by Drew McGunn
The weapon tumbled from the other man’s hands, landing with a soft thud in the grass. The gun was followed a moment later by the man as his knees buckled and he collapsed, laying crumpled in the grass. As Will dizzily climbed to his feet, the sword’s blade glistened in the moonlight, with a dark stain. The would-be assassin’s breathing was labored and shallow.
Will’s legs felt wobbly and he tried to stay on them as he heard several feet running toward him from the Alamo. With his one clear eye, he saw a couple of lanterns bobbing along, lighting the way ahead of the running men. The first to arrive was one of Seguin’s cavalrymen, an experienced lieutenant by the name of Gregorio Esparza. In a startled voice he cried out, “Dios mio! Colonel, what in the hell happened here?” A couple more men, dressed in the gray jackets of the New Orleans Greys were hard on the lieutenant’s heels.
Will attempted to focus his clear eye on the cavalry officer and replied, “I appear to have made an enemy.” The sword slipped from Will’s fingers and he felt himself sliding away, as the young officer appeared to retreat from him until the world went black.
Chapter 18
When he cracked opened his eyes, Will woke to see James Grant leaning over him, bandaging the side of his head. He croaked, “Have I died and gone to some hell reserved for Scottish adventurers?”
Grant chuckled, “’Tis good you’re awake. From your speech, I’d say about half your wits are intact,” smiling down at Will, he said, “your boys came and fetched me from town, said you needed a doctor. You took a nasty concussion when that bullet grazed your scalp. I’m wrapping it in boiled linen. Like most head wounds, you bled like a stuck pig. You may find over the next couple of days, you’re subject to some nasty headaches, but overall, with a little rest, you’ll be fine.”
Will attempted to slide up in the bed, and noticed he was in the Alamo’s hospital. The revelation fled from his mind as his head swam from a wave of nausea and dizziness that swept over him. Grant placed his hand on Will’s shoulder, “Dinna be moving. A concussion is a nasty way to wake up.”
As the queasiness settled, Will asked, “What of the man who tried to kill me, James, what happened to him?”
Grant shook his head, “A gut wound is a foul thing. He lingered on a few hours but died before sunup.”
“Any idea who he was?” Will asked.
A shadow filled the window next to Will’s cot, and he heard Juan Seguin’s voice. “His name was Tom Roberts. He was with Bowie’s volunteers up until a month ago. He was reported missing on our muster rolls around the time the government showed up last month.”
Will closed his eyes, as another wave of nausea rolled over him. When it passed, he said, “Thanks, Juan. Anything else about him that I should know?”
A heavy bag of coins landed on the table beside him. “We found thirty Spanish silver dollars on him, but other than that, there was nothing to let us know who paid for his services.”
Will laughed until the pain in his head caused him to grimace, “Thirty pieces of silver. Sweet Jesus, but that puts me in very fine company, wouldn’t y’all agree?”
Seguin chuckled, “Well, after the past few weeks, Buck, I know a few men who would happily crucify you. I’d best get going, I don’t want to be late getting to San Fernando for today’s session. I’m sure the news has already arrived, but I will let everyone know that you’ll make a speedy recovery.”
“The hell you will, Juan,” Will replied. “You’re going to help me up and we’ll go together. I’m not going to give those pompous jackasses, Potter or Collinsworth the satisfaction of thinking they’ve won this round.”
Thirty minutes later, Will, head pounding and stomach churning, was riding into San Antonio, with Seguin by his side. Behind the two officers rode a troop of a dozen men from the Alamo. Seguin asked, “Do you believe any of the delegates were behind this?”
Will thought better of any head gestures, as the jarring gait of the horse sent shockwaves of pain into his head. He managed, “It is possible, but unlikely that the money came from directly from that lot. Think of what would happen to any delegate if the money led back to him.”
Seguin pushed, “Don’t you think that any of them had something to do with the attempt on your life?”
“I didn’t say that, Juan. Only that evidence, if we could find any, would not likely point directly to them. But, if you have any luck finding a connection, certainly let me know. I’d love to see Potter in jail. No, I’d rather see him hanging from tree.”
When they arrived at the church, the steely-eyed sergeant, in command of the horsemen, said with a lilting Irish accent, “Now, Colonel Travis, if you’re needing anything, and I mean anything at all, you just let us know, we’ll be in the plaza.”
As he dismounted, Will turned to the sergeant and replied, “Thank you, but I trust that won’t be necessary. But should any of you decide to kill me, I hope you’ll hold out for more than thirty pieces of silver.”
The sergeant, relaxing his vigilance for a moment, smiled warmly at Will and said, “Faith, Colonel, God bless you, sir, but I doubt you’re worth a penny more than our Lord and Savior."
When they entered the church, Will and Seguin were mobbed by a crowd of the delegates, calling out and asking about the assassination attempt. Lorenzo de Zavala edged up to Will and took him by the elbow and led him over to their table, where Crockett was waiting, wearing a deep expression of concern on his face. He leaned over and placed his hand gently on Will’s shoulder and quietly said, “Boy, you have no idea how glad I am to see that you’re no worse for wear than you are. You had me plum worried sick when I heard about the attempt on your life.”
Will smiled wanly and replied, “I feel much worse for wear, David. Like I was rode hard and put up wet.”
An uncomfortable silence descended on the delegates, nearly every eye in the room fixed on Will. Burnet, as always, stood at the head table, his dour expression firmly planted on his face. Will thought he saw a look pass between him and Houston, at the next table. Will turned to look at Houston and noticed that as the General stood, he nodded at Crockett, like a co-conspirator. “President Burnet, if I may,” Houston said, as he stood. With the permission of the chair, Houston walked around to stand in the middle of the nave, where he scanned the entire room, finally settling his glare at the table where Robert Potter and James Collinsworth sat.
“When our children and grandchildren study the history of our republic, and its foundational document, is there any man here that wants them to learn of the attempt last night on Colonel Travis’ life?” He paused as he stared daggers at several of his fellow Southerners. Several delegates shifted in their chairs, looking anywhere but at Houston, while others cast inquisitive glances around, wondering who among them would be brazen enough to attempt to kill one of their members in the shadows of night. Houston resumed, “It is self-evident that our passions have been raised as we have deliberated how best to govern our new nation. While we must soldier on and do the good work our fellow Texians have sent us to do, much of the heaviest lifting is now behind us.”
Many of Houston’s fellow delegates settled back in their chairs as he spoke, reminded as they were of how much they had already accomplished. He continued, “I have come to realize even once we have completed our responsibility here, that there is still much to be done and I would be remiss if I rested on the laurels of our present accomplishments. After consulting with President Burnet, I have decided once our work here is done, that I will return north with Chief Bowles and adjudicate their existing land claims, acting as an agent from the provisional government.”
Crockett and several other men politely applauded as Houston returned to his chair. Burnet nodded at Houston and said, “Does anyone oppose, Sam Houston’s appointment as commissioner to the civilized tribes in Texas, upon completion of our constitutional convention?”
While several men wore surly expressions, no one raised any objections, and Houston’s appointment was unanimous.
> President Burnet said, “Sam Houston’s appointment as commissioner creates an urgent need for you, our delegates to act. Texas cannot afford to be without a commanding general for our army, yet, Sam’s appointment leaves vacant his military office.”
All the secretive looks between Burnet, Houston and Crockett started to fall into place in Will’s pounding head. He was caught by surprise when James Grant stood and said, “As one who has served with Colonel William Barrett Travis, I would like to nominate him to the rank of Brigadier General, commander of all Texian forces, effective immediately.”
Crockett stood and nodding at several others who were also now standing, said, “I would like to second Colonel Grant’s motion. Having served with Colonel Travis over the past couple of months, I can assure any other delegate that he will fulfill the responsibilities due the rank with utmost diligence and a keen ability.”
Burnet nodded at Crockett, and with a sardonic smile directed toward several tablesful of Southerners, asked, “Are there any objections to Colonel Grant’s motion?”
As Robert Potter started to stand, Collinsworth, who sat beside him, reached up and grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back into his seat. While Collinsworth whispered into his ear, Potter sagged under the words of his compatriot. When the tense moment passed, Collinsworth stood and said, “Given the heavy burden that the command of the army would place upon Colonel Travis, I will acquiesce to Mr. Crockett’s wishes on the condition that Colonel Travis resign his duties to the convention, allowing him to focus on protecting our frontier from the depredations of Mexicans and Comanche alike.”
Crockett held up a hand to the Southerner and said, “A moment, if you please.” He leaned in to Will and said, “Buck, the big issues are settled. I’ve obtained agreements from several other delegates that all of the ground that you have won here at the convention will be protected. Those damn-fool jackanapes, parading as Southern gentlemen, will not be allowed to undo any of the provisions you and I have backed.”
Will nodded his head slowly, as the migraine pounding like a jackhammer, continued its unrelenting attack. Quietly, he replied, “Thank you, David. I’m not sure what I think of your scheme, but please pass on my thanks to your fellow conspirators. I know that you’ll keep Potter and his allies from getting too big for their britches. I agree, I will resign from the convention.”
Immediately after the convention passed Crockett’s resolution appointing Will as general, he slowly and painfully scrawled the name of William B. Travis, as he resigned from the convention and accepted command of the Texian army. During the time he had been in the church, one of the cavalrymen who had accompanied him and Seguin, found a wagon. As he exited the convention, he collapsed into the wagon bed. He lay in the back, eyes screwed shut against the bright April morning, as the wagon rolled back to the Alamo.
***
April 29th, 1836
To the honorable John Hall,
Commander of Ordnance of Harpers Ferry, Virginia
I am writing to inquire about the purchase of a quantity of your rifles, a certain number of your model 1833 Hall Carbines. I have been authorized by the provisional government of the Republic of Texas to purchase 500 of your excellent carbines, rifled to a .52 caliber at the price of $20 in specie. Should you be empowered to enter into this contract, please forward to me the particulars of said contract, and I will dispatch payment to you. Otherwise, Stephen Austin has been appointed by our government to act as minister plenipotentiary to the United States, and he will engage with his counterpart in the United States War Department to contract for these arms.
Yours Respectfully,
William B. Travis
Brigadier General Commanding Army of the Republic of Texas,
Alamo, San Antonio, Bexar, Texas
***
25th May 1836
The previous month had been busy for Will as he integrated the men Houston had brought with him from Columbus, after the declaration of independence was signed, as well as volunteers recently arrived from the United States. One of the men who arrived with the volunteers was a West Point graduate by the name of Albert Sidney Johnston.
As a history buff, Will recalled from his own memories, in a world now gone forever, Johnston would eventually rise to command the Texian army and a quarter century later was one of the Confederacy’s leading generals. It didn’t take long for Will to promote him to the rank of Lt. Colonel, placing him in command of the regular infantry battalion.
The month of May was mostly gone, and San Antonio had returned to normal, after the delegates had completed the constitution and returned home and Burnet transferred the provisional government back to Harrisburg, on Buffalo Bayou, near Galveston Bay, awaiting the plebiscite scheduled for the summer, when all Texas would vote on the constitution.
The window in Will’s office was open and he and Johnston sat at the large, heavy desk, looking at a dozen military-style jackets which Will had previously ordered from New Orleans. The jackets were dyed assorted colors, ranging from the navy-blue common with the US Army, to the gray of state militia regiments in the US, and several shades in between. Will was torn between a deep-green jacket that reminded him a bit of the British Rifle uniform from the Sharpe’s Rifles book and TV series and a khaki jacket that Johnston referred to as ‘butternut’. The butternut jacket reminded him of a cross between a Confederate jacket and the khaki jacket used by the British at the end of the nineteenth century.
“Sid, I believe I prefer either the green or the, ah, butternut jacket, as being the best suited for wear on the frontier. What are your thoughts?” Will held both jackets up for Johnston to see.
Johnston took the butternut jacket and walked over to the adobe wall and held it up to the wall. The jacket’s color blended well against the wall’s dull brown. Holding the jacket there, he replied, “She’s not what I would call pretty, General, but she’d serve us far better against the Comanche than any of the other colors we’ve been looking at. That, and look at how durable this jean material is.” Johnston pulled at the seams and tried stretching the material, but the wool and cotton blended jacket took the abuse he dealt.
Will took the jacket back from Johnston and said, “Very well. Have our regimental quartermaster place a request for bids with suppliers in New Orleans. Make sure they have the specifications and that we get no less than three bids. Getting the money to pay for them may be unlikely until after presidential elections are held later this year. But it doesn’t hurt to ask.”
As Will left the office, he donned his blue jacket and followed Johnston down the stairs, across the plaza and through the unfinished north wall, to where a company of Johnston’s infantry were practicing Will’s latest skirmish tactics. They watched a team of four men advance across the prairie, as the soldier in the lead fired his rifle, he fell back to the second position while the last man in the team stepped to the front and fired. Until he could buy better equipment, this leapfrog tactic was the best option he and Johnston had designed, to combat the Comanche.
Beyond the drilling infantry, Will saw a small dust cloud making its way southward, toward the company. As it approached, the swirling dust cloud materialized into a horseman, riding hell-bent-for-leather toward the fort. A bareheaded man dressed in a tattered hunting jacket saw the two officers standing before the scaffolding of the north wall and raced his horse toward them. As he jerked the reins the horse, heavily lathered from the brutal ride, slid to a stop. The rider cried out, “The Comanches! They’ve killed all the men and kidnapped the women and children!”
Book 2:
Comanche Moon Falling
Chapter 1
May 1836
Will Travers walked beneath scaffolding, where the construction on the Alamo’s north wall continued. Since the victory over Santa Anna’s army at the Nueces River earlier in the spring, the old mission turned fort had undergone several upgrades. A new, taller wall would replace part of the crumbling north wall, while a two-story barra
cks would complete its connection with the eastern wall.
Exiting the fort, Will saw two engineers talking to several Tejano laborers. Although too far away to hear, Green Jameson, a contract engineer with the army, gesticulated at a stack of adobe bricks, as he directed the laborers toward a section of the new wall.
Leaving the construction behind, the officer walking beside Will cleared his throat, “You know, General Travis, I’m glad you and your boys stopped Santa Anna down at the Nueces. I can’t imagine you’d have been able to hold out here for more than a couple of weeks, if it had come to a siege.”
It had taken time getting used to being called William Barret Travis, but Will was nothing if not a survivor. The last four months had proven that. He still wondered if it were a cosmic trick of fate, or the unseen hand of God, placing him and his memories in the body of William Barret Travis five weeks before the Alamo would have fallen. He shook his head at the thought, there was time enough later to get lost down that rabbit hole, and turned his attention to the officer at his side.
Lt. Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston had missed the battle at the Nueces, arriving in Texas the previous month. He had enlisted in the Texian army in San Antonio as soon as he arrived. When Will saw his name on the paymaster’s roll, it practically leapt off the page. As a student of Texas history, he recognized that Johnston would have eventually risen to command the Texian army and later go on to command the Army of the Tennessee in the Civil War in a world which ceased to exist when Will’s thoughts and mind were transferred into William B. Travis’ body. As commander of the Texian army, Will immediately promoted the Kentucky transplant to the rank of Lt. Colonel. Which was how the two men came to be standing on the prairie, north of the Alamo, watching a company of infantry as they drilled.
