“Don’t let us keep you, Dad,” Robert said nervously.
Yank smiled. “It is a pleasure and honor to have met you young gentlemen.” With a glance at the landing boats along the rail, he walked toward the ladder and climbed slowly down.
“I apologize, gentlemen,” Robert said. “My father gets a bit carried away with his story telling.”
“Your father, sir,” Lee said, in an unpleasant tone, “is a giant who has spent his life walking among giants.”
“I would have liked to have heard his story,” Grant added.
“One should honor his father,” Jackson growled.
Meade shook his head and walked away.
~
“What’s the matter, Yank?” General Winfield Scott asked.
“I just embarrassed Robert.”
“How?”
“I started to tell a story about the day the Alamo was first besieged.” He shook his head. “I remember being embarrassed by my Uncle Thomas telling tales of dead heroes and forgotten battles to my friends. I hope he never noticed.”
The crack of cannon fire ripped across the water and the shock wave raised dust in the cabin. Yank looked at his watch. “Right on time.”
Scott walked to the porthole and looked out. “I hope this works.”
“It worked for Cortés,” Yank replied. “It’ll work for Winfield Scott.”
~
“Something wrong?” Colonel Jack Van Buskirk leaned on the ship’s rail next to his brother.
“Why do people dislike me, Jack?” Robert asked. “I try so hard but it doesn’t work. You, on the other hand, shun everyone and they adore you like Achilles.”
Jack watched the warships maneuvering to stay out of the range of the huge guns on the cliff at La Mancha. “Maybe you try too hard.”
“Could you give me an example of trying too hard?”
Jack turned to him. “How about trying to work your class rank into every conversation?”
“I don’t do that. I never mention that I was first in my class unless someone asks me.”
“You mention someone else’s class rank to get the conversation started in that direction. Everyone knows you do it. I heard your habit of doing it being discussed not more than an hour ago.”
“Is it wrong to be proud of my achievements?”
“I answered your question. Take it or leave it. Get some sleep. You may not get another opportunity for several days.”
They both turned toward the muzzle flash on the distant cliff. The sound reached them seconds later and then a cannonball splashed harmlessly into the sea, well short of the U.S. Navy frigate that had been the target.
“If the Mexicans had decent powder they could hold our ships off so that they couldn’t support us during the landing,” Jack said.
“They could get decent powder at any time,” Robert replied. “Why don’t we just take those guns out?”
“The only way up there is a trail cut into the cliff of a narrow canyon. Taking it would be very costly.”
“How big is the garrison?”
“Just the gunners and an infantry company or two. But that’s enough to defend it, even if it’s not an active fort anymore.”
“I wonder why it’s not active.”
“The Spanish built it to protect the silver shipments in the bay from pirates. The guns can’t depress far enough to hit anything close to shore and with the Mexicans’ bad powder, they can’t reach blue water. I’m going to bed. Good night, Robert.”
“Good night, Jack.”
~
“I can climb that cliff and silence the guns of La Mancha, sir,” Robert insisted. “All I need is a small boat and some explosives. I’ll row over, climb the cliff and blow the guns.”
General Twiggs was too seasick to continue to argue. “If you really think those guns are worth dying for, Lieutenant Van Buskirk, just tell Captain Zorn what you need.”
~
“Dad,” Jack whispered. “Are you asleep?”
“Not any more,” Yank growled.
“Take it outside, will, ya’, please,” an officer complained.
Yank signaled Jack to be quiet then pulled on his trousers and swung out of the bunk to lead Jack into the passageway outside the senior officers’ cabin. “What’s the matter?”
“Robert’s decided to singlehandedly take out the guns of La Mancha.”
“Slow down,” Yank said. “What guns?”
“Those long 42-pounders mounted on the cliff. It’s all my fault.”
“First explain to me what Robert’s doing and then we can fix the blame.”
“Robert and I were discussing the fact that those huge guns would wreak havoc on our landing if Mexican gunpowder wasn’t so bad. After I left him, he got a boat, some explosives and climbing gear, and then he rowed himself ashore.”
“In this storm?”
“It’s breaking up now.”
“The sea hasn’t noticed that yet. What got into him? You said it was your fault.”
“He was in a funk about people disliking him and I wasn’t very helpful.”
“So he’s suicidal?”
“Not so much suicidal as desperate to live up to our expectations.”
“Let me get the rest of my clothes.”
“There isn’t time to go after him. We’re landing in less than three hours.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that we go after him, yet. But I think better with my clothes on. Wait here.”
March 9, 1847
The Bay of Veracruz, Mexico
When the storm began to move out to sea, Robert was five hundred feet above the pounding surf and less than twenty feet from the gun ports on the cliff. His boat had been smashed on the rocks when he attempted to land on the narrow beach and most of his gear had gone with it. Now he had reached an outcropping of rock that he could not find a way around and he could not climb. When he looked down, he could see no way back.
Finally, when he could no longer trust his cold, stiff fingers, he looked up toward the top. “Help,” he called in his best Mexican accented Spanish. “Can someone throw me a rope?”
“Who is that?” a sleepy voice answered.
“Roberto,” Robert said hopefully.
“What are you doing out there, Roberto?”
He said a silent prayer that he’d learned his mother’s Mexican-Spanish accent well enough. “I went out to piss and the wind caught me. I’m on a ledge and about to fall. Throw me a rope, quickly.”
Some time passed and just as Robert was giving up hope, a thick rope slapped down the cliff. “I have it. Pull me up.”
With a loud creak, a windlass in the fort began taking up slack.
Robert waited until he’d been dragged into the gun port, then he drew his pistol, prayed that it wasn’t too wet and pulled the trigger.
~
Yank and Jack were on deck, looking west toward the cliff when the whole top seemed to burst into flames. An instant later the heat wave reached them and seconds after that the thunder of a powder magazine exploding woke the entire ship.
“Well,” Yank said, watching the fire-lighted clouds of smoke billowing into the starry sky. “We can still get a couple of hours of sleep before we hit the beach.”
“Sleep?” Jack looked incredulous. “How can you sleep now?”
Yank shrugged. “Whatever’s happened is in the past so there’s no longer anything we can do for Robert. At least we know he made it through the sea and accomplished his mission.”
March 8, 1847
Veracruz, Mexico
At 3:30 AM, the First Division, in special landing craft, began rowing toward the Mexican coast. General Worth was the first man on the beach. By 11:30 PM, Scott’s entire army was on shore. However, a new storm blew in causing the ships to move into deeper water before the siege guns could be landed.
Many horses were suffering from laminitis; Scott’s favorite mount had severe colic and even the healthiest animals were spooky. Before the voyage
, however, Abraham Van Buskirk had obtained several rolls of matting that enabled Yank to provide limited exercise for his three horses without the risk of them slipping on the deck. Yank had faithfully exercised, fed and groomed the horses every day and had seen to the way their slings were fitted. As a result of his efforts and Abraham’s, Yank was well mounted while the rest of the army was not.
March 9, 1847
Veracruz, Mexico
At dawn, Major General Robert Patterson’s division set out northward to envelop the city in a siege line from Collado to Playa Vergara. Patterson had expected to be in command of the entire Expedition and was vocally resentful of Scott’s appointment by President Polk. When given his orders, Patterson had argued that the city should be taken by storm, not by siege. Scott had insisted that the cost in dead and wounded would be too high and refused to discuss it further, thus adding to Patterson’s hostility.
One of Patterson’s brigade commanders, Brigadier General Gideon Pillow, who had been President Polk’s law partner, was so stridently opposed to Scott that Yank had felt it necessary to ride out with Pillow’s brigade in hope of quelling the disruptive feud and avoiding an open mutiny.
General Pillow’s task was to cut off the water supplied to Veracruz from the spring at Malibrán while Patterson marched on around the city. They had travelled about three miles inland when they came upon what they first thought was a Negro man in a tattered U.S. army uniform. Pillow spoke to the man then sent an aide back for Yank. Yank rode forward and reined in abruptly when he saw his son, face blacked by smoke and gun powder with singed hair and no eyebrows or eyelashes. “Good morning, Robert. Early for a stroll, isn’t it?” Yank said dryly.
“Good morning, Dad.” Robert saluted. “I hosted a little beach party and have been up all night.”
“Yes. I saw your fireworks.” Yank dismounted and led Beelzebub forward, handing the reins to Robert. “Take him back to the stables for me, please. He’s too temperamental among all these seasick cavalry mounts.”
“Have you another horse?”
“Yes. I brought three” He helped Robert up onto the saddle. “Find your brother when you get back, please. He’s been very worried about you.”
“Be careful, Dad.”
Yank slapped Beelzebub on the rump and stepped clear of any possible kick.
Robert was almost unseated but managed to wave.
General Pillow signaled the head wrangler to bring a remount forward for Yank. “That boy’s cut from the same cloth as your father, General.” Pillow nodded toward Robert who was racing back toward the beach.
“You could be right, Gideon. I never knew my father and I hardly know my son.” He accepted a boost from the wrangler and swung up into the cavalry issue saddle. A half an hour later they were in sight of Malibrán.
The town was not fortified but it was well defended by cavalry who were doubly effective against the sick, injured and jumpy horses of the Americans. When General Pillow’s horse threw him, Yank rallied Pillow’s men, formed them into two ranks and led a charge into the Mexican cavalry’s center. As he crashed into the first rank attacking and defending in all directions with his sword, he soon realized that there was no one behind him.
A Mexican soldier with a machete managed to get close enough to hack the back of Yank’s right hand. He switched his sword to his left, drew his pistol with his right, cut his way through the first rank, shot the commanding officer and immediately had his horse shot from under him. While he was on the ground, he received two bullet wounds to his back and a sword stab to his left thigh.
March 10, 1847
Chapultepec Castle, Mexico
When informed of the American landing, Santa Anna was livid. “You knew of this.” He pointed a finger at Marina who was dressed like a Spanish lady and seated near the terrace doors of her well appointed apartment.
“Yes, of course I knew,” she replied calmly. “Are you saying that you did not?”
“How would I know?” he spluttered.
She gave him a theatrical, wide-eyed look of amazement. “You would have to be the biggest fool since Montezuma if you did not know it.” She shook her head. “You dare to call yourself the Napoleon of the West? If the people and your soldiers ever learned what a fool you are, they would rise up and tear you to shreds. In all likelihood you will be saved from that by the United States taking you as a prisoner of war as Texas did.”
He stared at her, unable to find words. His face was beet red and the veins in his neck and temples stood out. “I will take a hundred thousand men and crush these invaders,” he stammered at last. “And then I will ride triumphantly into the zócalo, dragging you behind my horse where I will personally hang you. When you are dead I will let the people beat your corpse like a piñata until there is nothing left but food for the crows.”
“Do not bother threatening me, old man with one leg,” she said scornfully. “There is nothing that you can say to frighten me. Death is stalking you. I can smell it on you. You stink of death, fear and of cork.”
March 12-29, 1847
Veracruz, Mexico
On March 12th, when General Patterson had completed the siege line, he returned to the command post and told General Scott that Yank Van Buskirk had been wounded, captured and taken to Fort Ulúa.
On March 18th, the siege guns at last arrived. Captain Robert E. Lee placed them seven hundred yards from the city walls and began the bombardment of Fortress Veracruz.
On March 22nd, Congreve rockets set Fort Santiago ablaze.
On March 24th, Persifor F. Smith’s brigade captured a Mexican courier who was carrying reports from Santa Anna informing the commanders at Veracruz that he was marching an army from Mexico City to reinforce them. Scott sent Colonel Harney and a company of dragoons to scout Santa Anna’s position. Harney made contact with Santa Anna and sent back a call for reinforcements, stating that Santa Anna was in command of about two thousand. General Patterson, with volunteers, soon arrived and Santa Anna withdrew.
On March 25th, the Mexicans called for a cease-fire to plead with Scott that the women and children be permitted to leave the city. Scott refused, continued the bombardment and began to prepare to storm the fort.
On March 29th, General Morales officially surrendered the Mexican garrisons in Veracruz and Fort Ulúa. That day the Stars and Stripes were raised over San Juan de Ulúa and Yank Van Buskirk walked out, dressed in rags, to rejoin his sons and countrymen, as if nothing untoward had happened.
“Jack has yellow fever,” Robert said after awkwardly embracing his father.
“How bad is it?” Yank asked.
“Bad. His liver’s affected. He’s very jaundiced.”
“Any bleeding from his eyes?”
“Not yet. How bad are you?”
“I’m good. A cut on my hand, one on my leg and two minor bullet wounds in my back.”
“Minor bullet wounds?” Robert raised an eyebrow.
“As you demonstrably know, Mexican gunpowder is unreliable. What you may not know is that it often flashes back causing serious injuries. The officers that shot me had their pistols loaded with half charges in hope that they wouldn’t get their hands blown off. The bullets barely penetrated my skin. An Indian in the dungeon dug them out for me and closed the wounds with a hot iron.”
“Your hand looks very bad.”
“It looks worse than it is. It’ll be fine after I soak it in whiskey, but I’m going to tell Win Scott that I need some convalescent time so that I can stay with Jack.”
“Do you want me to stay too?”
“No. You go on with the army. If Jack pulls through, I’ll send him to Thomas and Jane’s ranch.”
“Do think he might pull through?” Robert asked hopefully.
“Over the years I’ve learned some things about yellow fever that might help him. Either way it should be over in three or four days and I’ll catch up with you.”
“Santa Anna’s set up a strong defensive position about halfway bet
ween here and Mexico City. Preliminary reports say that he’s got twelve thousand men. We’ll probably be there for some time.”
“Don’t worry, Robert. I’ll find you. I need to wash off some of this filth and rid myself of all the insects that have nested in my hair before I see Jack. Please go tell him that I’m fine. He’s the family worrier.”
April 3, 1847
Brownsville, Texas
Lucky’s Saloon suddenly went silent and Savannah looked up to see a U.S. Army captain and a Texas Ranger who had just come into the tent. She got up and walked to meet them. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
The Ranger took off his hat. “We’re a-lookin’ fer a fella name of William Van Buskirk. He sometimes goes by the handle of Lucky Billy Van.”
“He was captured by the Mexican army,” she said.
“We were told that he’s the proprietor of this establishment,” the army captain said.
She nodded. “We’re partners. But, like I said, he was captured and I haven’t seen him since.”
“When was this?”
“Umm.” She wrinkled her nose. “Early October, I think.”
The two officers exchanged a glance.
“That would of been when Chino Cortina attacked the camp, I reckon,” the Ranger said.
“Yes. That’s what the army told me when I reported that Billy was taken.”
“You reported it?” the captain asked.
“Yes.” She nodded. “They didn’t seem to care since Billy’s an outlaw.”
“How comes y’ even told the army, since you knowed he’s a wanted man?” the Ranger asked.
She shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
The captain looked around. “Well, I’d bet that you own this entire place now.”
Home of the Brave Page 31
