to run all the faster.
Will recognized the two standards assembled in the center of the camp. They were the standards from the first day’s battle. The blue-jacketed men of the Jimenez and Matamoros Battalions hurriedly dressed their ranks, their buglers urgently calling the rest of the Mexican army to arms.
***
General Almonte heard the crashing sound of gunfire a few hundred yards to the front of where his Excellency earlier ordered camp to be constructed. The field ran along the east side of the Camino Real, and apart from a few errant mesquite trees, was free from thick brambles and scrub brush so common in this part of Mexico. He was thoroughly sick of chasing the elusive company the army had dogged over the last four days. Every skirmish slowed them down and invariably cost lives, lives Almonte hated to see wasted.
Almonte jerked his head toward the river, a scant quarter mile away, when he heard the deep-throated roar of field artillery added to the cacophony of gunfire. He turned and saw their eight artillery pieces. He swore as it dawned on him what this meant, “Damn!” He thought, “Those rebels we’ve been chasing ran us straight into their main army.”
He walked to the edge of the camp, looking to the north, as the sound of gunfire died away. One of the few remaining officers of the Jimenez Battalion joined him, “Sounds like General Cos has run into trouble, General. Shall I assemble the battalion?”
Almonte looked toward his Excellency’s headquarters tent. Santa Anna was deep in a conversation with his new aide-de-camp and appeared to ignore the sounds of battle. He thought of approaching his Excellency and asking for permission, but as he looked to the north, he dismissed the idea and nodded to the young officer, and said, “Yes, Major Chavez, gather the men.”
