Home of the Brave

by Jeffry Hepple

  “We wasn’t exactly on the best o’ terms last night, so I dined alone on hardtack, jerky and cold coffee out here in the barn.”

  “Once again I apologize for our rudeness. I’ve told Sarah Knight, the woman that runs the officer’s mess, that you are to be served as an officer.”

  “Thank ye kindly. I could use a good, hot, woman-cooked meal almost as much as I could use a bad, hot woman.”

  “Then you’ll be happy to meet Sarah Knight,” Brown chuckled. “Please come and talk to me more after you’ve had breakfast.”

  Whipple watched the major leave then flipped a coin to the corporal. “Steal some them officer’s oats fer my horse, will y’ young feller?”

  “How do I keep him from bitin’ me?”

  “Well if you got a feedbag full o’ oats in yer hand I don’t reckon he’ll be suspicious of y’ much. Where do I find the officer’s mess?”

  He pointed. “The big covered wagon in the center. You can’t miss it.”

  “Obliged.” Whipple walked out into the sun.

  Fort Texas was a five-bastion star-fortress built of earth and corduroyed with palm tree trunks. The center of the star was a pentagon with gun positions on each of the flat sides, behind each of the bastions. Although hastily constructed of temporary material, the design was far superior to any of the rectangular or round forts in the region constructed by the Mexicans, or by the Spanish before them.

  Whipple found the Conestoga wagon by the cook fires but there was no one in sight. “Hello in the wagon,” he called.

  A woman’s face appeared in the back. “Hello yer own-self.”

  “I’m Captain Josiah Whipple. Major Brown said I might get some chuck if I was to come a-callin’. But if I’m troublin’ y’ Ma’am, I still got me some hardtack and jerky in m’ saddlebags.”

  “No trouble.” She climbed down from the wagon and walked toward him, holding out her hand. “I’m Sarah Knight. The cook, nurse and laundress of this here detachment.”

  “Well now,” Whipple said in admiration, as he shook her hand. “Yer a big un and that’s a fact. Right handsome too, if you don’t mind me observin’.”

  “I never have minded getting’ a compliment.” The woman was indeed looking Whipple, who was six feet two inches tall, right in the eye. “They call me the Great Western.”

  Whipple gave her a puzzled look.

  “The SS Great Western. Biggest steamship ever to float.”

  Whipple got a good laugh from that.

  “I remember you,” she said. “Guess you don’t remember me.”

  He looked at her closer, pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “I think you must be wrong about knowin’ me, Ma’am, ‘cause I sure couldn’t never forget you if I’d seen you before.”

  “It was after Lake Okeechobee. You got the fever after you was wounded.”

  “Say, now. You couldn’t of been that angel what took care of me, could ya?”

  “I don’t know about bein’ no angel, but I took care o’ you ‘till they packed you out.”

  “Well, I’m smooth obliged to y’ Ma’am. And I’m plumb sorry I didn’t recognize y’ from back then. Sure seems funny that I don’t. I usual have a knack for rememberin’ folks, and you bein’ so tall and all.” He shook his head. “Don’t see how I could of forgot ya’.”

  “You was flat on yer back so I don’t recon you’d o’ noticed that I’m tall. Besides, I was younger and a mite prettier then and you was delirious most of the time.”

  “So you been followin’ Zach Taylor’s camp all o’ this time?”

  “My husband was in the Seventh.”

  “Was?”

  “He died when we was leavin’ Jefferson Barracks. General Taylor let me stay on as the laundress. Shouldn’t of ‘cause I ain’t a soldier’s wife no more. But he looked the other way since I been a camp follower for so long.”

  “Sorry about yer husband.”

  “Don’t bother. I don’t miss him much.”

  “So you come down the River from St. Louis did ya?”

  She nodded.

  “Could you tell me exactly how you got here? I got a good reason fer askin’.”

  “I don’t mind tellin’ and I don’t think it’s no military secret. I brung this wagon cross country from the Nueces River.”

  “Before that, I mean?”

  She shrugged. “From Jefferson Barracks to Corpus Christi Bay on a river boat steamer.”

  “With Zach? I mean, was you on the same steamboat with General Taylor?”

  “Yup.”

  “Did you perchance hear tell of a Louisiana senator name of Slidell that was maybe on that same boat?”

  She nodded. “Him and some folks got aboard in New Orleans and then went on to Mexico City. They stopped for a bit at the camp on the Nueces.”

  “Was there a lady with ‘em name of Van Buskirk?”

  “Oh yer talking about Marina.”

  “Yes Ma’am. That’s the very lady. I take it you talked with her some?”

  “I did. I met up with her in St. Louis. We hit it off. Smartest lady I ever did see. Speaks every kind o’ language there is. French, perfect Spanish just like a don, or she can talk street Tex-Mex. Don’t matter to her. Latin even. If that don’t beat all.”

  “Did she happen to say how she was plannin’ to get up to her son’s place on the Colorado after she come on back from Mexico City?”

  Mrs. Knight looked thoughtful. “Well no, but she said she’d see me again on the way up to visit her son, so I reckon she was comin’ through here.”

  “So she knew you was comin’ here, did she?”

  Mrs. Knight nodded. “We was movin’ out that very next day.”

  “Would she know exactly where this fort is now? I mean, it weren’t even built then.”

  The woman pointed south. “Is that Matamoros?”

  “It is.”

  “Then they put this fort in the right place and Marina knows where to look. Say, I’m lettin’ you starve whilst I gab. Sit you down at a table and I’ll pour you some coffee. I made it over a hour ago so it’s gonna be a bit stout.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He sat down.

  “How many eggs do you want?”

  “I could eat a half of a dozen but you better start rationin’ what you got.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “There’s a Mexican General upriver a piece who’s probly working his way down here so as to surround us.”

  “Do tell? Does Major Brown know that?”

  “I told him. Whether he believes what I say or not is a different story.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “A week, maybe a bit more if the Mexican general decides to bring cannons across the river.”

  “What’s yer guess?”

  “My guess is that he’ll figure them cannons over to Matamoros is all he needs to blow us outta here.”

  “Could he be right?”

  “Doubt it. This here little fort ain’t gonna be no pushover. If somebody gave me a choice to assault it or defend it, I’d pick defend.”

  “General Taylor his own-self told them how and where to build it,” she said proudly.

  “Did you know that him and General Van Buskirk, that’s Marina’s husband, is good friends?”

  “Yup, I saw him and Marina talkin’ together on the steamer. They seemed like it. Friends, I mean. Suppose he’ll come back if we’re attacked? General Taylor I mean.”

  “Oh yeah. He’ll hear the guns and he’ll come a runnin’. But there’s no tellin’ what he’ll run into on the way.”

  “How about you?” she asked.

  “How about me, what?”

  “You stickin’ or skedaddlin’.”

  “I come down here to fetch Marina Van Buskirk, so I guess I’ll stick ‘till she either shows up or somebody tells me she went north some other way.”

  “You ain’t scared?”

  “Naw. I spent some time when I was a boy bein’ scared, but none of the
stuff that I was a-scared of ever happened. Finally I decided being scared was a waste o’ time and I give it up.”

  She laughed. “You a marryin’ kind o’ man?”

  “Nope. You the lookin’ for a husband kind o’ woman?”

  “Yup. Gotta have one if I’m gonna keep on camp followin’ and I kinda like sharin’ m’ bed with a man.”

  “Well if I was the marryin’ kind I’d be obliged to ask fer yer hand.”

  She gave him a smile.

  “And I’d be happy to share yer bed ‘till you find you a husband.”

  “Six eggs?”

  He made a face. “Thought we just talked about rationin’ them eggs.”

  “Eggs don’t keep no way. We got plenty of beans if we get besieged.”

  “Six eggs is about right.”

  May 3, 1846

  Fort Texas, Republic of Texas

  The artillery bombardment began at dawn. Fort Texas returned fire with four 18-pounders under command of Captain Loud and four galloper guns of Lieutenant Braxton Bragg’s light artillery company. The noise was terrific.

  “Good mornin’, Sarah,” Captain Whipple shouted over the reports.

  “Good mornin’ to you Josiah,” she replied in a very loud voice. “Coffee?” She put her hand over the cup to keep out the sand and palm wood splinters produced by a ricocheted cannonball and then offered the cup to him.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He took the cup from her. “Looks like yer fixin’ to have a brisk laundry business.” He pointed at several terrified infantrymen who had taken shelter under her wagon.

  “I told ‘em what you told me, that one place was as good as another, but they didn’t listen.”

  He sat down at the table and sipped his coffee. “Got any eggs left?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Might as well cook ‘em before they’re all busted.”

  “How many?”

  “All of ‘em.”

  She chuckled. “Even you can’t eat that many eggs, Josiah.”

  “I was thinkin’ that servin’ everybody breakfast might calm ‘em down a bit.”

  “This here is the officer’s mess.”

  He shrugged. “There’s a handful o’ officers, a passel of scared rankers and a bunch of eggs that are fixin’ to go to waste.”

  “I’ll cook ‘em if you’ll serve ‘em.”

  “Might work better the other way around. Havin’ a woman servin’ ‘em breakfast could be all they need to find their courage. That’ll make a big difference when the Mess-kins charge.”

  “When will they charge?”

  “When they think these boys don’t have no more fight left. Mess-kins ain’t kind to captives, by-the-by. Ask any o’ the dead folks from the Alamo or Goliad.”

  “You cook, I’ll serve.”

  Whipple started toward the wagon but was slammed to the ground by the impact of a huge explosion. Dazed, he managed to crawl to Mrs. Knight who was half buried in mud. “You okay?” he asked, digging away mud with both hands.

  “Yeah,” she managed. “I think I still have all my parts. What the hell was that?”

  “A secondary explosion, I think. They must of hit one of our powder stores with a shell somehow.” He got to his feet and offered her his hand. “Can you stand up?”

  She sat up and took his hand. “I need to get over to where that explosion went off and see if I can help the wounded.”

  “I’ll do that. You make them eggs.”

  “This don’t seem like quite the right time fer servin’ eggs.”

  Whipple was looking toward the ruins of a small powder bunker. “This is the perfect time for servin’, but maybe you should serve coffee with a little whiskey to sweeten it instead o’ eggs.”

  She tried to see what he was looking at through the smoke. “What?”

  “Seems like Major Brown was openin’ the bunker when that shell lit off. These men is gonna be scared without a commander. We gotta do what we can to prop up them two young artillery officers. I’ll go pick up the pieces of the major and you try to prop up their courage with coffee and whisky.”

  ~

  At Port Isabel, General Zachery Taylor had heard the guns and was already marching back toward Fort Texas. Mexican General Arista left fourteen guns at Matamoros and fifteen-hundred men across the river on the Texas side under the command of General Francisco Mejia. Then he rushed out to meet Taylor.

  May 8, 1846

  Palo Alto, Republic of Texas

  To avoid what he knew would be a devastating bayonet charge from General Taylor’s American forces; General Arista arrayed his three thousand men in a line over a mile wide.

  Taylor however, had weapons and tactics unknown to Arista and he deployed his horse-drawn galloper guns in a Flying Artillery maneuver that had been perfected by his artillery officer, Major Samuel Ringgold.

  Arista, seeing his infantry being cut to pieces, sent his eleven-hundred strong cavalry to flank the artillery. The American guns, however, were too maneuverable and they followed the cavalry with deadly accuracy.

  By sundown, the Mexicans had two hundred-fifty casualties to the American’s fifty-four. One of the American dead was Major Samuel Ringgold.

  The next day the Americans woke to find the Mexican Army gone. Taylor immediately set out in pursuit.

  May 9, 1846

  Resaca de la Palma, Republic of Texas

  From Palo Alto, General Zachery Taylor, with only seventeen hundred combat ready troops, followed Arista’s reinforced army of over four thousand to a palm grove near a partially dry riverbed. The initial fighting was fierce and for a short time it appeared that the American attack might be repelled. But a cavalry charge from Colonel Charles A. May turned the Mexican flank and the Mexican troops fled across the river toward Matamoros.

  ~

  “We captured Arista’s writing desk, his silver service, the colors of Mexico’s Tampico Battalion, all their baggage and twenty artillery pieces,” Colonel May said to General Taylor.

  Taylor looked up as an aide approached. “Yes?”

  “There’s a Texas Ranger here who says he knows you, sir. Apparently he was here in Fort Texas during the bombardment.”

  “That’s Fort Brown, now,” May corrected.

  “Yes, sir. I forgot.”

  “Did he give you his name?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes, sir. Captain Josiah Whipple.”

  “Send him in,” Taylor said with a grin. He looked at May. “Do you remember Colonel Whipple?”

  “Yes, sir. Who could forget him?” May chuckled.

  “Dang,” Whipple said as he came into the tent. “I had a easier time seein’ the King last time I was to London.” He shook hands with both men. “Sure was thoughtful of you two to show up at last. A week of getting’ bombarded was just about as much as I needed.”

  “Sit down and tell us what you’re doing here, Josiah,” Taylor suggested.

  Whipple pulled a chair away from the table, turned it around and sat astraddle it. “I come down here to fetch Yank Van Buskirk’s wife back north.”

  Taylor and May exchanged a glance that wasn’t lost on Whipple.

  “Marina ain’t been kilt or wounded, has she?” Whipple asked in alarm.

  Both men shook their heads.

  “Then what?”

  “I’ve asked Marina to act as our interpreter,” Taylor said. “She speaks Spanish, Nahuatl, Mayan and several other dialects plus a number of Indian languages.”

  “We’ll never find another like her,” May added.

  Whipple shrugged. “I guess if she’s agreed there’s no more to be said. But the woman must be seventy, Zach.”

  “Don’t you love how he has nothing to say except one more thing?” Taylor asked May.

  “She might be sixty,” May said to Whipple, “but she looks and acts like she’s younger than any of us.”

  “Yank’s seventy,” Taylor added, “but Marina was just a girl when he married her.”

  Whipple knew be
tter but decided not to argue. “I’ll need to get a note from her to Tom; otherwise he’ll skin me out and nail my hide on the barn door for leavin’ her here alone.”

  “She’s in Matamoros,” Taylor replied. “We’ll advance there as soon as we’ve buried our dead and cared for our wounded.”

  “Ain’t that dangerous for her to be alone in Matamoros?” Whipple asked.

  Taylor shook his head. “She passes for a native. She’s perfectly safe and providing us with much needed intelligence.”

  “She sent us a note earlier,” May added. “It seems that Arista’s been relieved of his command. We’ll probably face little or no resistance in Matamoros.”

  “That ain’t no big surprise that Arista’s been relieved, but it weren’t really his fault, poor bugger. That Mess-kin gunpowder ain’t no account. The range on their muskets is about half what ours is.”

  “They’re carrying the same Brown Bess that the British carried in the Revolutionary War,” May agreed. “A poor weapon and worse powder.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I say that the primary reason for Arista’s defeat was the brilliance of the opposing general,” Taylor offered.

  “Oh hell,” Whipple said. “That reminds me. I heard Sam Ringgold was kilt. Is it true?”

  Taylor nodded. “He died at Port Isabel.”

  “Dang,” Whipple said.

  May 9, 1846

  Matamoros, Tamaulipas, Mexico

  “Fold.” William Van Buskirk threw his cards down in disgust.

  The vaquero sitting across the poker table from him raked in the pot and grinned. “You ain’t so lucky today Señor Lucky.”

  “I can’t concentrate with those damned guns,” William muttered.

  “They tell me yer a pistolero,” another man said.

  William ignored him and stood up.

  “Hey, Bud. I’m talkin’ to you.”

  William drew his pistol and put the barrel against the man’s forehead. “Any more questions?”

  “Nope.” The man raised his hands.

  William kept the pistol in his hand and walked out of the saloon to the dusty street.

  A young woman wearing a tastelessly short, feathered dress and matching feathers in her hair ran out to catch him. “Where are you going, Billy?”