Custer at the Alamo (29 page)

“Nor with me, you damned Friday fish-eater,” the bear-man said, forced to look up at Keogh.

“The saints have their place, boys. Let’s not fight over it,” Keogh said, offering to shake hands.

“You’re nothing but a damn abolitionist,” the red-haired man said.

“A damn what?” Keogh asked, the smile disappearing.

“Abolitionist, darkie lover,” the trapper answered.

“That’s what I thought you said,” Keogh said.

When Keogh reared back and punched the trapper in the face, the man went down hard, his nose spurting blood.

The tallest of the frontiersmen jumped forward, swinging at Keogh, but Cooke blocked the blow and returned a kidney punch. Tom leaped into the fray and soon the fight was on, ten or fifteen men jabbing, kicking and sprawling on the ground. A hundred others came to watch, cheering friend and foe alike.

There was a good deal of yelling, most of it good-natured, though a few seemed determined on blood. Sergeant Hughes was standing next to me, his Henry rifle cocked should anyone draw a knife or pistol, but so far fists appeared the weapons of choice. A brawny fellow knocked Keogh to the ground. Cooke, watching Tom’s back, launched a solid round-house punch followed by two left hooks. Queen’s Own must have had boxing lessons during his busy career.

Let them have a fair fight
, I remembered saying during my cadet days. Those words had cost me a court-martial. But I wasn’t the sergeant-at-arms anymore. Now I was the general.

Voss had run to Keogh’s assistance, helping the big Irishman up. A blow from behind sent Voss reeling, but the corporal was tough as German leather, turning to kick the dastardly attacker where it hurt the most.

Two of Chenoweth’s men decided to gang up on Tom, which was a mistake. Tom was already a wild lad when he lied about his age to join the army. They caught him, kicked him out, and he turned right around to rejoin. Libbie had struggled for years to curb Tom’s drinking, swearing and fighting, but she had only managed to curb the drinking. Tom hit one man with a strong right-hand punch, threw him against the other, and then pummeled them both until they retreated.

“George, don’t you think we should stop this?” Crockett asked.

“What?” I said, lost in thought.

“Maybe they’ve had enough,” Crockett said.

“I suppose you’re right, David,” I agreed.

We waded into the battle, pushing the two groups apart with little difficulty, for the bitter cold was not conducive to a good brawl.

“That was a mighty fine scrap, fellers,” Crockett announced. “Now let’s get cleaned up and have some vittles.”

“We have a cask of Santa Anna’s Portuguese bourbon in our wagon,” I added. “Some of you may need a sip after such a good fight. Come by our camp. No hard feelings.”

I saw Chenoweth and Dijon in the crowd but didn’t know if they’d thrown any punches. Chenoweth seemed lighthearted about the incident, but Dijon was still harboring a grudge.

“Myles, is that how you stop a fight?” I asked, wrapping an arm around Keogh’s shoulders.

“Damn ignoramuses,” Keogh said, rubbing his jaw.

“Tommy would have started the fight for you.”

“Don’t need no snot-nosed kids to start my fights, thank you. Or any damn generals stopping them,” Keogh said, going back to his troop with a limp. I saw the flask in his back pocket.

“Satisfied with yourselves?” I asked Tom and Cooke.

“Hell yes,” Tom said, holding Morning Star close.

Morning Star looked up at him like the hero he was, her big brown eyes filled with admiration.

“Whooped them Rebs good, didn’t we?” Butler bragged, shaking mud out of his overcoat.

“Return to your units, gentlemen. Officer’s call in half an hour,” I said, declining any encouragement. “John, see that Morning Star and Walking-In-Grass eat some supper. No nonsense. They need to be strong for the days ahead.”

I gave the women a firm look. Squaws can take their mourning rituals to an extreme if not kept in check.

“We will eat,” Morning Star said, leading Walking-In-Grass away.

“Spotted Eagle and Slow, you may remain here with Gray Wolf until the moon sets, then you must take food and rest. We have enemies to fight,” I said.

“Yes, General,” Spotted Eagle gratefully said, for he feared to be ordered back to the tents with the women. I would not shame him so fearfully. Slow had no such apprehension, secure in his own path.

“You’ve got unusual problems,” Crockett said, joining me on the walk through the dark woods.

“Your problems are just as bad.”

“How’s that?”

“I need your help, David. There might also be a few rewards involved, if you’re not shy.”

“Don’t know that anyone has ever accused David Crockett of being shy. Need me to lead one of your troops? It’s been awhile since I led the Tennessee militia under Andy Jackson against the Creeks, but I reckon there’s enough spunk left for another campaign.”

“The campaign I’ve got in mind is bigger than that. Maybe the biggest fight we’ve seen since George Washington whipped the British. Are you ready for a scrap that big?”

“You’re a corker, George, that’s for sure,” Crockett said. “Just tell me where to march.”

“I’ll tell you where
we’re
going to march,” I happily replied.

* * *

I had made my decision, now it was time to talk with the men. For obvious reasons, this was not a conversation to have in front of the Texan volunteers. I ordered my immediate command and some of our friends into the lower pasture beyond a thick growth of trees. We took food, blankets to sit on, and I allowed them to bring the captured spirits, for a bit of cheer often makes hard choices easier.

“What’s going on, Autie?” Tom asked, rushing to my side.

“Taking your advice, Tom. Giving the men a choice,” I replied.

“Are you sure? Now?

“You were right. They should know what they’re fighting for.”

“What
are
they fighting for?” he asked.

“What we all fight for, little brother. Now take a seat and listen,” I said, going to the edge of the clearing.

The command was drawn out in a semicircle, most sitting on boulders or tree branches. Some had heavy jackets, others buffalo robes. It was cold enough to see the frost on their breath. The wind had died down and stars crept out through the clouds. The moon was close to full. We had scared off the game, but there were plenty of birds chirping in the trees and the occasional fish leaping from the stream. Butler and Hughes had gotten to the pasture first, lighting a bonfire. The flames climbed ten feet into the dark sky. I stood near the fire, leaning against a fallen tree trunk, the Cibolo flowing behind me in the darkness.

“Fellas, I’ve asked Colonel Crockett to join this meeting,” I said, taking an informal approach. “He knows more than he probably should. We probably know than we should, too, because we’ve gotten ourselves into quite a situation.”

Crockett took off his hat, grinned, and waved the Springfield Model 1873 I had given him. The rifle that had belonged to Corporal Martin. A bandolier with fifty rounds of ammunition hung over his shoulder. The men cheered. Everybody cheered Davy Crockett.

“Other than the loss of our family, and our friends, I know you’re all wondering about three things: what is the command going to do? What am I going to do? And what are you going to do?” I continued. “All are fine questions. First, let me tell you what you’re going to do.”

The men glanced about, the expressions mixed. Most looked encouraged to have leadership, a few frowned with resentment.

“As far as I’m concerned, this is still the Seventh Cavalry. 1876 or 1836, it makes no difference. Our duty is to serve the people of the United States. And I believe we’re in an historic position to do that. A position that can save half a million lives. Some of those lives are your fathers, brothers and uncles. Because of this great responsibility, I expect each of you to continue following orders.”

I walked back and forth before the group, hands behind my back, staring at a few who clearly disagreed. I stopped to look Tom in the face. He was completely mystified. Good. Cooke and Keogh were clueless as well. Even Slow showed an unusual curiosity.

“Gentlemen, Texas must be free of Santa Anna’s tyranny,” I announced. “But a free Texas must never join the Confederacy. A free Texas must encompass true American values. A free Texas must never own slaves.”

I felt a wave of sudden energy as they began to suspect the scope of my ambitions. Tom sat down on a log, his mouth open. Cooke was scratching his whiskers.

“I think we can create a free Texas,” I said, taking a confidential tone. “One that will hang back from the quarrels of the North and South, and when the day comes that the Union has reconciled itself, we can join that Union with a clear conscience. Proud to have upheld our ideals, and secure in the knowledge that we will emerge a better nation. The kind of nation that President Lincoln wanted us to be.”

I stopped again near the fallen tree trunk, leaning back just a touch, arms crossed before me. Every man in the command was leaning forward, hanging on my next words.

“It’s also true that, as the core the Texas army, there will be benefits. Generous benefits,” I confided. “Each member of this battalion who survives the coming trials will achieve wealth beyond your grandest expectations. That is my promise to you.”

The men sat quietly. Despite my reputation as a blustering braggart, and sometime exaggerator, none doubted my sincerity.

“Before I continue, each of you has a decision to make,” I suddenly announced, hearing a few murmurs.

I began pacing again to keep their attention. To create a moment of drama, I sat down on a bent branch of cottonwood and I fiddled with my sword, laying it across my lap. The blade bounced softly on my knee. Lawrence Barrett would have been proud of me.

“Anyone who wants to forgo this obligation, to leave the Seventh Cavalry, may do so now,” I finally continued. “But if you do, you will leave completely and forever. You will not be taking your Springfield or Colt; those belong to the army. Your horses, saddles and equipment also belong to the army. Sergeant Major Sharrow will help you find a musket and a powder horn. Bill Cooke will see you have food and warm clothes. You can walk away from this army and never look back. But if you
are
going to walk away, you must do it now. Get up and leave, because the business of this army is no longer your business.”

I stood up and waited for the first deserter, my fists clenching. I hated the thought of letting any of them go, but there was really no choice. Better to weed out the cowards now. Tom came to stand at my side, then Cooke, Keogh, Smith and Harrington. Each was so proud they could burst. I noticed Kellogg, Dr. Lord and Bouyer standing in a group off to the side. They seemed pleased. Morning Star, Walking-In-Grass and Spotted Eagle sat on a blanket near the bonfire, interested but not absorbed by the problems of white men.

Private Daniels slowly rose to his feet, then Privates Cooper and Schmidt. Daniels waved to a few friends and left the circle. Corporal George Brown got up and followed. They were tactful, thankful enough to escape that they didn’t gloat. Daniels and Brown were soon joined by Private Nathan Short, one of Tom’s men.

“Sorry, fellers, I already got kilt once,” Short apologized before disappearing into the dark. I nodded for Sergeant Major Sharrow to make the arrangements. When it looked like no one else was leaving, Cooper and Schmidt glanced at each other and discreetly sat back down. The meadow fell quiet.

I expected more men to rise up. At least twenty or thirty, if not half the command. Perhaps a few wanted to, but brothers- in-arms are loath to turn on their own. Even more had no desire to wear buckskins and carry a squirrel rifle the rest of their lives. I held my shoulders erect, a hand gripping my sword.

“Let me be clear about this,” I said. “If you stay, there is no changing your mind later. You will be members of a new army. A grand and noble army. And a prosperous one. But you will not be allowed to back out of your obligations. I will track deserters down, even to hell itself if necessary. I’ve done it before, so you know I’m telling the truth.”

“And if my brother doesn’t catch you, I will,” Tom said, cocking his Winchester.

“We all will,” Harrington added.

The men remained quiet. None made an effort to leave, much to my amazement. Perhaps being lost in this strange time had created a greater bond than I realized.

“Okay then. Raise your hands and swear,” I instructed.

Again I had caught them by surprise. I remembered how the oath I’d taken on the parade ground at West Point in 1857 had bound the class together. I hoped it would again. And I hoped I was doing the right thing, for I’d reached unfamiliar ground.

Once everyone was standing with their hands up, I glanced at the moon, caught my breath, and began the ritual.

“I solemnly give oath, by the Grace of God, to serve as a dedicated soldier of the Seventh Cavalry. I will fight for the constitution of a free Texas, uphold its honors, and obey my officers. So help me God.”