“How are you, Henry?” I asked, helping French to his feet.
“Could be worse, sir,” French answered.
He’d taken a musket ball through the forearm, but no bones were broken. I pulled out a handkerchief to wrap the wound.
“Reckon this is glory?” Crockett asked, coming to my side carrying a flintlock.
The dead of both armies lay all around us. Far more than were still on their feet. I glanced up to the roof of the long barracks where my guidon still fluttered in a light breeze.
“It may not feel like it now, David, but yes. This is glory,” I answered without the slightest doubt.
Santa Anna’s army continued to withdraw, gathering their wounded. Women and camp followers appeared, helping who they could. Good riddance, I thought. We’d have trouble enough tending our own.
“Looks like you did it, Autie,” Tom said, rushing down the ramp into the charred courtyard.
“Tom!” I shouted, so glad to see him I could burst.
Bill Cooke and Voss were with him. A few horses appeared at a breach in the west wall, but they weren’t chasing the enemy, merely watching. Lieutenant Smith was in command.
“Don’t get too excited, Autie, there’s only a hundred of us,” Tom explained. “Most of the reinforcements from Goliad won’t catch up ‘til tomorrow.”
“Fannin?” I asked.
“Decided to stay behind, but sent two hundred men.”
“How’d you work that? Put a pistol to his head?”
“Something like that,” Tom said with a sly grin. “You said to do whatever it took. I made our case to Fannin. Bill held the pistol to his head.” Though said lightheartedly, I suspected he wasn’t joking.
“It’s a miracle you got here so soon,” I said, giving him a heartfelt hug.
“We’ve got Bouyer to thank for that. Bouyer and Morning Star,” Tom replied.
“Morning Star?”
He pointed back. I looked past Tom to a gap in the wall. Morning Star was entering through the breach, walking her horse between Smith and Harrington. She was wearing a blue cavalry tunic, gray campaign hat, and high rawhide boots, looking delicious.
“Bouyer found a shortcut through the woods,” Tom explained, “but it was Morning Star and the Tejanos who showed up with fresh mounts. Once we got within striking range, we each took two horses and rode like hell.”
I saw it was true, their horses looked exhausted.
“Glad you boys could make the main event,” I said as everyone gathered around.
“Good to see you, too, General,” Cooke said, coming down the ramp. The men looked like they’d ridden all night. Their uniforms were filled with mud, the sleeves and pants frayed. Tom’s face was chapped from the cold wind.
“The Mexican cavalry?” I asked.
“Algernon drove them off the hill this morning,” Cooke explained, slapping Smith on the back.
“Didn’t you know your flank was clear?” Smith said. “We saw Slow and John waving from the roof.”
“We were a little busy down here,” I said, trying not to sound irritated.
“Harrington brought the relief force up from the Cibolo. Tejanos, Texian militia, a few of the locals. Even Walking-In-Grass. It was a good brawl,” Smith added, so proud he was ready to burst.
I looked past him to see Sergeant Sepulveda and Francisco Sanchez, each mounted and well armed. Their small regiment of patriots had finally struck a blow against the tyrant. A few of the Gonzales Rangers and Chenoweth’s men had joined them.
“I’ve got more work for you,” I immediately said.
“You’re not going to divide the command again, are you?” Tom asked, the rascal.
“No. Far from it. How strong is Keogh’s hold on the town?”
“He rode in while the Mexicans were on this side of the river. Hard to say how long he can hold if they come back,” Smith said.
“We can’t stay in this graveyard,” I decided. “Smith, have E Company screen our retreat. Order Harrington to cross the river, reinforce Keogh. Sepulveda! Sanchez!”
“We are here, General Custer,” Sergeant Sepulveda said, offering a salute. It may have been my imagination, but their numbers seem to have grown.
“Can your boys gather up some wagons?”
“Si, señor,” Sepulveda said, dashing away.
“We’re abandoning the Alamo?” Crockett asked.
“No choice, David. We’re still outnumbered. The walls are wrecked.”
“We got lots of wounded,” Crockett said.
“And where will they be more comfortable? In Béjar’s haciendas, or crowded into that godforsaken church?”
“I’ll start rounding up the boys,” Crockett said.
“Mr. Carey, take charge of our cannon. Destroy what can’t be taken into town. Mr. Jameson, load up the small arms. Mr. Dickenson, prepare the wounded to be moved,” I ordered.
Carey, Dickenson and Jameson jumped to obey. They were part of my command now.
Dr. Pollard came forward just as Dr. Lord walked through the south gate. They would have much to talk about in the months ahead. With Pollard’s connections in Massasschuetts, we might even establish a medical facility here in Texas that would rival the hospitals in Boston. If we survived the next twenty-four hours.
I issued no more instructions. These were good men who knew their business, but I had one more task to finish.
I’ve heard veterans speak of battles where one could walk across the hallowed field from body to body without ever touching the ground. The Alamo’s courtyard was not quite that bad, but close. Baugh and some of the New Orleans Grays were gathering equipment while making a count, but that wasn’t my interest. I went up to the battered ramparts on the north wall. The middle bastion held the bodies of eight defenders. Both cannon had been spiked, preventing the Mexicans from using them against us. I’d been worried they didn’t have time.
On the northwest bastion, I found the bodies of Travis and Bonham. Travis had been shot through the forehead, probably in the early minutes of the battle. He’d fallen next to the cannon where General Cos lay, the two of them side by side. I picked up Travis’s sword, thinking his son might want it someday.
Both of the northwest cannon had been spiked as well. Bonham lay next to the corner gun, a hammer still clutched in his hand. He’d done his duty to the last, and I saluted him. A true man, good as his word. And I appreciated the irony. In life, Travis and Bonham would have been opponents of my plan to end slavery in Texas. In death, they were martyrs to a glorious cause.
I walked down the ramp, crossed the bloody courtyard, and went out through a hole in the west wall. With any luck, I would never set foot in the Alamo again.
“Afternoon, Gen’ral,” Bouyer said, meeting me just beyond the destroyed lunette.
He’d come up with Harrington’s command. Spotted Eagle sat in a two-wheeled cart, ribs wrapped in bandages. Slow was holding hands with Walking-In-Grass. Our Sioux contingent was reunited at last. Troops in cavalry blue were coming down the Alameda in column of twos, their pace jaunty with victory, and E Company’s flag flew proudly from the small building on Powder House Hill.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bouyer. Thank you for such excellent service,” I said.
“Still expectin’ my reward,” Bouyer replied.
“You and everyone else in the Seventh Cavalry.”
“There’s gold waitin’ for me in California, sir.”
“Waiting for all of us. Don’t worry, Mitch, it’s not going anywhere.”
I embraced Morning Star, expecting her to be part of the family soon, and hugged Walking-In-Grass, the mother of our army. The old woman seemed especially pleased, stroking Spotted Eagle’s hair while she walked next to him. That’s when I noticed seven scalps hanging from the back of their cart.
“We’ve got food and warm beds across the river,” I announced, for it finally occurred to me that Santa Anna’s quarters were unoccupied. I wondered what Ben could make us for dinner.
No one needed extra encouragement to leave the Alamo. After thirteen days of siege, the men were thoroughly sick of the place. Our dead were laid out in the side rooms of the church, to be buried once the fighting was over. The Mexicans were left were they lay, stripped of arms and ammunition. There were too many to bury anytime soon. Baugh’s preliminary count was eight hundred and fifty, but there were more lying beyond the walls. The final count would certainly exceed a thousand. Our losses appeared to be seventy-seven dead and a hundred wounded.
On a sinking ship, tradition says the captain is supposed to be the last man to leave. Fortunately, I’m a general, so I departed right after issuing the appropriate orders.
“Sir! Sir!” Corporal Voss shouted.
I turned to find a pleasant sight. Voss had brought Vic from the corral so I could ride into town, saving me the embarrassment of limping. The noble steed looked no worse for wear, having been sheltered near the long barracks. I rode over the old wooden bridge with head held high.
The road into San Antonio was cut with afternoon shadows, most of the houses still empty. The presidio was lit with several bonfires, Keogh’s men having taken up positions on the low walls surrounding the town square. The burly Irishman rushed forward to greet me.
“Congratulations, General,” Keogh said, shaking hands.
He’d lost some weight, but otherwise looked fit. I knew he would enjoy raiding behind Santa Anna’s lines, and now he’d gone and captured the entire town right under the dictator’s nose. I was green with envy.
“Looks like you’re the one who deserves the congratulations, Myles. Casualties?”
“Six dead, fourteen wounded. We got most of the Mexicans’ supplies,” Keogh bragged. “Thirty wagons. Hundred horses and mules. Three cannon. Found some food. Not much, but some.”
“Prisoners? Did you catch Santa Anna?”
“Naw, didn’t find no officers. None worth shootin’. We had some prisoners at first, but we let most of ’em go after the fightin’ stopped. Not sure how far they’ll get without their boots.”
I glanced toward the presidio, seeing a large pile of shoes, boots and sandals. If the released prisoners came back to attack us, they would need to do it barefoot.
“If you find any enemy doctors, send them to the cathedral. Crockett’s bringing in our wounded,” I said, pointing to the big church. I noticed the red flag had been taken down from the steeple.
“No doctors, sir. Not even an ambulance. Can you believe it? I guess Santa Anna didn’t expect any of his men to get shot.”
“Santa Anna didn’t expect a lot of things,” I said, shaking Keogh’s hand before crossing the street to the dictator’s headquarters.
Ben met us at the door with a big smile. He had served Colonel Juan Almonte after meeting him in New York City, and then Santa Anna, and now he was ready to serve us. Practical, as well as talented.
A fire burned in the great hearth and I smelled roast chicken in the kitchen. Slow entered first, followed by the rest of our party. It’s good the hacienda was large, for much of my staff would be using it in the days that followed. Warm quarters on a cold night are more than a blessing. And after what we’d been through, they were a necessity.
I cleared off the main table, gathered quill pens and parchment, and sat down to work. Messengers would be dispatched to nearby towns, for the army needed provisions. And more importantly, I would order the rebel convention on the Brazos River to disband, for I had no intention of recognizing the constitution they were writing. But the next thing I knew, it was the next morning. I’d fallen fast asleep the moment my butt hit the chair.
* * *
“Monday, March 7th, General,” John said, shaking me awake.
I was lying on a padded bench near the fire, a fresh poultice on my neck wound, a cold pack on my bruised chest, and a pillow under my sore leg. Tom and Morning Star were having breakfast, eggs over easy and fried bacon. The whiff of fresh biscuits filled the room. A bustle in the outer chamber indicated people were gathering to see me. The kitchen was no less busy. I sensed a relaxed mood.
“Tom, I’ve been meaning to ask you, whatever happened to Kellogg? Seems a star reporter from the Bismarck Tribune would want to have seen that battle,” I asked.
Tom smiled, taking another bite of eggs before answering. One of the pretty servant girls in a yellow dress offered maple syrup.
“Went to see Houston. Wanted to tell him about the Cherokee,” Tom said.
“What about the Cherokee?”
“You know, they signed a treaty with Houston in good faith, but after Houston left office, their land got stolen by Lamar and his band of cutthroats. Mark thinks Houston will see the situation differently if he knows what’s going to happen. Maybe come over to our side.”
“I didn’t know Houston was our enemy,” I said, not having given it much thought.
“Hell, Autie, we’re making so many enemies, the Civil War is going to look like a picnic,” Tom exaggerated. At least, I certainly hoped he was exaggerating. “From what I heard, you pissed off Dijon so bad he tried to kill you, and every other slave owner’s gonna feel the same way. Better start making all the friends we can.”
“So you think you’re a better judge of men than I am?”
“Come on, Autie, there’s never been any doubt about that,” Tom said, going back to his breakfast.
Morning Star laughed and took Tom’s hand. I would be insulted if they didn’t name their first son after me.
“Excuse me, General Custer. Colonel Crockett will be here in a few minutes,” John interrupted. “And Ben’s got somethin’ to say. Real important, he thinks.”
“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong,” I said, finding my uniform and boots.
Both had been washed, my guns polished, and the silk scarf scrubbed clean of blood. I was grateful, but didn’t know who to thank.
Ben intercepted me before I left the room, his manner secretive. He put a finger to his lips for silence and led me to a study off the main room, closing the thick oak door behind us. A Mexican flag still hung on the wall. The desk was covered with Santa Anna’s correspondence.
I hadn’t gotten a good read on Ben during my previous visit, the room being filled with distractions. I guessed him at fifty years old, short for a black man, but not stooped, as so many were from bowing to white men. Ben didn’t seem the bowing type.
“I got’s respect for you, General, and I knows what you want for my people,” Ben said. “Something here might help.”
He knelt down behind the big pinewood desk and pulled out a steel strong box. A heavy steel strong box.
“President Santa Anna left this behind, sir,” Ben said.
I knelt down, finding a padlock that had been pried open, and slowly lifted the lid. The box contained enough gold and silver coin to keep an army in the field for two months. There were also a fair number of bank notes. Most were drawn on Mexican institutions, but I noticed a letter of credit from Lloyds of London and several Spanish bonds. Given the deplorable condition of Santa Anna’s impoverished army, it seemed to me the money could have been better spent on food and shoes rather than hoarded for his personal use.
“You could have kept this for yourself, Ben,” I said, surprised.
“No, sir. I reckon I couldn’t,” he replied.
I took a long look at him as he hovered over the treasure. A free black man with an independent gleam in his dark brown eyes was a rare bird in this part of the world. He had been a sailor, world traveler, and such an excellent cook that he personally served the President of Mexico.
“Are you good with your numbers?” I asked.
“Don’t just cook aboard ship, sir. Keep books and do some navigating.”
“Then I’m going to ask you do some navigating for me. The Seventh Cavalry needs a paymaster. Interested in the job?”
Now it was Ben who was surprised. For a person of his station to be offered such an important position defied contemporary conve
ntions.
“Reckon I is,” he said.
“We’ll get you a uniform. Welcome to the Seventh,” I said, offering my hand.
He was glad to shake it. I was glad to make the gesture. If I was going to have a chance against the gathering storm, I’d need the help of honest men. Tom was right about that.
I went out into the busy street, filled with wagons, marching troops, peddlers, and returning Tejano families eagerly wanting their homes back. They would need to share, for a while.
The day was cold, crisp and clear. A good day to be alive. A Monday. In another time and place, the Alamo fell on a Sunday, all of its defenders being killed. In another time and place, on a Sunday, five companies of the Seventh Cavalry had died on a forlorn hillside, killed by a mistake of their commander. Few can truly understand how good a Monday can feel.
“Mornin’, Gen’ral,” Bouyer said, saluting.
As a civilian scout, he did not need to salute, nor was it appropriate. The rogue didn’t care. He now wore a Spanish sword on his hip and a black silk scarf around his neck, no doubt taken from a dead Mexican officer. Had we fought a Sioux village instead of Santa Anna, I had no doubt his belt would have dangled with fresh scalps.
“I’ll have dispatches for you later. Can you find this Washington-on-the-Brazos where the convention is being held?” I asked.
“Hardly more than a ghost town in 1876, but I kin find it,” Bouyer replied. “Nice to have a Winchester, though, case I runs into some Comanches.”
“Not a problem, Mitch. After those arrogant sons of bitches read the letters I’m sending, you’re going to need that Winchester.”
“That bad?”
“I’ve told them their declaration of independence is invalid, that slavery is illegal, and that anyone opposing the legitimate government of Texas will suffer confiscation of their property.”
“An’ I kin take it you are the legitimate government of Texas?”
“Until God says different.”
“Hell, Gen’ral, that all?” Bouyer laughed, his weather-beaten face crinkling with delight.
“After April 21st, anyone found in arms against my provisional government will be hanged.”
Custer at the Alamo Page 36
