The Yellow Rose (9 page)
Brodie had always pictured a battle with two sides facing each other, shooting and reloading, but there was none of this at San Jacinto. It had become a massacre! He saw the Mexicans screaming and fleeing, but laughing Texans shoved bayonets through them as they tried to flee. Other Texans were using knives, and some were even taking scalps.
The Mexican army had simply dissolved, and there was now nothing but murderous death.
Brodie had no heart for murder and was sickened by the brutal butchery. He moved forward, watching in horror and disgust at what he saw. A battle was one thing, but Goliad had been no worse than this. He remembered the fear that had filled him when he thought he was going to die, but now he felt a strange sympathy for the Mexican soldiers who were dying by the hundreds.
“Rice, have you seen Brodie?”
Rice looked up, his face black with powder. “No, I thought he was with you.”
“This battle is over,” Zane said grimly. “You go that way, and I’ll go this way. We’ve got to find Brodie. I’d never be able to face Jerusalem if anything happened to that boy.”
Mateo had not been aware of the charge of the Texans until he heard the cannon go off. He grabbed his rifle and waited for the officers to put the soldiers into order, but there seemed to be no order. Santa Anna and his colonels under him ran about shouting conflicting orders. Some of the soldiers, Mateo saw, simply threw down their arms and begged for mercy, and the rest fled.
Though the Mexicans dropped their weapons and tried to surrender, they were clubbed and stabbed, some of them on their knees. Everywhere were the high-pitched shouts and screams of the Texans, “Remember the Alamo!” The cries of vengeance frightened the Mexicans even more, and they fled, but there was nowhere to flee. They were trapped between the bayou and the river. Mateo ran, but men were dropping all around him.
He turned and saw a huge soldier coming at him with a saber no doubt taken from a Mexican officer. He had a full beard, and his teeth were white as he grinned and shouted, “Here’s for the Alamo, you dirty Mex!”
Mateo knew there was no escape. He stood straight and dropped his hands at his side. He had no weapon, and he waited for the blow to strike him dead.
Suddenly, the man grunted and fell headlong down on his face. Mateo was shocked, and he looked and saw a man holding a rifle with the butt reversed. He had struck the soldier with the saber in the head—and then Mateo whispered, “Brodie!”
Brodie lowered the rifle and looked down and saw that the soldier he had struck was stirring. “Thank God I didn’t kill him,” he said. “Come on, Mateo, let’s get out of here.” Mateo seemed unable to move, so Brodie grabbed his arm and started leading him away. The screams of the dying filled the air. As they moved forward, a Texan started toward them, his eyes on Mateo. Brodie lowered his rifle and said, “This is my prisoner.”
He saw the soldier waver, then turn and run toward a group that was butchering Mexicans in the bayou. Turning to Mateo, he said, “It’s a good thing he didn’t know this musket’s empty. Come on.”
They reached a group of men led by General Juan Almonte. He had managed to hold them together and surrender to one of Houston’s officers, who stood there keeping them from the massacre going on all over the battlefield.
“You’ll be safe now,” Brodie said.
Mateo swallowed hard and felt a weakness in his legs. “You saved my life, Brodie.”
Brodie looked into Mateo’s face. “Well, you done the same for me and Clay over at Goliad. I figured I owed you.”
“We’re even, then.” Mateo looked around and saw the proud army of Santa Anna being butchered. “It’s all over,” he said. “General Santa
Anna’s either dead or captured.”
“Well, I’m proud of it,” Brodie said. “Now you and me won’t ever have to shoot it out.”
The two young men stood there until finally Zane and Rice came running up. “You okay?” Zane demanded.
“I’m all right. I’m glad to see you fellas made it. You remember Mateo.”
“Sure do,” Zane said. He wanted to ask questions, but he saw the pain in the young Mexican’s face. “Well,” he said, “I guess—” He looked over the field and said, “I guess this pretty well ends the war.”
Brodie felt a gust of relief.
I’m glad of it,
he thought. Aloud he said to Mateo, “Now we can go back to livin’ again.”
A
sickening smell hung in the air, for after the battle of San Jacinto, the Texans had refused to bury the dead of their enemies. The bodies of the dead swelled, turned black, and their distended stomachs burst the buttons of their uniforms.
Brodie could not eat, and in all truth, neither Zane nor Rice had much appetite either. Everyone was shocked at the overwhelming success of their attack on Santa Anna’s army. The Texans had lost two men in the battle, and of the thirty wounded, several more were fairly sure to die. Over six hundred dead Mexicans lay scattered across the field, and General Almonte surrendered the rest. The captured Mexicans were sitting on the ground, dazed by the horror that had overtaken them by surprise. Brodie had withdrawn from the battlefield to get away from the stench of the dead, but late in the afternoon he heard cries that he could not identify. He straightened up and ran back and saw Rice and Zane standing there, watching something and grinning.
“What is it?” Brodie demanded.
“It’s Santa Anna! There he is right there!” Zane exclaimed.
Brodie stared at the captive, who was heavily guarded now by a half-dozen armed Texans, and gasped, “Is that really him? Why, he don’t look like nothin’!”
“They found him hidin’ in a canebreak over by the bayou,” Rice said.
Zane nodded and grinned even broader. “I don’t reckon he’d have been found out, but when they started bringing him back, all the Mexis started calling out,
‘El Presidente.’ ”
The man who was the center of attention, the president of Mexico, was not very impressive. He was unshaven and dirty and wearing the tunic of a Mexican private to try to hide his identity. Many of the Texans were crying out, “Hang him! Hang the butcher!”
Sam Houston was sitting underneath a tree with his wounded leg stretched out, his eyes fixed on Santa Anna. He ignored the cries from the angry soldiers, looked around, and saw some carrying coiled rope ready to carry out the execution. Deaf Smith stood off to one side, watching the dictator with a grin fixed on his lips.
Houston lifted his voice. “Quiet down, men. Try to act like soldiers.”
“Let’s hang him, General. Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!”
Houston did not even answer. The crowd grew quiet, and Brodie leaned forward so as not to miss a word of it. Sam Houston would not have minded in the least hanging Santa Anna except for one fact—there were still four thousand Mexican troops in Texas, over half of them within fifty miles. Houston’s mind was working rapidly, and he understood clearly that hanging Santa Anna might satisfy the blood lust in his men, but it would do nothing toward helping free Texas. He was wise enough to realize that hanging Santa Anna would only make him a martyr, and his troops would go on a murderous rampage all across Texas.
“General,” Houston called out, “I’m glad you’ve survived.”
Santa Anna, whose face was pale, as if all the blood had drained, took courage at these words. He stood straighter and bowed from the hip.
“General Houston,” he said. “I surrender myself and my men to you without reservation.”
“Mighty nice of him,” Zane whispered, “seein’ he ain’t got no other choice.”
“Why is Houston being so nice to him?” Brodie whispered back.
“Sam Houston’s a fox. The corpse of Santa Anna ain’t no good,”
Zane said. “He’ll trade with him.”
Indeed, that was exactly what happened. Houston treated Santa Anna with all courtesy, and the two even shared a pipe of opium. Santa Anna and Houston got along surprisingly well, and in the end the terms Sam Houston demanded were simple. In return for his life, Santa Anna signed a public and secret treaty with the Republic of Texas. He swore personally never to take arms against Texas and that all hostilities between the two nations would cease immediately. He also agreed that the Mexican Army in Texas would withdraw below the Rio Grande and that all American prisoners would be released.
Zane turned away, and the other two followed him. “Looks like we’re about done here, with the treaty now signed and everything,” he said.
“Are we going home now?” Brodie asked.
“I expect we will. We’ll hang around for a little while, but if you ask me, there won’t be any more fightin’.”
“I think you’re right,” Rice said. “Besides that, I doubt that General Houston can afford to keep an army. Texas is a republic now, but there’s no money.”
“The army will scatter if they don’t get paid,” Zane observed. “I expect that’s what we’ll do, but we’ll wait to see what happens.”
The three waited a week, but it soon became apparent that there would be no more military action. On Monday morning Zane had made the decision. “We’ll pull out today, but first we’ll see if we can get a word with the general.”
They found Deaf Smith and persuaded him without difficulty to let them have a word with Houston. The three were admitted to Houston’s tent. He was sitting with his leg propped up. His wound was severe and had taken its toll on him, but he was genial enough. He listened as Zane explained that they needed to get home to take care of their womenfolk, and he nodded, saying, “I understand, men. I appreciate your loyal service.”
“What do you think will happen next, General?” Brodie piped up.
Sam Houston smiled at the young man. “I want Texas in the Union, but it’s going to be hard to get in. Not everybody’s going to greet us with open arms. We’ll make it in the end, though, or my name ain’t Sam Houston.”
Zane saw that the general was tired and weak and said, “General, if it ain’t too forward of me, I’d like to know about the land you promised to those who joined up.”
“You’re going to get it.” Sam Houston nodded. “Six hundred and forty acres each. It’ll take a while to get the paperwork done, but you leave your addresses with my adjutant, and as soon as I can do it, every soldier who served at San Jacinto will own a piece of Texas. Good luck to you, men, and stay available. I may need you in the days to come.”
Zane laughed. “You just send for us, General. We’ll be back.”
“I wish I didn’t have to leave you here, Mateo.” Brodie had stopped by where the prisoners were being held, and they admitted him without difficulty.
The guards were lax, and the one that Brodie had spoken to said, “Wait a few days and they’ll all be loose. We ain’t got nothin’ to feed ’em anyway.”
Mateo had greeted Brodie without enthusiasm. He was leaner than ever, and his face was drawn. He wasn’t the same young man Brodie had known. With Santa Anna’s defeat, something in Mateo seemed to have died.
“You’re going home, Brodie?”
“Yeah, we’re pullin’ out today. I’ll be going to see your family. You want to write ’em a letter?”
“No, but give them a message for me.”
“Sure. Be proud to.”
“Tell them as soon as I’m released, I’ll come. But I’m going back to Mexico.”
“You’re leaving Texas?”
“There’s nothing here for a true Mexican,” Mateo said bitterly.
Brodie studied the face of his friend. Mateo had always been a handsome, cheerful young man, full of life, but the loss of the battle had changed him. He was filled with a bitterness that was almost palpable.
Brodie hated to see it and tried to find some way to encourage him.
“I expect this’ll all blow over now that everything’s settled.”
Mateo stared at Brodie. “Things are not settled,” he said. “We lost the battle, but there will be others.”
Brodie was rather shocked. “Why, the war’s over, Mateo. Santa Anna signed a treaty.”
Mateo Lebonne stared at Brodie, and his eyes were hard as agates.
“Not for me,” he said softly. “For me the war will never be over.” He shook himself and tried to smile. “Thank you for saving my life, Brodie.
Tell my family that I’m well. I will see them soon. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” Brodie said and could not think of anything to add. He turned, and as he walked back to where Zane and Rice were getting ready to leave, he thought,
Mateo’s had a hard bump. I hope he can get over it.
When he reached the horses, he swung up into the saddle.
“You ready to go home, Brodie?” Zane asked.
“I am, and I hope I never have to fight in no other army.” The three turned their horses west and rode out of the camp at a fast gallop.
T
wilight had come now, and the low hills to the west were turning dark and edged against the sky. The flatland to the east slowly foreshortened as the night’s shadows crept over it. Jerusalem sat quietly beside the graves of her boys, watching as the sun slipped below the horizon. As she sat there in the dusk, a sadness came over her. The silence seemed to nurture it, for only the cry of a night bird, always a sad sound to her, broke the stillness of the land.
She stared at the graves, and her sadness turned whelmed bitter. It over days of her as she remembered when each of her sons had died. Those even themourning and grief had drained her of all strength to perform perate simplest of tasks. And for days she had fought to control the des God and screams she wanted to utter. She had wanted to shake her fist at demand why He took her boys, but the bitterness and anger had remained trapped inside. She thought she had gotten beyond the worst of what she felt. The wild anger that would come upon her at first had passed away, washed into the river of time that she had navigated. Now, however, she felt a loneliness and emptiness gnawing at her heart. She could not help but think what Bobby and Hartsell Lee would have been like if they had lived. Much like Brodie or Clinton, perhaps. She always had them pictured in her mind as they were when they had passed beyond her hand. Bobby died at six of cholera, Hartsell Lee two years earlier of that same horrible disease, which seemed to reach out and strike almost at random.
