Custer at the Alamo (27 page)

“We need your help, Custer. Is there anything we can say?” Chenoweth asked, pushing Dijon away.

“Maybe, but I will require a gesture of good faith,” I offered.

“Name it,” Chenoweth said.

“Give me the slave,” I said.

The Texans were surprised, if not shocked. I noticed Tom smile.

“John is
my
slave,” Desauque protested.

“Give him the slave, Frank,” Chenoweth said.

“No. No, he’s mine. Bought him fair and square,” Desauque replied.

“Damn your money-grubbing soul, the lives of our friends and neighbors are at stake. That’s more important than your damn negro,” Chenoweth hissed. Most of his men nodded agreement, though not all.

I watched them with great interest. From what Kellogg had said, many of these men would probably survive the Texas Revolution, but not those who managed to reach the Alamo. Or those who returned to Goliad, for they were doomed as well.

“Goddamn it. Goddamn you all,” Desauque said. “John, you go with this arrogant bastard. You belong to him now.”

“No. No, this ’ere ain’t right. Sell him to me,” Dijon said, pushing his way in. I detected a deep accent, likely from Mississippi. The man’s face was red with outrage.

“René
,
if you can get John back from these slave stealers, you can keep him,” Desauque said, marching off. Dijon looked around, gave me a look fit to kill, and soon followed. The rest of Chenoweth’s men stayed to listen.

“I will speak with you again at midnight,” I said, addressing the entire group. “At that time, I will ask your Invincibles a question. Each of you will need to answer for himself. I will only ask once, and the answer must be yes or no. Know that if George Armstrong Custer decides to fight Santa Anna, I will be victorious. I am always victorious.”

We left the camp of the United States Invincibles, a ridiculous name for a group of would-be soldiers. John rushed to catch up.

“I will serve you all well, master. I kin cook good, and clean, too,” John said, using the exaggerated Southern accent common to slaves when addressing white men. There was a time I would have thought nothing of it, but I was no longer so naïve.

“John, you’re a free man now. Serve who you want, or no one at all. It’s up to you.”

“Can I stay with you, sir? Until better times?” he asked.

“Are you really a good cook?”

“Yes, sir. Really good.”

“Then you’re hired.”

John’s face lit up with a smile. He had good teeth.

I visited two more camps, each time declaring my conditions. And my ability to defeat Santa Anna, though for the moment, I had no way of supporting such a boast. After each visit, I left Tom, Cooke and Kellogg behind to gauge the mood of the frontiersmen. They had seen our weapons, and some told stories of our victory at Cibolo Creek over a force ten times our strength. These were brave men, willing to challenge the army invading their country, but they knew the odds were against them.

“You are going to fight,” Slow said, walking at my side as we returned to our camp.

“That choice isn’t up to me, but I would like to fight.”

“It is your way.”

“It’s a good way if you know what you’re fighting for,” I said.

We had just passed the first row of sentries when a shout went up from the edge of our position. Seconds later, two men riding exhausted horses appeared on the dark trail. One of them was David Crockett.

* * *

General Custer was not a liar, but being a leader of men, he could not always tell the truth. I sensed wisdom in this, though in what manner the two thoughts could be honorably reconciled eluded me. I knew the General had a plan, still unfocused, but clear enough that he would not disclose his thoughts even to his closest friends. Perhaps this is as it must be, I decided, for I had once been a leader, too. A leader who had lived longer than Custer, but given the ultimate results, perhaps no better.

Chapter Eight

The camps sent up a cheer as Crockett dismounted on the main trail and waved his hat, standing tall and broad-shouldered in the moonlight. He was riding a good mount, stronger than any I’d seen while in the Alamo. Likely he had slipped free of the fort and found a better horse along the way. With him was a young Hispanic man, slim and agile, with familiar features. I was no less excited than everybody else, running from my tent with Slow right behind me.

“David! Damn, it’s good to see you,” I shouted with a rare burst of swearing.

“George! Just the gentleman I was looking for. And it seems you’ve gathered a few friends,” Crockett answered, his face lit with a winning smile. Though only a portion of our encampment was visible, dozens of campfires could be seen through the trees.

“Not sure how many friends, but plenty of brave men,” I said. “What are you doing here? Did the garrison decide to escape?”

Crockett looked around. Fifty militia volunteers and most of the Seventh had already gathered around and more were coming, some carrying torches. The former congressman from Tennessee seemed reluctant to speak of military secrets before such a crowd.

“Give me a moment to address these stout fellows and we’ll talk,” Crockett said, giving me a confidential wink.

“Crockett! Crockett!” the men were chanting.

The dreary evening had grown brighter, the air felt warmer, and our small numbers suddenly seemed larger. Such is the impact of a truly charismatic leader. Crockett waved a coonskin cap, something I had not seen him wear at the fort, and climbed up on a log.

“Friends, fellow countrymen, thanks to ya all,” Crockett said, holding up his hands for attention. “I’ve come from the Alamo where a band of your neighbors are holding Santa Anna at bay. We’ve whooped him sound so far, but there’s thousands of them and only a few score of us. We sure could use your help. I’ve got to speak with General Custer now, but later I’d like to come by on a visit. I’ll answer any questions you got. If ya got any cider, I’d sure be glad to share.”

Watching Crockett in the torch light give me the final bit of inspiration I needed. It was as if God had read my thoughts and responded in a manner that none could doubt. Though I would not claim my relations with God had been all that close in recent years. Not since the final days of the Rebellion, when everyone was praying the war would be over soon.

“It is a sign,” Slow said, tugging my sleeve.

“You think so?”

“We both think so,” Slow replied.

“Lad, I need you to fetch Tom and Kellogg for me. Tell Tom to bring one of the extra rifles,” I said. “John, prepare my tent for guests. See about hustling up some coffee."

Slow backed up, going around the edge of the mob where Tom and Morning Star were standing with Cooke and Smith. John headed for the wagons, speaking good Spanish with our Mexican teamsters for the requested supplies. Crockett jumped down from the log, shook hands, slapped a few backs, and came up with his Hispanic companion.

“George, this is Captain Juan Seguin. The Mexicans shot my horse while I was riding out of the Alamo, but the old girl got me far enough to find some friends. Juan’s got ten men gathered from the local ranches, and I’ve got to say, I was mighty scared to find myself surrounded by a bunch of Mexicans out in the dark.”

“We are not Mexicans. We are Tejanos, and more Texan than many who claim such a right,” Seguin said, his English rough but readily understood.

I saw the resemblance clearly now. Juan was taller than his father, but the face was rounded the same. The smile, with its white teeth, looked just like Erasmo’s. The searching brown eyes looked more like Isabella, as did the tousled black hair.

“Conoci a tu papa y a tu hermana en tu rancho, señor
,” I said, responding in my rudimentary Spanish, for I still needed much practice. “There was some trouble with the Comanche, but all was well when we left there yesterday.”

“So I have been told. I thank you for your gallantry, sir. My father sends word to trust your judgment,” Seguin said.

“Enough to put your men at risk?” I asked.

“We are at war with a great tyrant. Everything we hold dear is at risk,” Seguin said. “Will we ride to the Alamo? I left many friends there when Travis ordered me to find Houston.”

“And did you find Houston?” I inquired.

“In a whisky bottle. He will come, but I fear he will come too late,” Seguin said, spitting on the ground. “He sits in Washington-on-the-Brazos making a government that will benefit the United States more than it will help Texas.”

I noticed Crockett frown. He was not surprised by the bad news.

“Where are your men now?” I asked.

“On the Gonzales Road. They will be here within the hour.”

“Sergeant Sharrow, find provisions for Señor Seguin and his men,” I ordered. “David, care for a cup of coffee?”

“Right gladly, George,” he said, following me back to my tent.

Though the night was dark, the moon often covered by clouds, the campfires cast a decent glow. And a legendary woodsman like Crockett would not even need that much light. John was already brewing a pot of fresh coffee when we arrived. I pulled the flap shut and offered Crockett a seat on a rough wooden stool.

“You are a man on a mission,” I said, letting John serve.

Crockett gave John a look, wondering why the commander of the Seventh Cavalry who had ridden out of the Alamo to protest slavery now had a black servant. I had to smile at the irony.

“A desperate mission, I fear,” Crockett said. “Bonham returned from Fannin. We won’t get any help there, and now Seguin says Houston is dallying on the Brazos, neck deep in the saloons. He doesn’t even believe Santa Anna’s in Texas. Travis tried to cut a deal with Santa Anna, but all the tyrant wants is blood. George, if you don’t help us, the entire garrison will be put to the sword.”

“I want to help. You know why I can’t.”

“Funny you should mention that. Me and the boys, we had us a talk about this slavery thing. Mind you, not all are happy ’bout it, ’specially Travis. But most of the men are willing to go along with you. Hardly any of them even own slaves. You know I sold the few I had years ago, being too poor to feed them. Even Bowie said he doesn’t give a damn. He set Sam free on the spot, for all the good it will do.”

“Did Travis free Joe?”

“No.”

“Is Travis ready to abolish slavery?” I asked.

“One fight at a time, George,” Crockett replied, giving me a subtle nod to speak of it later.

I heard rustling outside my tent. Slow had brought Tom and Kellogg, as requested, but I wasn’t ready for them yet. I sent John out to keep everybody away for a few more minutes.

“David, when you first arrived at San Antonio and the people called you Colonel Crockett, you humbly declared yourself a high private. I would like to help you, but a humble private is no good to me. I understand why you want to play down your celebrity. You’re a stranger to Texas, just like I am. You’re afraid of offending those who have already set down roots here. I’m not happy about that, either. But we play the cards we’re dealt.”

“What are you asking?”

“I’m asking you to take on a more important role. One I can’t fill. I don’t know how you or I individually can succeed, but together, we just may well make history.”

“Are you really from the future, George?”

“I guess that depends on what future we’re talking about.”

I went to the tent flap and looked out. Most of my officers were nearby. I waved to Kellogg. When I saw Slow, I waved him in, too. Tom started to follow but I sent him back, much to his displeasure. Seguin had found my troop of Mexican teamsters and was deep in conversation, his eyebrows raised by the stories they were telling.

“David, you remember Mark and Slow. Mark is our expert on the Texas Revolution. Slow is a sort of mascot.”

“A guide,” Slow said.

“A guide and a mascot,” I replied, letting him sit next to me. “David, at the Alamo you asked me why we were leaving. I couldn’t tell you then, but I will now. When you know our story, maybe this will all make sense to you. I’m still trying to figure it out.”