Hawk Banks - Founding Texas

by D. Allen Henry

Chapter 17

  Surrendering to Death

  Freedom is never free.

  -Anonymous

  South of Coleto Creek-Mid-March, 1836

  Colonel William Fannin surveyed the hills to the south. For the thousandth time, he regretted that he had been unable to complete his military training at West Point. Still, he had continued to study when the opportunity arose, and one thing he had repeatedly read was that wars were always affected by military blunders.

  He realized now that he had possibly made a mistake. Perhaps he should have kept going when he had attempted to reach the Texians at Bexar. Now they were all dead. Barring that, he might have led his troops northwards sooner. In either case, he would not have suffered the humiliation on the battlefield the preceding day.

  His force had been caught in an untenable position by General Urrea’s army. Accordingly, Fannin had had no choice but to surrender for the welfare of his men. Perhaps someday he would get another chance to prove his military skills, but not in this war. General Urrea having forced him to agree to terms, Fannin’s army would be repatriated in Louisiana. His only solace was that at least they would not suffer the same fate as those who had died within the walls of the Alamo.

  Near Goliad-The Following Day

  Hank awoke with a start. Having been afforded little sleep of late, he was disoriented for a moment, somehow thinking himself back within the walls of the Alamo. As he shook the cobwebs away, he began to recall. Ah, yes, it was coming back now. He had escaped to Goliad with Major Bonham, who had subsequently returned to the Alamo.

  He still found it difficult to believe that Bonham was now dead. If the reports could be believed, they were all dead. And most inconceivable of all, Hank simply could not get his mind around the concept that the seemingly indestructible Hawk Banks was no longer alive on this blessed earth. But there it was, nonetheless. It all seemed so pointless.

  And now this mess, and a fine mess it was. At first, Hank had been overjoyed to be within the safety of the fortress at La Bahia in Goliad. It had seemed a fine fortress, and the rolling countryside was far more pleasing to the eye than the stark landscape surrounding Bexar. Colonel Fannin had impressed him, too. At first, he had seemed a fine commander. But three weeks under his command had changed Hank’s opinion, and unfortunately, much for the worse.

  First, Colonel Fannin had sent off an entire company of forty men to Refugio, where they had all promptly been captured by the Mexican Army. It had subsequently developed that there were in fact two armies heading north from Mexico, and Goliad was directly within the path of the second.

  Then, as if that wasn’t enough, that darn fool colonel had decided to take his entire army to Bexar. They had only gotten as far as the river before they had all turned around and gone back to La Bahia - some foolish nonsense about the wagons breaking down.

  The entire army had trudged back to the mission, where they had remained for two more weeks. Hank could not for the life of himself understand why they had sat around for so long doing absolutely nothing. Heck, they’d found out about the defeat at the Alamo a couple of days after it had happened. But no, they had lollygagged around on their haunches for days and days, and then, after it was far too late, Fannin had decided to high-tail it north with his army.

  Well sir, they made it less than twenty miles before the attacking army had cornered them at some creek called Colete, or Coleto, or something to that effect. And here was the worst part of all - like a fool, Colonel Fannin had commanded the men to form into a square right smack in the middle of a field, when there were plenty of good trees for cover not two hundred yards away. Under the circumstances, they had fought pretty well, but from the first shot it was clear that a victory was out of the question. Even Hank’s untrained military mind had been able to see that.

  Predictably, barely a quarter of an hour into the doomed battle, they had surrendered. What a crock! Hank had been furious. They had twice as many men as Travis had commanded at the Alamo, and Colonel Fannin had pissed the entire force right down the creek.

  And here was the last and most miserable insult of all - they were now being forced to march back to La Bahia. Now, possessed of a splitting headache from the thought of it all, Hank wished gloomily he hadn’t awakened this morning.

  By the time the defeated army arrived back at the mission late that afternoon, Hank’s feet were killing him. The summer heat had begun to set in and, as was the usual case in such circumstances, the gathering sweat within his boots proved to be yet another villain, causing numerous painful blisters. He missed ol’ Hawk. Nothing nearly so bad as this had ever transpired the whole time he had been with Hawk Banks.

  The distraught Texian army traipsed into the mission courtyard, where they were held for several hours. Eventually, the entire army was forced into that dark and stinking little chapel.

  Hank was beside himself in abject misery. He spent the first night hallucinating, somehow imagining he was back in the Alamo. In his mind, he was still there, along with his fellow comrades. It had been a far better existence than this. Why had he left there? Better to die gloriously there than to suffer such humiliation. But then, drifting back to reality, he realized disconsolately – they were all dead! Perhaps, he admitted to himself, even this ignominious existence was better than that.

  By the following morning, the entire chapel was beset with rampant misery. There was simply insufficient room for the cramped occupants to afford any comfort whatsoever. Exhausted men were seen to be sleeping standing up! Hank was hurting as well, but he reasoned that at least he was not wounded. Those who had been injured were in better surroundings, having been placed elsewhere and tended by Texian doctors, but rumors quickly spread among the detainees that their circumstances were dire as well.

  There was a woman, they said her name was Francisca. She was apparently the wife of one of the Mexican officers and, believe it or not, she commenced tending to the soldiers. Hank was incredulous. He had not anticipated receiving such kindness from the enemy, but there it was nonetheless.

  Fellows were sayin’ that the Mexican soldiers had attempted to stop Francisca, but that she had just told them to go to hell, or something to that effect, and she not only treated everyone, she treated them well indeed. She was there, night and day, treating the sick, the wounded, the dying - soldiers from both sides. In such circumstances, she was a brilliant ray of sunshine, providing hope to the forlorn. It was something to see.

  By the third day, men were becoming ill from the poor facilities. For one thing, there was no latrine, thereby forcing the prisoners to do their business in a corner of the chapel. The place stank like a pig sty. Amazingly, this angel of a woman succeeded in getting conditions improved within.

  But then another batch of prisoners arrived from Refugio, and conditions became even tighter. Hank had never been so miserable in his entire life. By now, virtually everyone was sick. The water was becoming fowl, and the specter of plague was becoming a very real concern. Hank figured something had to be done very soon, otherwise they would all perish.

  Sure enough, a week into their incarceration, General Urrea announced they were all going to march out on the morrow and subsequently shipped out to New Orleans, where they would be repatriated. Someone noted that the following day would be Palm Sunday.

  La Bahia Military Headquarters-That Same Day

  General Urrea had made it clear to Colonel Fannin that he himself had no authority to negotiate terms of surrender at Coleto Creek, but he had nonetheless given Fannin his word that the Texian prisoners would receive humane treatment, and so far as possible, he would use his influence to convince General Santa Anna that the prisoners should be sent to New Orleans and paroled. Given these reassurances, Fannin’s troops had marched back to La Bahia and begun preparing for the process of shipping them out to New Orleans. A week had passed, during which Urrea had sent word to General Santa Anna.

&nb
sp; General Urrea considered himself a reasonable man, perhaps even a compassionate one. Most of all, he was a soldier, a man of principle who followed orders instinctively, but the orders he subsequently received from El Presidente were infuriating! He despised having his solemn promise to Colonel Fannin overturned by his commander, but he had now been commanded to the contrary. Such was the lot in life of even the most senior of officers within the military.

  Now commanded to perform an inhumane act, Urrea feared that it would serve to further incite the Texians. He had been trained well in military school, and one thing he had always remembered – never underestimate your enemy. These Texians were completely untrained, and they were disorganized to the point of continually squabbling among themselves. But one thing was certain - they were hard fighting men. They would not go down without a fight, and executing Colonel Fannin’s entire army would ultimately only make things worse for the Army of Mexico. But he had his orders and, to his infinite dismay, they must be carried out.

  La Bahia-The Following Morning

  James Fannin gazed wistfully out over the prairie. He allowed his mind to wander. It had been many days since he had been spared the pressure of command. Now, his mind freed from greater concerns, he pondered inanely how much he had always hated Texas trees. Why couldn’t Texas have real trees, like Virginia? Stubby oak trees just got in the way of good farming, they didn’t supply any shade to speak of, and mesquite trees were even worse. With the Texas summer coming on, shade would be in short supply.

  His mind continuing to wander, he wondered for a moment where he would be this coming summer. Would he be held prisoner - taken to Mexico City and paraded around in a cage? He doubted the word of his captors.

  Surely they would intern an army only until the war was over, but after the massacre at the Alamo, he had to consider all possibilities. Still, he doubted that Santa Anna was so merciless as to hold an entire army indefinitely. How had he ended up in this godforsaken place, anyway?

  He was suddenly brought back to reality as the troops headed out in three columns from the mission, each column accompanied by a line of Mexican soldiers. As Fannin watched from the mission parapet, the men quite incongruously began to sing! The three lines now grew longer as they headed out across the prairie, snaking off in the distance, until his now lost army disappeared from view. Only he and the wounded now remained within the mission walls.

  Goliad-On the Prairie beyond the Mission Walls

  His mind in a growing turmoil, Franciso wondered how in the name of the Virgin Madonna could he satisfy his religious vows and his military orders at one and the same time. As they marched out across the prairie, each soldier accompanying a Texian prisoner, he searched for a viable solution.

  Unable to look at his accompanying prisoner without fear of betraying his intent, Francisco attempted instead to glance at him sidelong so as not to be detected. The man was tall, taller than most, perhaps almost a head taller than himself. He seemed older than Francisco, but not yet to the age of forty. Incongruously, he had a fleeting thought that if the Texian had been armed he probably would have easily been able to kill Francisco.

  Francisco had no real knowledge of killing. He knew that he would have been killed by any experienced soldier. In the end, as they walked onwards, he could only feel deep sorrow for the both of them. It was as if the pair was locked in a dance, a dance that would ultimately spiral into death. And in all truth, of the pair, he felt certain that no more than one of them would ever reach the pearly gates of heaven.

  Suddenly, he heard a loud volley from off in the distance, and he realized that the killing had begun. He attempted to pretend as if it was nothing and, failing miserably, he sensed that his prisoner had apparently discerned his own intended fate.

  The second volley now came from another direction and, the command suddenly given to open fire on the prisoners, his comrades all along the line abruptly turned on their captives. The soldier on Francisco’s left fired, as did the one on his right. Raising his musket to fire, Francisco gazed squarely into the eyes of his intended victim. The man stared at back him, horror creasing his features.

  Time froze. Francisco scrutinized the man’s dark hair, his full beard, even a tiny mole on his left cheek. As he did so, he raised his musket and, pointing carefully, thought to himself, “The Virgin Mary will never forgive me for such an act.”

  The man stood transfixed, no more than a single arm’s length away, but when Francisco fired, he missed completely. The man stared at Francisco, an indescribable expression on his face - was it fear, or was it hatred – turned, and ran.

  A thick cloud of smoke now settled over the open field. Francisco glanced about himself, surveying the carnage. There were men screaming all about, many mortally wounded. Most soldiers were now hastily reloading, others simply clubbing the wounded Texians where they lay. Francisco peered in the direction his captive had fled. Mercifully, he had disappeared into the cloud of smoke.

  His sense of relief beyond anything he could express, Francisco lost all control of his legs and, suddenly stumbling, he collapsed to a sitting position. He tossed his musket viciously away and, bringing his hands to his face, he sobbed uncontrollably.

  Fifty Yards Away

  Sprinting as fast his legs would carry him, Hank hoped that in the smoke and confusion no one would follow. He assumed that anyone who might be after him would have to reload their muskets, and that would take a good thirty seconds. By then he would hopefully be into the trees, and maybe, just maybe, he would escape.

  Having little opportunity to contemplate, he wondered if the soldier had actually intended to miss him. He had seemed to Hank to be little more than a boy, and the look on his face had been one of naked despair.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he realized that two soldiers were racing after him. Seeing that they were at least thirty yards off, he realized he still had a chance. Reaching the river bank, he didn’t even break his stride. Launching himself full length into the water, he submerged and swam for his very life. From beneath the water’s surface he heard two musket shots, felt them rip through the water, but neither struck their intended mark. When he came up for air, he was two-thirds of the way to the opposite bank, the two soldiers apparently fumbling with their muskets in an attempt to reload them.

  He swam as fast as he could for the water’s edge in the hope that none of the soldiers jumped in the river to follow. He climbed up the bank, crested the ridge on the far bank and, without looking back, he disappeared from view before they had time to get off another shot.

  La Bahia

  Still lost in thought, Colonel Fannin suddenly heard an enormous volley from off in the distance. Then came another volley, followed by a third. Realizing immediately what it foretold, Fannin stood quickly and stared off towards the prairie, as if straining to see what he could not. His face drained of its color as the realization of what was happening spread over him. The entire melee was over in less than five minutes.

  Fannin turned to stare at General Urrea, mouth open, eyes wide, at first in disbelief, but finally, in undisguised hatred. He lunged at the general, but his shackles prevented him from succeeding. Instead, he stumbled, fell, and grabbed at the general’s feet. “Why?” was all he could strain from his lip.

  “I am sorry, Colonel. General Santa Anna’s orders,” was the sad but firm response from the general.

  Managing to rise to his feet, Fannin now gazed toward the prairie one last time, imagining the bodies of his entire army and, suddenly gagging, he threw up, once, twice, and then a third time. Regaining his full stature, he exploded, “You’ll never get away with this, you dirty son of a whore!”

  Apparently having steeled himself for just such an insult, General Urrea stood at attention, outwardly unfazed. He turned to his orderly and gave a command in Spanish that Fannin did not understand. He turned back to Fannin and said sadly, “And now, Señor F
annin, I must bid you adios. May God grant you safe passage.”

  Fannin was escorted away and, moments later, he was shot at point blank range. The Texian Army of Goliad was no more.

  Near Goliad

  Julie had arrived too late for the battle, such as it was. According to what she’d been told, the Texians had surrendered more or less without a fight. This had given her cause for elation, as she had learned on arriving that Hank had been at the Alamo, but had left there for Goliad with a party under the command of Major Bonham. Apparently, Hank had remained in Goliad. Miraculously, Hank had escaped death yet again, Fannin’s men having surrendered at Coleto Creek the previous week.

  She attempted to get word into the mission that she was there, waiting for him. But the Mexican army was there, and it was dangerous to approach anywhere near them. With no other option, she awaited nearby with a group of camp followers. The wait was agonizing, her concern mounting by the hour. The assembled camp followers grew tired and hungry, both armies having looted the local countryside of nearly everything edible.

  After three days, word came that the Mexican Army was going to set Fannin’s entire army free on the promise that they would fight no more. This made infinite sense to Julie. She and Auggey only had to wait a few more hours.

  The following morning, as they were waiting under a tree by the creek, they heard a great loud firing of guns that endured scant few minutes. Immediately growing fearful, the camp followers anticipated the worst had happened, but no one dared go closer to the mission. Though Julie was beside herself with concern and misery, she did her best to keep Auggey busy and distracted.