by Drew McGunn
Greeley studied the Federal commander’s expression. Behind the salt and pepper beard, Lee’s eyes were opaque, hard for the publisher to read. “I could do no less, sir. We are all Americans, and the sooner the bloodshed stops, the sooner we can heal this terrible divide.”
Longstreet glanced out the window, beyond Greeley’s perch, “I warned my fellow South Carolinians that without Virginia and Kentucky, we’d be hard-pressed to prevail.”
Folding his hands and placing them on the table, Lee said, “I could no more be disloyal to Virginia than you against South Carolina or,” he nodded toward General Buell, “General Buell raise his sword against Ohio. Virginia remained in the Union and I with her.”
Longstreet leaned back in the chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He said, “I suspect history will be kinder to you than to me. However, you’ve surrounded my army, sir. I cannot go west nor to the south. You’ve cut us off by rail from Montgomery. No doubt, as you have guessed, I have come to seek terms.”
Greeley leaned in to hear the Federal officer’s response. “You must surrender your arms, artillery, and public property except for your officer’s side arms. Instruct your officers to provide rolls for all of your men. Your officers will provide their parole and promise to not take up arms against the government of the United States. They will also take it upon themselves to sign the same parole for the men under their command. If they do these things, they will be allowed to return to their homes to wait until they are properly exchanged. If they honor their parole and the laws of the federal government, they will not be disturbed by Washington.”
Longstreet bowed his head as Lee finished laying out the terms. The silence seemed to stretch on as Greeley watched the Southern general weigh Lee’s words. When he finally looked up, moisture clouded his eyes as he extended his hand and said, “Your terms are generous, sir. On behalf of all of the officers and men of the Army of the Carolinas, I accept your terms.”
Greeley repressed the sense of joy that threatened to spill onto his face. Seeing General Longstreet’s crestfallen face, he knew not everyone in the room rejoiced as he did. Instead, he gripped his pencil and wrote, “With a firm handshake between victor and vanquished, the war in the east, like that west of the Mississippi, came to an end.”
Chapter 28
July 10 1853
General Jason Lamont jerked his head up as he heard feet splashing through the nearby creek. It was only Elliott. A smile lit the young man’s features as he knelt beside him. “Uncle, scouts from the Third Tennessee just rode back in. We’re only ten miles away from Austin.”
Neither the young man’s dirty, torn uniform nor his gaunt frame dimmed his enthusiasm as he knelt by Lamont. He continued, “It’s still early, folks won’t be at work yet if we strike soon.”
Lamont set the chunk of buffalo meat he’d been eating on a worn handkerchief and wiped his hands on the grass, “Church. It’s Sunday. They’ll not yet be at church. Pass the word, I want to meet with the regimental commanders before we ride. Best to hit them while the good folks of Austin are sitting in their pews.”
As his excited aide raced back across the creek, Lamont thought about the last few weeks since turning away from the Neches River. They had raided some farms and traded Alliance script for supplies at several plantations as they made their way toward the Republic’s capital. Once they crossed the Brazos River though, towns were few and far between. Farms were spread out, too. In one way, that worked to his little army’s advantage, as they raided their way across the central Texas prairie. When they hit a farm, they could round up the farmer and his family and keep word from getting out. But it also worked against his force. Given how gaunt many of his men now appeared, the produce from one of the small farms might feed a family for a year, but it was a drop in the bucket for what his army required. Even now, several dozen prisoners accompanied Lamont’s small army after the soldiers raided their farms. Lamont disliked bringing the farmers and their families along under guard, but he’d not risk word of his advance reaching Austin before him.
He was pleasantly surprised his advance upon Austin hadn’t resulted in some element of the Texas Army falling upon his men yet. Once his force had learned he was planning on attacking Austin rather than returning to Arkansas or Louisiana, men had slipped away under cover of darkness, in ones and twos until now he commanded only twenty-five hundred men.
As his regimental commanders arrived, he said, “We’ll move out within the next thirty minutes. The infantry will quick march. I want to be in Austin within the next two hours. When we strike, I want to catch William Travis sitting in his pew in church.”
One of the cavalry officers said, “We could ride ahead, be there within the hour and secure the town, General. We’ve still got the better part of seven hundred cavalry.”
Lamont laughed and patted the officer on the shoulder, “I like how you think, Bill. Even so, I’d rather you and your boys not get too far ahead of the infantry. God help us if Travis knows about us and is just sitting in Austin with a couple of thousand men. You’d be riding right into a trap. I want our infantry able to support you when it comes to a fight.”
He pushed the idea that Travis might be prepared out of his mind. He hadn’t come so far to come up empty-handed. He would bag the man who humiliated and crippled him. He felt his face flush as he leaned forward and said, “Now, when we get to Austin, this is what we’re going to do—”
***
From the top of the Capitol Building’s stairs Lt. Colonel Jesse Running Creek could see the iron trestles crossing the Colorado River. Less than a mile separated the building from the river, and although houses and businesses filled the city between the two points, they were mostly single-story buildings, with a smattering of taller structures sprinkled amidst them.
The town had yet to come alive, and the streets were mostly empty. Here and there, he saw a few people heading toward one of the dozen churches in town. Jesse enjoyed moments like this the most, when the sounds of freight wagons, carts, and buggies had yet to turn the city into the hustling frontier city it was.
As he started down the steps, the jingling of keys caught his attention, and he turned as the portly Secretary of War, George Fisher opened one of the double doors and slipped from the building. He jumped when he saw Jesse standing atop the stairs. “Good morning, Colonel. I see I’m not the only early bird.”
His curiosity piqued, Jesse said, “I like the view from here, sir. I thought I’d have capitol hill to myself this morning.”
Fisher locked the door back and said, “Even with the Southern Alliance crumbling, there’s still much to do. I was meeting with one of the other cabinet secretaries. Tomorrow, the Senate’s budget committee is holding a hearing. Now that the war is as good as over, the first thing they want to do is slash spending.”
Jesse frowned, “I hope the war is over. We’re still trying to find that band of rebels who didn’t retreat with Jeff Davis back across the Sabine.”
“What’s the latest?”
Jesse shook his head in frustration, “Nothing since they were spotted near Boonville on the Brazos River.”
As the two men came down the stairs, Fisher said, “Do you really think they’re coming to Austin?”
Shrugging, Jesse said, “Given that I’ve pulled the garrison from the Alamo, I’d hate to be wrong.”
“How many men have you collected here?”
Reaching the bottom of the steps, the Colorado River disappeared from view. Jesse said, “I’ve mustered what’s left of the Army’s Ranger battalion, about three hundred men. Austin has a company from the Frontier Battalion, that’s another forty. There’s also the corps of cadets training at the Alamo, that’s another fifty. Lastly, there’s the Alamo garrison, which is mostly men who are still recovering from their wounds who haven’t been released back to their units. In all, less than seven hundred men.”
Jesse and Secretary Fisher parted company when they reached the bottom of the
hill at Congress Avenue. Church bells clanged, calling the citizens of Austin to worship and Jesse headed north, toward the encampment on the edge of town.
***
“You look like a thousand dollars, Will.”
Will Travers turned and smiled at Becky. She wore a green dress and her hair flowed down her back, kept out of her eyes with a simple emerald ribbon. The color of the dress reminded Will of her gown the evening they met so many years earlier. He remembered her standing in the reception line at the Christmas party between her parents. To Will, she was even more beautiful now.
“Would that be a thousand pre-war dollars or a thousand now?”
Becky stuck out her tongue, “If my love is subject to inflation, then you look like a million dollars, Mr. President.”
Will laughed. “I’m a poor sight compared to you, Mrs. Travis.”
His wife gave him a fierce hug and whispered, “If we weren’t already late for church, I’d show you what your flattery would get you.”
Will gave an exaggerated sigh. “There’s simply not enough time in the day, my love.”
Becky turned, offering her back, “Button me up.” As Will complied, she continued, “I’m counting down the months until the next election. I’m ready to leave Austin and return to our home, where I’ll be better able to compete for your time. Do you think Juan will run for president?”
“I hope so,” Will said. “I was talking with him about this just the other day. While he’s threatened on more than one occasion to resign and return to his family’s ranch, I think it’s because the office of vice president is a bit like the fifth wheel on a wagon. It’s kind of useless unless one of the others breaks. Still, I told him that I think he’s a shoo-in to win if he runs. Winning the war against our rebels and their allies means that for now, there’s no organized opposition to Juan.”
Becky stepped back, “How do I look?”
“Like a hundred million dollars. Plus, if Juan doesn’t run, I fear that Sam Houston, like Don Quixote charging at windmills, will try one more time for the office. Say what you will of him, Sam has been unfailingly supportive of the government among the Cherokees and the other civilized tribes.”
Becky laughed. “Sometimes I think you’ve been telling Davy that Sam Houston is like the monster hiding under his bed. That’s the first nice thing I’ve heard you say about him in a long time.”
Will smiled ruefully, “I’ve never quite forgiven him for more than a decade of preaching annexation. Men like him failed to see how if they had tied us to the South that we’d be facing the Federals, too.”
A confused look crossed Becky’s face, “I don’t understand. President Seward didn’t attack the South until they attacked us.”
Will brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Seward is a strident abolitionist. Most of the Whigs in the North share his views. They’re becoming stronger, and if the sectional conflict hadn’t happened over the South attacking us, it would have been something else in a few years. That’s what men like Sam Houston—”
A shriek from one of the children’s rooms interrupted Will, and a shrill voice screamed, “Davy, I’m going to hit you if you touch my braids one more time!”
A moment later Will heard a slap and then a howl from ten-year-old David Stern Travis.
Will found his two younger children in twelve-year-old Liza’s room. Davy leaned against the door frame cradling his hand. His daughter stood in the middle of the room, holding a brush in her hand like it was a knife.
“Pa, she hit me with her brush!” Davy’s voice was indignant.
“Daddy, make him stop it. Davy won’t leave me alone.” Liza’s lower lip protruded like a catfish on a hook.
Will found his lips twitching as he stifled a smile. He seldom thought about how much he had lost when his mind and soul had been transferred, but in a moment like this, he didn’t miss it at all. The love of a good woman and children who still looked up to him as their hero outweighed the things he missed from his life before.
Instead of smiling, Will forced a stormy look onto his face as he gripped his son’s shoulder. “Son, if you think your sister’s brush hurt, wait until I help you remember to leave her alone.”
As Will corralled his son toward his room, he was nearly certain he saw Liza stick her tongue out at her little brother. With a soft prod, he pushed Davy into his room, where the boy zigzagged around tin soldiers and a wooden train.
“I’m not going to tell you this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you, because that’s not going to be the case—” Will started.
He paused as he heard a pop in the distance. He stepped around his son, sending toy soldiers hurtling in several directions and opened the lone window in the boy’s bedroom. The sound of gunfire was more distinct.
Will slammed the window shut, rattling the glass panes. “Becky,” he shouted, “the town’s under attack!”
He grabbed Davy’s hand as he raced back toward the master bedroom, where Becky was running a brush through Liza’s hair. “Take the children and hurry to the church.”
Startled, Becky said, “Won’t it be safer here?”
“What if this is their target? Go, now,” Will hustled his family toward the street. On his way to the front door, he found his mother-in-law already in the foyer along with Charlie’s wife and young son.
After watching his family hurry toward the Methodist Church, Will ran back into the house and returned a moment later. His rifle slung over one shoulder, he buckled his belt and felt the comforting weight of the revolver at his hip as he headed toward the sound of the guns.
***
When he heard the crackling of gunfire Jason Lamont nudged his horse into a gallop as he raced alongside the wagon trail down which his infantry marched. The dust of nearly four thousand feet reduced visibility to a couple of hundred paces. Had his cavalry disregarded his order and ranged too far ahead? If they had, heads would roll, he thought as he ground his teeth, willing his horse to gallop faster.
Once he reached the front of the infantry column, he saw the 2nd South Carolina Cavalry Regiment, who had been with his little army since falling in with his brigade after the final battle at Beaumont. They were deployed in a long single line as they rode forward, screening Lamont’s infantry. Here and there, along the line, he saw troopers topple from their mounts, struck by an enemy Lamont couldn’t see.
He felt the blood rush to his face as he resisted the overwhelming urge to charge and come to grips with the enemy. Whoever battled his cavalry stood between him and a decade-long thirst for revenge. Instead, he wheeled around and found the regimental commander for the lead infantry regiment, “Colonel Evans, deploy your men into line of battle, send half of them forward in open order. Don’t let your men bunch up!” As an afterthought, he added, “Pass the word for the third infantry and the fifth infantry to deploy on your flanks. The rest will act as a reserve.”
Satisfied his riflemen wouldn’t remain straggled out along the poorly maintained road, Lamont galloped toward his cavalry. Who the hell is stopping us?
Arriving among the troopers of the 2nd Cavalry, Lamont saw a dismounted skirmish line heading southward, toward Austin. Finding the regiment’s colonel, Lamont said, “Why have you stopped? Where’s the enemy?”
The officer wiped blood from a gash on his cheek, “We was ambushed, sir. A bunch of horsemen hit us hard when we came around a copse of trees. I deployed my boys, and we’re in pursuit,” he said, pointing to the troopers who were spread out and sweeping forward across the open prairie.
Lamont scanned the plain beyond the skirmishers. He knew his men were being observed, but wherever the enemy were, they were, for the moment, out of sight. Frustrated, he said, “You’ve got to close with the enemy, no matter the cost.”
Seeing a look of frustration in his subordinate’s eyes, Lamont changed his mind, “Bring up the rest of the cavalry. I’ll lead the Second myself.”
Before the colonel could protest, Lam
ont bolted forward and drew his sword, “Forward men, we’re not leaving our skirmishers hanging in the wind.”
Reaching the cavalry skirmishers’ thin line, Lamont saw puffs of smoke and felt a tug at his sleeve. He glanced down and saw the material was cut where a bullet had clipped the jacket.
Pointing the tip of his sword towards the gunfire, he dug his heels into his mount and let loose a feral scream, channeling a decade’s worth of hate.
***
One good thing about Congress Avenue, Jesse thought, it’s straight as an arrow, except when it circled the Capitol building. He and the forty-man company following hard on his heels made good time as they raced northward. The sound of hard-soled boots crunching gravel filled his ears as adrenaline coursed through him.
Gunfire told him the Texas Rangers from the Frontier Battalion had run into something during their morning patrol. From the sound of it, they may have found more than they’d bargained for. Once they had passed by the last street on which homes and businesses were constructed, there were still a few blocks of undeveloped land crisscrossed with streets. Austin’s council proactively managed the town’s growth, and until the war, Texas’ capital city had been one of the fastest growing cities in the Republic. Now, all of that was endangered. As Jesse had feared since the first sighting of the enemy force a few weeks before, they had made their way to Austin. If he and his men, nearly seven hundred strong couldn’t stop them, the capital of the Republic could go up in flames.
When he reached the edge of town, several more companies from the Army Ranger Battalion were overturning wagons on Magnolia Street, the last road between the town and the prairie. A block over was one of the companies he had ordered north from the Alamo. The men carried themselves with the air of veterans. But many still wore visible scars of terrible wounds, rendering them unsuited for frontline combat. The irony of the situation weighed on Jesse’s conscience, but what choice did he have? Without the Alamo garrison, he’d have mustered less than four hundred.
An officer in a clean and pressed uniform jogged over to him. After saluting, he said, “Colonel, my cadets are ready and eager for action. Where do you want us?”
