Custer at the Alamo

by Gregory Urbach

  “We can’t let that affect our decisions now,” I urgently protested. “Whatever might happen, this is the United States, and it’s been invaded by a foreign enemy. It’s our duty to resist.”

  “No, Autie, this isn’t the United States. It’s 1836, and this is Mexico. Texas hasn’t even declared independence yet. We’re the foreigners here,” Tom replied.

  “These are still Americans, fighting for the American way of life. We can’t turn our backs on them,” I insisted.

  “They’re not fighting for our way of life,” Private Engle said, spitting on the floor.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Engle is right. I call for the question. All in favor or riding out, raise your hand,” Cooke said.

  Every enlisted man raised his hand except two, who hesitated. Frowns from their comrades soon caused them to join the majority. Tom and Cooke put their hands up last, showing they agreed.

  “Have your equipment ready. We leave at sunset,” Tom said.

  The men jumped up and filed out of the church, none daring to look me in the face. Gray Wolf and Spotted Eagle followed, leaving only Tom, Cooke and Slow. The Alamo gunners on the rear platform had heard most of the meeting. One went to tell Captain Dickenson and Travis.

  “Sorry, George. A man’s got to do what’s right,” Cooke said, offering to shake hands before leaving.

  I turned my back on him until he was gone, angry and speechless. If Tom had dared smile, I’d have wrung his neck, but there was nothing lighthearted in his visage.

  “Autie, I don’t know who or what sent us here. Maybe it’s God’s doing. Maybe something else,” Tom said. “But whatever is it, we weren’t sent here to protect slavery. I shed blood to fight it once. I’ll shed blood to fight it again.”

  “You could have talked to me first. Found another way than mutiny. If you’re going to command, you must command. All you’ve done is set loose thirty men armed for chaos. Where will they go? What will they do?”

  “We’ll figure that out after rejoining Myles,” Tom said.

  “Tom, call the men back. Let me convince them to stay,” I begged.

  “We ride at sunset, Autie. You can ride with us or not,” he answered.

  Tom left the church to organize the men. Nothing I could say would change his mind. A cold wind blew through the open roof, chilling to the bone. I stepped into one of the small side rooms, the space lit with candles, the walls decorated with pictures of Catholic saints. Idolatry of this sort is not permitted in Christian churches, but during the war soldiers of all religions grew to respect each other’s faith. Well, maybe not all soldiers, but a good number of us.

  I sat down on a bench, watching a candle flicker before the altar. Slow entered, sitting next to me.

  “Colonel Tom is leaving. They are all leaving,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Are you going to leave with them?” Slow asked.

  “Don’t know that I have a choice.”

  “You have traveled far from your home. Is it your destiny to die in this place of stone?”

  “I had no intention of dying, youngster. These Texas are fighting for freedom. Freedom to speak their minds. To worship as they want. Freedom to decide what laws they’ll live by. I wanted to be part of that.”

  “And you wanted glory,” Slow observed, the candlelight dancing in his black eyes.

  “Is that such a bad thing? What soldier doesn’t want glory?”

  “My people are warriors, too,” Slow said. “We fight for our families.”

  He slid off the bench, looked up at the pictures of the saints adorning the walls, and quietly left the room. A cannon shot echoed in the distance.

  Glancing to my right, I noticed a small portrait in a dark corner. It was Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes

  * * *

  I had always thought that white men fought only for themselves. The white hunters who came to our land slaughtered the buffalo to sell the hides, leaving the People hungry. The miners came only for gold rocks, their hearts infested with greed. Everywhere the white men built their roads, the game would disappear. The treaties they made quickly flew away on the next wind. But I was wrong to think all white men the same. Many of my own people killed game to sell for whiskey and rifles. Some raided settlers to steal their horses and women. Among all people, one can find good and bad. These soldiers were not cowards, but they would not fight to enslave the black men, though there was profit in such a thing. The white chief Custer was angry his men would not follow him to glory.

  Chapter Five

  Ignominious Retreat

  “Custer! Custer! What is this?” Travis shouted, running across the courtyard with Crockett and Captain Baugh, all braving the persistent fire of the Mexican artillery. I stood outside the gate between the church and the long barracks. Cooke and my troopers were saddling their horses in the corral.

  “We’ve decided not to stay,” I said, feeling as dreary as the weather.

  “Why is that? Because I won’t give you command?” Travis asked. His face was red with anger. And a trace of desperation.

  “You don’t need to give what I can take,” I defiantly replied.

  “Not turning yellow, are you?” Travis said.

  I took off one of my riding gloves and slapped him across the face, familiar with the custom. Travis put a hand on his saber, a fine piece of Spanish steel.

  “Captain Baugh will act as my second. Pistols or swords?” Travis said.

  “Why wait?” I answered, reaching for the sword taken from the dead Mexican courier.

  Tom and Butler came running. Crockett grabbed Travis. Cooke grabbed me. A cannonball flew overheard, striking the long barracks with an adobe splintering thud.

  “This isn’t the time,” Crockett said.

  “Autie, get a hold of yourself,” Tom demanded.

  I stepped back, sheathing the sword.

  “Too bad the Mexicans will kill you first, you damn fool,” I said, turning my back on Travis.

  Crockett followed as I started toward the corral. We passed underneath the arch into the stable. The rough plank walls were hung with tack and harnesses. An old wagon sat to one side next to a blacksmith’s forge. To my left, several doors led into the rear of the long barracks.

  “George, why are you leaving so suddenly?” Crockett asked. “Green and I have been discussing your plan. We think—”

  “David, my men and I come from a free land. We’ve heard Texas is getting ready to pass a slave constitution. They won’t fight for that. Now that I’ve had time to think, I won’t fight for it either,” I answered.

  “Hell, I don’t own any slaves. Hardly a man here owns a slave,” Crockett said. “My wife had a few slaves once, inherited from her father, but the lazy bastards were eating us out of house and home, so I sold them off to a Quaker family. They’re sharecroppers now.”

  “Not everybody in the South is so generous, David. And most are a lot worse,” I said, knowing well from experience.

  “I’ve seen Northern workers in Philadelphia, and the slums in New York City,” Crockett defended, an old and tired argument.

  I pointed toward the new well where the two slaves were throwing up a mound of dirt. Most of the garrison stayed near the walls to avoid the cannon fire while the black men were largely in the open. Crockett read my expression.

  “There are more important things at stake,” Crockett said.

  “No, I don’t think so. I think John and Sam over there say it all,” I disagreed.

  The sun had set, the night dark because heavy clouds were covering the nearly full moon. It hadn’t rained since early morning, so the prairie would be reasonably dry. Good for fast movement.

  “Give us a chance to change your mind,” Crockett asked.

  “It’s not my mind you need to change, David. It’s your slave holding friends. If riding out of here wasn’t so dangerous, I’d be taking those two men with me. I’ve heard Santa Anna protects slaves. Joe and Sam might be the only ones s
till standing when this is all over.”

  I went into the corral where the men were ready to mount. Voss already had a saddle on Vic. Everyone was tightening their cinch straps and adjusting their stirrups. The corral was divided into two sections by a rough wooden fence. The north and east walls were formed by eight foot high stone walls. A cannon mounted on the northeast corner protected the fort from attack.

  “Autie, I figure we’ll go out this gate, skirt along the morass, then go over the hill between their north battery and the powder house,” Tom said, having studied the ground.

  “Just a minute, I have something to say first,” I interrupted.

  I got up on a barrel, the stable behind me. A dozen of the fort’s defenders were also gathered around, more watching from the roof and walls. My men paused in their preparations, afraid I was going to berate them for their rebellious behavior. Even Tom seemed apprehensive.

  “Gentlemen, I want to apologize,” I said, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “I want to apologize to all of you. I’ve been a solider my whole life. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what we fight for. It’s not just to oppose an enemy, or capture a piece of land. It’s to defend an ideal. To uphold our principles. And to earn the respect of our families. I won’t forget again. That’s a promise.”

  I jumped down from the barrel to shake Cooke’s hand, giving Slow a grateful nod. The boy almost smiled.

  “Thank you, General,” Cooke said.

  “Thank me after we get out of here,” I answered.

  I held Vic by the reins and walked toward the northeast corner of the corral to a heavy wooden gate. The adobe walls here were not as high or as thick as courtyard, but subject to good covering fire from two directions. Crockett came to open the gate, which creaked as it swung in.

  “Good luck, David,” I sincerely said, for I genuinely liked him.

  “Hope we meet again, George,” Crockett said, reaching to shake hands.

  I gave him a firm grip. Too bad Texas would never know the wisdom of this remarkable man.

  “Okay, boys, keep it quiet. Use your Colts if we run into a patrol. Tom, have your men watch our flank. Cooke, bring up the rear. Jimmy, you’re with Cooke. Voss, stay at my side and keep the bugle ready,” I rapidly ordered. “Slow, where are you?”

  “We’re over here, General,” Morning Star said, the four Indians bunched with Kellogg.

  “Walk close to me at the head of the column. Everybody stay together. Once we’re clear of the swamp, we’ll mount up and ride over the ridge beyond their lines. If we get separated, listen for Voss to sound recall. Are there any questions?” I asked.

  There were no questions. Most of us had ridden together for several years, and some longer. Each knew what to do.

  I led the way, though Spotted Eagle and Gray Wolf quickly moved out in front, scouting the path. I don’t believe Indians can see in the dark better than white men, but the Indians believe it. I wasn’t going to argue.

  Slow came up on his young mare, the only one of us mounted. Tom and his six skirmishers were ten yards to the left. Campfires of the besieging army were visible several hundred yards away. A small fire burned on the hill to our right where Tom had attacked the battery that morning. Troops had reoccupied the hill, but we’d seen no cannon.

  Suddenly there was a loud boom. The Alamo’s 18-pounder had roared to life, firing on the town. The echo reverberated though the entire valley. Rifle fire erupted from the lunette protecting the south gate.

  “Is the fort under attack?” Voss asked.

  “No. They’re providing a diversion. Giving us a chance to slip away. Those are good men back there,” I said.

  We had just cleared the last of the irrigation ditches, the morass falling away to dry ground as we skirted to the left. The burned-out mill on Powder House Hill was off to the right. I heard Tom’s men mounting up.

  “Okay, boys, let’s get going,” I whispered, jumping on Vic and giving him a nudge.

  A musket fired from our left. Then two more. Both were from too great a distance. We did not return fire for it would have given away our position. A few minutes later, we reached the top of the ridge. A guard fifty yards to the right stirred with curiosity but no apparent alarm. Gray Wolf and Spotted Eagle were waiting for us, carrying lances and once again wearing their sombreros. They were terribly proud of themselves, convinced the enemy had mistaken us for Mexican cavalry. And they were probably right. On a dark night, in such cold weather, no one was looking for a fight.

  We moved on another half mile before Voss blew his trumpet. I wasn’t worried about the sound now. We had passed through their siege works and beyond range of the guns. If a mounted patrol sought to challenge us, they’d find more trouble than they could handle.

  “The lines around the Alamo aren’t so tight,” Tom said, rejoining the march as we moved east through rolling hills. Kellogg and Morning Star rode with him.

  “Half of Santa Anna’s army isn’t drawn up yet,” Kellogg said. “Another thousand infantry won’t arrive until the 3rd. Colonel Almonte is on the Goliad Road with most of the cavalry. On March 4th, Santa Anna will draw his divisions together and decide on an assault. They’ll use the 5th getting into position, and attack before dawn on the 6th.”

  “I feel bad for them. They are very brave,” Morning Star said.

  “They are on a journey. Not all will see the new day,” Slow grimly announced. He seemed very preoccupied.

  “What about us? How many of us will see the new day?” I playfully asked.

  “More than would have survived on the grass-covered hill,” Slow said, seeming to speak from a long forgotten memory. He booted his mare to catch up with his cousins.

  I glanced around, saw we were making good time over the strange terrain, and ordered the command to turn right. We would cross the Gonzales Road and continue south until reaching the San Antonio River. The moon helped, peeking out from behind the clouds.

  “Morning Star, tell me why you came on this adventure,” I requested.

  I was riding at the head of the column with Morning Star and Tom, Cooke and Voss close behind. The night was cold but not windy.

  “I do not remember all. I recall much of my youth, and my schooling in St. Louis. Not long after returning to my people, there was alarm in my village. People ran back and forth screaming. I think there was a raid. Spotted Eagle came to help me. I thought . . . It is all a very strange dream. I thought someone had shot Spotted Eagle. Women were crying. A teepee was on fire. I turned to see a man standing behind me. He was a Crow, a bitter enemy of my people. He held a war club. I usually carry a knife, but it had been left near our campfire. I found a branch instead and hit the Crow. He . . . I thought . . . It is hard to remember.

  “Then there was a fog. A deep, disturbing fog, and I thought myself lost forever on a long trail. Praise the Great Spirit, a star came to light my path, and soon I was traveling on the plains with my cousins.”

  I reined Vic in, an icy grip on my heart. The command was coming up behind me, not one of whom hadn’t been plagued with strange dreams. Tom stopped next to me.

  “What’s wrong, Autie? We’re got a clear trail and plenty of moonlight,” he said, a happy dance in his eyes as he glanced at Morning Star.

  What had I done back on the Little Big Horn? Had I sacrificed my brother to ambition? And Bill Cooke? Georgie Yates? How many others? Had I now been given a second chance? To do what? And what did the strange Indian boy have to do with it?

  * * *

  We rode in silence for several hours before dismounting to give the horses a rest. The weather gradually worsened, forcing us to find shelter in a tree-lined ravine. Somewhere in the area the Mexican cavalry was patrolling. At midnight we started out again, walking our horses carefully in the black night as Tom and the Indian boys found our path. Kellogg stayed close, having tried to talk since we’d left the Alamo, but I kept waving him off.

  “A few reinforcements will make it in,” Kellogg said when I f
inally allowed him to broach the subject. “History says thirty-two men from Gonzales will enter the Alamo before dawn on March 1st. They still think Fannin is coming to help.”

  “March 1st? That’s tomorrow,” I said.

  “It will give the garrison a bit of hope, but on March 3rd, a courier will arrive confirming that no help is coming. I’m sure Travis already knows, he just isn’t being honest with his men.”

  “Being honest with your men can be difficult. A commander needs to judge their commitment. And their character. Most of the time, troops don’t want the truth, they just want good leadership.”

  “Travis seemed like a good leader to me,” Kellogg said.

  “Yes, right up to the point that he got his entire command massacred,” I replied. “Travis is an amateur. I’m a professional military officer with a long record of success.”

  “Until the Little Big Horn,” Kellogg dared to say.

  “You can’t judge an entire career by one mistake,” I replied with some irritation, for I’ve found that many civilians find it convenient to criticize battlefield decisions from the safety of their easy chairs.

  Cooke approached, walking side-by-side with Morning Star. Cooke and Tom were best friends. With Tom having taken such an interest in the young maiden, it was no surprise Bill wanted to discover the attraction. I recalled the winter I’d spent with Monahseetah, who was not only beautiful, but delightful company. Such attractions are easy to understand.

  “Once we find Keogh, what will we do next?” Cooke asked.

  It was an awfully good question.

  “I don’t know. We’re still soldiers in the United States army. I guess we’ll ride east and report for duty,” I said.

  “Report to Andy Jackson? After what he did to the Cherokee?” Cooke protested.

  A protest I agreed with, at heart. I had met quite a few Cherokee over the years and admired their tenacity. And unlike most Indians, they are as civilized as any white man.

  “I have not heard of the Cherokee,” Morning Star said.

  “They are a proud people who once lived in the east, mostly Georgia and Tennessee. They owned farms and ranches. Some even owned slaves,” Cooke said. “Though they were friends of the United States and signed many treaties, the Southerners decided to steal their land. President Andrew Jackson helped.”