Custer at the Alamo (52 page)

It would seem rumors of ghost riders not only spread within an army, but between armies as well. Even Almonte eyed me with a reserved awe.

“It will be time for lunch soon. May I offer you gentlemen the hospitality of my headquarters? As you know, Ben is a wonderful cook,” I suggested with a mischievous twinkle.

Castrillón grimaced. Almonte almost smiled.

“I’m afraid we must deal with the situation at hand,” Castrillón said.

“I would not recommend an assault on our lines. There has been enough blood,” I warned.

“We have not come to wage battle,” Castrillón said.

He nodded to Almonte and stepped back. Juan took a deep breath. This was a painful experience for him.

“General Custer, General Santa Anna has left Béjar,” Almonte reported. “He took the cavalry and most of our supplies. When he ordered yesterday’s attack, the men were not allowed to bring their winter coats. We were given only five rounds of ammunition per man, which is now gone.”

“Five rounds?” Tom said in disbelief. Having inspected the bodies in the courtyard, I suspected it was true.

“His Excellency did not wish the men to rely on their marksmanship, believing the bayonet more expedient,” Almonte explained. “Now we have no food. We have no doctors and no medicine.”

He paused, waiting to see if I would offer a comment. Tom started to speak but I held him back. This was for Almonte to explain without interference.

“Sir, if you may give honorable terms, we have come to surrender the army,” Almonte finally said.

Needless to say, we were stunned. Outnumbered better than three-to-one, it didn’t seem possible, but the condition of Santa Anna’s abandoned army was indeed lamentable. They had no ammunition for an attack, and they had no resources to retreat. Their spare food and winter coats had been captured by Keogh.

When I had been a young officer, full of beans and ready to spit, I’d have challenged them to come forward with their bayonets. Taunted them to die like men. Four years of civil war, and ten years on the plains, had taught me better. And if I wasn’t more humble now than in my youth, at least I was a bit wiser. And I remembered what Tom had said earlier that morning—we needed all the friends we could get.

“Sergeant Butler, my compliments to Sergeant Major Sharrow. Instruct him to prepare sufficient rations for our honorable foes. And tell Dr. Lord to expect more casualties,” I ordered.

“But General . . .?” Butler started to object, for we were stretched thin.

“Jimmy, do as I say,” I whispered, adding a touch of urgency.

“Yes, sir,” Butler said, backing off.

“Sergeant Hughes, fetch Crockett, Morning Star, and Slow for me. On the double, if you please,” I said. “And bring our band forward.”

“The band, General?” Hughes said.

“We should have some music.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” Hughes acknowledged.

I turned my attention back to Almonte and Castrillón, who appeared cautiously optimistic.

“Gentlemen, I would like to inspect your troops,” I said, catching them off guard.

When my party came up, I crossed the bridge. I wanted Tom with me, for he was a good judge of perilous situations. And I had plans for him that went beyond commanding a cavalry troop. Slow would pique their interest, for a Sioux Indian boy is not common in Texas, and his searching black eyes would enhance my own reputation for mystical powers. As for Morning Star, it never hurts to have a beautiful woman hanging on one’s elbow.

I posted my band on the Alamo side of the bridge, mostly drummers, horns, and Private Engle on his flute, giving Voss orders to play a variety of pleasant tunes to put the Mexican soldiers at ease. I suggested
Oh Shenandoah,
Ashokan Farewell
, and
Bonnie Blue Flag,
but the final selection would be up to him. Whatever the nationality, we soldiers love our music.

“You are a clever man, General Custer,” Castrillón said as we approached, for he understood what I was trying to do.

“Not so clever, sir. But I’ve had good teachers.”

I saw the long lines of troops staring. They were cold, hungry and curious. They had attacked under a flag of no-quarter, and most would not expect to receive any now. But I remembered how gracious Grant had been at Appomattox. And I recalled the advice President Lincoln had given to his generals at City Point to “let them up easy.”

The long rows of Mexican soldiers straightened as I walked along their line, heads held high. They had been defeated, but not beaten. Had Santa Anna not fled with their supplies, they might still be a force to be reckoned with.

The inspection only took half an hour, for the day was still frosty and I didn’t wish to try anyone’s patience. After the first few minutes, the rank and file began to relax, smiling at my unusual menagerie. I made some small jokes in Spanish, complimented them on their valor, and then made my offer.

“General Castrillón, I will accept the surrender of your men on the following terms: those who choose to accept service in my regiment will remain in Texas, be well-paid, and given grants of land. Those who decline will be given sufficient provisions to return home on condition that they never return in arms again.”

Slow tugged on my shirt. I knelt down, letting him whisper so that no one else could hear. My eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“The birds would not lie,” Slow answered.

I stood up and took a deep breath, which hurt a little, and turned back to General Castrillón.

“And there is a final condition. I want Colonel Almonte to serve as my liaison until all the conflicts in Texas have been resolved.”

“All? That might take years!” Almonte protested.

“It will take a lifetime,” Slow said without hesitation.

Castrillón retreated with Almonte and two officers I didn’t recognize. None of the other gentlemen who had dined with us at Santa Anna’s dinner table were present. At least two had died in the fighting. For the others, I had no clue.

“Your terms are acceptable, sir. And I thank you,” General Castrillón said when he returned, for he was a true gentleman and concerned for the welfare of his troops. Far more than his president.

When Castrillón offered me his sword, I declined. And I had made a friend.

* * *

The days that followed were the busiest of my life. Messengers came and went from San Antonio with amazing speed, given the hundreds of miles that separated the various towns. Crockett was just as busy, for all letters were issued under our joint signatures. But it didn’t mean David and I neglected our hunting, for we went out one day and returned with a buffalo. Slow thought it a good sign.

The convention at Washington-on-the-Brazos was not pleased with our nullification of their declaration of independence. The slavery faction swore to raise an army, retreating east to friendlier country. Most of the towns in central Texas shrugged with indifference, as only a handful of colonists actually owned any slaves.

Seven days after the Battle of the Alamo, Isabella Seguin rode in with fifty Tejano reinforcements and good news from her father. Erasmo Seguin had found craftsmen in Victoria who could make .45 calibur ammunition for our Springfields, and they were already producing brass-jacketed rounds. Crockett and I appointed Señor Seguin Quartermaster of Texas, meaning he would need to stand good for our supplies until we had a government to reimburse him.

But we had not been lazy in Béjar. Young boys from the town had been sent to search the battlefields for copper cartridge casings. Those that were still in good condition were brought to the Presidio where Sergeant Major Sharrow supervised the manufacture of new shells. In this manner, we had produced nearly a thousand rounds. The quality of the gunpowder was a problem, but I could not expect perfection.

I was especially glad to see Isabella again. The fire of our earlier meeting had not gone out. She was beautiful, intelligent, had lovely brown eyes, and though a widow, young enough to bear children. And her family was among the wealthiest in Texas. I would always love my Libbie, but life goes on.

Ten days after the surrender of General Castrillón’s army, a quarter of whom were now in my army, we received an urgent dispatch. Voss sounded the officer’s call, and by mid-afternoon, twenty subordinates were gathered around the long oak table in my headquarters. We were a varied bunch: white settlers from the east, native born Tejanos, allies from Mexico, and my own men from the Seventh, who would always be nearest my heart.

Between the various elements, I now commanded eight hundred men divided into seven battalions. Three cavalry, three infantry, and one artillery. All the units were socially mixed, each learning from the other, just as the Union forces had done toward the end of the Civil War, when it no longer mattered what state a man was from, so long as he was loyal. It was Tom’s idea.

There was some good-natured bantering as we sat down to our meeting, the pretty maids serving fresh bread and wine. I was drinking water. Ben was no longer the cook, sitting to my left with our account books in hand. John had decided to stay on as my valet, and I made sure everyone knew he was well-paid. Or would be, once I could afford it.

“Gentleman, this letter has just arrived from Goliad,” I said, standing to read, “To President Crockett and General Custer. Honorable sirs. I am surrounded by a thousand enemy troops under General José de Urrea. He has called upon Fort Defiance to surrender at his discretion or the garrison will be put to the sword. We have answered with a cannon shot. I appeal to you, as the only true government of Texas, to send help with all possible speed. We are determined to hold this position to the last. Signed, Colonel James Fannin, commanding.”

“Well, how to you like that?” Tom said, for Fannin had not been generous when called upon to support the Alamo.

“Let him rot. We’re still short of supply,” Dickenson said, no fan of Mr. Fannin.

“We can’t let him rot. It’s a matter of honor,” Crockett disagreed, for he knew the rest of Texas would be watching.

“With deference to President Crockett, we’ve got a Mexican army to the south, raiding Kiowa in the north, and slavers drawing recruits from New Orleans to the east. Seems we’re already surrounded,” General Keogh said, proud of the new stars on his shoulders. A wise appointment for a deserving officer.

“What do you think, Colonel Almonte?” I inquired.

All eyes turned to Almonte, still wearing his Mexican uniform, but rapidly winning the confidence of my officers.

“First, I think we should refer to Urrea’s army as a Centralist force, not Mexican, for many of us here
are
Mexican,” Almonte said, glancing to Keogh. “We will not win the love of my people by portraying them as foreigners in their own country.”

“Colonel Almonte has raised a good point. One I heartily agree with. All in favor?” I said.

Everyone raised their hands. Almonte was surprised, and flattered, by the unanimous support. Slow had told me he was a man to watch. With Mexico on one side and the United States on the other, Texas would need powerful foreign allies to thrive. And Juan had visited England before. He would again, as my ambassador.

“General Urrea is an intelligent and dedicated officer,” Almonte continued. “He will take La Bahia if he can, but he may back off if challenged. Or he may not. We don’t know if he has received new orders from Santa Anna.”

“Our claim to govern Texas could depend on answering Fannin’s plea,” Bill Cooke said, now promoted to colonel.

“Losing Goliad will cut our access to the sea. We should not show such a weakness,” Juan Seguin said, having returned from Gonzales two days before.

The younger Seguin knew I had an interest in his sister, and though suspicious, he was also ambitious. I remembered Kellogg saying the Seguins had suffered under the bigoted governments that followed the revolution of 1836. I was determined not to let that happen again. If Jim Bowie could win the respect of the Tejano community, then I would do the same.

“I think we’ve reached a consensus,” I concluded, and though not precisely true, it didn’t matter. I’d made up my mind before the meeting started. “We will ride to the relief of Goliad at dawn. Harry, you’ll hold San Antonio.”

“Damn it, George, how come I always have to hold your rear?” Captain Harrington protested.

Everyone laughed, for his protest was awkwardly expressed.

“Harry, you’re right. Never let it be said George Armstrong Custer can’t change his mind. Colonel Jameson, you’ll hold San Antonio with the artillery unit. The defenses still need work and you’re our best engineer.”

“Yes, sir,” Jameson said, and gratefully so.

I had learned that Green Jameson was much more interested in building things than fighting battles. And I was content to let him be a builder.

“Questions, gentlemen?” I asked.

There were no questions.

* * *

The next morning the command was drawn up in column of fours, cavalry at the front, wagons in the middle, infantry bringing up the rear. We were short on supply but strong in spirit. Voss and French were close by, acting as orderlies. Bobby Hughes carried my personal guidon. Jimmy Butler had new the flag of Texas sewn by Susannah Dickenson; red, white and green vertical stripes with the black silhouette of a buffalo stitched in the middle.