The first bloodshed of what would be the beginning of the Texas revolution for independence came in October. A Mexican colonel by the name of Ugartechea got wind of a small brass cannon—a six pounder— that was stored in Gonzales and used for defense against the Indians. The Mexican policy under General Santa Anna was to seize any military arms in Texas hands. Ugartechea sent a Captain Castañeda with two hundred men to seize the weapon. The captain demanded that the cannon be handed over, but John Moore, a leader in the neighborhood, was elected colonel and collected a small force. The cannon was mounted on a wagon, and two yards of white cloth was painted with the bold words “COME AND TAKE IT.”
On October the second, Moore’s militia met the Mexican force. After a short parlay with Captain Castañeda, Moore returned to his own lines and ordered the Texans to open fire. A brief skirmish took place, and as the Mexican forces abandoned the field and rode back toward San Antonio, there was no question about who fired the first shots in the Texas revolution.
This incident aroused the entire countryside. Hundreds of men began pouring in as volunteers for a fight. Soon the word spread over all of Texas, and the threat of war was in the air.
Moriah was outside playing with her pet coon she had named Bandit. She had tried to teach him tricks but had failed miserably. The only trick Bandit would perform was eating whatever was put before him.
“Here, Bandit, sit up,” Moriah commanded. To her dismay Bandit remained on all fours, looking up at her with his bright black eyes, but apparently resistant to any sort of commands.
“You are a dumb old coon! I’ve got a good mind to let you go hungry for a week.” As soon as she said the words, Moriah looked up and saw Brodie driving the wagon out of the barn. Forgetting Bandit, she jumped up and ran across the yard. Moriah trotted alongside the wagon, saying, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to town to get some things for Ma.”
“I want to go with you.”
“You have to ask Ma.”
Moriah dashed into the house, and Jerusalem gave her permission.
Moriah grabbed her bonnet, ran back outside, and scrambled into the wagon, sitting beside Brodie.
“Get up, you lazy mules!” Brodie said, snapping the reins. He was sprawled in the seat loosely, lean and lank, still growing at the age of seventeen. “I don’t know what you want to go into town for.”
“I want to see Aunt Julie. Maybe she’ll take us out to eat at the cafe.”
Brodie drove the mules at a fast pace, but not at a faster clip than Moriah shot questions at him. She was sixteen years old now, and Brodie glanced at her and noticed she was no longer a girl but a young lady. With a grin he remembered when she was only twelve she had been sick with fear that she would never have a figure. She’s sure got one now. It’s just a matter of time before fellas start linin’ up at the front porch tryin’ to court her.
By the time they were almost to town, Moriah had asked enough questions to fill a book. Most of them Brodie had simply shrugged off, but she began to get more personal.
“Brodie, did you ever kiss a girl?”
Brodie turned to his sister with disgust. “Moriah, blamed if you ain’t nosier than that fool coon of yours!”
“But did you?”
“What do you want to know for?”
“Well, a girl needs to find out about things like kissing. Did you ever kiss Serena?”
“No.”
“But you like her, don’t you?”
“Of course I like her. We all do.”
“No, I mean you like her like a fella likes a girl, don’t you now?”
Brodie fended off her questions, and Moriah said, “Brodie, can I ask you a question?”
Brodie suddenly broke out with a short burst of laughter. “Can you ask me a question? You’ve asked me about two thousand since we left the house.”
“But I mean a special question. Somethin’ I been worried about.”
Brodie turned to face Moriah and saw that she was serious. “Sure, sis, what is it?”
“Do you think Ma will ever divorce Pa and get married again?”
“No, she never will,” Brodie said curtly. He himself had thought of this many times, but he knew his mother’s strong feelings about marriage. “Ma will never divorce Pa. It’s against what the Bible teaches.”
“I guess so. Do you think Pa will ever come back and live with us again?”
“No, I don’t think he will.”
The two of them fell silent then, neither speaking until they entered town. Brodie said, “I’ve got to go by the blacksmith shop and get these horses shod. You want to stay with me?”
“Well, you tell the blacksmith what to do, and then we’ll go find Aunt Julie,” Moriah said.
“All right. We’ll do that,” Brodie said as he headed to talk to Cal Solder, the blacksmith. When he reached the smithy, Solder was stoking up his fire. He was a big, burly man with bright blue eyes and enormous forearms.
“Hi, Mr. Solder. I was wondering if you had some time to shoe my horses?” Brodie asked.
“Why sure, Brodie. You’re in luck, boy. I’m not that busy right now.
I can have ’em both shoed in a couple of hours, I guess.”
“Thanks, Mr. Solder. We’ll be back and get ’em a little later, then.
Come on, Moriah.”
“You’re lookin’ mighty pretty, Miss Moriah.” Cal winked at her. “You got a fella comin’ to see you now?”
“Lots of ’em. They have to get in line, though,” she said, smiling.
Brodie shook his head as the two walked out of hearing distance.
“You are a story,” he said.
“Well, I don’t have any fellas now, but it won’t be long.”
The two went to find Julie, who invited them to eat, but she had other business to finish first. They agreed to meet her at the cafe at noon.
To kill some time, they began walking up and down the street. There was not much to see in San Felipe, it was true, but after fifteen minutes Moriah said, “Look, there’s Jim Bowie, and ain’t that Sam Houston with him?”
“Ma says for you to stop sayin’ ‘ain’t.’”
“Well, you say it.”
Brodie ignored her. “Come on. Let’s go see if we can get anything out of ’em about this war.” The pair approached the men, and Bowie turned and grinned as the two of them stopped in front of him.
“Hello, Brodie. Hello, Miss Moriah. You’re lookin’ mighty pretty.”
“Who me?” Brodie said.
“Not you, you clown,” Bowie laughed. “I meant your sister.”
“I don’t believe I have met these two young people.” Sam Houston had obviously had a few drinks in the saloon that he and Bowie had just left. His nose was red, and his speech was somewhat slurred.
“Why, this here is Brodie Hardin, and his sister Miss Moriah Hardin.”
“I am pleased to know you,” Houston said. Despite his obvious condition, he was a courteous man. He was not a handsome man, and his face looked as if it were carved out of stone. But when he smiled, he looked right at you with a humanness and a warmth that made people feel comfortable around him.
“We’d like to know what’s happening, sir,” Brodie said. “Are we gonna fight Santa Anna or not?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, fellas, it’s lookin’ that way,” Bowie nodded. “General Cos is in San Antonio now. He’s got fourteen hundred troops there.”
“That’s true enough. That’s a large force,” Houston said. “But some of our men heard that the Mexicans have taken Goliad.”
“That’s right,” Bowie nodded. “The cry now is ‘on to San Antonio!’”
Sam Houston shook his head. “That’ll be another sort of fight, Jim.”
“We can do it. Our men are the best shots in the world,” Bowie said confidently.
“They may well be, but they’re not that well-organized. We need to join our forces together and train them,” Houston said.
; “Well, I’ll have to admit our fellas don’t take orders too good,” Jim Bowie said reluctantly. He turned and said, “What about your pa? Is he gonna be in this fight, Brodie?”
Brodie shifted his feet and mumbled, “Pa’s gone back to the mountains. He ain’t here no more.”
“So, what about Clay? He’s still here, isn’t he?” Houston asked.
“Yes, sir, he’s still here.”
“Well, you can count on him, Sam. Clay’s a fierce fighter.” Bowie touched the scar on his neck and laughed. “I got the scar right here to prove it. And if he can face up to that Comanche Red Wolf, then he sure has the courage to fight Santa Anna.”
“Mr. Houston, I want to join up,” Brodie spoke up.
Houston smiled broadly. “That’s a good spirit there, son. We can sure use brave young fellas like you. Can you use a rifle?”
“Yes, sir, I can.”
“Brodie, you can’t join the army without talkin’ to Ma,” Moriah said.
“That’s right,” Bowie said quickly. “You talk it over with your mother, but there’ll be a place for you.”
“It’s good to have met you, young folks. I like your spirit.” Houston smiled. Then the two men turned away and headed back toward the saloon.
“Ma will never let you join the army,” Moriah said. “And I don’t want you to either. You might get shot.”
“I won’t get shot, but I might do some shooting. Come on, Moriah.
Let’s walk some more and work up an appetite for that meal Aunt Julie promised.”
“I’m hungry enough to eat a horse right now,” Moriah said.
“You always are. You sure ain’t got no dainty appetite for a young lady.”
“Don’t say ‘ain’t,’ Brodie. Ma don’t like it.”
Brodie drove his horse at a fast pace toward Serena’s house. He and Moriah had gotten back with the supplies late in the afternoon, but he rode over to see Serena and tell her about his conversation with Sam Houston and Jim Bowie. As he pulled his horse up, he noticed a strange horse there, a fine one that he didn’t know. Puzzled, he tied his own horse, went up to the door, and knocked. It opened at once, and Serena, wearing a new yellow dress he had not seen before, stood there for a moment.
“Oh, it’s you, Brodie.”
“Hello, Serena.” He waited for an invitation and then said, “Can I come in?”
Serena hesitated, then said, “Brodie, it would be better if you would come back some other time.”
“What’s the matter with now?”
“Well, I’ve got company,” Serena whispered.
Brodie turned his head toward the horse, and then it all became clear to him. “Some fella’s calling on you?”
“Is that unbelievable that a young man would want to call on me?”
“Well no, but . . . Serena, I need to talk to you.”
“Brodie, it would really be better if you would come back tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
Brodie flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment and said huffily, “All right, if that’s what you want.” Then he turned and headed for his horse.
Serena called out after him. “Brodie, don’t be mad.”
But Brodie did not answer. He jumped on his horse and kicked the animal into a dead run. He had looked forward to sharing his day with Serena, and now jealousy boiled up within him. “If she wants somebody hangin’ around her all the time, then she can have him!”
Clay stretched out lazily in the chair, putting his feet toward the blaze. The fire crackled and snapped, sending fiery yellow and orange sparks up the chimney. He had just eaten a tremendous supper and had dozed off for a time, but now he awoke and straightened himself up. “I’m going to sleep in my boots here,” he muttered.
Jerusalem, as usual, had been busy with chores. Now she sat across from Clay mending one of Clinton’s shirts. “What did you do in town?” she asked.
“Oh, just the usual stuff.”
Jerusalem smiled. “I believe you’ve got a girl there.”
“I’ve got lots of ’em,” Clay said.
“Have you got any particular one?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t afford to do that.”
“Why not?”
Clay turned to her and grinned. This was the kind of moment he liked. Most nights he and Jerusalem sat here in the quietness of the room after the children had gone to bed, talking about all sorts of things. He had told her many stories of his trapping days and of his youth in Tennessee, and he had listened as she had spoken quietly of her own life.
“Well, why can’t you settle on one woman?”
“Why, because,” Clay said, “if I settled on one, look what would happen. Why, there’d be jealous women shooting themselves all over Texas because of me.”
Jerusalem laughed at the sort of humor that lay beneath the surface of Clay Taliferro. “You sure don’t lack self-confidence. I don’t believe you, though. I think you’re scared of women.”
“What’s to be scared of?”
“If you’d read the Book of Proverbs, you’d find out,” Jerusalem said.
“A strange woman is a deep ditch. He that falls in will regret it. That’s what the Scripture says.”
“Well, I ain’t got no strange women, Jerusalem, so I ain’t likely to fall in.”
Jerusalem looked at Clay’s long hair and said, “It’s time you had your hair cut. You look like a shaggy buffalo.”
“I don’t want to fool with that.”
“I don’t care what you want. I’m the one who has to look at you every day.” She got up and moved with certainty, as she did most things, and came back with a straight chair, which she put before the fire. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of shears and said, “Now set!”
Reluctantly, Clay got to his feet and sat down. Jerusalem produced a well-worn towel and tied it around his neck tightly. “Now, you sit real still.
I don’t want to cut your ear off.”
“Woman, be careful with them shears!”
Jerusalem was an expert barber. She had had plenty of practice. She began trimming Clay’s hair with swift, sure motions, holding it up with a comb and snipping it to a shorter length. She worked quietly for a while, intent on her task. When she had to move around in front of him, she was unaware that Clay’s eyes were fixed on her.
She was so intent that she was a little startled when he said, “I seen a bird die today.”
Jerusalem held the scissors away and stared at him, waiting for him to finish. It was the kind of remark that Clay Taliferro often made. Coming from nowhere, he would mention a subject that no one had spoken of. It was as if he had a sack full of thoughts somewhere and occasionally would bring one out at odd moments and toss it out without any preamble.
“What’s odd about that? I’ve seen lots of birds die. Did you shoot him?”
“No, I didn’t shoot him.” Clay shifted on the chair and brushed his hand across his face. Then he turned his head to one side and said, “I was out over by the woods to the east when this bird came flying across. He was all by himself, and he was flying just as fine as you could imagine in a straight line, headin’ north.”
Jerusalem waited, but he seemed to have finished. “Well, is that all the story? How did he die?”
“It was the most peculiar thing I ever saw. He was sailing along, then all of sudden he just dropped out of the sky. He started tumbling over and over until he hit the ground. It was so peculiar I got curious. I got off my horse and went over and picked him up. I don’t even know what kind of bird it was. He was kind of gray with some reddish stripes on his back.”
“And he was dead?”
“Dead as Moses, and there wasn’t a mark on him, Jerusalem.”
“I never saw anything like that.”
“Neither did I.” Clay’s face was caught by the flickering reflections of the fire. His skin took on a copper tan in the firelight, and his deep-set blue eyes seemed almost hidden in the shadows formed by the sockets. He rea
ched up and touched his chin, passing over the deep cleft that gave him a manly rugged look, then he said, “I got me to thinkin’. I seen lots of death, and none of it was very pleasant. But most of the time you could see it comin’ on. I mean, we were surrounded one time by a bunch of Cheyenne. There must have been fifty of them, and there wasn’t but nine of us. When it was over, there were five of us left, and I expected any minute to get an arrow in my liver or a tomahawk in my skull. But this was different.”
“Were you scared those times when you were fighting Indians?”
“I been scared green lots of times, and somehow this bird, such a little tiny feathery thing, scared me.”
Jerusalem lowered her hands now and stared at Clay. “Why did it scare you?”
“I don’t know. It just occurred to me that that bird, when he left his nest or wherever he came from, didn’t have no idea he’d never make it to his next stop. He was just flyin’ along one second, and the next second he was dead. No warnin’ whatsoever. That can happen to a fella. It kind of frightens me to think about it.”
“Clay, did you ever feel the presence of God?”
Clay’s eyes met hers, and he seemed to be thinking hard. “I did once, at least. It was in the middle of winter, and I was pushing hard through some deep snowdrifts. I didn’t have any business bein’ out in that weather, but I was. I came to a friend’s cabin. His name was Cable Johnson. I hollered, but I didn’t get no answer. So I went in and found Cable in the bed. He was in pretty bad shape.”
“What was wrong with him? Had he been shot?”
“No, he was an older fella than most of us, and somethin’ had happened to his insides. He didn’t know what. His heart, I guess.”
Clay grew pensive and troubled by his thoughts. “He died that night, Jerusalem, and he died hard.”
“What do you mean hard?”
“Cable was a fella who was never afraid of anything, but he was mighty scared that night. He kept cryin’ out ‘don’t let ’em get me—don’t let ’em get me, Clay.’”
Deep in the Heart Page 31