Return to the Alamo

by Paul Bedford

  With only two chambers remaining, I had to think fast. Cocking my weapon, I charged towards him. Another mounted warrior thrust his horse towards me, using only his legs to control it. Notching an arrow to his bow, he took swift aim. Instinctively I swung my revolver up and fired directly into his chest. With an anguished cry he tumbled backwards, disappearing from view.

  One chamber left.

  Maintaining momentum, I reached the Comanche leader and powered myself off the ground. Catching him side on, I managed to wrap my left arm tightly around his torso. The horse stumbled slightly, but remained upright. Without giving him time to react, I smashed the frame of my revolver into his face, and then rammed the muzzle under his chin. For a fleeting moment I saw the horror registering on his battered and bloodied face, as the savage realized with dreadful certainty that he was about to die. Turning my face away, I squeezed the trigger. With a roar the final chamber discharged, sending the .36 calibre ball up into his brain, before exiting through the roof of his skull in a shower of red and grey slime. Drops of blood spattered on my face, as his lifeless legs released their grip and we both fell heavily to the ground. Landing on my back, all the breath was knocked out of me and I lay there winded and completely helpless.

  The bloodied corpse lay across my upper body, severely hampering my efforts to draw air into my lungs. As I attempted to heave him off, I was aware of a coating of grease, which made my task all the more difficult. Frantically bucking under him, I finally managed to roll the Comanche away. Greedily sucking in air, I was aware that the sounds of battle seemed to have diminished. Individual riders were galloping away as though demoralized by the sudden death of their leader. It was well known amongst the rangers, that any apparent change of fortune was often sufficient to persuade the savages to break off an engagement, even if in reality they had the upper hand.

  Even though still dazed, I felt a tremendous surge of relief flow through me. Had three men really managed to drive off a whole war band at least ten times their number? Feeling strength returning, I searched around for my revolver, only to jump with shock as a horse suddenly thundered up to me. Gazing up at its rider in disbelief, I witnessed his triumphant expression, as he levelled a fully extended bow at my defenceless form.

  In the instant that he loosed the arrow, a single shot rang out. A shattering pain engulfed my left arm, but even through that I was aware that my attacker was no longer in sight. Although still on my back, I could easily make out the wooden shaft attached to the iron headed arrow embedded in my upper arm. My head swam and I struggled to focus. Then I heard Shockley’s voice as he ran towards me. Unusually for him he sounded almost jubilant.

  ‘God damn it, Major. We did it. You did it. I ain’t never seen the like before, nor ever will again.’

  Fighting against the agony coursing through my body, I looked directly at the normally grim faced ranger and favoured him with a smile. I was gratified, in a way that transcended the pain, to see it returned with genuine warmth and admiration. Due to this uncharacteristic pre-occupation, Shockley failed to catch the movement nearby.

  Captain Speirs emerged from out of the gloom and positioned himself behind and to the side of the euphoric frontiersman.

  ‘What a touching little scene,’ he remarked dryly, as he placed the multiple barrelled, supposedly jammed Pepperbox Pistol to the side of Shockley’s skull and squeezed the trigger. As the upper barrel erupted, the ranger’s head jerked forward like that of a marionette. I could only watch in horror as his temple disintegrated in a welter of blood and brain matter. So close had the muzzle been on discharge, that the man’s hair was smouldering from the powder flash. Bizarrely the smile remained fixed in place, as Ranger Shockley’s now lifeless body slumped to the ground.

  With a supreme effort I managed to get to my feet, but the world around me began to drift again. Totally incapable of saving myself I fell back, and then down. Again the air vacated my lungs, but this time I was aware only of a strange blackness enveloping me as all sensation left me and I surrendered to the void.

  CHAPTER TEN

  My eyes flicked open, accepting far more light than I could possibly deal with. Snapping them shut again, I resolved to take things slowly. My heart was racing, so I began drawing in deep draughts of air. That had the effect of steadying me, but failed to dispel the appalling ache in my left arm. To compound matters my legs felt strangely constricted, so I attempted some movement to relieve them. No amount of effort could achieve that, so I risked opening my eyes again. What I saw overrode the discomfort and chilled me to the core. My legs were bound together at the ankles by a strip of rawhide, which in turn was tied to a short wooden post hammered into the earth.

  ‘This cannot be,’ I half muttered to myself. Twisting around I began to take in my surroundings. I was back at the camp by the river. The major source of my discomfort, the Comanche arrow, remained embedded in my arm. Granted it was only a flesh wound, but the pain was excruciating. And then everything flooded back; the desperate battle with the war party, my injury, Kirkham Shockley’s horrific death, and Speirs!

  ‘Well, well, so the hero of the hour is awake.’

  Jerking to the right, I saw the speaker lounging casually against the side of my wagon. As I watched, he pushed himself upright and sauntered towards me.

  ‘You bastard,’ I cried out. ‘There was no need to slaughter that man, he had done you no ill!’

  ‘The pain from your wound has obviously addled your quite considerable wits. That colonial was a born killer. He would have carried out his threat to me at the first opportunity. As it was I had a stroke of luck.’ By way of explanation of that last remark, the captain none too gently prodded my left arm with his boot. Daggers of sheer torment launched themselves through my body as I twisted away from him.

  There was a look of anticipation on his face as he observed my suffering. ‘One thing you should be aware of, Major Collins, I am an officer to be sure, but definitely no gentleman!’

  As the full import of his words hit me, the raging anger subsided. The figure looming over me was quite definitely the most dangerous individual that I had yet encountered. Blind rage was always more dangerous to the person displaying it and indulging in it with this man would surely kill me. Taking a deep breath, I settled back on the ground and appraised my captor.

  ‘Perhaps it would benefit us both if you made your intentions known, Captain Speirs.’

  The other man gave a mirthless laugh before replying. ‘My intention is to die a man of wealth and position. When I have relieved you of the sovereigns stitched into your jacket I will have some of the former. Delivering you alive to the British chargé d’affaires in Washington on the Brazos will help me on my way to the latter. But first I will need to remove that arrow before infection sets in. It should serve to keep you breathing and will assist me in removing said jacket.’ With that he turned away and stalked off towards the river.

  I have no idea how much time passed before he returned to me. The throbbing in my arm never ceased, and the severity of the binding on my ankles was causing me some cruel discomfort. For a brief time at least, I either passed out or fell into a fitful sleep. I came to with a start shortly before his return. Giving me a cursory glance, the tall officer dropped some kindling and swiftly constructed a small fire.

  ‘It occurs to me that your wound, once cleaned, may need cauterizing. I’m sure you’re familiar with the technique.’

  I winced from a combination of pain, alarm and surprise. Surely he hadn’t witnessed the whole episode with Kirby.

  Trying desperately to think logically I asked, ‘What became of my two companions? I know that you have their firearms.’

  Speirs appeared bored by the subject, but nonetheless condescended to reply. ‘If you look over by the river, you will observe the horse that is to carry you to Washington.’

  I did as instructed and was shocked by what I saw. Ground tethered and grazing peacefully was Frenchie’s short brown Quarter Horse. ‘
So you killed him too,’ I stated sadly.

  It was a statement rather than a question, but the captain shrugged his shoulders and responded anyway. ‘I came upon him looting the body of my sergeant, so I could hardly let him live. As for the other fellow, you’d already had your entertainment with him, so I left him where he lay. He lives or dies. It’s of no account to me.’

  With that he placed my hunting knife into the fire. Then, from inside his jacket, he produced a length of rawhide. Seizing my right arm, he looped it around my wrist, tied it off and then stretched it out behind my head. Unbeknown to me he had already hammered a second stake into the ground. Within a matter of seconds the only limb that I could move was my left arm, but of course he had plans for that.

  Removing his jacket, he rolled up the sleeves of his blood spattered white shirt. Catching my glance, he obviously realized that I was scrutinizing his appearance, because anger flared in his eyes.

  ‘The next blood stains on this shirt will be yours!’

  So saying and without any warning, he grabbed the arrow shaft with both hands, and savagely snapped it in two. I had known that it had to be done, to facilitate the extraction, but nothing had prepared me for the ensuing pain. My whole body went rigid with shock and rivers of sweat began to pour from me. A sense of anger and outrage exploded within me and I struggled wildly against the rawhide straps.

  ‘Come now, Major,’ muttered Speirs mildly, as though gently rebuking a child. ‘We’re just getting started. This arrow has been cunningly barbed to prevent it being withdrawn. The only way to extract it is to force it forward and out.’

  There was an edge of excitement to his voice that spoke volumes and for the first time I felt real despair. I was quite obviously in the hands of a sadistic madman. My captor only had to return me alive, whilst any ill treatment inflicted on me could be explained away as a medical necessity, following my conflict with the Comanches.

  Approximately six inches of wooden shaft protruding from my upper arm remained. The metal head had obviously struck at an angle, but not broken the bone. Standing astride me, he dropped to his knees and then settled himself onto my lower torso. I immediately felt my breathing restricted and was uncomfortably aware that I was now completely immobile. Catching my desperate glance, Speirs licked his lips before speaking.

  ‘This procedure will cause you great pain. I need to be in control at all times.’

  As he said this I noticed that, as though compensating for my own reaction, his rate of breathing had increased and a thin sheen of sweat now covered his forehead. The man was actually revelling in the anticipation of what was to follow.

  I twisted and strained with all my strength, but it was to no avail. Bound hand and foot, with his body weight bearing down on me, I was his to mistreat as he wished. Leaning to his right, he took hold of my injured arm and twisted it, so as to access the flesh opposite the penetration point. Grasping his own knife, he placed the razor sharp tip onto my pale skin and pressed in, then down. My stomach tightened, my legs began to tremble violently and I howled out in pain. I truly believed that he was trying to amputate my arm. Pulling his bloody knife back, he remained astride me, blatantly savouring my suffering as I writhed beneath him. With my breathing severely constricted, I was unable to sustain my reaction for long. As the tears in my eyes cleared, I realized that he was talking to me.

  ‘That incision will enable me to push the head past the bone and out.’

  Seizing my arm with his right hand, he placed the palm of his left onto the broken end of the shaft and began to push. I could never have envisaged that such pain could be both possible and sustainable. The arrowhead began to tear through virgin flesh, sending vicious bursts of agony lancing through my whole body. I could not withstand it and yet had no option. The screams no longer seemed to emanate from me, they just existed.

  How long I endured it for I will never know, but it did finally end. Without warning the pressure just ceased, to be replaced by an all-consuming ache. As my resistance subsided, the captain opened his eyes and rocked back onto his heels. There was a look of twisted pleasure etched onto his face. At that point I slipped into a state of blessed unconsciousness.

  When I came to, the sun was going down. My three limbs remained bound, so I lay there perfectly still for some time, not wishing to attract Speirs’s attention. Finally I slowly turned my head to scrutinize the expected wreckage of my arm. It was with some surprise that I found it to be efficiently bandaged with the detached sleeve of my once white shirt. There was a strong smell of alcohol, which suggested that my captor had poured whiskey over the wound rather than cauterized it. Perhaps there had not been any pleasure to be gained from that procedure once I had passed out.

  My hesitant movement had registered with Speirs and he drifted back from the river with a water canteen. Without any preamble he remarked, ‘We will remain here for the night so that you may rest. At first light we depart for the Brazos River.’

  He had made no reference to the ordeal that he had subjected me to and anger bubbled up within me. ‘I could have you cashiered for what you did today,’ I accused him coldly.

  Strangely subdued, Speirs avoided my eyes as he answered. ‘You’re alive, aren’t you? It was necessary. Besides, who would believe the word of a deserter against that of a serving officer?’

  I wanted to rail against him for the brutality of his actions, but fought against it. I was completely in his power and he knew it. Changing tack I asked, ‘Are you not curious as to why I remained in Texas?’

  Finally fixing his eyes on me, he sneered. ‘A comely wench and a pouch full of sovereigns will turn any man’s head. Beyond that I don’t really care. My only concern is that you survive to reach captivity. When I bring you in, the name of Hugo Speirs will finally count for something. Enough talk. Sleep while you can, for tomorrow we will be covering a lot of distance.’

  The next day began in the same way as the previous period had ended. Painfully! The ever-present ache was sufficiently severe to test my sanity, but at least I was still alive. And I had finally slept a little.

  There was movement from over by the river and I watched carefully as the captain strode towards me. There was something about his demeanour that struck a chord of recognition within me. The man was uneasy, but working hard to conceal it. Since I couldn’t possibly be the cause of his disquiet, there had to be something else. As he approached me, I made another observation. He had my Colt Revolver tucked into his belt along with his own Pepperbox. It was to be expected, but it still rankled.

  ‘ ‘Tis an impressive piece, Major,’ he commented, supplying proof, if indeed it was required, that he didn’t miss a thing. Silently he knelt down and sliced through the cord securing my right arm. With the welcome freedom came yet more pain, as the circulation returned. Dropping a water canteen and some beef jerky in my lap, he then turned and walked away.

  ‘Something’s troubling you, Captain,’ I called after him. ‘If it concerns the savages, you’d best tell me.’

  The man stopped, as though about to speak, then apparently thought better of it and continued back to where the horses were grazing by the riverbank. He was obviously preparing for our departure.

  I sat up too quickly, so that my head swam. Fighting the sensation, I gulped down some cool water, which immediately made me feel better. Encouraged, I followed it by taking a bite out of the jerky. Chewing on the strongly flavoured meat, I took the opportunity to view my surroundings. What I saw sent yet another shudder through my body.

  The tarpaulin had been heaved clear of the powder store. A keg, with its stopper missing, had been placed at the edge of the partially covered trench and had a long powder trail running from it. Speirs obviously intended to blow up the magazine.

  Within minutes he was back, leading both horses and this time there was no disguising the agitation that he felt. Looking down at me, his eyes met mine and he could contain himself no longer.

  ‘Something is amiss,’ he muttere
d. ‘Can you not feel it? We are no longer alone.’

  Sensing a slight shift in the balance of power, I was in no mood to soothe him. Instead I replied cuttingly, ‘The only thing I can feel is pain sinking its talons into me. If you genuinely consider that we are under threat, cut me loose this instant and arm me!’

  ‘Go to hell!’

  ‘If your suspicions are correct you may get there before me.’

  At that his face flushed livid and I was sure that he would strike me. Instead he drew his knife and sliced through the rawhide around my ankles. Rolling to my right, I ended up on my hands and knees, where I remained, desperately trying to control the nausea that had suddenly overwhelmed me. Then I heard an ominous double click, as my own revolver was brought to full cock.

  ‘If you attempt to mount before I say, I will place a ball in one of your limbs. Be assured it will not kill you until after we reach Washington!’

  Giving up any attempt to stand, I instead assumed a sitting position from where I could observe his movements. My earlier fears were confirmed, as he moved directly to the end of the powder trail some few yards away. He really did intend to destroy all my gunpowder. Looking desperately around for a weapon, any weapon, I noticed my shotgun temporarily secured to his saddle with rawhide. I contemplated making a dash for it, before cursing myself for a fool. In my condition he would cut me down before I laid a hand on it. I watched helplessly as he placed my revolver in the crook of his arm, to enable him to ignite a Lucifer. As it flared into life he turned to face me. Standing there, apparently all-powerful, with the flaming Lucifer in his left hand and my Colt in his right, his thin lips twisted into a sardonic smile. One thing was for certain: at that moment Captain Hugo Speirs was afraid of nothing in this world!