by Mike Blakely
That simple speech from Kit Carson visibly moved the two captains. It was not so much the words he chose as the determination in his voice and the conviction in those battle-hardened eyes. Duncan and Selden saluted Kit and rode back to their units to move into their positions.
As Kit gave orders to throw his men into battle formation by companies, a cheer rose from the west, and we turned to see Colonel Canby riding down from Fort Craig, following the escort for the third section of McRae’s gun battery.
“Are they cheering Canby or the guns?” Blue asked.
I chuckled.
“I’m plumb happy to see ’em both,” Kit remarked. “Kid, let’s me and you ride up there and parley with the colonel.”
We loped across the ford and joined Colonels Canby and Roberts on the eastern riverbank. The unlit cigar still jutted from Canby’s mouth. Dust and powder burns covered Roberts’s uniform, for he had made several hard charges across the river to bark orders at subordinates. A few other officers joined the commander there as Roberts pointed out the positioning of the troops.
“We’ve taken the bosque …” Roberts was saying as we rode up. “Finally. Wasn’t easy, and there have been casualties.” He pointed to the northeast. “I know we’ve disabled at least one of their howitzers, but that goddamn Teel is still pounding away at us. He keeps moving around in the riverbed where we can’t see him to shell him back.”
Canby grunted, whether in approval or amusement, I could not tell. “How do you see it, Kit?”
Kit turned his weathered face to glance across the battlefield. “Ben’s got ’em backed up as far as they can back up. They’ve got to fight now. They can’t get out of this valley quick enough to retreat. But that riverbed’s a strong position for ’em, Ed. Real strong.”
“Can we take it with a direct bayonet charge?” Canby asked.
“It wouldn’t be advisable,” Roberts said.
“Kit?”
“They’d lay us low. Most of ’em are carrying twice-barreled scatterguns loaded with buckshot. Then there’s some with Colts. Those sand hills and that old riverbed are like breastworks. If we charged ’em head-on, they’d cut our infantry down at close range.”
Colonel Edward R. S. Canby looked over the battlefield and terrain for a few seconds, and shifted the cigar in his mouth. A few flakes of snow fell on his hat brim and shoulders, and melted.
“What if we flank them? Get our rifles and artillery into that old riverbed where we can enfilade their position beyond the range of their short arms? What then?”
“Makes sense,” Roberts said. “Their lack of rifles is their weakness. We should take advantage of it.”
“We’ll push them right up that old river channel and beat the hell out of them,” Kit added, a determined grin curling one side of his mouth.
By now, Captains McRae and Hall had joined us, having left their batteries of big guns to get in on the battle plans.
“Which flank is their weakest?” Canby asked.
Roberts pointed southeastward. “Their left. We’ve engaged them for seven hours now. Our artillery has pounded away at them, and our infantry has driven them back out of the cover of the bosque. They’ve got to be tired.”
“Do you agree, Kit?”
“Yep. Their right flank is feelin’ cocky about now. They pushed our left back after that charge by their lancers.”
“So we agree that their left is weak,” Canby said. “Here’s what we’ll do. Captain McRae, you’re to move your entire battery to our left flank. You will serve as our pivot point. I urge you to make good use of those guns when we attack. Weaken their position ahead of our attack. Stay ahead of our charge. I don’t want you firing on our own men. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” McRae said with a nod and a confident smile.
“Captain Hall, your battery will anchor our right flank and support our attack in the same way. However, you must be prepared to move forward as our flanking maneuver succeeds. I want your guns on the rim of that old riverbed at the earliest opportunity. You’ll fire over our infantry and weaken the enemy in advance of our charge. You must remain mobile.”
“I understand, sir.”
Now I could see that Colonel Canby had some grasp of the vast human chessboard before him, though he had remained back at the fort all morning. “With our left flank as our anchor, gentlemen, we will attack with our right. Captain Duncan will lead, followed by Carson and Selden in a sweeping maneuver. Dismount your men and move forward as skirmishers. We will swing our right flank and force them northward up the old river channel. Captain Lord’s cavalry will remain mounted and support the entire right flank as a reserve unit. Is there anything else?”
“I’m concerned about cover for McRae’s battery,” Colonel Roberts said. “As we sweep them up the old riverbed, we’ll drive them en masse right into our left flank. They’ll attempt to capture the battery.”
Canby sank his teeth into his cigar. “I’ll order Hubbell’s and Mortimore’s volunteers in place to guard McRae’s battery, and reinforce them with Plympton’s regulars. Mr. Greenwood, you’ll carry orders to Colonel Miguel Pino and his volunteers and assign them the duty of serving as reserves. Should the enemy threaten McRae’s battery, Pino is to leave his post on the wagon road and hasten across the river to defend the guns. When you’ve delivered those orders, get back to the front with Kit.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a nod.
“Get back to your troops, gentlemen, and listen for the bugle.” I reined my pony away from the officers to deliver the orders to Colonel Pino. My heart pounded and my stomach twitched. I had prepared myself for battle in the Comanche way—giving my fate over to the Great Mystery—yet this war council I had become a part of now swept me up into a torrent of anticipation, energy, and fear. I did not fear for myself, for I was insignificant. But there were thousands of human souls in this valley caught in the unavoidable vortex of impending bloodshed. I hated playing a part in that, for men were going to have their bodies ripped limb from limb in very short order, like those cottonwood trees pounded by the cannonade down in the bosque, their branches hurtling through the air. I dreaded it. Yet I knew my part in what I believed to be right. Men should not build their fortunes on the backs of other human beings. That was what this war was about, even here, in the remote valleys of New Mexico, far from the nearest working slave plantation. The Texans had come here as if on some gallant quest to hold on to their way of life. But there was nothing noble about working a fellow human into an early grave through a life devoid of dignity. I knew slavery was wrong, among any people. Here was my chance to do something about it, bloody as it might become. I was ready.
When I galloped to Miguel Pino’s position, where Kit and Blue and I had watched the battle all day, I found Lieutenant Luther Sheffield standing in my way on the road, a government rifle in his hands. I put my own hand on the butt of my Colt to check his move. He didn’t point the rifle at me, but he cocked it.
“Damn it, Lieutenant, I have orders from Colonel Canby to deliver to Colonel Pino. There’s no time for our personal quarrel here and now.”
“Give me the orders. I’ll deliver them.”
“I can’t do that. My instructions are to deliver the orders myself.”
“You’re awful goddamn full of shit. You’re nothing but a messenger boy.”
“Are you going to let me pass or not?”
Sheffield sneered. He truly hated me. “I’m gonna let a bullet pass through your guts. You better pray I don’t get within a hundred yards of you down there on that battlefield when the shit starts.”
With that threat, he uncocked the rifle and stepped aside. I rode on by, but kept an eye on Sheffield, and an ear tuned to the sound of that rifle cocking again. I found Colonel Pino and delivered my orders. On my way back down the road, I didn’t see Sheffield and could only imagine that he was lying in ambush behind some boulder. I rode fast, and got back to Kit’s First New Mexico Volunteers on the front.
&nbs
p; When I arrived, the men were dismounting, every fourth man taking his mount and three spare horses to the rear of the company. I found Blue Wiggins as he handed his reins to Toribio Treviño, who was not happy about being ordered back from the front line.
“Mucho,” he complained as I rode up. “Why must I hold the horses?”
“Because you’re ordered to. Don’t worry, you’ll probably still get shot at anyway.”
“I want to make the attack.”
“Maybe you will. There’s no way to tell how this is going to turn out. You just be ready to do your duty.”
He sighed and frowned. “Yes, sir,” he groaned.
“Kit’s over yonder,” Blue said, pointing.
I saw Colonel Carson afoot in the middle of his line of troops, rubbing his left shoulder. We rode to him—I on his right, Blue on his left. Snow fell in larger flakes now and the air grew damper and colder. Blue and I dismounted and stood to horse.
And we waited. A few minutes seemed like half a day. As we stood in excruciating anticipation, I saw Lieutenant Colonel John S. Sutton’s battalion from the Seventh Texas Cavalry come trailing down from the Confederate supply train on the bluffs.
“Wish we’d have attacked before Sutton got in,” Kit said, loud enough only for me and Blue to hear.
“What do you think Green will do, Kit?”
“Ain’t no tellin’. What do you think?”
“He knows he’s got to attack well before dark. I’d say within the next twenty minutes.”
“Yep. But where will he attack?”
“Our left flank. He’ll go after McRae’s battery.”
“He might. He might go after both batteries. Attack both our flanks.”
“I don’t think he’ll get Hall’s battery on our side. We’ve got the bosque as cover, and Duncan’s men seem ready for one last fight. I know we’re ready. It’s McRae’s battery on the left that worries me. Did you notice, just after the Rebel lancers charged, that the whole line of battle shifted? Their right flank gained ground, but so did ours.”
“I seen it.”
“If that happens again, they’ll push our left flank back into the river, with no cover.”
“I know. But you’ve got to understand, Kid. Colonel Canby’s got to do more than fight this battle. He’s got to protect the fort and all the supplies there. He’s got to consider the possibility that he might lose this battle when the big charge comes. He’s doing the right thing. By attacking with our right flank, he’s pushing the enemy away from the fort. If we do get whipped, and have to retreat, at least we’ll fall back between the enemy and our fort where we can defend the supplies and ammunition.”
I suddenly felt stupid for not considering what might happen beyond Valverde Ford. I had gotten so caught up in the chess match that I had failed to look at the larger picture. Kit was right. Canby was right. Perhaps I was a genius, but I had little experience in tactics of large-scale battles, and how those battles fit into the bigger picture of the war. These men were leaders. I was a pawn. I would always remember that, and try to know my place thereafter.
Kit looked at me and read the expression on my face. “That left side worries me, too, Kid. But our job is the right side, and we’ll do our duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “Remember when I fell off that mountain?” He smiled up at me.
“I still have nightmares about it, and I wasn’t even the one who fell.”
“This shoulder always tells me when a cold, snowy night is comin’ on. It’s right handy knowin’ sometimes. Like one of them gypsies lookin’ into that glass ball.”
I chuckled. “You’re a tough old hunk of rawhide, Kit.”
“Too old for this.” He drew in a rasping breath and looked up and down our line of volunteers. “I’ve passed through this place from time to time for thirty-five years and nothin’ real good ever happened here. Nothin’ real bad, either, I reckon. Not as bad as today. But I never really liked this place after forty-six. Left a bad taste in my mouth.”
“What happened in forty-six?”
Kit caught himself rubbing his old injured shoulder absentmindedly, and made himself quit. “You remember those days. You was runnin’ dispatches for General Kearny here in New Mexico. I was with Frémont in California. Well, after we seized California for the states, Frémont and Commodore Stockton sent me east with dispatches for Washington, D.C. I had Lucien and about a dozen other men with me. I was real happy about ridin’ back East, because I aimed to stop over in Taos and stay with Josepha a few days. We’d hadn’t been married but about a year and most of that time we’d been apart because of the war and all.
“Well, we passed through here with no trouble; then we ran into General Kearny just south of Socorro, headin’ for California.” Kit chuckled. “He wasn’t too happy that Frémont had beat him to claiming California. Anyway, Kearny had ol’ Broken Hand Tom Fitzpatrick with him as a guide, but Tom had never been over the Gila Trail to California, so Kearny ordered me to turn around and guide him back to California and let Broken Hand carry the dispatches to Washington. Well, I didn’t like the sound of that at all, and I told Kearny my orders were to carry those dispatches all the way to Washington myself. Of course, the real thing was that I wanted to see Josepha. There I was, just eight days away from my Chepita, and Kearny’s orderin’ me back to California.”
A shell exploded into a sandbank just a hundred yards ahead of us and sent shrapnel and dirt and driftwood flying every which way. One of Selden’s men got hit in the face with something, and his comrades rushed to him to inspect his wound.
“That Captain Teel is homing in on us,” Kit said. “We’d better attack pretty soon, or he’ll tear us asunder like a grizzly bear.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Lay low, boys! Hunker down until we hear the order to charge!” He watched as the men lay down on the ground, some of them using tree limbs and driftwood as breastworks. Kit and I, however, remained on our feet.
“So, what did you do back in forty-six?”
“Didn’t have much choice. I turned around and went back down the same trail I’d rid up. First night’s camp was right here at this ford.” He turned and pointed to the west bank of the river. “Right about up there where Hall’s battery was a while ago, on that flat ground. I was so down, Kid, I couldn’t hardly stand it, and I told Lucien that I was gonna desert and ride to see my wife. He talked me out of it. Said they’d know just where to find me, and probably drag me out of Josepha’s bed and shoot me in the yard. Funny, ain’t it? It’s usually me talkin’ Lucien out of some hotheaded foolishness, but it was him cooled me off that time. He made me write a letter to Josepha right then and there. Well, it was him that wrote it, but I told him what to say, and he flowered it all up. Best we could do.”
“A place like this remembers things like that for you—good or bad. It all comes back to you when you set foot on familiar ground.”
Kit grunted. “Maybe you got somethin’ there. I sure do miss my wife right now, just like I did in forty-six. That woman has put up with a lot of nonsense married to me all these years. I wonder what she’s doin’ right now. And the children.”
“I know what you mean. I worry about Westerly.”
Kit put his hand on my shoulder and shook me like an eagle snatching a fawn up from the ground. “I regret stickin’ my nose in your business about that Cheyenne girl,” he said. “I’m glad you did what you knew was right, and didn’t listen to me. You and Westerly make a fine couple. And don’t you worry, we’ll see our families again when we get this done.”
I smiled and nodded. We stood there in silence for a long minute as the artillery rumbled and random rifle shots cracked. Finally, Kit looked back toward Canby’s command post, which had crossed the river to our side, and said, “Come on, Colonel, let’s get it done.”
A few seconds later, as if by Kit’s command, Hall’s twenty-four-pounder roared, and a bugle signaled our advance.
“Jump up, boys!” Kit yelled. “Go steady, and don’t get ahead of the men on our right.”
I exchanged looks with Kit briefly, mounted, and rode to my right to translate the orders to the Mexican troops in Duncan’s outfit, riding behind the ranks as I shouted. We picked our way through the light timber of the cottonwood bosque that had been blasted for hours, stepping over branches and avoiding an occasional corpse. We saw a few forward skirmishers among the Texans withdraw to better cover as they saw us advance.
“Hold your fire!” Kit insisted.
We had walked steadily ahead for about two hundred yards, when a distant cheer rose up from the Texas ranks, and five companies of Confederate cavalry appeared over the brink of the old riverbed, four hundred yards away to our left, charging directly toward us.
“They’re coming for Hall’s battery, boys,” Kit said. “Be damned if we’ll let them have it. Steady, now, hold your fire!”
Looking back through the cottonwoods, I saw a courier riding at a full gallop toward McRae’s battery, and I knew Canby must be sending the order to fire among the Texas cavalry charge. The minute that rider would take getting to the battery would seem like a week at hard labor. Two hundred screaming Texas horsemen galloping headlong toward us as we stood there waiting did little to bolster our morale.
“Company, halt!” Kit yelled. “Prepare to fire by ranks!”
I rode right and repeated Kit’s order in Spanish to Duncan’s Mexican troops, my voice cracking as I yelled. Our pivoting maneuver had stopped as we fell into a defensive mode, waiting to greet the Confederate cavalry charge. I could feel the ground rumbling as it came on.
“Steady,” Kit ordered. “Hold your fire, boys …”
Now a round from Teel’s battery whistled overhead and exploded in a whir of canister behind Duncan’s troops. I saw three men fall, wounded or dead. As cavalry, infantry, and artillery fire closed together like gnashing teeth, I felt the dreadful thrill of war charging my limbs with energy just waiting to erupt. It seemed Colonel Green of the Texas brigade had chosen to focus his attack on Kit’s command—on me. The thick of the struggle was about to close down on us like a bear trap.