Hawk Banks - Founding Texas

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 13

  The Calm before the Storm

  We will rather die in these ditches, than give it up to the enemy. Public safety demands our lives rather than evacuate this post to the enemy.

  -James Bowie

  Near San Antonio-Early February, 1836

  James Bowie pulled up on the bluff and, stepping down from his horse, he gazed reverently at the city stretching off to the west. There, off in the distance, stood San Antonio de Bexar. It was his beloved home, and somehow, beyond all comprehension, it was about to become the focal point of a revolution.

  Still irritated that he had missed the Battle of Bexar, he murmured to himself, “Go there do that, come here, do this!” Those fools in Washington-on-the Brazos and San Felipe kept telling him what to do. While it was flattering to be needed, he had, due to their incompetence, missed the best of the fighting thus far.

  Bowie had spent much of the previous month back east, mostly in San Felipe. To him, the entire war had lapsed into an unmitigated morass of backbiting. The government, such as it was, kept issuing orders, and by the time the orders reached the volunteers such as him who were capable of carrying them out, most of them were obsolete.

  Sam Houston had ordered Bowie to raise a volunteer army and head south for Matamoros. Although Bowie hadn’t thought much of that plan, he had nonetheless been willing to carry it out. Trouble was, by the time he’d received the order, the council had found out that many of the remaining volunteers at Bexar had already followed Grant and Johnson southward towards Matamoros in an attempt to take the offensive into Mexico. Based on this revelation, his now irrelevant orders had been rescinded.

  The truth was - the whole council was incompetent. They had fought incessantly among themselves, to little if any purpose. At one point they had even attempted to impeach Governor Smith. Finally, the council had issued a ridiculous proclamation stating that since Bowie was not an officer in the Army of Texas, Houston therefore had no authority to issue him orders. While this was technically true, it was entirely too much for Bowie. Had he not been the one person who had seen more action than anyone? It was all too much for him. They could all go to perdition for all he cared, and with that he had left for home.

  On his way back to Bexar, Bowie had been informed that Grant had appropriated all of the horses at Goliad for his self-anointed expedition to Matamoros. Hearing this, Bowie had decided on his own recognizance to return to Goliad and help there as best he could - the council be damned. He had great respect for Houston, but it appeared that he too was unable to overcome the incompetence of the government.

  As it turned out, Bowie’s decision to go to Goliad was fortuitous. He had thrown himself into the business of improving the fortifications of the mission, which was in terrible shape. A few days later General Houston had arrived, whereupon he had approached Bowie directly with a serious request.

  It seemed that as bad as things were in Goliad, they were even worse in Bexar. Colonel Neill now counted less than a hundred volunteers in Bexar, and there was fear of starvation. At that meeting Houston had restored Bowie’s faith in the Revolution. Although Houston had no real authority to command Bowie, as he remained a “volunteer”, Houston had nonetheless succeeded in convincing Bowie that he was the only person who could restore order at the Alamo.

  It was exactly what Bowie had needed – someone to appreciate him. He was well aware that Houston had appealed to his vanity, but the fact that Houston had been aware that this was the approach that was necessary to reinvest Bowie’s allegiance had weighed quite positively on Bowie. His faith both in the revolution and Houston having been restored, he had departed for Bexar immediately.

  Now, gazing towards the city off in the distance, he realized that he was home. He had never really felt like one place was the right place for him before, but this was indeed his home, and he was proud to consider San Antonio thusly.

  Sam Houston had attempted to convince him to blow up the Alamo and take the volunteer army east, but as far as he was concerned, that was out of the question. Having declined Houston’s suggestion, he prodded his horse forward, the thirty volunteers from Goliad that he had persuaded to accompany him following close behind.

  East Texas

  Sam Houston was relieved to be away from the whole damn mess. How in hell could anyone expect him to command an army of volunteers, when most of them were at least three days ride from Washington-on-the Brazos, and not one in twenty were willing to listen to anything he said? Accordingly, he’d decided to take leave of the army for a period of time so as to let the air clear. Besides, as near as he could tell, nothing much was going to happen until spring.

  For the past several years, whenever Houston had been at his lowest, he had sought out the Indian nation. This occasion was no different. He had arrived in East Texas to treat with the Indians. He reasoned that this gave him a valid excuse to be away, but the truth was - he was at his wits end. He was so distraught that he needed to be away from the troubles of the revolution for a time. Perhaps in his absence they would all come to their senses. He figured he had perhaps three weeks before he needed to be back in Washington-on-the Brazos.

  The Alamo

  James Bonham scanned the eastern horizon from walls of the Alamo. He had found himself looking east day after day, hoping for reinforcements to arrive in advance of the Mexican Army. Good fortune appeared to have finally come their way. Off in the distance he could see perhaps thirty riders coming in on the road from Goliad. He continued his watch, and as he did so, it gradually became possible to pick out their lead rider. It was his cousin James Bowie! What a great relief it was to him to see such an apparition riding out of the underbrush. In his wildest dreams he could not have imagined any better sight.

  Shortly thereafter, the crowd rode into the fortress, horses sweating and snorting, their riders appearing tired and worn. Bowie had clearly ridden them hard from Goliad.

  Grasping Bowie’s bridle, Bonham exclaimed, “James! Cousin James! Great to see you, and welcome home!”

  Dismounting, Bowie slapped Bonham gingerly on the back and responded, “A pleasure to see you, cousin. I am right pleased to see someone with your capabilities here at the Alamo. Where is Colonel Neill, might I ask?”

  “Not here at the moment, James, but he should be back soon,” Bonham responded affably.

  “Are things here as bad as I’ve heard, cousin?”

  “Worse, James, bound to be worse. We’re down to no more than a hundred men. If the Mexican Army comes north through Bexar, we cannot hold the Alamo. Heck, Cos couldn’t hold it with near to a thousand!”

  “That’s bad, real bad,” Bowie grumbled, but he suddenly pointed out, “Good news is, I’ve seen General Houston in Goliad, just yesterday morning. I’ve been sent by him to take over command and set things right here. We’ll get this place prepared for anything they can throw at us.”

  The Alamo-Early February

  William Travis had arrived at Bexar in accordance with his orders from Governor Smith and, prepared to take over command of the forces at the Alamo, he had instead found the situation complicated. Bowie had been downright rude, and the men had refused to accept Travis as their new commander, despite Colonel Neill’s departure and Travis’ orders to the contrary.

  He and Bowie had disagreed repeatedly. They would surely have eventually come to blows had it not been for the fact that there was no sign of the Mexican Army. Instead, the two had fallen into an uneasy truce, Travis not wanting to fight with a man who was obviously the choice of the volunteers, and Bowie unsure whether the men would follow Travis if he himself gave in.

  Bowie considered Travis a hot head. Conversely, Travis thought Bowie to be poorly trained in the art and science of military leadership. In this state of permanent confusion, they had managed to lead jointly without agreeing on a single issue. If Bowie told the men to clean their weapons, Travis told them to practic
e sharp shooting. If Travis told a scout to head southwest, Bowie told him to head southeast.

  To make matters worse, Bowie chose the slightest excuse to go off and get roaring drunk for two or three days at a time. As there was no enemy anywhere to be found, this almost comical style of command seemed to be acceptable to the men, the army somehow growing more comfortable with the two leaders’ antics with each passing day.

  San Antonio

  Davy Crockett tied up his horse at the cantina. He and his fellow riders stepped down from their horses and strode in, halting directly at the bar. “Whiskey, my good man, if you please,” he announced pleasantly to the bartender.

  “Yes, sir, coming right up,” responded the man behind the bar. “Heard tell you were comin’, sir. If I’m not mistaken, you’re Mr. Davy Crockett, from Tennessee,” and this last comment the bartender said rather piercingly so that others in the cantina could overhear.

  Smiling broadly, Crockett replied, “You are quite correct, sir.” Men were already beginning to gather round him, his fame having preceded him all the way to Texas.

  One man strode up confidently and allowed, “Mr. Crockett! Welcome to San Antonio. I’m Colonel James Bowie of the Volunteer Army of Texas.”

  “Heard of you, Mr. Bowie,” Crockett responded, “Seems we’ve both had a few scrapes in our time.”

  “That we have, that we have,” Bowie replied jovially. “We need men like you, Mr. Crockett. We got ourselves a real war on our hands here in Texas. I ‘spect you’re here to help us fight the Army of Mexico, sir.”

  “You are entirely correct, Colonel, entirely correct.”

  “Why then, your drinks are on me,” responded Bowie. “And when we’re done here it would be my honor to introduce you to Colonel William Travis, who is commander of the regular army here at Bexar.”

  “That is right kindly of you, Colonel,” responded Crockett. “I have with me four good Tennesseans, all of them fine shots.”

  The Alamo-The Following Day

  Hank noticed that Hawk was in the midst of one of his contemplative daydreams. It had been a long cold winter, and Hawk had said little lately, but when he got to talking it was always colorful. Hank hoped that this was one of those occasions. He missed Julie something awful and, needing distraction to take his mind off of her, Hank pondered inanely how glad he was to have boots. Some of the fellas who hadn’t had boots were now completely shoeless. He figured their feet must be really cold.

  There really weren’t that many of them by now. Bowie had brought in thirty men, bringing the count up to maybe a hundred and twenty. And over the succeeding couple of weeks maybe thirty or forty more had shown up. And the arrival of Day Crockett and the boys from Tennessee yesterday had been really great. These new arrivals all had better gear, but none of them seemed to be from Texas. Instead, they were from the United States of America. Hank guessed Stephen Austin must have recruited them. He wished there were even more of them, for they still didn’t have near enough men to defend the Alamo.

  Attempting to break into Hawk’s reverie, he suggested, “Maybe we shouldda gone with Grant and Johnson, Hawk.”

  “I’ve told you a thousand times, those boys are going to get themselves killed, Hank. We were wise to avoid going south with them. There are literally millions of Mexican nationals where they’re headed. No army of a few hundred Texans can take on that many folks no matter how good they are with a rifle. If you ask me, Grant and Johnson are fools.”

  “I know, you told me that, but to tell the truth, it ain’t so comforting being here in the Alamo neither, Hawk.”

  Hawking for emphasis, Hawk responded, “You got that right, sir!”

  “Well, we’re undermanned here - we all know that,” Hank opined, “But what do you think of our leadership, say compared to Grant and Johnson?”

  “Neill was alright, but I must tell you, I was really pleased to see Jim Bowie ride through the gate. Say what you want about his personal habits, that man is a born leader.”

  At this Hank eyed Hawk in curiosity and suggested, “You couldda been leadin’ us, Hawk.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Hank, but the fact is, I’m not a leader, because I don’t want to be one. And Bowie is, and more importantly, he does.”

  “What about this new fellow, Travis?”

  “Don’t care for him.”

  Attempting to draw Hawk out on the subject, Hank inquired, “Why, what are you thinkin’, Hawk?”

  “I just don’t like him. Seems capable enough, but too pushy for my taste.”

  “Well, I like him just fine, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Hawk countered bluntly.

  Ignoring the insult, Hank plowed ahead with, “He’s a bigger than average man, well put together. And he’s got a head on his shoulders. I’d take odds on him in a fight.”

  “Still don’t like him,” Hawk growled with apparent finality.

  Unwilling to let it drop, Hank pressured yet again, “Give me one good reason why.”

  “Alright, I’ll not only give you one, I will give you two reasons! First off, the man is just altogether too young to be in charge here. And second, he’s a damn lawyer!”

  At this Hank burst out laughing, exclaiming boisterously, “Ha! I knew it! You ain’t got no good reasons at all, Hawk!”

  “Don’t like lawyers, never have, damn it!”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Hank replied derisively, “I hope nobody is listening into this here conversation. They might learn the revelation of the century - Mr. Hawk Banks don’t like lawyers! Hee hee!”

  “I can do without your sarcasm, sir. I have good reason to dislike lawyers.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “For one thing, I never met a one of them that’s honest. And that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

  “Now you listen to me, Hawk, you’ve been bad-mouthin’ lawyers ever since we met. It’s about time you shut your mouth, either that, or come forth with some hard evidence on the subject.”

  Hawk sat in silence for a few moments, seemingly pondering Hank’s edict.

  “Well?” Hank blurted.

  “Shut up, damn it. I’m thinking.” Hawk responded gruffly.

  Deciding this was a good sign, Hank held his tongue momentarily.

  Hawk eventually admitted, “Well, I expect I may as well come clean, my wife ran off with a damn lawyer from New York City. So there, damn it all to hell.”

  “What? You got a wife, Hawk?”

  “No, not any more, not for more than twenty years.”

  “That is a revelation, sir, and I don’t mind telling you so. Here you been acting all high and mighty for months about me missing Julie, and I come to find out you been married, and probably been just as broke up and missing your wife as I do Julie. You done been holding back on me, Mr. Hawk Banks!”

  Hawk murmured, “No, I haven’t. That’s all ancient history. I haven’t missed Caroline for years. Heck, I don’t even know where she is any more, although it would do my heart good to hear she left that lawyer. I despise lawyers. Besides, I found the love of my life right here in San Antonio…” his voice trailing off.

  Stating the obvious, Hank observed, “If you ask me, that Antonia is a keeper.”

  Hawk responded, “That’s right engaging of you.”

  “Anything else you dislike, other than lawyers, Hawk?”

  “No, not really,” Hawk proffered, “Well, to tell the truth, don’t care much for land speculators neither.”

  “Right, between land speculators and lawyers, you got somethin’ against darn near every leader in the whole of Texas. Houston and Travis are both lawyers. Bowie and Austin are land speculators. Heck, if you get right down to it, I’m a land speculator, too!”

  “No you aren’t!” Hawk blurted vehemently. Still clearly ruffled from the discourse, he exclaimed, “You’re different, Hank. You live on your land, and you farm it. That
is in no way land speculation. That’s homesteading. Those are two entirely different things.”

  “Well, thanks for your forgiveness, oh great one,” Hank shot back sarcastically. “Given all of these shortcomings of our military leadership, how do you rate our chances in the current circumstances?”

  “Been thinking on that for some time,” Hawk said thoughtfully.

  “I’ll bet you have,” Hank responded with palpable curiosity.

  “I expect it’s of no matter which one of those two leads us – Travis or Bowie. Crockett could do the job, no doubt, but he doesn’t want it. Said so himself. So we need one or the other to lead, not both. I’d prefer it to be Bowie - he’s a proven leader. Travis hasn’t yet proven himself, but I’m inclined to think he’ll do in a pinch.”

  Hank grinned and replied succinctly, “In a pinch - I’d say that is about the most ridiculously understated description of our current predicament that any man could ever conjure up, sir.”

  Hawk leaned forward, and abruptly closing the line of discussion, he suggested, “We shall see about that. Soon enough, we shall see.”

  The Alamo

  Susannah Dickinson tugged her baby to her breast, her mind-numbing wailing thankfully ceasing. As the baby suckled, she had a few moments to ponder. It seemed that lately, feeding time was the only opportunity she had for contemplation. She was beginning to think that it would have been better if her husband Almaron had left the baby and her behind in Gonzales. The winter was dragging on, and now the word was circulating here in San Antonio that the Mexican Army was coming back, and this time in full force.

  Wishing it would all just go away, she realized forlornly that there was little chance of that now. She was certain that the humiliating defeat of General Cos at the Alamo in December would ultimately be a disaster for Texas.

  Having heard Stephen Austin’s speech in Gonzales the previous fall, she suspected that General Cos’ family relationship to Santa Anna would be pivotal. According to what Austin had said that day, Santa Anna was a proud man. Susannah knew men like that - they never let a failure go by the wayside – in the end, they always had to get even. “Yes,” she thought to herself, “Santa Anna is probably on a horse at this very minute, leading a huge army straight for San Antonio.”

  The baby coughed and spit up, temporarily distracting her from her train of thought. Burping Angelina, she set back to feeding. A few more months now, and she’d be completely off the teat, she thought to herself. Angelina was already walking a bit, and she had a few words, although no one could understand them but Susannah. Her husband Almaron was too busy dealing with the war. He barely darkened the door of the house they’d appropriated in San Antonio. And no wonder – it was little more than a stone hut with a dirt floor. But hopefully, all of this would be over before the hot summer hit. With luck, they’d all be back home by May.

  The Alamo-Late February

  Hawk awakened to a brightly shining sun, creating a feeling of warmth in the air. It was the first really fine day in some time, and for some reason he knew the date: February 22. He gently prodded Antonia awake and, giving her a friendly peck on the lips, he whispered, “Antonia, come see. It is a beautiful morning.”

  Antonia arose without comment and stepped gingerly to the door. The sway of her hips could be seen even through her white cotton shift. The image brought Hawk’s manhood to attention just as Antonia said, “The sun is shining, my Halcón. It is going to be a lovely day. We must plan something special for Teresa!” and, having suggested thusly, she turned to observe Hawk’s reaction.

  He was sitting on the bed and, motioning for her to come to him, he responded wistfully, “All in good time, my lovely, all in good time. First, perhaps we should begin the day by re-sealing our pact.”

  “The pact, the pact, always the pact,” she responded with a sly grin, “I suspect that this is just a disguise for what you really want, no?”

  Hawk smiled and waited. Antonia strode to the bed and commenced the chore of dealing with his problem, and such a chore it was! Within minutes she was completely exhausted by the effort of satisfying his needs. “Oh,” she said to herself, “And also mine!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking how delightful life is. It is not unlike the feeling one has when one is passionately in love, no?”

  Grinning at this, Hawk responded, “I wouldn’t know about such things.”

  “Naughty man!” she replied and, slapping him playfully across the face, she proffered sagely, “When a woman tells a lie, a man should never respond with a lie, especially when speaking of love!” and, punctuating her witticism, she leaned forward and kissed him passionately.

  Eventually coming up for air, he replied admitted, “I love you, my dear. Is that better?”

  “I will accept your apology just this once, but beware, my Halcón, our pact is possession, complete and everlasting possession. I shall expect you to follow orders better in future,” she responded playfully and, kissing him again, she commanded, “Understood?”

  “Hell, I have more freedom in the army! Alright, Señora General, I accept your terms. But remember your part of the pact!”

  She smiled and, tugging his feet to her chest, she kissed each of them gently. “There, my love, I kiss your feet. I seal my acceptance with my kisses.”

  They caressed one another for several minutes, subsequently agreeing that the day was far too gorgeous to be wasted. Indeed, the circumstances called for a picnic.

  By noon they were on their way out of town. They passed by the mission of the Alamo, where a soldier at his post jeered at Hawk. It was well known among the volunteers at Bexar that Hawk was in love. There are no secrets in an army, especially one composed entirely of volunteers.

  “Mommy, what is that man calling about,” Teresa asked inquisitively.

  “Shush, Teresa. He is just announcing that we are passing the gate of the Alamo. It is his duty as a soldier,” her mother lied.

  “Oh, the Alamo is a fort? I thought it was a mission.”

  “It is both, my dear.” At this, Teresa looked confused, but she said nothing further. The day was far too fine to be distracted by such complicated subjects.

  Hawk was nonetheless concerned as they rode out. There had been reports every day that the Army of Mexico was not far off. He was worried that this might be the couple’s last chance for domestic bliss. The last few weeks had been the most intensely pleasurable, enjoyable, and blissful of his entire life. And this might be the last day for such an interlude. He intended to make it a wonderful day. Turning to Antonia, he asked with apparent trepidation, “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

  “Yes, my love. Yes, of course. But we will not speak of it now. Later…we will speak of it later.”

  Coastal Texas-Late February

  General Jose de Urrea had been assigned by General Santa Anna to lead a force of more than a thousand men along the coastal route northward from Matamoros. As this was friendly territory, the locals were inclined to supply his army with intelligence regarding the whereabouts of the forces of Grant and Johnson. Unfortunately for the Texians, General Urrea turned out to be an extremely competent commander in the field. Armed with this important intelligence, Urrea ordered a forced march in the middle of the night on February 25. Arriving before dawn at San Patricio on February 27, his army caught the Texians unawares and captured or killed the greater portion of the Matamoros expedition.

  Johnson escaped, and Dr. Grant was off rounding up horses for the expedition. General Urrea caught Grant and the remainder of the Matamoros volunteers unawares at the port of Los Cuates de Agua Dulce on March 2, annihilating the remainder of the largest Texian Army in the field. Dr. Grant was killed in the course of the battle.

  Three days later General Urrea managed to capture two Texas companies near Refugio under the commands of Amon King and William Ward, the latter of which had be
en sent by Colonel Fannin at Goliad to provide relief to King’s force. Within the space of a week General Urrea’s forces had wiped out nearly half of the entire Texian Army.