Ole Devil at San Jacinto (Old Devil Hardin Western Book 4)

by J. T. Edson

  Fight.’

  For all the employment of the honorific, ‘sir’, the young Texian decided that the words had an undesirable import. Obviously the speaker had the kind of nature which must accept any challenge. Furthermore, his comment suggested that he could not be the agitator who had remained incognito among their colleagues.

  ‘I told you how it is if you come across,’ Ole Devil said, in flat and dispassionate tones, making the words sound more of an unavoidable fact rather than a threat or a warning. ‘So on your own head be it if you do.’

  ‘I’m coming over, cap’n,’ the man repeated.

  A silence which could almost be felt had come over the crowd. Every eye was fixed upon Ole Devil and his challenger to the exclusion of all else.

  At the most, two more steps would see the latter crossing the line!

  Standing motionless, but with his Satanic face as implacable as fate, Ole Devil was getting set to bring free and discharge the Manton pistol!

  The man stopped a good stride clear of the dividing mark!

  ‘Only not to take you up on it, sir,’ he went on, as a sighing gasp arose from the crowd and the members of Company ‘C’ alike. ‘No sir, Cap’n Hardin. By grab, you’re right in what you said and I’ll be honored to stand alongside you on it.’

  ‘And I’m with you, mister!’ called a voice to which excitement, or some other emotion, had given a timbre closer to a contralto than a tenor. ‘We’ll get all the fighting we want when General Houston knows the time’s right for it. So, by cracky, that’s good enough for me.’

  For all the somewhat effeminate tones, the figure which stepped forward was very masculine in appearance. Not that, with the wide brimmed black hat on his head and a luxuriant mass of bushy black whiskers, much could be seen of his features. Buttoned to the neck, a heavy black cloak-coat obscured him to the top of his riding boots and his hands were buried in its pockets.

  ‘And for me,’ seconded the man in the buckskins. ‘We ain’t scared of ’em none, but we all know just how big an army Santa Anna’s got. Say what you will about Sam Houston, he is neither a fool nor a coward. If he don’t want to lock horns with ’em, it’s cause he knows the time ’n’ place isn’t right. When it be, he’ll be out there ahead and leading us.’ He darted a scathing look over his shoulder at the crowd. ‘Not staying hid like some when they’re making big talk about wanting to fight and gets offered the chance. Be it all right if I step up and join you, Cap’n Hardin?’

  ‘I’d be proud to have you, sir,’ Ole Devil answered. ‘And anybody else who has the true interests of Texas at heart.’

  Even as he was speaking, the Texian wondered where he had seen the other man before. There was something vaguely familiar about the grimy and unshaven face. He also wished that his supporter had selected the words of the speech with greater care. The latter part of them had constituted a direct challenge to the agitator. Fortunately, that worthy did not offer to put in an appearance.

  ‘That’s me, for one,’ the smaller figure declared, following the other man across the line. ‘Who’ll else’s with us?’

  ‘Take the Company back to our lines, Mr. Blaze!’ Ole Devil ordered, without waiting to see what the response would be. ‘They’ve plenty to do before General Houston marches us out.’

  Given that much of a lead from two of their number and a gesture of peace by the young captain, particularly as the agitator in their midst had not advanced to refute the references to his desire for anonymity, the rest of the gathering began to reconsider the justice of its purpose. All had heard of how large a force Santa Anna had at his disposal and realized that, new caplocks or not, they would be greatly outnumbered. Nor could any of them, even his antagonists, truthfully argue against the remark regarding General Houston’s courage and sagacity. Wise in the ways of waging war, he could be counted on to know how best to cope with an enemy of such overwhelming strength.

  ‘Hey!’ called one of the crowd. ‘The Yellow Stone’s coming back.’

  ‘Come on, Billy,’ another said to his neighbor. ‘Our outfit’s due to go aboard her. Let’s get back so’s we’ll be ready to go.’

  Once somebody had made the first move to depart, the crowd dissolved like grains of sand scattered by the wind. Seeing that they had failed to make their point, the anti-Houston faction did not attempt to stop the rest. Soon, only Ole Devil and his two supporters remained.

  ‘Egad, my Mephistophelian young friend,’ said the man in buckskins, employing vastly different tones. ‘Once again, you have fully justified my confidence in your ability to cope in the best possible way with a situation of some delicacy and danger.’

  ‘I’m not sorry it’s over,’ the smaller figure went on, also changing ‘his’ manner of speaking. ‘This beard you gave me itches, Manny.’

  ‘And doesn’t do a thing to improve your beauty, light of my love,’ the first supporter declared.

  Even at such close quarters, so effective had been the changes they had wrought to their appearances, it was not until they reverted to their normal voices that Ole Devil realized he was speaking to Corrinne and Mangrove Hallistead.

  Amused by the expression of amazement on the young Texian’s normally emotionless face, the entertainer made an explanation. He had assumed the disguise, as an aid to tracking down a spy in Santa Anna’s pay, on the day that Ole Devil had left San Felipe. Having achieved his purpose early that afternoon, he had been about to bathe, shave and put on his usual clothes when he had heard that the withdrawal was to be resumed. Guessing that there would be protests against the decision, he had suggested that his wife donned suitable attire so they could mingle with the enlisted men unnoticed and, if necessary, warn General Houston of what was happening.

  Having joined the protest meeting and seen Mannen Blaze hurrying away, the Hallisteads had deduced his purpose. They had also guessed that Ole Devil would take some form of action to disperse it. As Houston had crossed the river to examine the situation, they had waited to find out how the young captain would set about the task and were ready to support him.

  Being just as knowledgeable as Ole Devil about mob psychology, Hallistead had known how he could best render aid. It was unlikely that any member of the crowd would want to take the lead if it appeared some other person was willing to assume the responsibility. So he had become the ‘agitator’, then moved to another position to act as the ‘supporter’. His comments on emerging had turned the gathering’s feelings against the ‘agitator’, who they assumed had lacked the courage of his convictions when challenged. Fortunately, possibly because of the tension his actions had evoked, nobody who had stood near Hallistead when he was playing the ‘agitator’ was perceptive enough to have noticed the change in his behavior when he had turned to being the ‘supporter’.

  ‘I thought they’d be willing to change their minds about marching south when they saw there was more than just Manny against it,’ Corrinne continued, her feminine tones at odds with her masculine appearance. ‘And they did.’

  ‘You timed your entrance to perfection, as always, light of my life,’ the entertainer agreed. ‘But General Houston will have to engage the enemy eftsoons, or the advantage we have gained for him will be dissipated.’

  ‘He’ll be doing it before long,’ Ole Devil guessed. ‘And when he does, we’ll settle who’s going to control Texas once and for all.’

  The young Texian’s words were prophetic!

  Chapter Sixteen – Me No Alamo, Me No Goliad

  Major General Samuel Houston’s insistence upon waiting until the time and the place were right before allowing the confrontation with Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna’s column was fully justified by the events of Thursday, April 21, 1836.

  Bringing about such a desirable state of affairs had not been easy. In spite of the way in which the protest meeting at Groce’s Place had been dispersed by Ole Devil Hardin and the Hallisteads, there had been considerable discontentment among the enlisted men as the march continued with no
suggestion of what its ultimate purpose might be. Wanting to avoid disappointment and a complete breakdown of morale if his judgment of the situation should prove at fault, the general did not offer to enlighten them. As he was to say in later years, ‘I consulted none, nor held no councils of war. If I was to err, the blame would be mine alone.’

  Notwithstanding Houston’s reticence, some of the more astute men under his command began to realize that something was developing. While their dependants were continuing to move eastwards under a small escort, the route being taken by the rest of the Army was to the southeast.

  Then, on April 18—when spirits were approaching their lowest ebb and badly needed a boost—came astounding news which supplied it. No longer was the Republic of Texas’s Army withdrawing ahead of their pursuers. Now the position was reversed and it was the Mexicans who were in front.

  For the first time, Houston made a pronouncement to his men. Telling them something of the geography in that part of Texas, he had stated that Santa Anna was close to San Jacinto Bay. The only way el Presidente could rejoin the main body of his army was by crossing at Lynch’s Ferry, or by the bridge which spanned Vince’s Bayou. By increasing their pace, the Texians could reach whichever point was selected ahead of their enemies.

  ‘Victory is certain!’ the general cried. ‘Trust in God and fear not! And remember the Alamo! Above all, remember the Alamo!’

  ‘Remember the Alamo!’ came the answering reply, as if in one voice and with a vehemence that boded little good for those who had been responsible for its fall.

  El Presidente’s fury-inspired headlong dash for Harrisburg had proved a waste of time. On his arrival, he found that the town was practically deserted. Forewarned of his coming, President Burnet, the Government, their escort of New Orleans’ Wildcats and almost all of the population had taken a hurried departure. From three captives, he had learned that the objects of his hatred were fleeing to Galveston with the intention of leaving the country by boat.

  Dispatching Colonel Juan Almonte with a force of cavalry to check on Lynch’s Ferry and New Washington, both at the mouth of the San Jacinto River, Santa Anna had allowed the rest of his exhausted force some badly needed rest. Then, according to a report he received, there was a chance to end the rebellion with a single stroke. Apparently making for safety east of the Trinity River, Houston and his men were going towards Lynch’s Ferry. Thwarted of his vengeance in one direction, el Presidente swore to take it in another.

  Starting the march once more, Santa Anna drove his men even harder. In his excitement and eagerness, he completely overlooked that the terrain he was entering offered only a limited opportunity for maneuvering so large a force. To the left was Buffalo Bayou, ahead the estuary of the San Jacinto River, at the right the inlets and swamps of Galveston Bay and, after the crossing of the bridge over Vince’s Bayou, they had water to the rear as well.

  On the face of it, el Presidente had nothing to fear. Not only was General Ramirez Sesma at Thompson’s Ferry with a thousand men and General Vincente Filisola close by at the head of another eighteen hundred, but his own force was more than double that led by Houston. So it mattered not that General Antonio Gaona was lost somewhere with two battalions, or that General José Urrea had sent word that he was returning with his Brigade to put down an Indian uprising in the State of Tamaulipa. lvi He had no need of any of them, nor any desire to allow them a share in the glory of driving the ‘foreign land thieves’ from his domain.

  So things stood when, on April 20, the two forces came face to face close to the confluence of Buffalo Bayou and the San Jacinto River. There was some sporadic and indecisive fighting during the day, with Houston wisely restraining his men’s eagerness to get to close quarters. Not only had the size of his command been decreased by the escort for their dependants, there was a larger loss. Apart from Company ‘C’, whose commanding officer he regarded as a good luck talisman, he had sent the Texas Light Cavalry to make a feint in the direction of Thompson’s Ferry.

  Annoyed by the refusal of the enemy to play into his hands, Santa Anna had pulled back to make camp for the night. He was most satisfied by the site he selected. It was on a hill, well protected against flanking attacks by having water at the rear, thick woodland at the right as far as the banks of the San Jacinto River and open terrain to the left, with a clear front between it and the Texians. Furthermore, late in the afternoon, General Martin Perfecto de Cós had arrived with four hundred men and one of el Presidente’s baggage wagons carrying powder and shot to replace that which had been expended, or ruined in the dash across country.

  Gathering his officers in the evening, General Houston outlined his strategy. ‘Deaf’ Smith and his scouts were to go and destroy Vince’s bridge, cutting off the enemies’ retreat and preventing, or at least delaying, the arrival of further reinforcements. Everybody else was to make preparations for an all out assault upon el Presidente’s camp the following morning. In conjunction with the latter, there had been something which demanded attention. Sent by Colonel Edward Fog to keep an eye on Cós’s party, a patrol from the Texas Light Cavalry had captured a Mexican deserter who informed them of what the baggage wagon was transporting. On hearing about it, Houston had seen how he might be able to turn it to his ends.

  Space does not permit a detailed account of how Ole Devil and Tommy Okasi, who became an ‘Indian’ again for the mission, infiltrated Santa Anna’s encampment in the night with the intention of destroying the newly arrived supply of ammunition. Suffice to say that they succeeded in concealing among the cargo an explosive device, equipped with a simple delayed-action detonator produced by a gunsmith in Houston’s force. It was set to go off approximately when it would be needed the next day, complete accuracy being unattainable.

  As if in repayment for his unflinching adherence to the correct policy over the past weeks and as a recompense for the misfortunes which had recently befallen the Texians’ cause, the weather on April 21 was ideally suited for Houston’s purpose. Not only had the night and dawn been wet and damp, there was a heavy fog which made it possible for he and his seven hundred and eighty-three men to approach their enemy over open ground without being seen from a distance.

  Carrying out the prediction made by Mangrove Hallistead at Groce’s Place, Houston was in the lead. Sword in hand, as the fog began to lift, he waited for the most effective moment. Spread out in a thin, long line, his men were grasping their weapons eagerly. In addition to those equipped from the consignment, so many of the remainder had already owned caplocks that there were few weapons fired by flint and priming powder.

  All was set for the attack!

  With a shattering roar, touched off by the device that Ole Devil and Tommy had planted, the powder in the wagon at the center of the Mexicans’ camp exploded.

  Instantly, Houston gave the order to charge!

  There were no massed bands to urge the Texians on with the stirring notes of the Deguello. All they could muster by way of music was a single fife and drum, whose players knew but one tune. So the attack went under way to the strains of ‘Will You Come To The Bower Which I Have Shaded For You?’

  Nor was any further inducement necessary.

  Taken by surprise, the Mexicans were at a further disadvantage. All but a favored few held antiquated weapons, in the use of which they had received little training. What was more, being flintlocks, the arms possessed a deadly failing in such inclement weather. Striking wet frizzen pans, what few sparks were produced by the flints fell on to damp and ruined priming powder.

  Such an affliction did not affect the Texians. Their weapons were unimpaired by the elements. Just how many of the foe they killed with the devastating volley which they poured into the camp on Houston’s command will never be known, but the figure must have been high. Following upon it, the Texians dashed furiously into their enemies’ midst to continue the work with bayonets, swords, pistols, knives or the butts of rifles.

  Already exhausted and dispirited by the hard
ships inflicted upon them during the forced march, demoralized by the discovery that their weapons refused to function when those of their assailants dealt out death and destruction, the Mexicans essayed only a minimal token resistance.

  Many sought to save their lives in flight. lvii Ramon Caro was one of their number, but he was captured by ‘Deaf’ Smith’s scouts on his way south.

  Others—and they were plentiful—hoping to gain mercy by disassociating themselves from certain events which had been calculated to arouse the Texians’ ire, flung down their weapons and yelled in broken English, ‘Me no Alamo, me no Goliad!’

  Not all the pleas were successful. It would be futile to suggest that all who wished were allowed to surrender. A few were cut down with their arms raised, but not as many as might have been the case if the positions had been reversed.

  There were those too who fought as best they could. Among them was General Manuel Fernandez Castrillón, who fell after refusing a suggestion that he should flee on the grounds that, ‘I’ve never shown my back to an enemy and I’m too old to do it now.’

  In not more than eighteen minutes from the explosion, for which at least the young Mexican officer who had been involved in the killing of James Bowie at the Alamo Mission had caused to be grateful, lviii the Battle of San Jacinto was over.

  Six hundred and thirty Mexicans lay dead and a further seven hundred, a figure which increased as strays were gathered in, were taken prisoner.

  The Cost to the Texians?

  Nine dead, only two of whom were killed by bullets, and twenty-three wounded!

  And what of the person who was responsible for the terrible loss of life?

  There was not a trace to be found of Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna on the field at San Jacinto.