Texas

by James A. Michener

  ‘How did Ernst take that?’ Otto asked, and she replied: ‘Shouted in a public meeting “Peace is possible!” and he volunteered to lead a party out to the Comanche, if anyone was brave enough to follow.’

  ‘Anyone volunteer?’

  ‘Meusebach.’

  ‘The German nobleman?’ and Franza said: ‘Yes.’

  So that was the way things stood at year’s end: two young men ready for great adventure, Ernst among the Comanche, Otto back in Mexico if the army called.

  The Meusebach expedition into the heart of the Comanchería assembled its gear in mid-January 1847, and when Otto realized that these men really were going to plunge into enemy territory, where the risk of death by torture was great, he insisted upon going along with his multiple weapons, but Ernst said: ‘No, this is a peaceful mission,’ and Meusebach agreed.

  Otto, disgusted by this non-military attempt, warned: ‘You’ll die staked out before a fire, but don’t call for the Rangers. It’ll be too late.’

  He was considering whether he should, to protect these headstrong Germans, gather a few men like himself and ride discreetly behind the would-be peacemakers, when he heard Franziska call from her kitchen door the single word ‘Liebchen.’ Their affinity through the years of their extraordinary courtship and in the early months of their marriage had become so intuitive that whenever Franza uttered the word Liebchen in a certain inflection, her husband knew that she was about to say something of importance.

  ‘What?’ he asked, turning his whole attention to her.

  She blushed, hesitated, then said in a low voice: ‘I’m to have a baby.’

  She said no more, and he refrained from jumping in the air or embracing her fervently; instead, he bowed to her and she to him, for they were people of silent moments deeply cherished.

  But the moment of reverence was broken by the arrival of Panther Komax, who bellowed as he approached the cabin: ‘Macnab! General Taylor needs us at Saltillo! Garner’s taking down his best men from Company M.’

  When the bearlike man saw Franziska, he whisked her up in his arms, threw her in the air, and shouted: ‘How did you ever catch this one, Little Nubbin?’

  ‘Put her down!’ Otto yelled, and when he saw her safely on the ground he whispered to Komax: ‘She’s going to have a baby.’

  Panther stepped back, surveyed the couple, and clucked his tongue: ‘Fräulein Macnab, you are beautiful! Simply beautiful!’ And he gave her a great hairy kiss which practically covered her face. He was the second man to have kissed her, and she was astonished at his boldness.

  ‘Yes,’ he snorted as the Allerkamp women fed him gargantuan quantities of food, ‘messengers came north with news that Old Rough-and-Ready was bulldogging his way into the heart of Mexico. Without scouts. With disaster every time he moved. After six or seven routs of his dragoons—’ Here he leaped to his feet and galloped about the place, imitating the American cavalry on their big horses riding fat and dumb right into Mexican ambushes. ‘Hell, he knowed he needed us to do his dirty work.’

  ‘Can’t you stay the night?’ Thekla asked, and he said: ‘Nope, we got to join up with Garner and the others at Laredo.’

  So packing was done hastily, but when Franziska went out to put Otto’s gear on his waiting, horse, she saw his saddle blanket and uttered a cry: ‘There’s blood on your saddle.’ And when Panther went to scratch the discoloration, he confirmed: ‘Yep. It’s blood.’

  ‘Otto, were you wounded?’ Franza asked, her face even paler than before, but Panther dissipated her fears: ‘Your little man never gets wounded. He wounds other people,’ and the two Rangers explained how they had captured those two little mountains at Monterrey, Federaciòn and Independencia, and how on the latter hill, when they attacked the Bishop’s Palace, Ranger Lucas had been killed.

  ‘Me and your husband carried his body down and tied it to Otto’s saddle,’ Panther said, and when he saw Franziska blanch, he added: ‘Hell, ma’am, him and me’s been in a dozen fights like that. We never get hurt.’

  This mention of death, something the families of Rangers rarely discussed, for they appreciated the perils of their men’s rough occupation, spurred Franziska to reveal something she had intended never to tell her husband. Now, taking his hand and leading him away from Panther, she whispered: ‘While you were in Mexico, your friend Yancey Quimper rode into Fredericksburg, seeking to buy land, or open a store, or anything. Nobody trusted him, so he left. But he stopped by here and asked me many questions, and … Otto, he wanted to know … if you got killed in the war … if he could come speak with me … and …’

  She hesitated, for she knew that if she revealed the remainder of that incredible visit, Otto might go storming out and kill Quimper, but the realization of death compelled her to speak: ‘He tried to kiss me. I pushed him away and told him to begone. He stood in the doorway and said: “Remember, Franziska, I wanted to marry you before Otto ever saw you. If anything happens …” ’

  Otto said nothing, hands at his side, linen duster about his feet, but his wife added: ‘He wants you dead, Otto. Please, please take care of yourself.’

  ‘Time to go!’ Komax warned, and the two Rangers, taking extra horses with them and Otto’s arsenal of guns, headed south and overtook Garner and the rest of the company at Laredo. From there they splashed across the shallow Rio Grande and started the dangerous passage to Saltillo, where General Taylor would be encamped awaiting the arrival of Santa Anna with the main Mexican army.

  ‘Any danger of Mexican raiding parties?’ Otto asked, and Garner replied: ‘There’s always danger as long as Benito Garza is alive, and especially when Taylor’s army hasn’t been keeping scouts on the perimeters.’

  Each day Otto served with this gangling man he respected his abilities more; Garner was certainly not a compelling figure, and he lacked the fiery oratory of a dashing leader, but in all he did he was completely sensible, a man who seemed to anticipate the flow of battle with an acute awareness of where he and his troops could be used with maximum effect. Panther once said: ‘Twenty of us Rangers with Garner at our head is equal to forty. Outen him, we’re just twenty.’

  Garner demonstrated his professionalism shortly after his contingent completed its furtive crossing of the northern desert on 4 February 1847 and reported to Lieutenant Colonel Cobb, who, as before, would serve as their superior. The fastidious South Carolinian, watching them straggle in, a disjointed file with men and horses in every conceivable condition, winced at the ugly prospect of dealing with them through another campaign, but he did take Captain Garner in to see General Taylor, who proved to be as gruff as ever: ‘Bad situation. We know Santa Anna’s coming north. But where and when and how many? That we don’t know.’

  ‘And it’s our job to find out?’ Garner asked without bravado.

  ‘That’s why I sent for you.’ The general hesitated, then decided to be frank: ‘I was damned glad to see you go, Garner. Never seen a rowdier group of soldiers. Can’t you instill any discipline?’ Before the lanky captain could respond, Taylor added: ‘And I’m damned glad to have you back.’ He wanted to shake Garner’s hand or even embrace him in a soldierly way, but instead he said gruffly: ‘Everything hangs on the next few days. Find out what they’re up to.’

  Garner decided to take eight Rangers with him on a protracted scout of the southern approaches to Saltillo, and as his men gathered in that beautiful cathedral square where the Frenchman René-Claude d’Ambreuze had courted Trinidad de Saldaña, he knew their task was a dangerous one, for if discovered on this foray, they might have to fight large forces of Mexican lancers. But the Rangers were skilled in clandestine operations, and if a solitary Ranger was suddenly cut off from his fellows, he would know that he must proceed alone; he could be counted upon to sneak his way back to headquarters with a reliable report of how things stood in the areas he had seen. And if only that one Ranger survived to deliver essential information regarding the forthcoming battle, the scout would be judged a success.

/>   When Garner’s men left Saltillo they entered almost immediately upon a terrain that seemed as if it had been carved out of rock by the god of battles for some special Armageddon. It was a narrow defile, lined on the east by mountains so high they could not be scaled; their lower reaches, however, provided a sloping field across which cavalry could charge. The west flank consisted of a deep gully backed by lower hills; here cavalry could not function but foot soldiers could. General Taylor, marching south into the defile, would have to smash head-on into General Santa Anna marching north, and the outcome would depend upon how skillfully each general utilized the sloping hills to the east and those gaping gullies to the west.

  ‘This ain’t gonna be easy,’ Panther told Otto as they studied the brutal terrain. When Otto made no reply, for none would have been relevant, Panther added: ‘But I guess you fight your battles where they happen,’ and again Otto said nothing, for he was studying those ominous slopes to the east, wondering how his Rangers would utilize them if an attack by Santa Anna’s lancers suddenly developed.

  On 20 February 1847, Garner and his men reconnoitered the oncoming Mexican army, and as brave as the Rangers were, they were shaken when they got to the crest of a hill and saw the endless manpower that Santa Anna was bringing north. Panther called back to those still climbing below: ‘Damned lines go on forever.’

  ‘Can you spot the camp they’ll be using tonight?’ Cobb asked, cupping his hands to muffle his voice.

  ‘Off to one side,’ Komax replied, lowering his voice too. And then he tossed in a typical Ranger addition: ‘We can reach it tonight.’

  When the huge fellow clambered down, Garner asked: ‘Panther, can you and three men ride ahead and create a diversion? Allow them to chase you back this way without getting caught?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do get caught. We can handle them …’

  ‘Panther, you’re not to get caught. You’re to tease them on. Because me and Macnab, we’re gonna go right into the heart of their camp, and we want them to be chasing you, not us.’

  Otto displayed not the slightest emotion. He dismounted, took off his white duster, folded it meticulously, and handed it for safekeeping to one of the two Rangers who would not be involved in either foray. This done, he hitched up his trousers, felt for his two Colts, stowed his two old pistols in his saddle, and climbed back on his horse. Together with Garner he started the perilous, tortuous advance to the Mexican lines.

  They rode through the scattered advance posts, boldly keeping to their horses. Disguised as Mexicans, with Garner wearing a colorful serape, they rode straight into a position at which they could dismount, tethered their horses, and moved cautiously about, noting strengths and dispositions.

  For a day, twenty-six hours, they remained inside enemy lines, one sleeping while the other watched, and in the early part of the night when the Mexicans were careless and talkative, they crept very close to the tents, and it was in the moon-cast shadow of one of these that Macnab saw a Mexican officer bending over to tighten the guy ropes. As he did so, Otto realized that it was Benito Garza, not fifteen yards away.

  ‘Captain,’ he whispered. ‘That’s Garza, I’m sure. I’m going in and kill him.’ Garner restrained him: ‘Any noise would be fatal.’

  ‘But he’s the brains in the Strip.’

  ‘I know who he is,’ Garner snapped, ‘and I know that any motion now …’

  Now Macnab experienced agonies of indecision: there was Garza, an enemy he was obligated to kill, almost within touching distance; behind was the American army needing information. It was Garner who solved this dilemma: ‘If he’s that important to you, Otto, break in and shoot him. You’ll not get out alive, but … Give me fifteen minutes lead, and I’ll be safe.’

  ‘It is that important,’ Macnab said.

  ‘So be it,’ Garner said, but before he could return to his tethered horse, someone else left the tent to catch a breath of clean night air, and the watchers saw that it was a woman, a young woman of great charm and obvious breeding. She was, it seemed likely, the wife of some officer, and her presence deterred Macnab’s plan of bursting in with pistols blazing. Garner grasped him by the arm, as if to pull him away, but then Garza reappeared, and placed his arm about the woman’s waist, and kissed her.

  Who could the woman be? She seemed no more than twenty, and Garza must be at least forty, but that they were in love there could be no doubt, none whatever.

  ‘Has he a wife?’ Garner asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ Otto replied, and quietly the two Rangers retreated.

  They slept about a hundred yards from their horses, Garner spreading his serape on the ground for both of them, and when the sun was well up, they mounted their steeds, walked them quietly north, saluted sentries as if on an inspection tour, and when they saw a break in the lines, galloped like terrified ghosts, neither shouting nor looking back at the men who were firing the bullets that whistled past their heads.

  When they reported to General Taylor, he was awed by their adventure and dismayed by the estimates they gave of Santa Anna’s strength. ‘We must draw back,’ he said. ‘If we stay, we’re trapped.’ He thanked Garner for his daring and turned to do the same for Macnab, but the little Ranger was gone.

  ‘Where is he?’ Taylor asked, and Garner pointed to where Otto was retrieving his duster from its custodian. Shaking it out and slapping away any dust, he slipped it about his shoulders and considered himself ready for the impending battle.

  Benito Garza, commanding General Santa Anna’s scouts, was not informed of the infiltration of the mexicano lines by American spies; the sentries who had fired at Garner and Macnab were afraid to report the sortie lest they be shot for having allowed it to happen.

  He remained in his tent with his wife, Lucha López, and with the regular army officers with whom he worked. This was 21 February 1847, a cold, damp day, and because the two armies had moved so near to each other, it was obvious that battle could not be avoided, with visible advantage to the mexicanos. Garza was especially hopeful: ‘This time, Lucha, we annihilate them.’ He spent the morning making arrangements for her to move far to the rear, to be with the other women who had accompanied their men, but at noon he was alerted by reports from his scouts: ‘General Taylor is retreating.’

  Kissing Lucha, he rode out to check this surprising development and found that the news was accurate: the Americans were withdrawing, and rather precipitately, but he was not deceived by their tactic: ‘They’re seeking more favorable ground, and they’re right.’

  Nevertheless he had reason to be hopeful about this battle, for Santa Anna, blustering across Mexico, a wooden leg in one stirrup, had performed his customary miracle of assembling a huge number of men and forging them into a respectable army. He had at his disposal, of course, a reliable cadre of young, able and dedicated officers like Benito Garza, none better in all the armies of the world, and on them he relied to stiffen the ranks. He was also supported by a fierce patriotism which invariably rallied whenever Spanish, or French, or especially American enemies threatened. But most important, he still retained that tremendous charisma which designated him a true romantic hero and which bound men like Garza to him with unbreakable bonds.

  Santa Anna in the saddle again! A thrill ran through the nation. Santa Anna was in command of the army again! Men marched with more vigor, lancers rode with more élan. Santa Anna was heading back to avenge his unlucky defeat at San Jacinto, to repeat his earlier triumphs at the Alamo and Goliad. Tejas would be regained. New Mexico and California would be saved. As the sun set almost every man in the mexicano army believed that on the morrow Santa Anna would celebrate his birthday with another stupendous victory.

  He almost did. In fact, he should have, not on the twenty-second, which was more or less a stalemate, with the Americans suffering major casualties and a loss of valuable position, but on the twenty-third, when the three-to-one Mexican superiority in numbers and mobility began to tell.

  About midmorning the a
ttack along the foothills of the eastern mountains, the attack which Garner and his men had known to be inevitable, began, with a furious charge by several companies of elite lancers supported by rapid-firing dragoons. Ashen-faced, General Taylor observed: ‘They’re turning our left flank!’ Perceiving that if they did, the superb Mexican cavalry would chop up his rear echelons and throw the entire American army into rout, he called for all available men to stanch the blood being let by the lancers, and under his stalwart leadership, a few cavalry and many foot soldiers assembled to halt the surging Mexican horsemen.

  Old Rough-and-Ready may have been slow-witted, but he was no fool. Never first-rate in overall strategy, when engaged in a specific battle, he knew where to throw his strength at critical moments, and now he dug in, a stubborn man fighting his last encounter.

  With appalling power and skill the Mexicans hammered at his left flank, but like a wounded bear Taylor growled and gathered power and fought back. At the critical moment, when the battle seemed lost, he called upon a Mississippi gentleman whom he had once despised to save the day. Twelve years before, Colonel Jefferson Davis, then age twenty-seven, had eloped with Taylor’s daughter Sarah, an act that still rankled the general. But now Taylor had to swallow his pride and call upon Davis and his Mississippi Rifles to hold off Santa Anna’s rampaging cavalry, and with support from the Texas Rangers, Davis led his troops in a gallant charge.

  The Rangers were led by Persifer Cobb, braver almost than they, who relished the chance to gallop his horse right at the Mexican lancers and test his skill against theirs. Cobb was supported, he was relieved to note, by Garner and Komax on his left and Otto Macnab on his right, the latter firing his pistols like a little arsenal. Together they simply rode down the Mexicans, who had smaller steeds and inferior firepower.