by Drew McGunn
Thoughts of his wife faded from his mind as he reached camp. It was replaced with thoughts of Major John Coffee Hays. The lone Texian survivor of the hacienda fight, Hays was still recovering from his injuries. Almonte’s surgeon had been forced to remove the major’s left arm above the elbow. A .69 caliber musket ball had shattered the bone. Almonte knew the Texian was fortunate to have survived. His shoulder injury could have been much worse, he was lucky the ball had exited the back, hitting no bones or vital organs. His leg was healing nicely where a lance had pierced his calf muscle. But he still needed a crutch to walk, although Almonte only permitted it when Hays was under guard.
Now though, His Excellency’s order to turn over any prisoners bode ill for the young Texian major. Almonte’s long service with Santa Anna left no doubt in his mind what His Excellency intended. As if thinking of someone conjured an appearance, Almonte saw Hays hobbling around outside his tent. A young officer from the remains of his Cazadores regiments sat nearby as another rifle-armed Cazadore guarded the injured Texian.
Almonte forced a smile onto his face, “Captain Morales, how are you and your charge doing this fine morning?”
Almonte recalled the first time he had met the captain. He had been a courier from the capital reassigned to the Army of the North. Almonte had had no need of more couriers but he was short of officers for the newly formed Cazadores regiments. It seemed a lifetime ago, although it had only been a few months. Then, the freshly minted platoon commander had been a fresh-faced officer with a hint of the Colegio Militar of Chapultepec about him. Now, he commanded the remnants of several companies of riflemen and his eyes were sunken and framed by dark circles. His face was lined with a week’s worth of stubble and his once navy-blue jacket was faded to a washed-out purple.
As he swung out of the saddle, Almonte dreaded giving the order that would turn the Texian over to Santa Anna. He strode by the three men and pulled the tent flap closed behind him. After unbuckling his sword, he collapsed on his cot. He squeezed his eyes shut. It would have been better for his men to have killed Hays instead of capturing him, he thought. Far better than being lined up against a wall and executed like a common criminal.
He shook his head. Seven years before, Almonte conceded, His Excellency’s argument to treat the Texians as rebels might have made sense. But even though Santa Anna had been forced into a treaty he had not wanted, and in truth, had repudiated it as soon as he had set foot on Mexican soil, the Texians had done their best to build their own nation north of the Rio Bravo. Executing a captured soldier from Mexico’s northern neighbor struck Almonte as a vindictive act of petulance. When part of Woll’s army had been captured the prior year by General Johnston, the Texian general had treated those soldados as prisoners of war. Despite Santa Anna ordering the execution of prisoners, Johnston had not retaliated, even though no nation would have looked askance had Johnston done so.
Almonte looked back at the tent flap. To kill Hays made no sense. “I’ve lost my command and I’ve been cast aside as a useless tool,” he thought, “But I still have my integrity. I won’t be party to any more petty vengeance.”
Realization settled on Almonte, he was free of Santa Anna’s command for the first time in years. He could leave without a backwards glance. He swung out of the cot and grabbed his trunk. It was still loaded. He eyed it. It was heavy. If he intended to ride away and leave this all behind, he needed to pack lighter. He flung the lid open and rummaged through clothes until he drew out a carpet bag. He had bought it while serving as minister to the United States. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost upon him. Exile likely meant returning to the United States.
He hefted the bag after throwing clothes into it. It was light enough and could be tied to the back of his saddle. He strode from the tent and crossed in front of the prisoner and his guards and secured the bag behind the saddle.
After checking his mount and the saddle straps, he became aware of the eyes on him. He turned and saw the Texian major standing next to Captain Morales. The enlisted guard had set the rifle butt on the ground and leaned against the barrel, watching.
Almonte did the only thing that made sense. He shrugged. “His Excellency has seen fit to remove me from command of the Army of the North. I have been ordered to vacate Mexico. So, you see, I may not tarry any longer.”
Both Hays and Morales stared with mouths agape at the news. Hays recovered first, “What does that mean for me, General Almonte?”
Almonte spread his hands wide, “I cannot say, Major. I’m sorry.”
Hays’ eyes went wide, “The hell you say. If you ride out of here, General, I’m a dead man.”
Almonte started to push past Hays to remove anything else from his tent, when he saw Morales’ hard stare. “What, not you too, Captain?”
Morales stepped back and pulled Hays out of Almonte’s way. “I have watched you keep our army alive, General, when by all rights, it should have broken apart. As a rifleman, I am not blind to the advantages the Texians have over our men when it comes to both their tactics and weapons. Anybody other than you would have been swept aside at the Rio Bravo, sir.”
Almonte stopped in his tracks, halfway between his horse and his tent. “I’m afraid that His Excellency doesn’t agree with you, Captain.”
“Then Santa Anna is a fool.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when Morales cast a furtive look around. Even the enlisted guard nodded along to his words. Emboldened by his own audacity, the captain continued, “I’d rather follow you away from here, General, than be led to certain defeat by some new commander. Also, even though I wasn’t there when General Sesma’s lancers captured Major Hays, I can say, having faced his men in combat on several occasions that he is an honorable enemy. If we allow his execution, if this large army loses to the Texians I fear for the lives of all the men who have fought from the Rio Bravo all the way to Monterrey with you.”
Even though the conversation was in Spanish, Hays appeared to have understood it, “You should listen to the captain, General Almonte. If you’re not going to be staying here, I’d happily join you in getting the hell away from Santa Anna.”
Hays’ comment was absurd, but Almonte was convinced Santa Anna’s judgement against prisoners was equally absurd and would certainly bring about a worse set of circumstances should the Texians triumph. He shook his head at how surreal his circumstances had become. The fog of uncertainty in Almonte’s mind burned away as he suddenly knew his next step. “I am heading into exile, I will go north, by way of Saltillo. Now, Major, if you would like to join me, I would be honored with your company.”
Hays said, “Hell, yes.”
“Captain, can I implore upon you a bit of time before letting anyone else know that we have left?” Almonte asked of Morales.
Morales said. “If you’re not going to command us, me and a few of my men will go with you at least part of the way. A few more deserters won’t be noticed.”
The comment laid bare a problem that even Almonte had not been able to solve. Since the defeat at Monterrey, a steady trickle of men had stolen away nightly. Although, since arriving at San Luis Potasi it appeared to have stopped. “Captain, I can’t allow that. If you are caught, Santa Anna will make an example of you and your men. I won’t have anyone executed over this.”
Morales’ laugh rang with bitterness. “Death by firing squad is no more likely than death in the next battle.” Almonte was about to issue a command when the captain continued, “And, as you said, you’re not in command anymore.”
The sun was still in the sky when Almonte rode north with Hays, the Cazadores Captain and a dozen riflemen who, like their captain, decided their war was over.
Slipping out of the camp proved easier than any of them had anticipated. Both Almonte and Hays had donned uniforms purloined from a laundry line in the Cazadores camp, and when they arrived at a picket line, they found it guarded by riflemen, who took Captain Morales at his word that he and his patrol were scouting to the north.
Like a gambler whose mask has slipped, Almonte’s eyes slid over to Morales and with a slight smile said, “We had that covered, too.”
Morales produced a letter from a pocket, “Orders signed by none other than General Almonte this morning. The odds of one of our guards learning of the General’s fall from favor before we escaped was a calculated risk, Major, but one that paid off”
***
18 June 1843
Despite a love of Texas history, Will was frustrated by his lack of knowledge about the United States’ war with Mexico from his own memories. While he knew the United States had goaded the Mexican army into attacking by sending an army into the disputed territory of South Texas, and that the United States had later invaded by sea at Vera Cruz and marched across central Mexico to capture Mexico City, that was the extent of his knowledge.
He was sure the US had captured Monterrey which now lay more than sixty miles behind him. Had the United States army reached Saltillo? He didn’t know. But had they, they would have found what he saw. Saltillo was the center of commerce in Coahuila, and according to the alcalde, the city and surrounding farms, ranches, and villages numbered ten thousand souls. More than that though, just south of town the road to San Luis Potosi ran through a rugged, narrow valley, a little more than three miles across from one side to the other.
The memory of what it cost in time and men to dislodge Almonte’s army from their fixed positions at Candela nearly two months before left a sour taste in his mouth. For the time being, though, his men were digging defenses across the narrow valley. He shook his head as he considered the vagaries of war. When he and the 1st brigade had arrived ten days earlier, he had expected to find Almonte’s army entrenched in the town, but to his surprise, it lay undefended. The town’s alcalde had informed him the Mexican Army of the North had started to build fortifications around the city but stopped after a few days when word came from the south ordering the army to join a larger force assembling at San Luis Potosi, two weeks’ march away.
As he watched men from the 1st Infantry shoveling dirt, constructing an earthen redoubt in the center of the valley, he thought back to the meeting he had held with his officers after arriving at Saltillo a couple of weeks’ prior.
Early June was getting hot in the arid mountains of northern Mexico, but the shade from the pavilion cut the worst of the heat. His camp desk was in the center of the pavilion and he, Sid Johnston, Ben McCulloch, Juan Seguin, and Lt. Colonel Carey of the artillery had crowded around the desk.
“We’re in a bit of a pickle, gentlemen,” Will had opened the meeting, “According to the local mayor, Almonte is rendezvousing with Santa Anna south of here. While I have received word that President Zavala has authorized two more battalions for service, they won’t do us much good as they will be used to shore up our supply lines and garrison Monterrey.”
Johnston leaned forward in his chair, “I don’t think our situation is particularly grim, as of right now, we’ve got all the 1st brigade hereabouts as well as Lt. Colonel West’s Marine battalion. That’s twenty-two hundred men, not counting our cavalry or artillery.”
Seguin added, “Those not currently tied to securing our supply line or Monterrey are making their way to Saltillo over the next week or so.”
McCulloch was looking at a small notebook when he said, “According to the latest reports from the north, the relief column left the Alamo two weeks ago. Assuming they don’t run into any problems, we can expect their arrival at Monterrey any day now. Once they arrive, we can pull the rest of our soldiers from Monterrey and bring them here.”
Will was drumming his fingers on the desk, “We’re damned lucky the president agreed to release more soldiers to shore up our supply line, but let’s not kid ourselves. At best, we have one more chance to win this war before our ability to wage war is done. I’ve received a steady stream of letters from the president and various congressmen wanting to know when the reserve battalions can be demobilized. Too many farms are fallow, and storefronts are being run by wives and children.”
It was a sobering reminder the army was reaching its limit. He continued, “If we assemble our army and march it south, are we certain we can so thoroughly defeat Santa Anna’s new command as to force him to peace?”
Juan Seguin shook his head, “The land around San Luis Potosi plays to the dictator’s strengths. The valleys are wide, and his army will have plenty of room to maneuver. While I think we can defeat his army anywhere we choose to fight, the land directly south of Saltillo is some of the most defensible land we’re likely to find. Better yet, we’re the ones sitting on it, not the Mexicans. According to the Alcalde, Santa Anna is marching north. He’s not going to play the defensive war that Almonte favored. Buck, if you want a victory that will knock Santa Anna out, our best chance is here.”
Both Johnston and McCulloch nodded. Seguin had earned a reputation for impulsive attacks. That he was urging caution wasn’t lost on the other men. “I’ve sent a few patrols to our south over the past few days. We’ll know within a day or two of Santa Anna’s army’s arrival. But as God is my witness, I wish I had Jack Hays back. Losing one of our best Ranger companies and their commander has been a disaster without equal.”
The thought of Jack Hays’ death brought Will back to the present. His battalion of special Rangers were down to less than seventy men, and while they were under the command of their senior captain, Will missed the young and reckless major. Although his messenger had arrived back in Monterrey in less than two days, by the time Seguin had managed to race his battalion of regular cavalry to the hacienda, it had been too late. Hays’ was the only body not recovered from the bloody battle waged between the Rangers and Almonte’s lancers. His absence gave Will a hope, however faint, he still lived. But with each passing day, Hays’ survival seemed more remote.
A commotion erupted near the road, where riflemen were deepening a trench in front of the redoubt. Will retrieved his Italian-made binoculars and raised them to his eyes and focused on the road south. A cavalry detachment in squad strength was galloping across the planks laid over the trench where it cut across the road. Will scanned the road and saw, tiny as ants, three mounted figures riding from the south. Despite the strong magnification, it took several minutes to see that two of the men were dressed in blue uniforms, common among their rifle-armed light infantry while the third was dressed in a butternut jacket. He thought he recognized the rider.
He put the binoculars away and raced his horse down the road, until he found the three men surrounded by a dozen Texian cavalry troopers. Sure enough, through the bramble of facial hair, Will recognized the gaunt face of Jack Hays. He was alive.
Later, Will was joined by Juan Seguin who greeted the young major like the father welcoming the prodigal home. “We thought you were dead when we found where your company had been attacked, Jack. How did you survive?”
Sitting under the canvas pavilion, around Will’s camp table, Hays gestured to the two men wearing Cazadores uniforms. “They found me alive and saved my life.” He then nodded to the empty left sleeve of his jacket. “My arm was too badly damaged to save, but the rest of me was nursed back to health.”
Will resisted the urge to tousle Hays’ hair, like he would have with Charlie before asking, “How did you escape?”
Hays said, “I expect you’ve heard Santa Anna’s coming this way with the biggest damned army he’s managed to collect. The old boy still has this thing about killing prisoners.”
Will swore and shook his head in disbelief. “You see, Juan, this is the reason we’re stuck hip-deep in Mexico. We’re not going to stop until we’ve put that that jumped up pissant of dictator against a wall and shoot him.
“Were it not for these fine gentlemen, I’m afraid Santa Anna would have been the one to put me up against a wall.
”
The two Mexicans had been silent until then. The shorter of the two stepped forward and bowed toward Will. “General Travis, I am Juan Nepomuceno Almonte, formerly of the Mexican army. I and my traveling companion, Javier Morales seek political asylum.”
Chapter 21
Will was speechless. Standing before him in a simple uniform of a Mexican rifleman was the man who had ably blocked his army from a quick victory since the beginning of the campaign. What turn of fortune had caused his enemy to show up on his proverbial doorstep? Almonte was an opponent, but he had conducted his campaign against Will’s army with skill, determination, and, unlike Santa Anna, a code of honor that respected the lives of prisoners. Almonte was an honorable enemy. If Santa Anna had chased him off, then the rules of engagement could be ugly when next the two armies clashed.
Finding his voice, he said, “Asylum? General Almonte, you have made my life very difficult, and from where I am standing, the way you conducted your defense, you have unnecessarily drawn out this war. Why should I grant you asylum?”
Almonte pulled the tall shako from his head, revealing black hair slowly losing ground to gray at the temples. He pulled out a dirty handkerchief and wiped his brow before he responded. “Duty is a jealous wife, General Travis, would you not agree?”
Will acknowledged the words with a single nod before Almonte continued, “My duty has always been to the people and institutions of Mexico. When I opposed you on the Rio Bravo del Norte, it was clear that the balance of power was in your favor, given your new rifles and tactics. Unlike Adrian Woll, I saw no good reason to fertilize Texas soil with Mexican blood. From where I stood, it was better for your soldiers to assault our trenches rather than the other way around.”
