Custer at the Alamo (31 page)

“Not so many as you think,” Crockett remarked, and though reluctant to insult Seguin, there was an edge to his voice.

“What do you mean, Colonel Crockett?” Seguin asked.

“By the time I left, most of your men had slipped away. Hardly more than a handful left,” Crockett said.

“You call them cowards?” Seguin angrily shot back.

“Ain’t discussin’ nobody’s character, just sayin’ most of your boys decided not to stay with Bowie like you thought,” Crockett explained.

“They must have good reasons,” Seguin slowly said, not quite apologizing. “Most of the garrison is Anglo. Perhaps . . .”

“Captain Seguin, that’s really not important now,” I interrupted. “We’re all fighting against this dictator. If you could ride the countryside and rally your people, it could make a great difference. Tell them the Seventh Cavalry is an army like no other, and if they are loyal, we will protect them from Santa Anna.”

“I shall do as you ask. You will see. The Tejano people will flock to the cause of liberty,” he promised.

And with that, he returned to his men, issued orders, and rode out of the camp. He was an angry man, but I wasn’t quite sure who he was angry with.

“It wasn’t good, his men running out like that,” Crockett said, recalling what the men in the Alamo thought. “Made some of the boys think all the Mexicans are traitors. Poisons the well, if you know what I mean.”

I considered Crockett’s words, wondering if the bad blood I’d seen in Texas in 1865 between the whites and the Hispanics had anything to do with the rebellion of 1836.

As was my habit, I inspected the horses before returning to my tent. They had been tethered among the deep grass near the creek where they could feed and find water. The exertions had been hard on them this last month, for they were accustomed to better food and regular attention from our veterinary.

I went to Vic, scratching behind his ears and giving him a small turnip. He shook his head in appreciation, though I could tell he missed Dandy and our dogs. I missed them, too. Other than my trips to Washington and New York, I could not remember the last time I’d slept without a dog at the foot of my bed. A habit that had taken Libbie a few years to accept. Crockett knew how I felt, for the old bear hunter was famous for his tracking hounds.

Dr. Lord found me coming back to camp. George had been posted to the Seventh Cavalry about eighteen months before the Dakota campaign, after being promoted to first lieutenant. He was a Massachusetts man, a graduate of Bowdoin College, and just a few months over thirty years old. I had some affection for Bowdoin alumni. My good friend, General Joshua Chamberlain, was president there. Josh had not only won the Medal of Honor at Gettysburg, but served as Governor of Maine after the war.

“General, we need to talk,” Lord said.

Lord had gradually recovered from the fever that had laid him low, but he was still thin, his uniform hanging loose on his wide shoulders. He had not shaved in several weeks, giving him a ragged appearance.

“Your advice is always welcome, Doctor,” I said, for he was not prone to extreme opinions.

“I should not be left behind with the wagons. Take me into the Alamo. That’s where the wounded will be. I can keep men on the walls that will otherwise fill the hospital.”

“There’s going to be plenty of wounded, that’s for sure,” I agreed. “But Crockett tells me the Alamo has two doctors already.”

“Witch doctors,” Lord said with a huff. “Do you know what kind of medicine they practice out here? They’d be better off with an Indian medicine man.”

“Too bad I’m leaving Slow behind,” I said.

“This isn’t a joke, General. You’re keeping me from where I’m needed most.”

“No, I’m not. George, you’re not merely a good physician, but in 1836, you’re the most educated doctor in the entire world. When the war is over, we’ll be building you a clinic. You’ll be writing books, or rewriting them, depending on how you look at it. You know techniques and cures that haven’t even been imagined yet. The fifty men you might save in the Alamo are nothing compared to the thousands your knowledge will save in the years ahead.”

“One of the lives I save in the Alamo might be yours.”

“Don’t you think I haven’t considered that?”

“I’m a member of the Seventh. I should share its dangers.”

“Familiar words. That’s exactly what I wrote to President Grant while begging him to let me ride with the command to Montana.”

“There wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t called his brother a liar and a thief,” Lord said, quite correctly.

“I was called to testify before a congressional committee about larceny at the frontier trading posts. It’s not my fault one of the crooks was Orvil Grant.”

“And President Grant suspended you from command.”

“He changed his mind.”

“Just like you should change your mind and let me go.”

I wrapped a friendly armed around Dr. Lord’s shoulders, taking him back toward camp with a frosty smile on my lips.

“Hell, Doc, regardless of where you’re stationed, you still have an excellent chance of being killed,” I said.

“Promise?” he asked.

“You have my word.”

* * *

We broke camp at dawn, ready to march. Only a stern speech had convinced Tom to leave my side, and I would miss him.

“Autie, how long can you hold the Alamo? The odds are still twenty-to-one,” he asked.

“Kellogg says the Alamo fell on March 6th. A Sunday. Even though our ammunition won’t last, I’m guessing we can hold Santa Anna off until you get back with reinforcements. Captain Seguin says the colonies to the east are mustering their militias. Houston won’t be able to stay behind, drunk or not. The Alamo will hold Santa Anna in check as long as possible.”

“I’ll bring an army back, Autie, and kill any man who tries to stop me,” Tom swore, reaching to shake my hand.

I took it firmly, not sure if I would ever see him again. If he sensed my feelings, he didn’t show it. I did not offer advice on what to do if the Alamo fell. He would need to figure that problem out for himself.

“Morning Star is a good woman,” I said, stepping back.

C Company was mounted, Bouyer in the lead. Cooke rode with Tom while Voss carried the colors. They were twenty strong, all armed with Colts and Springfields. I made Tom give me his Winchester, as I expected to need the extra firepower.

“Be careful, Thomas,” Morning Star said, rubbing her nose against his. She was not happy at the separation, but C Company needed to travel fast. Without distractions.

“I’ll be back soon,” Tom promised. “Have Walking-In-Grass keep a warm lodge, and tell Spotted Eagle to stay out of trouble.”

He took her in his arms, kissing her fully. Then, to my astonishment, he took off the red scarf I had given him on his promotion to captain and knotted it around her neck. After the significance the Indians attached to the scarf I had bequeathed Gray Wolf, the implication was unmistakable. I looked at Tom, seeking an explanation, but he only smiled in that devilish way of his.

As Tom’s unit prepared to move out, Slow came up to me. He was dressed in cut buckskins and a black headband. His long hair was tied back and ducked into his collar. The black eyes searched for something: an explanation, perhaps, or some profound wisdom. I had neither to give him. I was making it up as I went along, hoping that Custer’s Luck would see me through.

“You always seek the greatest danger,” Slow observed.

“That is where glory is found,” I replied.

“Is there no more to life than glory?”

“There is home, and family, and country. There are happy days. But in the end, only glory lasts forever.”

“Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky,” Slow said.

“History will need to judge that, my boy. I have a favor to ask.”

I waved to Corporal French, acting as my orderly now that Voss was leaving with Tom. French brought Vic forward, saddled and ready to ride.

“Slow, you have a long journey and need a good horse. Will you take care of Vic until our enemies are defeated?” I requested.

The boy’s eyes went wide with surprise, and excitement, for Vic was one of the best horses in the regiment. Possibly the very best, after Tom’s Athena. Like Athena, Vic was a Kentucky thoroughbred, a brown sorrel with four white socks and a blaze on the forehead. He was my most dependable mount, having served well in many campaigns.

“Is death at the Alamo so certain?” Slow asked, for among the Indians, a warrior does not give away his warhorse.

“Death is never certain, but I won’t be leading a cavalry charge from inside those adobe walls. Vic is better off out in the open, free to run and graze. I would not see him blown up by an artillery shell while trapped in that rat-infested corral.”

I lifted Slow into the saddle, keeping a hold on the reins until he was settled. Vic could be skittish with an unfamiliar rider.

“Take care of my young friend, old boy,” I whispered, giving Vic a kiss on the snout. He returned a soft whinny. I would miss him almost as much as Tom.

“I will honor this gift,” Slow said.

“This is a loan, youngster. I want Vic back hale and healthy.”

Slow smiled, showing white teeth. He did not smile often. I gave Vic a slap on the rump and he ambled over to C Company’s assembly point.

“Boots and saddles, Mr. Voss,” I ordered.

Voss sounded the signal on his bugle, and a few minutes later, Tom and Slow disappeared into the southern mist. Their equipment clattered as the horses reached a steady gait, and the last thing I heard was the rattling of the sabers we’d captured on the Rio Grande.

Not long after, our wagons were moving north along the creek road. I had put young Harrington in charge. With our forty Mexican teamsters and a unit of ten men, I had no doubt he would establish a strong position astride the Gonzales Road. From there he could communicate with relief forces coming west. Should Santa Anna’s cavalry challenge our control of the road, Harry had the three artillery pieces. What the enemy wouldn’t know was that Harry was short on ammunition.

“Hell of an idea, George,” Crockett said as we prepared to follow the wagons.

“You said the Alamo is short of powder. It seems the best solution.”

“Gun powder in bean sacks?”

“To defeat Santa Anna, we’re going to need powder a lot more than beans,” I answered. “The supply train we captured had plenty, but there’s no way we can drive those heavy freight wagons down the Alameda and through the Alamo’s front gate. Now each man is carrying two plump sacks on the back of his horse.”

“Along with a couple of cannon balls,” Crockett said.

We rode north for several miles before it was time for Keogh to split off. He had the assignment I desperately wanted, to cross over the San Antonio River and drive the Mexican army crazy with hit and run attacks on their rear. An exciting task for any cavalry officer, but especially for an Irishman.

“Good luck, Myles,” I offered, shaking his hand.

A gray fog was rising from the creek, the frogs making quite a racket with their croaking. The command was spread out on the trail behind us, most of it not even visible.

“Remember, we’ll fire the Alamo’s 18-pounder every morning at sunrise,” I said. “It’s probably the biggest cannon west of St. Louis, so you’ll be able to hear it for miles. We’ll fire again at sunset as long as the Alamo still holds out. If you don’t hear the cannon, reunite the battalion and move east.”

“And when you fire the gun twice?” he asked with a grin.

“When we fire twice, it means I’ll be launching an offensive operation. Give us the best diversion you can.”

“If we took everyone into the fort, you’d have a stronger force.”

“But we’d still be badly outnumbered. I’m sure Santa Anna would love to find his enemies all boxed up and ready for slaughter. No, Myles, the Seventh is a cavalry unit. We’ll play to our strength.”

“Santa Anna’s strong point is his infantry, but they won’t stay strong without a line of supply,” Myles emphasized.

He knew his job, and he’d do it well.

“Remember to use your muskets!” I shouted as Keogh rode back to his troop.

We had found a hundred Baker rifles in the ordnance wagons. A musket may be no match for an 1873 Springfield, but a Springfield is worthless without ammunition. Every soldier in the command now carried both.

I Company broke off to the left, heading for a ford on the San Antonio River. With Keogh went Sergeant Major Sharrow, thirty troopers, five of Juan Seguin’s Tejanos, and fifteen of the Gonzales Rangers. Fifty-two in all. Unless Santa Anna could mass his cavalry against them, they’d be hard to catch. And I had no intention of giving Santa Anna such free reign.

The dirt trail led up from the creek bed to a stretch of bench land. Smith’s E Company, assigned twenty troopers, was in the lead. Harrington and his teamster’s were holding the center, the wagons moving faster on the dry trail.

Bringing up the rear was my immediate command, mostly F Company and a few of the hardier boys who volunteered to ride with me. The Texian militia took up the trail on my right, riding in small groups.