Custer at the Alamo (50 page)

“Looks like you did it, Autie,” Tom said, rushing down the ramp into the charred courtyard.

“Tom!” I shouted, so glad to see him I could burst.

Bill Cooke and Voss were with him. A few horses appeared at a breach in the west wall, but they weren’t chasing the enemy, merely watching. Lieutenant Smith was in command.

“Don’t get too excited, Autie, there’s only a hundred of us,” Tom explained. “Most of the reinforcements from Goliad won’t catch up ‘til tomorrow.”

“Fannin?” I asked.

“Decided to stay behind, but sent two hundred men.”

“How’d you work that? Put a pistol to his head?”

“Something like that,” Tom said with a sly grin. “You said to do whatever it took. I made our case to Fannin. Bill held the pistol to his head.” Though said lightheartedly, I suspected he wasn’t joking.

“It’s a miracle you got here so soon,” I said, giving him a heartfelt hug.

“We’ve got Bouyer to thank for that. Bouyer and Morning Star,” Tom replied.

“Morning Star?”

He pointed back. I looked past Tom to a gap in the wall. Morning Star was entering through the breach, walking her horse between Smith and Harrington. She was wearing a blue cavalry tunic, gray campaign hat, and high rawhide boots, looking delicious.

“Bouyer found a shortcut through the woods,” Tom explained, “but it was Morning Star and the Tejanos who showed up with fresh mounts. Once we got within striking range, we each took two horses and rode like hell.”

I saw it was true, their horses looked exhausted.

“Glad you boys could make the main event,” I said as everyone gathered around.

“Good to see you, too, General,” Cooke said, coming down the ramp. The men looked like they’d ridden all night. Their uniforms were filled with mud, the sleeves and pants frayed. Tom’s face was chapped from the cold wind.

“The Mexican cavalry?” I asked.

“Algernon drove them off the hill this morning,” Cooke explained, slapping Smith on the back.

“Didn’t you know your flank was clear?” Smith said. “We saw Slow and John waving from the roof.”

“We were a little busy down here,” I said, trying not to sound irritated.

“Harrington brought the relief force up from the Cibolo. Tejanos, Texian militia, a few of the locals. Even Walking-In-Grass. It was a good brawl,” Smith added, so proud he was ready to burst.

I looked past him to see Sergeant Sepulveda and Francisco Sanchez, each mounted and well armed. Their small regiment of patriots had finally struck a blow against the tyrant. A few of the Gonzales Rangers and Chenoweth’s men had joined them.

“I’ve got more work for you,” I immediately said.

“You’re not going to divide the command again, are you?” Tom asked, the rascal.

“No. Far from it. How strong is Keogh’s hold on the town?”

“He rode in while the Mexicans were on this side of the river. Hard to say how long he can hold if they come back,” Smith said.

“We can’t stay in this graveyard,” I decided. “Smith, have E Company screen our retreat. Order Harrington to cross the river, reinforce Keogh. Sepulveda! Sanchez!”

“We are here, General Custer,” Sergeant Sepulveda said, offering a salute. It may have been my imagination, but their numbers seem to have grown.

“Can your boys gather up some wagons?”

“Si, señor
,” Sepulveda said, dashing away.

“We’re abandoning the Alamo?” Crockett asked.

“No choice, David. We’re still outnumbered. The walls are wrecked.”

“We got lots of wounded,” Crockett said.

“And where will they be more comfortable? In Béjar’s haciendas, or crowded into that godforsaken church?”

“I’ll start rounding up the boys,” Crockett said.

“Mr. Carey, take charge of our cannon. Destroy what can’t be taken into town. Mr. Jameson, load up the small arms. Mr. Dickenson, prepare the wounded to be moved,” I ordered.

Carey, Dickenson and Jameson jumped to obey. They were part of my command now.

Dr. Pollard came forward just as Dr. Lord walked through the south gate. They would have much to talk about in the months ahead. With Pollard’s connections in Massasschuetts, we might even establish a medical facility here in Texas that would rival the hospitals in Boston. If we survived the next twenty-four hours.

I issued no more instructions. These were good men who knew their business, but I had one more task to finish.

I’ve heard veterans speak of battles where one could walk across the hallowed field from body to body without ever touching the ground. The Alamo’s courtyard was not quite that bad, but close. Baugh and some of the New Orleans Grays were gathering equipment while making a count, but that wasn’t my interest. I went up to the battered ramparts on the north wall. The middle bastion held the bodies of eight defenders. Both cannon had been spiked, preventing the Mexicans from using them against us. I’d been worried they didn’t have time.

On the northwest bastion, I found the bodies of Travis and Bonham. Travis had been shot through the forehead, probably in the early minutes of the battle. He’d fallen next to the cannon where General Cos lay, the two of them side by side. I picked up Travis’s sword, thinking his son might want it someday.

Both of the northwest cannon had been spiked as well. Bonham lay next to the corner gun, a hammer still clutched in his hand. He’d done his duty to the last, and I saluted him. A true man, good as his word. And I appreciated the irony. In life, Travis and Bonham would have been opponents of my plan to end slavery in Texas. In death, they were martyrs to a glorious cause.

I walked down the ramp, crossed the bloody courtyard, and went out through a hole in the west wall. With any luck, I would never set foot in the Alamo again.

“Afternoon, Gen’ral,” Bouyer said, meeting me just beyond the destroyed lunette.

He’d come up with Harrington’s command. Spotted Eagle sat in a two-wheeled cart, ribs wrapped in bandages. Slow was holding hands with Walking-In-Grass. Our Sioux contingent was reunited at last. Troops in cavalry blue were coming down the Alameda in column of twos, their pace jaunty with victory, and E Company’s flag flew proudly from the small building on Powder House Hill.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bouyer. Thank you for such excellent service,” I said.

“Still expectin’ my reward,” Bouyer replied.

“You and everyone else in the Seventh Cavalry.”

“There’s gold waitin’ for me in California, sir.”

“Waiting for
all
of us. Don’t worry, Mitch, it’s not going anywhere.”

I embraced Morning Star, expecting her to be part of the family soon, and hugged Walking-In-Grass, the mother of our army. The old woman seemed especially pleased, stroking Spotted Eagle’s hair while she walked next to him. That’s when I noticed seven scalps hanging from the back of their cart.

“We’ve got food and warm beds across the river,” I announced, for it finally occurred to me that Santa Anna’s quarters were unoccupied. I wondered what Ben could make us for dinner.

* * *

No one needed extra encouragement to leave the Alamo. After thirteen days of siege, the men were thoroughly sick of the place. Our dead were laid out in the side rooms of the church, to be buried once the fighting was over. The Mexicans were left were they lay, stripped of arms and ammunition. There were too many to bury anytime soon. Baugh’s preliminary count was eight hundred and fifty, but there were more lying beyond the walls. The final count would certainly exceed a thousand. Our losses appeared to be seventy-seven dead and a hundred wounded.

On a sinking ship, tradition says the captain is supposed to be the last man to leave. Fortunately, I’m a general, so I departed right after issuing the appropriate orders.

“Sir! Sir!” Corporal Voss shouted.

I turned to find a pleasant sight. Voss had brought Vic from the corral so I could ride into town, saving me the embarrassment of limping. The noble steed looked no worse for wear, having been sheltered near the long barracks. I rode over the old wooden bridge with head held high.

The road into San Antonio was cut with afternoon shadows, most of the houses still empty. The presidio was lit with several bonfires, Keogh’s men having taken up positions on the low walls surrounding the town square. The burly Irishman rushed forward to greet me.

“Congratulations, General,” Keogh said, shaking hands.

He’d lost some weight, but otherwise looked fit. I knew he would enjoy raiding behind Santa Anna’s lines, and now he’d gone and captured the entire town right under the dictator’s nose. I was green with envy.

“Looks like you’re the one who deserves the congratulations, Myles. Casualties?”

“Six dead, fourteen wounded. We got most of the Mexicans’ supplies,” Keogh bragged. “Thirty wagons. Hundred horses and mules. Three cannon. Found some food. Not much, but some.”

“Prisoners? Did you catch Santa Anna?”

“Naw, didn’t find no officers. None worth shootin’. We had some prisoners at first, but we let most of ’em go after the fightin’ stopped. Not sure how far they’ll get without their boots.”

I glanced toward the presidio, seeing a large pile of shoes, boots and sandals. If the released prisoners came back to attack us, they would need to do it barefoot.

“If you find any enemy doctors, send them to the cathedral. Crockett’s bringing in our wounded,” I said, pointing to the big church. I noticed the red flag had been taken down from the steeple.

“No doctors, sir. Not even an ambulance. Can you believe it? I guess Santa Anna didn’t expect any of his men to get shot.”

“Santa Anna didn’t expect a lot of things,” I said, shaking Keogh’s hand before crossing the street to the dictator’s headquarters.

Ben met us at the door with a big smile. He had served Colonel Juan Almonte after meeting him in New York City, and then Santa Anna, and now he was ready to serve us. Practical, as well as talented.

A fire burned in the great hearth and I smelled roast chicken in the kitchen. Slow entered first, followed by the rest of our party. It’s good the hacienda was large, for much of my staff would be using it in the days that followed. Warm quarters on a cold night are more than a blessing. And after what we’d been through, they were a necessity.

I cleared off the main table, gathered quill pens and parchment, and sat down to work. Messengers would be dispatched to nearby towns, for the army needed provisions. And more importantly, I would order the rebel convention on the Brazos River to disband, for I had no intention of recognizing the constitution they were writing. But the next thing I knew, it was the next morning. I’d fallen fast asleep the moment my butt hit the chair.

* * *

“Monday, March 7th, General,” John said, shaking me awake.

I was lying on a padded bench near the fire, a fresh poultice on my neck wound, a cold pack on my bruised chest, and a pillow under my sore leg. Tom and Morning Star were having breakfast, eggs over easy and fried bacon. The whiff of fresh biscuits filled the room. A bustle in the outer chamber indicated people were gathering to see me. The kitchen was no less busy. I sensed a relaxed mood.

“Tom, I’ve been meaning to ask you, whatever happened to Kellogg? Seems a star reporter from the Bismarck Tribune would want to have seen that battle,” I asked.

Tom smiled, taking another bite of eggs before answering. One of the pretty servant girls in a yellow dress offered maple syrup.

“Went to see Houston. Wanted to tell him about the Cherokee,” Tom said.

“What about the Cherokee?”

“You know, they signed a treaty with Houston in good faith, but after Houston left office, their land got stolen by Lamar and his band of cutthroats. Mark thinks Houston will see the situation differently if he knows what’s going to happen. Maybe come over to our side.”

“I didn’t know Houston was our enemy,” I said, not having given it much thought.

“Hell, Autie, we’re making so many enemies, the Civil War is going to look like a picnic,” Tom exaggerated. At least, I certainly hoped he was exaggerating. “From what I heard, you pissed off Dijon so bad he tried to kill you, and every other slave owner’s gonna feel the same way. Better start making all the friends we can.”

“So you think you’re a better judge of men than I am?”

“Come on, Autie, there’s never been any doubt about that,” Tom said, going back to his breakfast.

Morning Star laughed and took Tom’s hand. I would be insulted if they didn’t name their first son after me.

“Excuse me, General Custer. Colonel Crockett will be here in a few minutes,” John interrupted. “And Ben’s got somethin’ to say. Real important, he thinks.”

“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong,” I said, finding my uniform and boots.

Both had been washed, my guns polished, and the silk scarf scrubbed clean of blood. I was grateful, but didn’t know who to thank.

Ben intercepted me before I left the room, his manner secretive. He put a finger to his lips for silence and led me to a study off the main room, closing the thick oak door behind us. A Mexican flag still hung on the wall. The desk was covered with Santa Anna’s correspondence.