by Drew McGunn
Will nodded, accepting the discrepancy in casualties between the excited messenger and Caldwell’s calm report. “That was well done, Matt. I want our Apache scouts to see if they can follow whatever trail the Comanche leave. Tonight, we’ll follow it and God willing, they’ll lead us to a Comanche camp.”
The Apache scouts followed the trail left by the retreating Comanche warriors, and by the time the sun dipped below the western horizon, Will’s command followed behind their Apache allies.
Despite being driven away from the wagon train by the unexpected arrival of the Rangers, the Comanche warriors were confident as they retreated. Yes, they were learning to hate the Rangers and their dreaded pistol which fired many times. Time honored tactics which used to work when fighting the white devils were no longer effective. But as these young warriors traveled across the prairie they gave little thought to pursuit. This was the Comancheria. This was their land and they were the undisputed masters. Older warriors, more experienced in fighting these new Texian interlopers would have urged more caution, and watched for pursuit. But this raid, undertaken by youths and young men, were overconfident when they returned to their camp along the banks of the Brazos River.
The Apache who followed the bloodied warband never approached close enough to be seen, but Flacco’s scouts easily followed the fresh hoof prints across the prairie, until in the early hours before dawn they found a large Comanche village spread along the south bank.
The Texas Rangers were the next to arrive while the sun was still a couple of hours away from rising. The infantry, flanked by Seguin’s cavalry, arrived in the window of the night, before the first warm glow began to lighten the eastern sky. Will tasked Major Wyatt with deploying his infantry in an arc to the south and west of the village, still more than a thousand yards from the river. He sent Major Caldwell’s Rangers across the Brazos, covering the most likely route of retreat. As Caldwell prepared to follow his rangers north, Will grabbed him by the arm, “Capture as many as you can, Matt. I don’t want a massacre.”
The rugged Texian nodded, “I’ll not risk my men, General, but I’ll make sure they don’t get their dander up.”
Will waved as the Ranger followed his men, who were circling around the village. Seguin’s cavalry took up position, a company on either side of the infantry battalion.
As the eastern sky began to glow with the promise of the morning sun, Will found Major Wyatt with his men, and said, “It’s time, Major. When we get into the camp, I want us looking for captives, and capture any woman not under arms as well as any children. As for the warriors, give them the same mercy the showed us at Fort Parker.”
The butternut clad soldiers within hearing of Will growled in agreement as Wyatt issued the order to advance. Across a front more than six hundred yards wide, the Texian infantry moved forward, more than seventy rifle teams advancing in a thin skirmish line, each team working closely together. Will watched one such team, as two men sprinted from behind some scrub brush to a clump of hackberry trees, while the others covered their advance. Then these two raced forward, passing through the small hackberry grove, while the two in the tree line covered their comrades’ advance.
The dawn’s peace was broken by an angry cry from the village as a Comanche warrior stepped from his teepee and saw the advancing infantry. A moment later, a scattering of rifle fire slashed out from the advancing Texians, riddling the loan warrior, who fell back against the teepee, knocking one of the support poles down, causing the shelter to lean precariously to the side. The camp broke into pandemonium as warriors spilled from the teepees with spears and bows and arrows in hand. A few even carried muskets. Following fast on the warriors’ heels, their wives and children wore alarmed expressions as they saw the advancing Texians for the first time. Many of the band’s most vulnerable members fled to the bank of the Brazos, splashing across it at the shallowest spots. Warriors who stopped to pull back their bows and fire at the steadily advancing infantry, quickly drew the aimed fire of riflemen. With a precision which comes from long practice, the infantry advanced into the camp, and tendrils of flames sprung up as they set the teepees ablaze.
To either side of the infantry, Seguin’s cavalry spread out, and attempted to turn any running Comanche back toward the camp, frequently using their revolvers, whenever a warrior would stand and fight.
As Will and Wyatt followed behind the Infantry, they found dozens of old men as well as women and young children under guard. On the northern bank of the river, Caldwell’s Rangers rode into view, corralling even more prisoners before them. Following earlier orders, many of their riflemen were dragging the dead warriors into a line. Will was distressed to see among the dead many of their wives where they had been struck down, still clutching knives, spears, or bows in their lifeless hands. As Caldwell’s rangers rejoined the main force, he came up to Will and saw the many women among the dead. “It’s hard to imagine, General, but they are a warrior culture. Like you, I had hopes that their women would surrender when it was clear they were defeated, but as you can see, in too many cases, they chose to die with their men.”
Will gazed across the long line of warriors who had been slain. Fifty-three warriors were counted among the dead. Additionally, thirty-one women were killed, when they joined their husbands, brothers, and fathers in defending their camp. Four children had been killed in the fight, the unfortunate collateral damage when war is visited upon the innocent. Despite the depredations visited on Texas settlements by their fathers and older brothers, the children were carefully laid to rest in hastily dug graves. The rough men who placed them in their final resting place mourned the senseless loss of life. The Comanche adults were dumped into a common grave.
In all, a half dozen warriors were captured, too badly wounded to flee. Four elderly men and thirty-nine women of varying ages, and twenty-three pre-adolescent children were also captured. As they were chained together, Will watched. The human misery among the Comanche was palpable. The old men, unable to fight any more, glared angrily at Will’s Texians. The women either mourned their dead husbands or scowled at their captors, hatred in their eyes. The youngest children cried while those older were afraid. Everything they knew had been brutally ripped from their young lives.
For a moment Will questioned the strategy upon which they were embarking. Seguin rode up at that moment and saw the look of distaste on Will’s face. “Juan, are we doing the right thing? Look at them,” Will said, waving his arm toward the prisoners.
Seguin looked them over and quietly said, “They are a sad sight, General Travis. It reminds me of something that happened a few years ago. My father and I led a part of my father’s vaqueros after a Comanche raid destroyed some farms nearby. We caught up with the war party and killed some of the warriors and rescued their prisoners, our neighbors.” He lowered his voice further, and continued, “Buck, the women they captured had been raped repeatedly, and beaten. The children were terrorized. I know for a fact that several of those young ones still wake up sweating, screaming from their nightmares. Both women, who we rescued, good Catholic women, committed suicide. They couldn’t live with what they went through. They were buried in unconsecrated ground; the church makes no excuse for suicide. I owe it to those families, just as you owe it to the Parkers, to end this savage war. Look at that.” He pointed to the burning camp, drawing Will’s attention to the loot from many Texas farms, littering the ground, as the teepees were consumed by fire.
Seguin continued, “It wasn’t a complete success, either. A few of the warriors avoided our cavalry and Rangers. We think some of their women and children also managed to escape.”
Will’s spirits rose when Crawford and Wyatt came over gave their own reports. One Ranger had been wounded when trying to stop one of the Comanche women from fleeing. He had been stabbed in the leg. His companions were not able to find her, but they stopped his bleeding and brought him to the battalion surgeon. Wyatt told him three of his men had been injured by arrow fire. They too were w
ith the surgeon and were expected to recover. The Major was positively beaming as he recounted to the other officers how his men swept across the prairie, using the terrain to their advantage as they assaulted the village.
Before the prisoners were marched away into captivity, Will freed the oldest man, who was bent with age, arthritis long ago stealing his mobility. As many of the Comanche who ranged the western reaches of the Republic, the old man spoke passable Spanish. Will asked Seguin to translate, “You are free to go. Find your fellow Comanche and tell them we have destroyed your band, killed your warriors, captured your women and children, just as you have captured our women and children. If you want yours returned to the Comanche people, all of your chiefs from all of your bands will come to San Antonio with all your captives.”
With eyes still blazing in anger, the old man spat in the dirt at Will’s feet and said something in Spanish. Then he turned on his heels and started walking west, along the Brazos. Will turned to Seguin, “What was that about?”
Despite his swarthy complexion, Seguin colored a bit, “Ah, Buck, I don’t think it has an English equivalent.”
Chapter 9
The sun hung at its zenith in a cloudless sky as a company of Seguin’s troopers escorted the Comanche prisoners. They anticipated crossing paths with militia cavalry within a day or two, and trading their prisoners for supplies. Despite the pleasant weather, the prisoners kicked up a cloud of dust, as they trudged along under guard. They were tied to each other by a rope at the waist and a shorter rope between their ankles made it impossible to take anything other than short steps. Most of the troopers wore wary expressions, keeping a close eye on their prisoners.
Will watched the prisoners as they retreated into the distance, until only a pillar of dust remained. He fervently hoped the troopers would be able to rendezvous with the militia, hand off the prisoners and hurry back. Being down by forty men wasn’t ideal, but it would have to suffice until the troopers returned in a few days. That made keeping a weather eye for any other Comanche warriors even more important. With that in mind, his army settled in to sleep until nightfall. They camped less than a mile away from the remains of the village. He had Major Caldwell deploy some of his Rangers to patrol while he sent most of his Apache allies to follow any promising trails.
That night, the Apache warriors returned as Will’s army broke camp, Flacco found Will as the army continued its northwesterly route along the Brazos. The Apache was practically dragging Juan Seguin along when he approached Will, “Traveling along this river may yet lead to another Comanche camp,” Seguin translated, “But with the current migration of the buffalo, there’s a good chance we’ll find another camp along the Leon River.”
Will asked, “How far away is the Leon?”
Seguin and Flacco discussed the answer in Spanish, “less than fifty miles.”
From their northwesterly march, the order was given, and the army veered away from the Brazos, heading to the southwest.
The next night, halfway across the prairie separating the two rivers, Will located Major Caldwell as the little army continued its trek to the southwest, “Matt, I’ve not taken the time to see how your companies are handling these scouting duties ahead of the army. Mind if I joined you tonight and observe?”
Already riding ahead of the force, Caldwell called over his shoulder, “Sure, General, if you can keep up, you’re welcome to ride along with my boys.”
He caught up with the major and rode along with him and a company of his men as they scoured the terrain a few miles ahead of the infantry’s line of march. Few clouds hid the sparkling stars and the moon was a thin sliver, low in the western sky. The prairie grass was swept by a cool northerly breeze, and the rhythmic swishing sound lulled Will into a near slumber as his horse plodded along behind Major Caldwell.
An echoing shot shattered the quiet of the night, causing Will to jerk his horse’s reins as it grew skittish. A flash of white flew by him, as he glimpsed a shadowy figure rise from the tall prairie grass. With a dawning realization, Will realized he had nearly been struck by an arrow. The company of Rangers were surrounded by dozens of darting figures, some afoot, and even more approaching on horseback. He drew his pistol and fired at the shadowy figure. He saw it descend below the top of the grass but couldn’t tell if he’d hit it.
Major Caldwell, pistol in one hand and reins in the other, circled back to his side, “General, our best bet is to pull our men into a circle. I don’t fancy our chances scattered about like we are.”
He swung down from his horse and shot at a shadowy figure who had ridden up close, bearing a heavy, steel tipped spear. The rider dropped the spear and slid to the side, as the horse raced past. Will jumped down from his mount and joined Caldwell as the major called out for nearby Rangers to join him.
Despite the dim moonlight, Will saw one of their flank riders, hatless, racing toward them, chased by several warriors, brandishing spears and bows. The Ranger hugged his horse’s neck, as he made the smallest target he could atop his mount. Arrows sped above him as he kicked his horse, urging it to go faster. Will could make out the Rangers’ black mustache and pale face as he approached the dismounted officers.
An arrow punched through his throat, blood splaying across the neck of his horse, as his arms went slack and he slipped off the back of his mount. Will stood shocked as the riderless horse reared up, a dozen feet to his front. A mounted warrior came up beside the horse and made several attempts to snatch the reins slapping in the wind. Will shook the shock from his face and hastily snapped a shot which flew through the space between warrior and horse. Breathing in sharply, he steadied his hand and fired a second time, catapulting the warrior off the back of his horse.
The multiple shots from Will’s pistol caused the other warriors following behind the first to pull up short. Rather than find out how many more rounds Will had, they wheeled about and rode back the way they had come. Will turned to Caldwell and saw the Major had found a half dozen more Rangers, who had dismounted and joined them. The Major deployed four of the men forward, with their carbines. Will straightaway recognized the small group tactics he and Lt. Colonel Johnston had been teaching to the infantry. The Rangers were not as smooth nor as coordinated as the foot soldiers, but Will’s lips skinned back into a vicious grin, as two of the men fired at targets well beyond the range of the revolvers, while the other two held their fire.
It was good they had done so, as several mounted warriors raced toward the dismounted men with lances lowered, thinking the Texians were busy reloading their guns. As the distance rapidly narrowed, the other two men raised their rifles and fired, toppling two more warriors from their saddles. Across the prairie, Will could hear the frustration in the voices of the Comanche warriors, still determined to press home their attack.
The ringing of a horseshoe striking a rock behind him, made Will turn his head. Less than a dozen feet from him, slinking through the tall grass, he saw a warrior, crouched low, racing toward the horses. Will snapped the gun up and fired directly at the warrior, and the hammer fell on the percussion cap, but nothing happened. The warrior sprang toward Will when he realized he had been discovered, steel bladed knife glimmering in the faint starlight. With no time to shoot again, Will threw the pistol into the warrior’s face.
Stunned, the warrior dropped his knife, but his momentum carried him into Will, and the two crashed to the ground. Despite blood running down his face from a gash to his cheek, the warrior recovered and grasped for Will’s windpipe.
As the warrior’s fingers, slick with sweat, grabbed his throat, Will saw the warrior’s head less than a foot from his own. He smashed his fists into the Warrior’s elbow, bringing the sunburned face closer. With all his might, Will swung his head forward, his forehead crashing into the warrior’s nose. The satisfying crunching sound of the cartilage breaking was music to Will’s ears as the warrior’s grip loosened. Ignoring the stars dancing in front of his eyes, Will focused on the face looming over him, and
drove his right fist into the ruined nose. A sharp pain traveled from his knuckles up his arm, but the warrior attempted to roll away, as blood ran down his chin.
The warrior jumped to his feet, and saw Will’s revolver lying on the ground. As he lunged for it, Will drew his saber. The Comanche held the revolver in both his hands, pointing it at Will, and pulled the trigger. The hammer slammed down as the warrior cringed in anticipation of the explosion which would send a bullet flying at Will.
When the hammer snapped down on the empty cylinder, Will leapt forward, his saber outstretched, and caught the still cringing warrior in the stomach, driving the blade through. The grip was just a few inches from the belly when Will stopped moving forward. The warrior sank to his knees and Will retrieved his revolver from where it fell.
After the bloody work of removing his saber, he rejoined Major Caldwell where more than a dozen Rangers stood in a semicircle, weapons at the ready. A few arrows landed in front of the band of Rangers and several men returned fire. It appeared the Comanche realized there was nothing more to be gained and after a few more arrows landed harmlessly in front of the dismounted force, the shadowy figures turned and faded back into the night.
The sliver of the moon descended below the horizon, and from the direction of the main column, the blast of a bugle alerted Will and the Rangers to the approach of Seguin’s cavalry. Spread out to the north, Will watched the troopers, advancing in a long single line, stretching across more than a hundred yards.
