Custer at the Alamo (30 page)

“So help me God,” the men concluded, having repeated every word.

“I think that deserves a cheer,” Tom said, raising his fist. “Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!”

The men smiled and seemed to relax. Bottles were passed around. Some threw off their fur hoods to proudly don their cavalry hats.

“Okay, now that we’ve settled what you’re going to do, I’m going to tell you what the command is going to do. I’m even going to tell what I’m going to do,” I said, once again sitting on the log. “At sunrise, I’m dividing the regiment.”

“Jesus, Autie. Again?” Tom whispered none too softy. It made the men laugh.

“It’s finally your chance at an independent command, Tom. Time to prove who the better general is,” I said. “And when this is over, we’ll see who has the most medals.”

“I’ve always won all the medals. You’re just a general,” Tom said, the men laughing again.

“And being a general allows me to say something else. Now that those gutless quitters have left, I want to speak about something you’ve all been thinking about. Something you’ve earned with your loyalty. This is 1836, not 1848, and no one but us knows how much gold there is in California. Some of you might want to ride out right now and go look for it. Hell, boys, I’d like to do that, too. I love gold as much as the next man. But there’s a few good reasons why we can’t.

“You’ve got to keep in mind, John Sutter hasn’t built his mill on the American River yet. There’s nothing out there but wilderness and Indians. And California still belongs to Mexico. Even if you did find gold, the Mexican government would confiscate it. And they’d probably hang you. After that, they’d send in an army to enslave the Indians and keep the gold for themselves. That’s how the Spaniards have done it since the days of Cortez, and they aren’t going to change now.”

“Have you got a plan, General?” Private Torrey of E Company asked, a timid lad barely out of his teens, but excited by the possibilities.

“Yes, Billy, I do. Maybe I wasn’t always the best student, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t learn anything. Rome was just a small Italian city, but with good weapons and martial discipline, they created an empire. Napoleon had a ragged army short of supply, but blessed with high spirits and a vision. They conquered all of Europe.

“Now we’re a small band. A band of brothers, like Henry V said before the Battle of Agincourt. We’re outnumbered and fighting in a strange land, but we’ve got the best weapons in the world. And we’re a trained force, unlike the rabble on both sides of this Texan Revolution. Through the Civil War and our years on the plains, we’ve seen more blood and suffered more trials than all of our adversaries combined. What we lack in numbers, we make up with experience. And guts.”

I paused to catch my breath. Much of this hadn’t even occurred to me before I began speaking, though the ideas had been building up for days. Now they were bursting forth spontaneously. I walked among the men, then sat down on a rock, feeling them wait for my explanation. Like the Bard at Niblo’s Garden, I could feel the power over my audience.

“So you see, my plan is to win freedom for Texas. And California. For all of the American Southwest, and even those provinces of Mexico who want to join us. Then we’ll go to the gold fields of California, and the silver mines of Nevada. We’ll build ranches in Texas, mansions in San Francisco, and travel on railroads that we’re going to build from the Caribbean to the Pacific. And if any one of us dies old and poor, it will be because of too much gambling, too much drinking, and too many women. Does that suit you, Billy?”

“General, that suits me just fine,” Private Torrey said.

“How about the rest of you boys?” I asked, walking to the bonfire and standing near the warmth of the flames. “Do you want to create an empire, or become squirrel hunters like those deserters?”

“Can I build my mansion in Monterey, sir?” Corporal Briody asked.

“Johnny, you can build your mansion any damn place you please,” I replied.

* * *

It was already late by the time our conference ended. The men spent the rest of the evening preparing their equipment for a fast march the next morning. The officer call lasted a little longer. Having assembled in my command tent, I huddled with Tom, Cooke and Keogh, joined by Crockett, Bouyer and Dr. Lord. Captain Seguin was busy organizing his Tejanos. At the last minute, Slow and Morning Star entered to sit quietly in the corner. Mark Kellogg nestled on a stool near the door, wearing his spectacles in the dim light and taking notes.

“That was quite a speech, Autie. How’d you ever think of it?” Tom asked.

“Actually recalled a little bit of history. During the English Civil War, when everything was going to hell, Oliver Cromwell created the New Model Army. It was an independent command. Independent of the politicians. They brought order out of chaos. And it didn’t hurt to remember that Cromwell was a cavalry commander.”

“You’re comparing yourself to Oliver Cromwell?” Kellogg asked, his sarcasm uninvited.

“No, Mark, I’m not comparing myself to Cromwell. Cromwell was a Puritan. I’m a Methodist,” I responded.

The men laughed. Kellogg looked embarrassed.

“So what do we do now, George? Attack?” Bill Cooke asked.

The men laughed again, and so did I.

“With the militia companies and Seguin’s men, we’ve got nearly two hundred and fifty reinforcements,” Crockett said, not getting the joke. “That should hold Santa Anna off until Houston arrives.”

“Colonel Crockett, let’s not fool ourselves. How many men can Houston bring? Three or four hundred?” I answered.

“Not enough. Not nearly enough,” Tom said.

“We still need Fannin,” Crockett admitted.

“And you’re the one who has to get him,” I replied.

“I’ve got to get back to the Alamo. I made a promise,” Crockett protested.

“I will apologize for you,” I said.

“George, we both know why that won’t work,” Crockett respectfully disagreed. “If I don’t go back, everyone will know I broke my word. Even if we survive, no one will give me any respect. And I wouldn’t deserve none.”

“It’s true, Autie,” Tom said, nodding his head.

They made a good point. I noticed Slow watching from the corner, his black eyes searching my thoughts.

“David, I suppose you’re right, so this is what we’ll do. Tom, you’re going to take C Company to Goliad. Bill and Kellogg will go with you. Bouyer will scout. Take command of the garrison there and return to San Antonio at a full march. No wagons, no cannon. Travel light and fast.”

“And the rest of us?” Keogh asked.

“Myles, you’ll be taking I Company west of the San Antonio River,” I said. “Your mission is to harass the Mexican line of supply. All Santa Anna is thinking about now is reducing the Alamo and moving east. A blow from behind will shake his confidence. Can you do that?”

“Hell, sir, it will be just like me and Stoneman done in Georgia. Good times,” Keogh replied.

“Am I guarding the rear, George? Again?” Smith asked.

“Fresh, E Company will patrol east of San Antonio. Keep the Mexican cavalry off us as long as you can. Harry, you’ll move to the Gonzales Road with our wagons and artillery. Establish a strong position to protect our line of supply. You’ll have Dr. Lord and our Mexican allies.”

“What will you be doing, sir?” Harrington asked.

“I’m taking the rest of the command into the Alamo.”

“What if the men at Goliad don’t come?” Crockett asked.

“Tom and Bill can be pretty persuasive,” I assured him.

“We should hope so, but what if Fannin still refuses?” Tom asked, worried by such a responsibility.

A heard a snort of derision from the corner where Mitch Bouyer was sitting. The scout was bundled in rawhide and a thick fur cap. His cheeks were flushed from too much drink. Bouyer glanced in my direction without apology.

“Hell, Tommy boy, you’re going to take command away from the craven bastard whether he likes it or not,” Bouyer said, echoing my thoughts. He looked around for a place to spit before wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Mitch is right. If Fannin objects, you’ll just have to blow his brains out and assume command,” I said.

Tom was shocked, and so were my officers, but I was completely serious. Mostly.

“Mark?” I summoned.

Kellogg emerged into the lamplight, taking a place next to me. I had asked him in advance to provide an explanation, but he’d grown so smug that I immediately regretted it. Nevertheless . . .

“Some of you know about the Alamo, but most of you don’t know what happened to Colonel Fannin,” Kellogg said, adopting a professorial air. “After receiving a plea for help from Travis, Fannin waited several days before starting out with three hundred volunteers. Fannin went a few hundred yards, had one of his wagons break down, and decided to turn back.”

“Coward,” someone whispered.

“Fannin’s three hundred were probably not enough to help the Alamo, but that’s not the point,” I said, knowing the rest of the story.

“After the Alamo fell, Houston ordered Fannin to retreat, but he delayed again,” Kellogg continued. “By the time he finally left Goliad, it was too late. His entire garrison was surrounded by General Urrea out on the open plains.

“When he surrendered, Fannin thought it was on honorable terms, but Santa Anna overruled Urrea. Seven days later, on Palm Sunday, over three hundred unarmed men were marched out into the prairie and massacred by Mexican troops. Fannin was the last man to be executed—sitting in a chair, blindfolded.”

My officers gasped. To die in battle is one thing. To surrender and then be murdered is quite another. It was good for them to realize what sort of enemy we were fighting.

“So you see,” Kellogg concluded, “Fannin and his men have nothing to lose. If they don’t come to help the Alamo, they’re going to die anyway. They won’t even die as soldiers, just victims of a cruel tyrant.”

I let everyone dwell on that for a moment. I saw Crockett was thoughtful, too. Only the Seventh Cavalry stood between the Alamo and a similar fate.

“I should stay with the command. I’m still your adjutant,” Cooke said.

“Bill, I need you to go with Tom. You make a good team,” I said, ready to issue unpopular orders.

I knew Cooke’s spirit enough that he’d rather join me in the place of greatest danger. He was young, strong and brave. One of the best men I’d ever served with. Even if he was a Canadian.

“I must not leave Custer’s side,” Slow announced.

“You
will
be at Custer’s side, my young chief.
Thomas
Custer’s side. You are not the only one who may have a vision,” I answered. “In my vision, you grow up to be a great leader. You will have a voice in the government of Texas. In the Alamo, I will merely be fighting. I’m just a soldier, hopefully a better soldier than I was a few weeks ago. But Thomas and Bill have a more difficult mission. They must draw men together, meet arguments, balance needs, and use force where argument fails. These are the lessons of leadership.”

“Perhaps you are wiser than you appear,” Slow observed.

Custer had denied an ambition to become president of his people, but now he schemed to become an emperor. Or was it Crockett who would be the emperor? The ways of white men often make no sense, for in the end, there is only the land and the spirits. I had asked Wakan Tanka for a new path that my people might live better lives. How could this place called Texas, several moons from the home of the Lakota, offer such a gift? I would travel south with Thomas Custer, for he had a good heart, and learn of leadership among the wasichu. But I did not want to leave the white general, who had determined for himself either death or glory. In some manner, a great destiny was to be decided at the Alamo. It was there I wished to be.

Chapter Nine

Crockett and I visited the militia camps before getting a few hours sleep. There was no talk of a free Texas or gold fields, for these rough and tumble pioneers were not ready for such ideas. We simply explained that the Alamo needed help, and any who wished to join the garrison could ride in with us. About fifty agreed, mostly from the New Orleans Grays and Chenoweth’s volunteers from Goliad.

Chenoweth himself announced he would go in search of additional reinforcements. A convenient excuse, but I made no protest. Dijon announced that he would go to the Alamo. I did not like the man but could not fault his courage.

One volunteer who wanted to go with us was persuaded not to. Fannin’s courier, Edwin Mitchell, would serve better as an emissary for Tom, and he knew the trails. Not that I doubted Bouyer’s skills, but Goliad was ninety miles from San Antonio. An extra guide would improve Tom’s chances.

“The Tejanos are ready to serve, sir. What would you have of us?” Captain Seguin asked. Though his command was small, their knowledge of the area was important.

“I am dividing my command. If you could assign a few of your men to each detachment, their service would be invaluable,” I requested.

“That is easily done. But what of me? I have friends in the Alamo,” Seguin said.