Across the Rio Colorado

by Ralph Compton

  “While that may be the case,” Stockton Saunders said, “why are Monclova’s forces on their way to the coast? Surely all those men won’t be needed to unload a supply ship.”

  “Precisely my point,” said Houston. “Santa Anna’s no fool. These men are gathering for the purpose of protecting that ship’s cargo, to prevent us from successfully accomplishing what we are planning to do.”

  “Damn right they are,” McQuade said, “and if the little schoolin’ I’ve had wasn’t all for nothing, they’ll have us outnumbered.”

  “Granted that you’re right,” said Alonzo Holden. “What do you propose? That we mount every man we have, and ride in pursuit?”

  “Only a damn fool would even consider that,” McQuade said, his hard eyes boring into Holden’s. “We dare not leave our women, the fort, our wagons, and our supplies at the mercy of the Comanches.”

  “Well, God be praised,” said Holden, “if you have some magic in your hat, perhaps you will share it with us.”

  Dozens of men had crowded close, seeking to learn what would be done to counter this new threat, and McQuade spoke loudly enough for them all to hear.

  “We’re not going to fight this battle one-on-one. Too many of us will die. I’m going to ask Mr. Houston, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Saunders, and Mr. Holden to meet with me in the fort, in private. In addition, I want Riley Creeker, Doctor Puckett, and Will Haymes there. I promise all of you that before we ride out in the morning, each of you will know what I am about to propose. Allow us an hour. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” they shouted, a hundred strong.

  “Very well,” said Houston. “Let us retire to the fort and begin.”

  The eight men made their way into the fort. Houston, Hamilton, Saunders, and Holden took seats on one side of a rough table, while McQuade, Creeker, Puckett, and Haymes seated themselves on the other.

  “Begin, Mr. McQuade,” Houston said.

  “I propose we increase our force another fifty men,” said McQuade. “Two hundred. The rest will remain here, securing the fort against possible attack by Comanches.”

  “I can’t agree to that until you explain to my satisfaction how you intend to overcome three hundred and fifty men with a force of two hundred,” Joshua Hamilton said.

  “For starters,” said McQuade, struggling to contain his temper, “we won’t ride out in direct confrontation. Are you familiar with the term ‘ambush,’ Mr. Hamilton?”

  “I am,” Hamilton gritted, his ruddy face becoming even more ruddy.

  “We won’t make our move until the ship’s cargo has been completely unloaded and the Mexicans have settled in a permanent camp,” said McQuade. “Fifty of us will then attack the camp, inviting Monclova’s bunch to pursue us. We’ll lead them into the guns of the rest of our men. All one hundred and fifty of them. Do I have to ride it on to the end of the trail, or do you understand what I’m proposing?”

  “I understand perfectly, McQuade,” Hamilton said. “I also understand that you may be sending fifty men to their deaths. Who do you have in mind to lead this suicidal charge?”

  “The four of us across the table from you,” said McQuade, “and the others will all be volunteers. We can easily draw that many from our emigrants, if you fear for the safety of your men.”

  Hamilton had a difficult time containing himself, but Sam Houston regarded McQuade with what might have been satisfaction. But McQuade wasn’t finished, and spoke as though he wasn’t in the least put out by Hamilton’s obvious anger.

  “As I am sure Mr. Houston recalls,” said McQuade, “we have several kegs of black powder and plenty of fuse. This was taken from a band of outlaws, and has nothing to do with the powder for use in our weapons. Tonight, with the help of Creeker, Haymes, and Doc Puckett, I aim to assemble some black-powder bombs. These will be kept handy by the hundred and fifty men waiting in ambush. Throw a few of these, with fifteen-second fuses, and I can promise you Miguel Monclova’s bunch will be afoot pronto. While we can’t cut them all down from ambush, we can be sure that all who escape are without horses. Do any of you have questions?”

  “I don’t,” said Houston. “Joshua? Stockton? Alonzo?”

  Not trusting himself to speak, Joshua Hamilton shook his head.

  “I’m satisfied,” Saunders said. “It’s a plan that borders on brilliance.”

  “It’s the least dangerous proposal I’ve ever heard,” said Holden. “Let’s go with it.”

  “It’s your plan, Mr. McQuade,” Houston said. “I suggest you choose the additional men from within your own ranks, and you are welcome to explain the procedure to all of those who are waiting impatiently outside.”

  Houston left the fort, and McQuade could hear him addressing the crowd, who wished to know what had been decided. McQuade exited just in time, for Houston had announced that McQuade would explain what had been agreed upon. When Houston left it all up to McQuade, the shouting and questions began. McQuade held up his hand for silence, and when he got it, quickly explained what had been decided within the fort. For a long moment there was silence, and then they all shouted their approval.

  “I’m obliged,” said McQuade. “Riley Creeker, Will Haymes, Doc Puckett, and me will lead the attack. For the rest of the force, I need forty-six volunteers.”

  More than a hundred shouting men surged forward.

  CHAPTER 22

  Before Chance McQuade did anything else, he chose the rest of the men he needed for the initial attack on Monclova’s camp. To the surprise of Houston and his lieutenants, men eagerly sought to become part of the force McQuade would lead. Remembering his promise to the Burkes, he included Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Creeker, Haymes, and Doc Puckett had gone for the necessary materials to create the black-powder bombs. Into the fort they brought two kegs of black powder, coils of fuse, and a large wooden box of pint bottles that had once contained whiskey. Many men had gathered around to watch the preparation of the bombs. Somewhere Doc had found a funnel that fitted the necks of the bottles, and began filling them from the kegs.

  “We could use some corks,” said McQuade, as he dug through the whiskey bottles.

  “With some soft pine and a sharp knife, I could make some,” Creeker said.

  “Some of us can do that,” said Matthew Burke. “We’ll bring in some pine limbs.”

  Half a dozen men joined the Burkes, and soon they were all busy fashioning stoppers of wood to fit the necks of the bottles.

  “Cut them to fit tight,” McQuade said. “Then we’ll want to cut away a channel along one side for the fuse.”

  Puckett had begun helping Creeker fill the pint bottles, and when all had been filled, there were thirty of them. Some of the wooden corks were ready, and using a thickness of fuse as a guide, McQuade whittled a groove down the side of one of the stoppers.

  “Groove the rest of them like this one,” said McQuade.

  With many helping, the task was soon finished. Sam Houston looked on with some appreciation, as McQuade talked to the assembled men about what lay ahead of them.

  “I like your plan, us attackin’ their camp and leadin’ ’em into an ambush,” said Elgin Summerfield, “but suppose they don’t foller us?”

  “It’ll be up to us to raise enough hell so they can’t resist,” McQuade replied. “We’ll gun down some of them, and that should be enough to get the rest after us. This will be a hit and run. We’ll spread out in a skirmish line like we’re about to ride right through the midst of them. Just shy of the camp, before we’re in range of their rifles, we’ll split our force, half of us riding to either side of their camp. Swingin’ in close, we can use our revolvers for greater fire power and accuracy.”

  Despite his obvious dislike for McQuade, Joshua Hamilton had drifted back to the outer fringes of the group that had gathered.

  “The danger will be much greater,” Hamilton observed, “for the enemy will also be able to rely on revolvers.”

  “Hamilton,” said McQuade, “from the back of a running horse
, accuracy is impossible with a rifle. This will be a surprise attack at dawn, and we don’t know that this bunch will be armed with hand guns. Do you buckle a pistol on over your drawers, when you first wake up?”

  That drew thunderous laughter, much of it from the women who had gathered around, and Hamilton turned away. But he found himself looking into the stern eyes of Houston.

  “Joshua,” Houston said, “we have been friends for a long time. Chance McQuade is on our side, yet you obviously do not trust him. May I ask why?”

  “He has been here only a few days,” said Hamilton stiffly, “yet he has virtually taken over command of this post.”

  “He has assumed nothing that you or any other man within this command couldn’t have,” Houston said. “Have you forgotten that it was McQuade and Creeker who alerted us to the possibility of a Mexican sailing ship arriving at Matagorda Bay?”

  “No,” said Hamilton, “I haven’t forgotten, and I presume that you haven’t forgotten that no such ship has been sighted.”

  “Whether the ship arrives or not,” Houston replied, “it was an obvious oversight on our part. I believe Mr. McQuade is about to distinguish himself with his planned attack on the Monclova camp.”

  “As I recall,” said Hamilton, “the original purpose of that was to seize the ship’s cargo for our own use. If there is no ship, why the attack on Monclova’s camp?”

  “Joshua, I fear that your dislike for McQuade has overridden your better judgment,” Houston said. “You are overlooking or choosing to ignore the ominous fact that the three hundred men riding in from Matamoros will increase Monclova’s forces to probably four hundred and fifty. That makes ours the smaller force. Would you suggest that we do nothing, allowing Monclova to attack us?”

  “Of course not,” said Hamilton. “I would never advocate that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Houston replied, “but I believe you just did. Ship or not, McQuade’s surprise attack, followed with an ambush, could virtually wipe out the enemy. It is beyond me how you can find fault with that.”

  The conversation ended on a sour note, with Joshua Hamilton walking away. Houston stood there, his heart heavy with regret, crumpling his old hat in his big hands.

  Monclova’s camp was on the south bank of the Rio Colorado, less than a mile from Matagorda Bay. In the distance, the blue of the Gulf of Mexico stretched as far as the eye could see. There was excitement in the camp, as Monclova met with his lieutenants Pedro Mendez, Hidalgo Cortez, and Antonio Hermosillo. Far away, barely visible to the naked eye, was the tip of a sail, first sighted through a spy glass.

  “The General Santa Anna, he not forget,” Miguel Monclova exulted. “Food, medicine, ammunition, and soldiers.”

  “Si,” Hermosillo said. “Por dios, we surprise the Tejanos, no?”

  “Sí,” said Monclova. “With the cannon, we knock down the walls of their foolish fort and squash them like mice as they run away.”

  But several miles north of Monclova’s camp, other eyes had observed the distant sail, and men mounted their horses. Sam Houston’s suspicions had come to pass, and he must be told.

  “Riders comin’,” somebody shouted.

  By the time the riders had reined up, Houston was there to greet them.

  “We seen a sail last night, just ’fore sundown,” said one of the men.

  “Have any more men ridden up from the south to join Monclova?” Houston asked.

  “None that we seen,” said one of the men who had just ridden in from Matagorda Bay. “Just the same bunch that rode downriver.”

  The newly arrived horsemen were now surrounded by many other men, anxious to hear any new developments. Houston spoke loudly enough for all to hear.

  “A sail has been sighted off Matagorda Bay, and it has to be the Mexican sailing ship we have been expecting. The additional men riding in from Matamoros have not arrived.”

  It was all coming to pass, just as Chance McQuade had predicted, and while many men shouted their excitement, others turned skeptical eyes on Joshua Hamilton. McQuade stood beside Houston, talking to the men who had brought the news. Creeker, Haymes, and Doc Puckett awaited some decision from Houston or McQuade. Houston spoke first.

  “Mr. McQuade, I believe we should hold fast another day. We must allow these men riding from Matamoros to join Monclova, give them time to unload the cargo from the ship, and to move it to a permanent camp.”

  “I agree,” said McQuade. “We want the ship unloaded and long gone, before we attack Monclova’s camp. We want Santa Anna told that the reinforcements reached Monclova, and that supplies from the ship were safely unloaded.”

  While none of them relished another day of inactivity, the delay seemed justified, and they prepared to make the best of it. There had been no rain for a while and an increasing cloudiness to the west suggested that a change was in the making. Men patched wagon canvas, stretching it tight over the bows, while women rearranged their belongings to allow room for sleeping. Over a small fire, McQuade had placed an iron pot three-quarters full of hardened paraffin. When it became liquid, using tweezers, McQuade began dipping the prepared loads for his revolver. Other men watched the procedure, and when McQuade had finished, he spoke to them.

  “It’s a good idea to dip the loads for your revolvers in wax. It keeps the powder dry, and there’s rain on the way.”

  They took turns preparing their ammunition. McQuade used the extra day to speak to the men who would be riding downriver for the fight with Monclova. It seemed much like old times, as the emigrants again depended on their circled wagons. By early afternoon, the big gray thunderheads had swept in from the west, and a rising west wind brought the pungent smell of rain. Canvas shelters had been strung up between wagons, providing dry areas for cooking and eating. The rain began just before dark, driving Houston’s men into the fort. On two of the inside walls there was an enormous fireplace a dozen feet wide, for cooking during bad weather. Here, coffee pots bubbled far into the night, for the men were restless, and few of them slept. Sometime before daylight, the rain ceased, and in the predawn darkness, breakfast fires blossomed. As the men prepared to ride, McQuade and Houston made the rounds, seeking to head off any problems. As Houston spoke to the men who would ride with him, McQuade thought it significant that Joshua Hamilton wasn’t one of them. McQuade found Doc Puckett at the wagon with Maggie.

  “How are you feeling, Doc?”

  “Frankly, a little scared,” said Puckett. “I’ve never shot, or shot at, a man before. I’m sure that will take some getting used to.”

  “You never get used to it,” McQuade replied, “and only a damn fool is never afraid.”

  “Don’t let him do anything foolish, McQuade,” said Maggie. “I’ve already lost one man and I’m too old and tired to find and break in a third one.”

  “Maggie,” McQuade said, “you’ll never be old. Tired, maybe, but old, never.”

  McQuade found Riley Creeker and Will Haymes hunkered beside a breakfast fire, having first cups of coffee.

  “Suppose we reach Matagorda Bay and those Mexican reinforcements still haven’t shown up,” Will Haymes said. “Will we wait for them and ambush the lot, or hit Monclova and the smaller force?”

  “I’m not opposed to jumping Monclova’s bunch and taking the ship’s cargo from them,” said McQuade, “provided the ship’s departed. We want it to take months for word of this to get back to Santa Anna. We can always bushwhack that bunch of soldiers riding in from Matamoros, after we’ve beaten Monclova and taken the ship’s cargo. When we get to Matagorda Bay, we’ll change our plans, if need be, but I’m expecting the reinforcements to be there.”

  Two hundred strong, they rode downriver an hour after first light. Sam Houston led out, and in a column of fours, the others followed. Directly behind Houston rode Creeker, McQuade, Haymes, and Puckett. They stopped only to rest their horses, and seldom did anybody speak. Near sundown they stopped for the night, eating cold food they carried in their saddlebags. Men stood watch
in two-hour shifts, and after a cold breakfast, they rode on. Only once, while they rested their horses, did Houston speak to them as a group.

  “At this point, we will ride several miles north of the river, and then eastward, until we sight the Gulf. We don’t know that they haven’t unloaded the ship, moved inland, and set up camp. If they haven’t, when they do, they could hardly miss the tracks of our two hundred horses. We must avoid them until we’re ready to attack. If we do not, then the surprise could be ours.”

  They rode north of the river a good two miles before again riding eastward. It was a wise move, as they soon learned, for they eventually had an excellent view of the Gulf and Matagorda Bay without being seen. The ship lay anchored a hundred yards from shore, its sails furled. The Mexican flag fluttered from the mast, and as Houston and his forces sat their horses and watched, men poled a raft toward the anchored craft.

  “The boat’s still here,” said Elgin Summerfield, “but we don’t know if the soldiers have rode in.”

  “We’ll know tonight,” Houston replied. “Soon as it’s dark, some of us will take their measure. I’d say the soldiers are here, and that they haven’t chosen to help unload the ship’s cargo.”

  They watched the men pole the raft alongside the ship. To their surprise, men on deck removed a canvas, revealing a loaded wagon. Secured by ropes or chains to a hoist, it was swung over the side of the craft and slowly lowered to the waiting raft. Once the raft had been poled to shore, horses were hitched to the wagon. The raft was then poled back to the ship and another loaded wagon was lowered over the side.

  “Well, by God,” said Shanghai McLean, “I been wonderin’ how we was goin’ to move all them goods back to the fort. They done made it easy on us.”

  After a third wagon had been brought to shore, the raft didn’t return to the ship. It appeared all the cargo had been unloaded.