by Drew McGunn
He stared across the south Texas prairie. If the spies in Texas were correct, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer to learn of Travis’ strategy. Soon, the army of Texas would march across that plain north of Laredo. He tried to let go of the worry, “If they attack, we defend. If they attempt to flank, then we’ll withdraw back to Candela.”
He acknowledged the salutes of the soldados in the trenches and returned to his horse. Orders, requisition forms, and other minutiae waited on him at the army’s headquarters. As he guided his horse through the encampment behind the fortifications, he wondered what His Excellency would say when he found out that the army was digging in and not invading.
Even now, he had yet to receive any reaction from Santa Anna to General Vasquez’ unfortunate death more than six weeks previous. No doubt, His Excellency would demand that he proceed with the planned invasion.
Almonte shook his head, that way would lead to the ruin of his army, he was certain. Over the years of his service to Mexico, he owed every promotion to Santa Anna’s patronage. More than slavishly following orders, he owed it to His Excellency to interpret the orders in such a way as to give Mexico a victory over the Texians.
Either he had devised a strategy that would bleed Travis’ army, or he hadn’t. If he failed, he risked the ire of Santa Anna, and he shuddered at the thought. Maybe their long years of friendship would protect him, maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, the die was cast and the cup was in Travis’ hands now.
***
The end of March in Texas was the middle of spring. Winter’s last gasp was more than a month gone and the coastal breeze from the south made for pleasant weather as Colonel David Crockett sat astride his mount. He led the column along the road. The men looked sharp in their new uniforms and their black wide-brimmed hats and they were in high spirits as they marched down the Harrisburg Road.
Behind the infantry column came a company of cavalry, one of two assigned to Crockett’s little command. The thought of how he had come into possession of them brought a smile to his weathered face.
Less than a month earlier, he had been holding a meeting in his pavilion, doing what his son-in-law liked to call a “debrief,” with his officers after a wargame between the two wings of the battalion when General McCulloch had ridden into camp. The commander of the militia had leapt from his horse and strode into the meeting, bellowing, “Everybody but Colonel Crockett, get out of my sight!”
As his officers made like scattering cockroaches, David remained at the camp table, his arms crossed, waiting.
When they were alone, McCulloch only slightly modulated his voice, “What in the hell are you doing going behind my back?”
“I got no idea about what you’re talking about, Ben.” As the former president, David banked on the familiarity with McCulloch.
Pointing his finger at David, McCulloch growled, “The hell you don’t. I just got a letter from President Zavala telling me to cut loose two companies of cavalry for you to play with and to transfer two companies of infantry from another battalion.”
David feigned surprise, “I’m sure he didn’t say I could play with them, Ben, that don’t seem like Lorenzo’s style a’tall.”
“Yeah, well, same thing.” The angry storm now spent, McCulloch collapsed into one of the camp chairs. “What in the hell have you and the President got cooked up, David? Zavala said you’re to have a couple of more weeks’ drilling, then to report to San Antonio for further orders. Add to that, a fair number of those newly requisitioned teamsters are to be sent along.”
David leaned against the camp table, “Tain’t like it’s going to be a state secret or anything, but I talked Lorenzo into letting me take the 9th to reestablish things in Santa Fe. Couldn’t talk him into giving me any artillery but he was nice enough to give me a couple of cavalry troops and a bit more infantry.”
McCulloch frowned, “I wish you would have done that through me. We don’t have a chain of command for no reason.”
David smiled coyly, “Well, I hope it don’t play hell with your command here, Ben. Me and Lorenzo just wanted to play it close to the vest.”
McCulloch climbed to his feet, with a huff. “Not my problem anymore, David. I’ve been ordered to bring the 11th Infantry to San Antonio. Buck has given me the 2nd brigade of the army. And I doubt Tom Rusk will miss them.”
David’s eyebrows raised, “Lorenzo’s putting Rusk in charge of the militia again? After the hash he made of it last time?”
“Hell, David, you of all people should know that politics is horse trading. To get Congress to go along with impressment of certain plantation owners’ property for the duration, their darling military mind, Tom Rusk, gets to play at being general over the militia again.”
As he shook his head, David said, “God save the militia, Ben. Any idea how many slaves are being leased by the government?”
“A few thousand. Maybe a couple of hundred will be teamsters. Most of the rest have been ‘leased’ to build a railroad between here and Harrisburg and Houston.”
David shook his head, “Gonna be hard to get a cotton crop in without them hands,” his voice fell, and he grew somber, “It’s going to be hell on every family in Texas until this war is won, what with all the men away from their farms.”
McCulloch nodded as he climbed on his mount, “Truer words, David, but if those rich dandies have all their labor tied up in the Republic’s war effort, then at least they won’t be profiting during the war.”
Crockett frowned, “How’d Lorenzo manage to avoid paying them?”
Before digging his heels into his mount’s flanks, McCulloch said, “War bonds. Redeemable down the road.”
Even now, as his command marched toward Harrisburg, the memory made him chuckle. Lorenzo was turning into a damned fine president.
The road ran alongside a graded railroad bed, ready for the iron rails and railroad ties to come. His command made good time marching. The Harrisburg road had been macadamized with crushed gravel and tar as the railroad bed was built parallel to it. It was expensive but weatherproofed the road more or less. Crockett and his men were still another twenty miles from their goal when they stopped for the evening. They had eventually caught up with the crews who were laboring on the roadbed.
The slaves methodically worked, building up the railroad bed. The railroad bed had to be elevated above the ground to reduce the risk of flooding and to keep the grade of the tracks as low as possible. Thousands of tons of dirt had to be moved for each mile of planned tracks. Behind the slaves came teams of Irish laborers using large metal rollers, to smooth and flatten the dirt. Watching over the slaves were men from the militia. As a plantation owner, Rusk had his own ideas about how to keep the slaves working, and as commander of the militia again, he was in a position to make sure the slaves did what they were told.
“Buck must be rubbing off on me,” David thought as bile rose in his throat as he watched teams of slaves still working on the rail line. As Crockett’s opinions evolved, he found his son-in-law’s abolitionist views making more sense. The labor of free men wouldn’t require soldiers guarding them. No longer president, David knew that resolving the conflict between Texas’ growing abolitionist movement and her wealthy slave owners would fall upon Zavala or his successor. He hoped that they would be able to find a way to peacefully thread that needle.
That evening, as he sat around a campfire along with several other officers, David pulled out a map he had been carrying. Using the irregular light from the fire he found Santa Fe on the map. Nearly a thousand miles away. But thanks to his son-in-law, the way was much easier than it would have been. Because of the military road and the supply depots, the expedition would take two months or less to get there. That was the easy part.
He hoped the cities on the Texas side of the Treaty line could be quickly integrated into the Republic. There was so much to accomplish and at fifty-six years of age, he was familiar enough with his mortality to know that time was no longer his ally.
The wick burned, causing the lamp’s glass chimney to glow. Will strained to hear any noises in the house, but Henrietta, their cook, had yet to stir. He glanced over at his wife. Becky was breastfeeding the newborn. David Stern Travis was only a couple of months old, and he was latched onto his mother, noisily suckling. The sight of mother and child came close to bringing tears to his eyes. As he finished buttoning his jacket, he leaned in and planted kisses on both his wife and infant son.
Becky smiled back, her eyes red rimmed. Their last night together, before leading the army south had been bittersweet. As the night had given way to the predawn, he had held her as she cried, and she had held him as they made love. He never felt good leaving his family, as duty often required, but he had taken every precaution to ensure Texas’ victory in the coming campaign, and felt he would be home within a few months. But even feeling confident of victory, it didn’t make leaving home and hearth any easier.
As he went to the door, the warmth of Becky’s smile nearly broke his heart. When he had become trapped in the body inhabited now for more than six years, he could never have imagined the love he shared with Becky. Now, he couldn’t bear to think about riding off to war and leaving her and the children behind.
“I’ll be back, I’m going to look in on the children.” He closed the door and moved down the hall. One of the doors was ajar, and he slid it open, and saw little Liza sleeping on her small, child’s bed. Not quite two years old, normally she was toddling around the house and keeping both Becky and Henrietta on their toes. He still remembered the look on Becky’s face when he had suggested child-proofing the house. As he smiled down on his sleeping daughter, his wife’s response brought an unbidden smile. “But Will, how in the world will she know not to stick her finger in the fire? One time and she’ll figure out quick like that she’s to stay away from the fireplace.”
As was usually the case, Becky was right. He leaned in and brushed his lips over his daughter’s forehead. The day he had arrived back from the fort to find her tearstained face staring up at him as she held up her little fist, where her index finger was wrapped in a linen bandage brought a sad smile to his face.
During the Santa Fe campaign the previous year, he had been gone for only a few months, but she had grown so fast during that time. Now, as the army readied for war, would he be gone for only a few months or would it drag on? He was no stranger to prolonged conflict. When his mind had been transferred to 1836, the United States had been in Iraq for seven years. He shook his head at the thought. Texas couldn’t survive a protracted war with Mexico. Seven months might be too long, let alone seven years. For the sake of the republic and for the hope of seeing his daughter soon, he was determined to defeat Santa Anna’s armies as quickly as possible.
Charlie’s bed was along the other wall. Turning he saw his son sitting quietly on the bed, staring back at him. “My son,” he thought, “Not exactly.” In the months before Will’s transference into Buck Travis’ body, his wife, Rosanna had divorced him. Not without cause, either. Travis had abandoned her, Charlie, and an unborn daughter. The boy had come as part of the divorce. Fate had played a cruel trick on the young boy. In another world, he would have been orphaned following Travis’ death at the Alamo. In this world, he had been left in Will’s care when he had replaced the unfaithful Travis. Of all the things Will had changed since the transference, his relationship with the boy he now thought of as his son was one where he was certain his involvement had made the greatest difference.
“Morning, Pa. I was hoping you’d poke your head in before leaving.”
Will stepped over to the teenager and tousled his already messy hair. “I had to see my little princess and her valiant and brave brother.”
The boy looked at the table between the beds, where a copy of Scott’s Ivanhoe was opened face down. “You haven’t been sneaking in and reading my book again?”
Will held up his hand, “On my honor, your honor.”
The two quietly laughed, trying not to wake the little girl.
Will pulled his son out of bed and was momentarily shocked to find the top of Charlie’s head even with his eyes. He was growing up so fast. “You’re the man of the house while I’m away.”
The boy threw his arms around Will’s neck, and said, “I wish to everything, Pa, that you’d take me with you. There’s boys younger ‘n me serving as musicians in some of the militia companies.”
Will returned the hug, “Don’t be in too much of a hurry to grow up. Soon enough you’ll have all the duties of being a man, and time to read books like Ivanhoe will be harder to find.”
Charlie stepped back, squared his shoulders and threw Will a mock salute, “Sir, yes, sir.” But his smile was wistful. To a fourteen-year-old, it seemed as though the entire nation was going to war, and he was stuck at home. Will hid a smile. He remembered being that age. Too old to be a child yet too young to be a man. Will clicked his heels together and returned the salute.
Charlie lay back down and with a final wave, Will closed the door. He returned to his bedroom and found Becky sitting in a rocking chair next to the crib. She was gently rocking little David. Will looked into the crib and watched his infant son losing a battle to stay awake as his bed swayed back and forth.
Finally, Becky stood and stepped into his embrace, molding herself to his body. Will wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, she lifted her head, her hungry lips seeking his. When the kiss ended, Becky whispered, “I promised myself I wouldn’t shed any more tears, and I won’t. But heavens, Will, I’m going to miss you worse than I can imagine.”
Will’s throat was dry. Despite the duty he had accepted as commander of the Texian army, at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay home with his family. When he mentioned that to Becky she playfully slapped his chest, “It’s my charms, us Crockett women make ourselves so irresistible that we can scarcely keep our husbands at home.”
Will was about to protest, but the glimmer in her eye gave lie to the playful words. She added, “When I married you, General William Travis, I knew that you were a huckleberry above a persimmon. I am the luckiest woman in Texas. I know when you leave out that door, it’s not just duty to Texas, but love for your family, your country, and your God, that helps you to do your duty.”
Will swallowed any response; none was needed. She followed him into the house’s central room and helped him buckle on his sword, then took his black slouch hat from its hook. She set it on his head, and cocked it slightly, giving him a jaunty appearance. She hustled him out the door, and into the cool, predawn air.
He stood on the front lawn, underneath the boughs of a live oak. Instinctively, he knew she was standing in the doorway. The desire to turn around and look back at her was powerful, nearly overwhelming. But he feared if he gave in, he would run back to her arms and to hell with duty and honor.
With every ounce of effort and self-control he possessed, Will put one foot in front of the other. With each passing step, the next became easier until he turned the corner. He exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. With growing confidence, as his feet took him in the direction of the fort, he knew the best way back to Becky and the children was through Mexico.
Chapter 8
Two men pulled on their oars, propelling the skiff across the Rio Grande’s murky water. Three more were crowded in the belly of the boat. Jack Hays cast a worrying glance at the sky. Breaks in the clouds increased visibility as the moonlight poked through. “A little moonlight for us ain’t so bad, but what works for us just as easily could work against us,” he thought. The bow crunched softly into the soil on the river’s southern shore. He and the other men leapt from the small boat, rifles in hand. With an efficiency born of practice, they used branches and cuttings from nearby trees to mask the boat from casual eyes.
Hays caught a cautious look from the Rifle team leader, “Sir, are you sure you don’t want to wait here? Me and the boys will reconnoiter and let you kno
w what we find.”
Matching the other’s low pitch, Hays shot back, “Don’t start on me now, Sergeant. Might as well see for myself what Almonte’s choir boys have been up to, and my eyes are just as good as yours.” Without a backwards glance, he started walking through the stand of cottonwood trees, “Let’s go.”
They had landed a few miles upriver from the ford at Laredo. Hays was betting that Almonte’s soldados would be watching any potential low water crossing. They had picked the deepest stretch of river they could find to cross. As they headed south from the river, apart from their footfalls, the night was quiet.
Once Hays and his team reached their intended location, the night clouds had been driven off by the glimmer of sunlight coming from the east. Less than a mile separated them from the little town of Nuevo Laredo. Were it not for the dense copse of mesquite trees, Hays would have felt naked. He chuckled quietly, “No, without these mesquites, our asses would be as bare as a newborn baby.”
Twigs from the nearby mesquites were tied to their clothing, adding to the natural camouflage provided by their butternut jackets as they settled in to observe the Mexican fortifications. Hays had chosen the spot well, too far away for the typical soldado to come foraging for wood, but close enough that a man with a pair of the new model binoculars could see plenty of details more than a mile away.
