by Drew McGunn
Inside the Palace of the Governors, the cries of the wounded from the nearby church reached Will’s ears. The palace was within the presidio’s walls and now Texian soldiers patrolled the halls where a few hours before governor Armijo’s regulars had patrolled. Few residents of the town had yet to venture from their homes as Will’s army had taken control of the town. One who had, stood before Will. Miguel Archuletta was the town’s alcalde. He was dressed in the finery of a Spanish don, standing with hat in hand, waiting to be acknowledged. Correspondence was scattered across the large table, which until that morning had belonged to Governor Manuel Armijo.
Anger burned in Will’s eyes, as he stared down the alcalde. “Where the hell is that great worthy, Governor Armijo? What he has left here demands an immediate answer, Mr. Archuletta.”
Miguel Archuletta may have been the mayor of a provincial town on the edge of Mexican territory, but he was a sophisticated gentleman, educated at the best schools in Mexico City. He had not been addressed as “Alcalde, or Señor Archuletta. No, just the flat, norteamericano “mister.” Even so, it didn’t take an intelligent man to know that Will was furious.
“General Travis, I regret the, ah, worthy Governor Armijo was last seen riding west with a few mounted guards this morning.”
Will swore. He looked down at the finely crafted, imported table and saw the documents he had scattered across the desk a little while before. While Will’s Spanish had improved over the previous half dozen years, he relied upon Juan Seguin to translate the correspondence which had drawn his ire. The troubling letter was from the office of the President of Mexico. Will waved it under the nose of the alcalde.
“Santa Anna, God damn that one-legged, stinking bastard, ordered your superior to raise an army of a thousand men for the purpose of reclaiming Ysleta from us. When was he planning on carrying out these orders?”
The alcalde shrugged. “Mexico City is a long way away, General Travis. I do not know that Governor Armijo had any plans to fulfill el presidente’s orders.”
Will waved toward the Mexican official and a sentry guided him out of the governor’s personal office. Colonel Juan Seguin sat at the table, rubbing his eyes after translating a small stack of papers.
“Juan, I don’t understand how Santa Anna keeps getting power in Mexico City. That jackass has more lives than a cat.”
Seguin’s shrug nearly matched the alcalde’s from a few minutes before. “He’s charismatic, Buck. And I hear the women love watching him prance around Mexico City on his black horse.”
Will glared at his friend and fellow officer. “His orders to Armijo don’t bother me. What has me seeing red is the rest of this bullshit. He’s ordered General Woll into Texas with four thousand men, Juan. Where the hell are we in all this? Sitting in God forsaken Santa Fe!”
Will shook with anger and helplessness, as he realized how serious a blunder he had made. The correspondence from Mexico City did more than simply provide orders for the capture of Ysleta. It provided the highlights of plans already underway to recapture Texas. He was seven hundred miles, as the crow flies, from San Antonio and the documents on the table revealed the Mexican Army of the North, under Adrian Woll was to invade Texas, commencing on 12 March 1842. Will closed his eyes, in defeat. This was the 12th of March.
Chapter 6
The doors to the courtyard were closed. The late winter wind blew frigid air down from the Rockies. Gusts rattled the glass window panes in their frames. The fireplace in the office of the governor crackled and warmed the room. The large, elegant table which had served Governor Armijo as his desk was covered with a large map of the western portion of Texas. Will was perched on the corner of the table. Major Peyton Wyatt, the 1st Infantry’s executive officer sat in a highbacked chair next to him. Lt. Colonel Juan Seguin sat in an identical chair beside the major. Captain Hays and several other company commanders crowded into the office, too.
Will had slept poorly the previous night, and his temper simmered below the surface. The fact that Santa Anna had reacted to the previous year’s enforcement of the Treaty of Bexar’s boundary limits by sending an army north had surprised him. The political chaos in central Mexico was so destabilizing, he had thought it unlikely President Bustamante, Santa Anna’s predecessor had the will to contest Texas’ enforcement of the treaty. In a moment of honesty, he knew his anger was directed inward at being so far away from Texas’ settlements with most of the army and losing anything to Santa Anna galled worse than he could have imagined.
When the last officer had come in and closed the door to the office, Will said, “Alright, gentlemen. We need to figure out how to get ourselves out of this this predicament.” The other officers grew quiet, turning their attention to him, as he continued, “We’re here to discuss options. As I see it, we have two from which to pick. Between us and San Antonio is seven hundred miles, as the crow flies. You all have read the correspondence from Mexico City, that the Alamo and the town are the Army of the North’s primary objective. If we were to take off and go directly cross country, it will take us at least five weeks to relieve the town and fort.”
He paused, watching the neutral expressions on his officers’ faces, before continuing, “The other option is to retrace our steps. That will add nearly two hundred miles to the route. That would put us getting back to San Antonio around the end of April. Either option gives Santa Anna’s army an intolerable amount of time to wreak havoc on our settlements.” Will grimaced, not liking the taste of any of his words.
Major Wyatt picked up from where Will had stopped, “Alright, men, let’s discuss the first option.”
Captain Hays approached the table and stared at the map for a lengthy moment. “That would be one hellacious march, General, but I believe we could pull it off. That stretch across the Chihuahuan desert will be the most brutal part. But if we take all the food and provisions from Santa Fe we should be good for several weeks, I’d think.” He drew a line with his finger between Santa Fe and the westernmost Ranger fort on the Red River. “Once we get to our frontier forts along the Comancheria, we could use them for supplies as we hurry back east.”
Lt. Colonel Seguin snorted. “Captain, what in the hell do you intend to feed our mounts? It’s the middle of March and you are proposing we hightail it back to San Antonio across the desert. Even if we could take enough feed and supplies to cross the desert, it would burden and slow us down, and I’m not convinced there’s enough fodder in Santa Fe to get us across that stretch of Hell.”
Seguin stood and walked over to the fireplace, where he warmed his hands for a moment. “Jack, I think what bothers me the most about going across country isn’t so much your idea but what it means for what we have accomplished here. Imagine what these poor folks are going through, here. We’ve just captured their town from the governor’s soldados. If we up and loot the town dry just to race back across country, it’ll take a lifetime to build up goodwill with our newest citizens, and I worry if we do so, starvation would stalk the land hereabouts.”
Listening to his officers debate the options let Will ignore his own anxiety and worry for the moment. When Major Wyatt joined in the conversation, he listened to his second-in-command. “My heart wants to throw ourselves eastward by the most direct path, just like you, Captain Hays. I know if we could round up enough supply wagons we could move our entire force across the desert. But my mind must consider the logistical nightmare such a proposal would require.” He looked back to Will. “General, I counsel caution. While we may be the largest component of Texas’ army, we’re not the only arrow in the quiver of Texas’ defenses. Colonel Johnston and General McCulloch, I believe will mobilize our reserves and militia when they become aware of Santa Anna’s attack. They may have no choice but to trade land for time, while they work to assemble the reserves, but within as little as a month, McCulloch can pull together between three and five thousand men. Even more than that, should President Crockett order Tom Rusk to mobilize the rest of the militia.” The maj
or paused, his soft drawling Virginian accent momentarily easing the tension in the room. “I believe we have the finest and best trained men in the Texas army. Hell, in the world, to speak candidly. I would caution against recklessly risking them in a headlong, emotional lurch across the Chihuahuan desert. That kind of behavior is best left for our enemies.”
Will’s nod was nearly imperceptible, but he realized he had been more interested in racing back to the Alamo without regard to the consequences. Seguin, who normally was the most likely to offer up reckless options, had reminded everyone in the room there were political considerations worth remembering, and Wyatt had offered up a prescient reminder that there were ample defensive forces back in the settled parts of the Republic. His lips twitched up as he thought about Hays’ bold suggestion. As the commander for Texas’ nascent special operations force, he provided a risky and audacious option.
Will chuckled, mirthlessly. “Our hearts definitely lead us to hasten to our Republic’s defense. But you’re right, Major, as much as I hate to admit it, we need to listen to the counsel of our heads instead of our hearts.”
Having set aside the first option, Will had a few ideas about how they should proceed. Instead, he turned to Wyatt. “Major, what are you thinking?”
Wyatt stood and looked over the map. “I’m glad we’ve set aside the idea of heading off across the Chihuahuan desert, if for no other reason that while a crow can fly seven hundred miles, any route we would have taken would meander and add travel time. Add to that, as Colonel Seguin mentioned, doing so would likely destroy any goodwill with folks in Santa Fe, if we looted the town of available food and fodder, requiring a large garrison we couldn’t afford.
“On the other hand, let’s look at what it will take to get us back by our original line of march. We need only requisition enough food between Santa Fe and Albuquerque to get us back to Ysleta, it is likely they’d not miss it very much. If we pay for it, they’d likely miss it even less.”
He pulled the map closer to him and set his finger on El Paso del Norte, on the southern bank of the Rio Grande, opposite from Ysleta. “There’s a two hundred mile stretch of the Military Road between Ysleta and the nearest of our supply depots on the Pecos. What we can’t take here in Santa Fe because of political considerations,” he paused, smiling malevolently, “I think we can take from the Mexicans in El Paso. After all, Santa Anna’s correspondence is a declaration of war against Texas. In response, I say, we raid it, plundering everything we’ll need for the next few hundred miles.”
Will studied the map and slowly nodded. “That makes sense, Major. If we march out within the next twenty-four hours, we could be knocking on the doors of El Paso before the first of April. What do we have in Ysleta currently?
“Just a company of Rangers, sir. The engineers who laid out the military road are likely somewhere between Ysleta and Albuquerque, repairing the Camino Real in between the two towns. Probably another twenty soldiers there.”
Will glanced up at Seguin, seeking his reaction. “What do you think, Juan? Do you think this will work?”
The Tejano had earned a reputation for prickly notions of honor, especially when it came to how non-Anglos were treated in Texas. But he wore a thoughtful expression. After studying the map, he nodded. “Yes, sir. I think so. As far as I’m concerned, Mexican towns and settlements outside of the treaty boundaries are legitimate targets. I think we all agree, Santa Anna is at war with Texas. Had Mexico accepted our peace treaty back in ’36, this wouldn’t even be an issue. We can expect the Army of the North to capture Laredo and San Antonio, and even more if they are able. El Paso del Norte is simply our measured response to Santa Anna’s depredations.”
Hays asked, “When we capture the town, do we burn it to the ground?”
Seguin blanched. “Absolutely not. Doing something like that would give Santa Anna something to rally the Mexican people behind. Right now, he holds power because he controls or intimidates enough of the factions in Central Mexico. If we torch a city, that could stir more than a few factions and give Santa Anna more support. That would bode ill for Texas.”
He stood and waved his hand over the map, “Jack, we can’t do anything about Santa Anna calling us a bunch of norteamericano pirates. But we will not act like pirates, torching a town. I know we’ll plunder it for food and fodder. We do that so that our army is supplied, not because we are capricious. After six years, most Tejanos have truly embraced the Republic. In that span of time, we’ve had one president. The Mexican government has changed hands like a hot potato. I can’t speak for every Tejano, but I believe President Crockett has been a dear friend to every Texian whether his skin is white, brown, or red. All any of us want is a fair shake, and Texas provides each of us the best bet to receive it. When we capture El Paso, we will take all the food and provender we need, and we’ll burn the military supplies we don’t need, but we leave the people and their town alone, to the largest extent possible.”
Hays looked ashamed for asking his question. Will decided it was time to end the meeting. They all had plenty to do if they were to leave within twenty-four hours. “We should all heed Colonel Seguin’s wisdom, men. Make sure every soldier knows that there will be no individual looting, and any rapists will find themselves on the wrong side of military justice and a short rope.”
Seguin held back after the other officers had hurried out. He smiled apologetically. “Jack’s a little more aggressive than I think is good, Buck, but he means well.”
Will stifled his own laughter, having thought the same thing only a few minutes earlier. “He’s our bulldog, Juan. We’ve trained him and his men to hold nothing back and to be bold. I can’t begrudge him for advocating a position both of us wish was possible.”
Seguin’s shoulders slumped. “Ain’t that the sorry truth? I can’t tell you how much I miss my Maria and the children. Knowing there’s a hostile army coming north toward them, and I’m helpless to do anything to help. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t tearing me up inside.”
Will sagged into the governor’s soft, leather chair. “I can’t get my mind off Becky, Charlie, and Elizabeth. No matter what kind of officer people may think of me, right now I feel like a horrible husband and father. Galivanting over here in Santa Fe, when my wife and kids need me the most.”
***
The sun had not yet risen above the gently rolling hills to the east of Santa Fe, but the orange hues played across the early morning sky. The moist vapor cloud escaped his horse’s mouth as the beast stamped its iron-shod hoof against the crystalline dew-covered brown grass. Birds waking up to another dawn were interrupted in their songs by the piercing sound of a bugle. Will decided if an army had to march, then the fourteenth day of March was as good a day as any. The lack of clouds in the sky, if it held, meant the morning chill should retreat as the sun rose into the sky, promising a pleasant day to be on the trail.
Despite every effort, he was still angry that after fighting and spilling blood, and capturing the town, they were forced to abandon their objective. He had argued with himself throughout the night to leave a portion of the battalion here, to defend their hard-won gain. The uncertainty of what they would find when they returned east was part of the reason for bringing the entire army back. The clincher though was when he asked himself how quickly Texas could resupply or support any troops left in Santa Fe, he didn’t know. The fear of a stronger Mexico lopping off bits and pieces of the Texas army was something he couldn’t shake, especially when he thought of the little outpost on the Rio Grande at Laredo. Fort Moses Austin was the first line of defense against a Mexican invasion of Texas. Knowing the soldiers at Laredo were at the mercy of an advancing army made him wary of creating a similar situation at Santa Fe.
The medical doctors in Santa Fe had taken over the hospital Dr. Smith had set up, and he and his orderlies were with the Texian soldiers, waiting for the order to march. Hundreds of newly minted Texian citizens turned out, on the edge of town, watching the thousand
soldiers as they, too, waited for the order.
The sun finally peeked over the hills east of town, bathing the assembled people in a warm, yellow light. It sparkled off the rifle barrels and reflected off the bayonets. Will turned and looked at the people of Santa Fe. Many of their faces smiled, glad to see the Texians leaving, others showed their uncertainty. The very presence of the Texian army was proof to many that Mexico was no longer able to protect its northernmost outposts. As the Texian army marched south, the citizens of Santa Fe were left with promissory notes for food and fodder they had requisitioned and a promise from the Texian general they would return soon. Will had also left a warning. If, when the Texian army returned, the city was under the Mexican flag, those responsible would be labeled as traitors, and given a traitor’s punishment. It was a harsh warning for people who only days before had woken up as Mexicans and now found themselves under the Texas flag. Even though the order was his, Will thought the measure unjust.
The people of Santa Fe had been citizens of Mexico until Will’s army had enforced the treaty of Bexar. They had thought of themselves as Mexican citizens and worse, as far as Will was concerned, would act as Mexican citizens in the absence of the Texian army. It left a sour taste in his mouth leaving such a harsh warning. But as he watched his soldiers marching south, his first duty was to Texas and the army. If his warning, no matter how harsh, acted as a deterrent to future rebellions, and saved the lives of his men, then it would be worth it.
He urged his horse to a gallop, as he rode by the marching riflemen, and couldn’t shake the matter. Even after all these years stranded in the past, at his core, he was still Will Travers. He was a twenty-first century man. It bothered him more than he anticipated to leave the order behind that any attempt to reconnect with Mexico was a death sentence. By the time he reached the head of the column he wondered how much of the man who woke up in William B. Travis’ body still remained.