“I’ll go with him,” Yank said to Thomas. “You stay here.”
“Somebody needs to get real information from the Alamo,” Thomas replied.
“I’ll send Deaf Smith,” Houston said. “If anybody can get in and back out of San Antonio de Béxar, it’s him.”
“Who?” Thomas asked.
“He’s a guide, a scout and a spy,” Yank replied.
“I could have guessed that, Dad,” Thomas said in a sharp tone. “I want to know if I need to send my own scout.”
“Tell my bonehead son more about Deaf Smith please, Sam,” Yank grumbled.
Thomas started to argue but instead turned his attention to Houston.
“Erastus Smith, know as Deaf Smith because of his poor hearing,” Houston supplied, mirroring Yank’s irritation. “He’s been here forever; he’s married to Guadalupe Ruiz Duran, a widow with three children. He’s well accepted in both Texian and Tejano societies and he knows Texas terrain. But send your own scout if you want to, Tom.” He shook his head. “Everybody’s a God damned general, in Texas.”
March 13, 1836
Gonzales, Texas
“Deef Smith just come in the gate, General Houston,” the aide announced. “He’s got a woman, a baby and a Negro slave with him.”
Houston returned his salute. “Tell Smith to report to me, have the others seen to, and then find General Van Buskirk and ask him if I might have the pleasure of his company.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yank arrived two minutes later, just ahead of Smith.
Like most of the army of Texas, Deaf Smith wore no identifiable uniform. “The woman’s name is Susannah Dickinson, sir.” He saluted and waited for Houston to answer it. “Santa Anna gave her a message for you.” He fumbled in his pocket for the message.
Houston took the page from Smith. “It’s dated seven March, 1836. It says: ‘From the General-in-Chief of the Army of Operations of the Mexican Republic, to the inhabitants of Texas. Citizens: The causes which have conducted to this frontier a part of the Mexican Army are not unknown to you, a parcel of audacious adventurers, maliciously protected by some inhabitants of a neighboring republic dared to invade our territory, with the intention of dividing amongst themselves the fertile lands that are contained in the spacious Department of Texas…’ What a load of horseshit.” Houston tossed the document across his desk toward Yank. “If you’re interested, read the rest.”
“I’m not interested.” Yank looked at Smith. “What’s the news from the Alamo?” he asked loudly enough for Smith to hear him.
“That’s it, General.” Smith pointed at the letter. “There ain’t no more news.”
“Did you talk to Travis?” Houston asked.
“He’s dead, sir,” Smith replied. “They’re all dead. Santa Anna’s done killed every livin’ soul except Mrs. Dickinson, her child and a slave of Colonel Travis by the name of Joe. I brung ‘em, all three, back with me.”
“All?” Houston gasped, finally understanding the full implications of what Smith had been saying.
“Santa Anna was wavin’ the blood-banner, General. No quarter. Now, he says, he’s gonna butcher us all.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t know, sir. But he’s usin’ his flyin’ columns so he might be right on my heels.”
Houston looked at Yank. “What do you think?”
Yank shrugged. “You can’t defeat him with a handful of raw volunteers, Sam.”
“I know, but…”
“Your only viable choice is t burn Gonzales and retreat back toward Louisiana. Leav Santa Anna nothing but scorched earth. Train your men on the march.”
“These men volunteered to fight, not retreat, Yank. If I try that I’ll soon have open rebellion on my hands.”
“Retreating and keeping the army together is going to take a great leader, Sam. I think you’re the one that can do it. Otherwise, Texas is lost.”
“Okay,” Houston said with resolve. “We’ll need to link up with Fannin at Victoria.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,” Smith said. “Colonel Fannin ain’t at Victoria.”
“He must be; he left Goliad the day before yesterday,” Houston replied.
“The Mexicans are in Victoria, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty near,” Smith replied.
“I’ll go,” Yank said.
March 27, 1836
The lower Colorado River, Texas
Leaving Gonzales in flames on March 13th, Houston began his retreat toward the Sabine River where American General Pendleton Gaines had assembled an army to protect Louisiana in case Santa Anna intended to invade the United States. As Houston marched, he drilled the volunteers and they complained.
With Santa Anna on his heels, Houston reached the lower Colorado River and found it swollen by the spring rains. Camping on the west bank, he arrayed his green troops in a defensive formation then sent details in both directions to gather any boats they could find.
On the 27th, with the last of his troops and supplies across, he ordered the boats to be burned.
“Wait,” Houston shouted. “Don’t burn that boat.”
The men with torches backed away.
Houston pointed across the river. “That’s General Van Buskirk. You men go get him.”
“We done burned all the barges, sir. There ain’t no way to get his horse across.”
Houston was about to answer when Yank walked his horse into the water and slipped off the saddle. “That stupid bastard,” he grumbled.
Yank and the horse were being swept downstream but at the same time, they were making progress across the river. “Burn that last boat and move out.” Houston swung onto his horse and cantered downstream, matching Yank’s pace in the current until he reached a bend in the river where both horse and rider made landfall. “I was gonna send a boat for you.”
“Didn’t need one.” Yank sat down and took off his boots to pour water out of them. “Santa Anna’s just down the road.” He tossed his head.
“I know.”
“I’m not sure where Urrea is, he may be trying to flank you. He knows where you’re going.”
“Which way is he from here?”
“North.”
“Then we’ll head south toward the coast. What about Victoria?”
“Smith was right. The Mexicans have it.”
“Are you going to tell me or make me guess?”
“Just give me a minute to wring some of this water out and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“You can talk while you wring.”
“Well, instead of starting his retreat on the 11th, like he was supposed to, Fannin sent Captain King and most of the fort’s wheels to evacuate the civilians from Refugio.”
“Stupid bastard.”
“Two days later, Captain King walked smack into Urrea’s army and sent a messenger back to Fannin for help. Fannin responded by sending Colonel Ward and the Georgia Battalion, but before they got there, Urrea surrounded King and King surrendered.”
“With the carts and wagons,” Houston grumbled.
“Yes, but it gets worse than that,” Yank said. “Urrea executed King and all but one of his men by firing squad.”
“Jesus. Executed? When you said worse I didn’t think you meant that much worse.”
“You don’t know what worse means yet.” Yank took off the horse’s saddle and began rubbing the animal down.
“Well, go on,” Houston urged.
“Give me a second. This isn’t easy to tell, Sam. I saw most of it with my own eyes. There wasn’t a thing I could do but…” He shrugged. “It isn’t easy to tell.”
Houston dismounted and took a dry cloth and a currycomb from his saddle bag. “Let me do that.”
Yank nodded and backed away to take off his shirt. “Urrea’s advance units got to Goliad on the 18th. I tried to get past them to warn Fannin but they saw me and I had to run for my life. At Coleto Creek, that’s maybe five miles from t
he presidio, I stopped to rest my horse and I saw Fannin surrounded by Urrea’s cavalry. I guess Fannin heard them shooting at me and finally began to withdraw from the fort. But, as you said, he had no carts or wagons so he was moving very slowly.” He looked at Houston. “There was nothing I could do.”
“I know. Go on.”
“Fannin put up a hell of a fight. By the time the sun had gone down, there were maybe two hundred Mexican casualties and less than a dozen Texans. I was hoping he’d make a break for the tree line where I was hiding but he didn’t.”
“He probably didn’t want to leave his wounded.”
“Could be. In his position I would have left them to save the others.”
“So what happened? Fannin surrendered?”
“Let me finish, God damn it.”
“Okay, okay. Calm down.”
“The next morning Urrea’s main body arrived with three artillery pieces and Fannin surrendered.” Yank looked away. “Shit.”
“They were executed?”
Yank nodded. “I watched the whole thing. I’ve been a soldier my whole life and I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in battle, but I’ve never seen anything so cold-blooded anywhere. After the firing squad fired their volley, some of Fannin’s men were still alive. They bludgeoned any that might be able to put up a fight, piled the dead and wounded like cordwood and set them on fire. I could hear their screams from a half mile away.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not finished.”
Houston looked at him.
“Ward’s Georgia Battalion, which Fannin sent out to reinforce King, was cut off so Ward retreated to Victoria figuring that Fannin was there. When he got there, the Mexicans sent out a messenger to tell Ward that Fannin had surrendered and that his men would be exchanged if they surrendered too. Ward took a vote, surrendered his weapons and was marched back to Goliad where his whole command was executed and burned just like Fannin’s people.”
“You can’t tell this to anybody, Yank,” Houston said in horror. “These men hate all this retreating and they’re near mutiny as it is. If they find out about this, I won’t be able to hold them back.”
Yank nodded. “How’s the training coming?”
“Slow. They’re not an army that can stand up to Santa Anna yet, but they might be soon. If I can just hold them together long enough.”
“How about your officers?”
“Fine, except I’ve had to threaten to shoot most of them. So far I’ve been lucky and learned of any planned rebellion in advance, but my luck might run out any time.”
“You can do this, Sam. I’m confident.”
“I’ll feel better knowing you’re here watching my back.”
April 21, 1836
San Jacinto River, Texas
Sam Houston faced Texas Secretary of War Thomas J. Rusk across a camp desk. “I have Santa Anna now, Mr. Secretary. We’ll end it here, today.”
“President Burnet has some serious concerns, General.”
“If we burn Vince’s Bridge, Santa Anna’s trapped,” Houston insisted.
“If you’ll forgive me, General,” Rusk said. “If you burn that bridge, you’re trapped too.”
“Except I’m not going to need to retreat.”
“I’d be much more confident in that statement if you had won even a single battle against General Santa Anna or General Cos. You’re facing them both, you know. And you’re outnumbered.”
“This isn’t the same army that I left Gonzales with, sir. They would have been destroyed then, but they’re well trained and confident now.”
Rusk shook his head. “I don’t know, General.”
“Let me put it another way, Mr. Secretary. There’s going to be a battle today whether you, President Burnet, or I like it or not. These men are sick and tired of retreating. When we march through a town, we’re jeered as cowards. If I tried to hold them back, they’d shoot me dead. After I was dead they’d attack Santa Anna without any leaders. Is that what you want?”
Rusk turned in his chair and looked toward Yank, who was sitting silently in the corner of the tent. “What do you think, General Van Buskirk?”
“Don’t ask me,” Yank said. “I can’t figure out why you’re even having this conversation. President Burnet has been hounding General Houston to stop and make a stand and now that he’s doing it, you want to discuss it.”
“I have a responsibility…”
“Did you come here to relieve General Houston?”
“Not exactly but…”
“Then you must have come to warn him that he’d be relieved if he didn’t make a stand. Burnet isn’t creative enough to have given you any other orders.”
“Yes but…”
“So you delivered your message and General Houston is making a stand.”
“See here, sir,” Rusk said angrily. “If you would let me finish a sentence I might be able to explain.”
Yank shrugged. “Finish.”
“General Houston is not suggesting a stand; he’s suggesting an attack against a superior and fortified force.”
“Fortified?” Yank made a face. “Santa Anna’s stacked some baggage and a few sandbags to protect his infantry. He’s so over-confident that he hasn’t even posted lookouts. You asked me what I think. I think this army can defeat the army of Santa Anna, capture or kill the president and dictator of Mexico and end this war today.”
Rusk looked at the map for a long time then nodded. “Very well.”
“You need to get out before we burn the bridge,” Houston said to Rusk, in obvious relief.
“No thank you,” Rusk replied. “I’ll stay. Perhaps you could find me a sword?”
“I can.” Houston nodded then turned toward the tent flap. “Officers call,” he shouted.
Within minutes, the tent was filled with chattering and excited men.
“This is very simple,” Houston said to his officers. “Nothing fancy. Colonel Sherman?”
“Sir.” Colonel Sidney Sherman raised his hand.
“Your Second Volunteer Regiment will be on the far left.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Colonel Burleson?”
“Here, sir,” Colonel Edward Burleson replied.
“Your First Volunteer Regiment will be next in line on Sherman’s right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Major Hockley will command the two cannons in the center.”
“The Twin Sisters, sir.” Major George W. Hockley said with a grin.
Houston smiled. “Yes of course. I stand corrected. And we thank the citizens of Cincinnati, Ohio for donating them to our noble cause.” He looked toward the rear of the tent. “Major Hockley’s Twin Sisters will be supported by the four infantry companies of Captain Karnes.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Henry Wax Karnes replied with a grin.
“The right wing will be Colonel Millard’s Texas regulars.”
“Very well, sir.” Colonel Henry Millard offered a sweeping bow.
“On our extreme right our cavalry under command of Colonel Mirabeau B. Lamar will move to turn the enemy’s left flank.” He smiled. “For those of you who do not know Colonel Mirabeau B. Lamar, he was Private Mirabeau B. Lamar until yesterday when he outfoxed Santa Anna’s cavalry and won us this lovely position. You can congratulate him on his promotion after we whip these Mexicans.”
~
Hidden from view by the high ground between the two armies and a row of trees, Houston formed his battle lines. Most of the men were dressed in buckskin breeches that varied in color from yellow to black, depending upon the age of the garment and the habits of the wearer. Foot coverings, if any, were shoes or moccasins with only a few officers in leather boots. Hats, shirts and ponchos were widely varied in color and appearance. The only more or less uniform articles were a Spanish gourd that each man carried as a canteen and a U.S. army ammo pouch.
At about 4:30 PM, when Deaf Smith rode back to the lines from the flames of Vince’s Bridge, Houston’s ar
my stepped forward to the tune of a fife. As they topped the grade, Houston raised his sword and broke into a canter, leading his running infantry. The surprised Mexicans, most of whom were enjoying an afternoon siesta, could hardly believe their eyes and no warning was given until Houston bellowed, “Remember the Alamo!”
The cry was instantly repeated by nine hundred voices.
The first volley was fired by the Texans at a distance of only a few yards.
Santa Anna’s army was professional. His soldiers quickly overcame the shock and ran for their weapons. But the Texans were among them and no amount of shouting by officers could manage to form them into effective ranks.
Houston was shot in the ankle and lost his seat. His aide rushed forward and helped him remount but Houston had ridden only a few more yards when his horse was shot from under him.
A few Mexican cavalrymen were able to mount their horses bareback, but they could not muster an effective force. For a moment, General Manuel Fernández Castrillón was able to organize some infantrymen, but when he was shot and killed the troops fled backward into Santa Anna’s ragged defensive line.
Houston had been brought a remount, but by the time he was back in the saddle, he had lost control of his infantry. The Texans, hungry for revenge, were driving the panicked Mexican soldiers into the rivers to drown or killing them with bullets or bayonets when they surrendered. As he rode forward, shouting at the men to stop the needless slaughter, Houston’s latest horse was hit and went down, pinning Houston’s leg beneath its body.
Seeing General Houston fall, Secretary of War Rusk rode forward but was forced to stop and receive the sword of General Juan Almonte, who surrendered his four hundred remaining men.
At the same time, Houston who had been fighting to extract his leg from under the dead horse, redoubled his effort when he saw a Mexican soldier with a pike racing toward him. Houston had lost his sword and both his pistols were empty so he could do nothing but watch his executioner rush toward him. However, the moment that the Mexican raised his arm to strike, he was bowled over sideways and fell into the grass, twitching.
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