Custer at the Alamo (44 page)

I pointed to the dark, shapeless mass of open ground north and east of the fort. We could see no movement, but occasionally, there was noise. A man stumbling. A clink of equipment. The creak of a cannon wheel.

“Santa Anna believes this position is vulnerable, and I said nothing to dissuade him,” I continued. “We have added a gun to the lunette. He’s thinks we’ve added a gun to the chapel. Crockett’s wooden palisade looks weak enough to crawl over. That is why he won’t attack from the south, but he may feint there to draw us off. When Colonel Morales was in our custody, did he say anything?”

“Yeah, come to think of it,” Baugh said. “He claimed he could walk over our south wall like they was on parade. Made me want to add twenty extra men to Crockett’s platoon.”

“Very good. Then it will be Morales who leads the feint, probably the first to attack,” I speculated, for such a tactic is not hard to fathom. “Once we’ve been distracted on the south flank, the main attack will begin. They’ll come out of the dark in three divisions. Northwest against the corner. North against the center battery. Northeast against the cattle pen. Cos will lead one division to make up for the family disgrace. Romero will lead another. I could see the eagerness in his eyes. I don’t know who will lead the third, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll eventually bunch up under the wall where our artillery is ineffective, and then pour over using superior numbers.”

“We can hold that wall. Hold it all day long,” Travis said, feeling insulted. Now I knew for sure how the Alamo fell.

“It will be your job to try,” I said. “You and Bonham. But when you hear the bugle sounding recall, spike the guns and withdraw across the compound at a run. Don’t stop to fight. Don’t even look back, just run. But you’ve got to spike the cannon first. If the Mexicans seize your artillery, they’ll turn the guns around to use against us. We won’t win against those odds.”

“Yes, sir,” Bonham said, a smart young man.

Travis sulked a bit, but nodded.

“Crockett, your job is simple. Don’t let Morales over the palisade. Jameson, I want you in the lunette. The men must stay focused on our south flank, regardless of what they hear behind them. They’ll be scared and tempted to run, but if they do, our position will collapse. We are all in this together, every man doing his part.”

“Yes, General. If anyone tries to run, I’ll shoot them,” Jameson promised.

“Now you’ve got the spirit,” I said, grinning.

“Baugh, I’ll need you in the church so Carey and Dickenson can command our artillery in the courtyard. Can your New Orleans Grays hold the long barracks?” I asked.

“The only openings it that building are the musket ports, and there’ll be a gun in everyone,” Baugh said. I thought him an unimaginative officer, yet capable of inspiring the men with his good humor.

“Jimmy, pick the ten best shots in our command and station them up here,” I said. “In any attacking force, there are always a few officers and sergeants that keep the others going even when the situation looks bad. Your job is to target those leaders.”

“I get to shoot the officers?” Butler said, bright-eyed.

Jimmy turned to look at Hughes, knowing Bobby would envy his assignment.

“Yes, shoot the officers,” I agreed. “Take a bugler with you. If I can’t issue the recall from the courtyard, you’ll need to give the order.”

“Mad at me, General? Not letting me shoot any officers?” Hughes asked.

“You’ll be with me, Bobby. I need someone fearless at my side. Have I picked the wrong man?”

“No, sir. Not wrong at all,” Hughes said, puffing up his chest.

“Does everyone understand their assignments?” I said.

“General, what do you think our chances are?” Dickenson asked.

I could tell Dickenson was thinking of his wife and child. Libbie had joined me during the Civil War, sometimes closer to the fighting than I wished. And she was my loyal companion on the Great Plains. I could sympathize with Dickenson. It also made me feel guilty that I had taken Libbie for granted so many times.

“Almaron, I won’t lie. It’s going to be tough,” I answered, looking at my officers with a sturdy defiance. “We’re outnumbered ten or fifteen to one. These walls lack a solid defense posture. We’re not flush with ammunition. But we’ve got advantages. Our enemy is overconfident. Our Springfield rifles are worth ten muskets. My men are well-trained. And this garrison knows that defeat means death. If everyone remembers his duty, stays loyal to the man fighting beside him, I think we’ll prevail.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming to our aid when so many others didn’t,” Jameson said, shaking my hand.

The other Alamo officers followed his lead, offering a handshake before going downstairs. Soon only Crockett and Travis were left.

“General Custer, I can’t agree with your politics,” Travis said. “I’m not happy you’ve stolen the command that was rightfully mine, and after this is over, we’ll have issues. But I commend you as a fine soldier.”

Travis reached to shake my hand. I accepted, hiding my reservations. What I suspected of the coming battle made me feel like a hypocrite.

Travis and Crockett followed the other Alamo officers down the steep steps. Butler and Hughes were gone, too, leaving me alone with Slow. I sat down on a barrel near the edge of the roof, wondering where the enemy army was forming. What strength? Was my theory of their attack correct? If I was wrong, we were all in big trouble.

I took out my pocket watch, found the key, and slowly wound the spring. It was almost nine o’clock. I remembered how Judge Bacon often toyed with the watch while talking, as he had when I asked for Libbie’s hand in marriage. The Judge had died two years later. Now he wouldn’t die for another thirty years. The watch I was holding wouldn’t even be invented until 1857.

“You worry greatly,” Slow said. “Were you dishonest with the white soldiers?”

“Less than truthful,” I replied. “I had hoped to delay Santa Anna’s attack for a few days. Give time for Tom to encroach on their flank. But it looks like my plan didn’t work. If the Mexicans throw their whole force at us in the morning, I don’t think we’ll hold.”

“Mr. Kellogg said this Alamo fought bravely. He said your people remembered it for many years. Is this not the glory you seek?”

“I’d rather not get everyone killed if I can help it. When the shooting starts, I want you to find Mrs. Dickenson. Stay with her until the battle is over.”

“My place is at your side.”

“You’re a brave lad. I sense someday you’ll be a great leader. It’s not your place to die at my side.”

“Death cannot be so certain.”

“There was a time I didn’t think so. I thought myself above such a fate, trusting in my luck. But my luck failed me at the Little Big Horn. Now I fear it might fail again.”

I turned back to the open prairie, gazing at the darkness. How could so peaceful a scene be filled with death?

“We will bleed the enemy,” I said, sighing deeply. “Bleed him so bad that Tom and Keogh will sweep up what’s left. There will be a free Texas, but I won’t be here to see it.”

“The Great Spirit has not brought you this far for an early death. There is a plan.”

“And what plan would this be? What is its purpose?”

“I do not know the answer,” Slow admitted.

“Youngster, I’m afraid that’s not much help,” I said, warming my hands at the brazier before going downstairs.

I left Slow on the roof staring at the stars, apparently praying to his Great Spirit. Strangely, I heard birds chirping.

“Going to get some sleep?” Crockett asked as I entered the quadrangle before the church.

The small area had been transformed into a self-sufficient fort. One sentry stood near the palisade, everyone else having bunked down as ordered. I heard snoring from the long barracks.

“You’ve done good work here, David. Unless the enemy is able to seize our artillery, it will be a hard position to take.”

“That’s why you keep stressin’ the ’portance of spikin’ them cannon. We all got that.”

“Nothing is worse than getting whipped with your own guns.”

“This civil war you fought, sounds awful bad,” Crockett said.

“Any sacrifice will be worthwhile if we can head it off.”

“You know, if the people of this time knew what was coming, if they knew where this national division is taking us, maybe they’d think different on it,” Crockett suggested.

“I wish that was so, but I doubt it. I’m no expert on history, but I know a lot of politicians. Once they dig in their heels, they’ll take us straight to hell regardless of the consequences.”

“Guess I’m not one to disagree. Told many a tall tale to get elected to congress. Only lost because I decided to tell the truth.”

“If we make it out of this, what are your plans? Sell your land grant and head back to Tennessee?”

“That was my first thought. Only came out here to rebuild my fortune. Never did have much luck with money.”

“I’m afraid my brother won’t make it back in time to help,” I whispered, not wanting the men to hear my doubts. “But a few might be able to hold out here in the church for an extra day. By then Tom will take what’s left of Santa Anna’s army to task. He’s a bright young man, but to make Texas what it needs to be, he’ll need your help.”

“George, what are ya tryin’ to say?” Crockett asked.

“Not really sure. Just thinking out loud.”

“Just think about how we’re gonna win this fight,” he said, slapping me on the back. “When you’re out huntin’, and its gettin’ dark, and you’re startin’ to feel alone, it don’t help to wonder if the bear’s smarter than you.”

“Santa Anna isn’t smarter than me. He just has more bears.”

“Fer the last two weeks, I been worried that I’d die in this dry old rat trap. After ridin’ out to find Fannin, I even wondered if I should keep on goin’ until the Mississippi was at my back. I ain’t so worried now. Live or die, I’m in good company. Wouldn’t trade my place for nothin’ in this world, not even the White House.”

“There were some who said my campaign against the Sioux was an attempt to win the Democratic nomination for president.”

“Was it?”

“Hell, David, I’m only thirty-six years old. The presidency is for old men.”

“Not
that
old,” Crockett laughed, having aspired to the golden crown when he was forty-seven.

“I’ve never wanted political office. Too much politicking. Too much backstabbing. The army has enough of that already. I just want to lead a force of good men and keep the peace. I like to read. I love the theatre. There was a time I thought to make a career as a writer. I could even teach at a military college, despite my academic record. Not everything young men need to know is found in books.”

“I wrote a book. Well, wrote one with help from a friend. Wrote it about myself, and made some money, too. Maybe one day we can write a book together.”

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. Custer and Crockett, written by themselves.”

The Alamo was quiet as a tomb. As I thought, the Mexican artillery had gone silent to lull the defenders into a deep sleep. An effective tactic against amateurs. The moon had risen in the east, just two days past full. I guessed sunrise about 6:30. Time to get some rest, for I needed to be up in five hours.

“Good night, David. Sleep while you can. Tomorrow will be a long day,” I said, shaking the old bear hunter’s hand.

“You need it more than me,” Crockett said with a grin.

I crawled over the makeshift barrier between the long barracks and the low barracks, going to my quarters near the room where Bowie’s body lay hidden under a pile of blankets. A few suspected the famous knife fighter had made his last battle, but we all had other things to worry about.

Falling asleep wasn’t a problem. I was bone tired and ready to close my eyes. Tomorrow would be March 6th, 1836. A Sunday. If Santa Anna decided to attack, it would be a bloody day. The bloodiest I had seen since Cedar Creek. As a youngster, I had eagerly sought battle against the enemy. Sought glory at any cost. Looked forward to reading my name in the newspapers, and losing myself in the passion of my Libbie’s seductive embrace. Always the dashing young cavalier whose luck never failed. Now I only felt weariness. I was getting old.

I remained on the stone building after Custer left, realizing for the first time that he expected to lose his great battle. And in losing, the future of my people would be lost with him. This could not be why Wakan Tanka had reversed the course of history. But the enemy was vast, as large as a buffalo herd. The white general needed help. What help could I provide? What help would the Great Spirit allow? I sat near the fire of red coals and began to chant. The great knife I had found in the room of the dead Bowie lay at my side, a long blade much revered by the white-eyes. I cut a small flake of flesh from my arm, dropping it into the fire. And then another. The stars glowed brighter. The moon smiled. More strips of flesh were offered to the flames, but this was not the vision quest I had performed after the Rosebud battle, where a hundred pieces of my body had been given in sacrifice. That vision had revealed the white soldiers falling into our camp. A vision that presaged both victory and disaster. I needed no more darkness. I was seeking light. A solution to my people’s woes. I prayed. And I saw blood.