Some of the officers laughed, others frowned. I suppose it was too much to ask.
“Will you round up Houston and these other pirates for us? And do what with them?” Colonel Romero contemptuously asked, staring at me like I was trying to sell them rain.
“Most of the Texans don’t want war. They came here to farm and ranch. But they won’t accept oppression, either,” I replied.
“What the Texans want will not matter once we’ve driven them back across the Sabine,” Romero said, chin held high.
His brother officers nodded agreement. Santa Anna smiled.
“Your Excellency, the problem we got right here remains,” Crockett said. “The boys in the Alamo are ready to fight, but if there’s another way, we don’t want no blood, neither.”
“Congressman Crockett, what it war without blood and tears?” Santa Anna asked.
“Peace is a better way,” Crockett answered without a blink. “I figure there’s some hot heads bent on independence, but if the people’s rights can be guaranteed, most would rather go back to livin’ quiet. I came here to settle some land. Maybe bring out my family and start a new life. We would be good citizens and good neighbors.”
“You are a sincere man, Davy Crockett, but I cannot allow interlopers to dictate terms to my government,” Santa Anna said. “You Americans tried to buy Texas. Then Austin broke his word and allowed thousands of illegal immigrants to overrun our borders. Thousands more came when they heard your provisional government is offering free land to mercenaries. Should this continue, America will overrun all of Texas. Mexico’s best hope is to stop you now, and it begins with the Alamo. It begins with setting an example that such impudence will not be tolerated. It is an example that will be made with blood and fire.”
The three colonels nodded agreement, lightly tapping the table with their spoons. They were anxious for battle, ready to prove themselves. The three generals were more restrained. They knew storming the Alamo would be costly.
“Mr. President, a lot of what you say is true, but there’s still got to be a better way than fightin’,” Crockett protested.
“You need not die so uselessly. Stay here, as my guest,” Santa Anna offered. “We can say you were on one of your famous explorations when you fell in with the rebels against your will.”
“The boys in the Alamo know different,” Crockett said.
“Do not trouble yourself on that. The Alamo will have no survivors,” Colonel Romero said, a hand on his sword.
“Thanks all the same, but reckon I better stay true to my word. It’s important to know what’s right, and then go ahead,” Crockett replied, his genial grin winning admiration from our enemies.
“What of you, General Custer? By your own admission, this is not your fight,” General Castrillón said. “Why don’t you accept His Excellency’s generous offer and ride out with your men? No one will prevent you from returning to the United States.”
Dinner was over and the girls were serving a sweet bread dessert. I had drunk a full glass of wine and part of a second. Less wine than anyone else at the table, but still a little too much.
“What do you think, Slow? Should we ride back to the United States?” I asked, rubbing the thick black hair on the boy’s head.
“You will not,” Slow said, enjoying a mouthful of the sweet bread.
“Then you admit Custer is a rebel leader?” Colonel Romero said, satisfied he had discovered the truth.
“General Custer is rebellious, but he is not a rebel,” Slow said. “He knows that if he rides away, Texas will become a cursed land. White men will come who bring evil with them. General Santa Anna cannot hold Texas. He is not a wise leader.”
Several Mexican officers were immediately on their feet, hands on swords, angry frowns adding to furious growls. Santa Anna rose last.
“If you were a man, I would cut out your heart for such words,” Santa Anna said, chin held high.
“I agree with everything the boy said. Why don’t you try cutting my heart out?” I said, standing with a hand on my saber. “I make challenge, Your Excellency. You and me, in honorable combat, with the fate of Texas as the prize. Let the blood and tears be ours alone.”
“I will not risk my honor dueling with a foreign barbarian,” Santa Anna replied. “Go back to your Alamo and prepare to die. There will be no mercy for pirates. No quarter. All of Texas will feel the wrath of my justice.”
“I wondered if there was any hope of peace under your rule, sir, but now I see the Texans are right. Their only hope for freedom is to fight,” I said, perceiving the dictator’s true nature. He could be charming, if not beguiling, but at heart he was just a grasping politician with an army at his back. “My men and I, we know something about fighting for freedom. It’s worth fighting for. It’s worth dying for.”
“Then you shall die. And you, too, Congressman Crockett. You are a pleasant fellow, but an interloper. After the battle, I will look upon your bodies before casting them on a funeral pyre. There shall be no graves to mark your passage,” Santa Anna said.
“People will remember the Alamo. It’ll be all the legacy we need,” Crockett said, getting a bit touchy.
Santa Anna stood up, nodded in a most gentlemanly manner, and left the room, followed by all of his officers except Almonte and General Castrillón.
“Our president is temperamental,” Castrillón said. “But he has the good of Mexico at heart. We did not want this war. There are factions at home seeking to overthrow His Excellency. Forces who seek wealth at the expense of the peons. Only a strong government can protect our nation’s honor. These rebels, Austin and Houston, they seek to impose an Anglo tyranny on the native people of Texas. Are they any better?”
I looked at Slow, knowing the future his people could expect from white civilization, and remembered what Kellogg had said about the Tejanos. I knew Texas would soon impose a brutal system of slavery, for Tom and I had seen the remnants. Even the most civilized of non-white races, the Cherokee, would be robbed and murdered by the regime that replaced Santa Anna. And my own country would fight a bloody civil war, half a million dead, before the dreams of President Lincoln could be fulfilled. Was there no other way?
“General Castrillón, I’m not a statesman,” I said. “Such wisdom is best left to greater leaders such as you. But Slow knows the world better than the men who sat at this table tonight. He sees a future that needs to be better. Do not expect the fall of the Alamo to resolve your country’s problems.”
“Perhaps you may be wiser than you know,” Castrillón said, “but it changes nothing. His Excellency must crush the Alamo or lose the respect of his army. As a soldier, you realize this.”
“I’ve seen many generals sacrifice the lives of their men rather than lose respect,” I agreed. “Lee at Gettysburg. Grant at Cold Harbor. Custer at the Little Big Horn. Risking the respect of your army may be a reason for a bad choice, but it’s not an excuse. Speak with your president, sir. Tell Santa Anna there is still time to make the right decision.”
Our horses were waiting in the courtyard. It was a cold, damp night, the moon partially hidden by black clouds. I helped Slow up on Vic. Ben came forward with a large iron pot of steaming beef stew.
“Something to keep you warm, General,” Ben said.
Hughes and Butler were already mounted, rifles laid across their laps, coats pulled tight against the frost.
“Guess we shouldn’t have expected much from this,” Crockett said, disappointed with Santa Anna’s intransience. He pulled a bearskin blanket up over his store bought jacket, wrapping a fur around his neck.
“Surprised your charm didn’t work on the dictator?” I asked.
“Works on most folks,” Crockett said, climbing atop his brown sorrel. “Reckon we’ll just have to fight.”
“I reckon,” I agreed, mounting last.
Troops had lined up, possibly a hundred in all, standing at attention. An officer barked and they presented arms. I saw General Castrillón standing
with Almonte and several sergeants.
“I wish you well, gentlemen,” I said, giving a sharp salute.
“We will remember you,” Almonte answered.
* * *
We rode back through the muddy streets, past the empty adobe houses, and over the rough wooden bridge. The road leading up to the lunette still had too many burnt-out buildings for a good field of fire. Too much cover for an attacking force. Given more time, I’d have torn them down. We were dismounting as Dickenson’s men threw some heavy planks over the protective ditch. The hostages were released, gratefully making a run for the south entrenchment. I caught a glimpse of Colonel Morales, who was still inspecting our works up until the last moment.
“We’ll take care of the horses, sir,” Corporal French said, a group of volunteers taking the mounts across the planks and through the gate. Travis and Jameson were waiting for us. So was John. I handed him the pot of beef stew.
“Give this to Mrs. Dickenson. Share it with the families in the church,” I said.
“Yes, sir. Smells real good,” John said.
“Have a taste for yourself, Mr. Armstrong,” I suggested.
“Just a little, sir. Just a little,” John agreed, carrying the precious gift away.
“Get any terms?” Jameson asked.
“Nothing we can accept,” Crockett answered. “Better get ready, they’ll be coming tomorrow. Day after at the latest.”
“Sooner, I think. This dinner. The explanations. I think Santa Anna wanted to lull us into believing his strategy is still evolving. But it isn’t. He’s already decided to attack,” I said.
“What should we do?” Dickenson asked.
“Make sure the men are getting their sleep now. We’ll wake everyone up at four o’clock. Keep the powder dry from this mist,” I ordered. “Crockett, Travis, Carey, officer’s call. We need to talk. Bobby, Jimmy, I want you in on this, too.”
The fort was eerily quiet, almost like a ghost town. Most of the men had already turned in, if nothing else, to escape the bitter cold. Only half a dozen guards manned the walls, and even they were less than alert. Though Santa Anna might have risked a midnight attack, I don’t think it would have been successful in such weather.
“Finally finished the new trench,” Jameson said, sounding tired as he walked at my side. “Set the stakes as best we could.”
“Repositioned the artillery, too, but I still think our perimeter is weak,” Carey added.
Carey was right, our perimeter was weaker than before, but the walls couldn’t be held in any case. I didn’t bother to argue.
French ran up as we approached the long barracks.
“How fares the command?” I asked.
“Tucked in, sir, except for Omling and Rudden. They have the watch,” French said, curious about our mission. “Sir, is there going to be a battle?”
“A big one, Henry. Glory for everybody,” I said, slapping him on the back. “Get some sleep. I want you here at three o’clock, ready and eager. Bobby, check on the men.”
Hughes and French backtracked toward the low barracks where my men were bivouacked. The rest of us proceeded to the long barracks roof, the best observation post on our side of the river. A few chairs and a table had been dragged up over the past few days. There was a 2-pounder stationed at the end of the roof overlooking the north plain, but only one sentry on duty. The gun crew was two floors down, asleep. An oil lamp lit the narrow staircase. At the end of the roof near the cannon, a brazier glowed with a few red coals. A small source of warmth for the beleaguered night watch.
I walked to the end of the roof and studied the dark fields through my binoculars. There were a few campfires near the enemy’s north battery. To my right, I saw the Mexicans had reestablished a battery on Powder House Hill. The river to the left was completely dark. Torches and lanterns burned in the town. Too many torches, as if they wanted us to believe the entire army were loitering about in the plaza.
“I can’t see them, but I know they’re out there,” I said, sounding frustrated.
“How can you be sure?” Travis asked.
“Because that’s what I would be doing. Getting ready to strike before dawn. That’s why the artillery is quiet. Santa Anna wants everyone in this fort asleep when he launches the assault.”
Hughes and French returned, along with Bonham, Brister and Captain Baugh. Spotted Eagle and Slow arrived last, keeping to the fringe of the meeting. I paced at the edge of the roof, nervous. I’d had the same feeling of foreboding the night before the Little Big Horn, which was not good for my morale.
“Gentlemen, I think holding this position will require some grit,” I explained, trying not to be too grim. “When we’re taking our stations in the morning, tell the men how important it is to obey orders. There can be no mistakes. Militia can run or fight, or do whatever they get into their fool heads. This is why militia often loses, and why professionals don’t want to fight beside them. Soldiers stand together, brother helping brother. Brother defending brother. Brother dying for his brothers. This is what makes an army strong. This is the key to victory.”
I pointed to the dark, shapeless mass of open ground north and east of the fort. We could see no movement, but occasionally, there was noise. A man stumbling. A clink of equipment. The creak of a cannon wheel.
“Santa Anna believes this position is vulnerable, and I said nothing to dissuade him,” I continued. “We have added a gun to the lunette. He’s thinks we’ve added a gun to the chapel. Crockett’s wooden palisade looks weak enough to crawl over. That is why he won’t attack from the south, but he may feint there to draw us off. When Colonel Morales was in our custody, did he say anything?”
“Yeah, come to think of it,” Baugh said. “He claimed he could walk over our south wall like they was on parade. Made me want to add twenty extra men to Crockett’s platoon.”
“Very good. Then it will be Morales who leads the feint, probably the first to attack,” I speculated, for such a tactic is not hard to fathom. “Once we’ve been distracted on the south flank, the main attack will begin. They’ll come out of the dark in three divisions. Northwest against the corner. North against the center battery. Northeast against the cattle pen. Cos will lead one division to make up for the family disgrace. Romero will lead another. I could see the eagerness in his eyes. I don’t know who will lead the third, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll eventually bunch up under the wall where our artillery is ineffective, and then pour over using superior numbers.”
“We can hold that wall. Hold it all day long,” Travis said, feeling insulted. Now I knew for sure how the Alamo fell.
“It will be your job to try,” I said. “You and Bonham. But when you hear the bugle sounding recall, spike the guns and withdraw across the compound at a run. Don’t stop to fight. Don’t even look back, just run. But you’ve got to spike the cannon first. If the Mexicans seize your artillery, they’ll turn the guns around to use against us. We won’t win against those odds.”
“Yes, sir,” Bonham said, a smart young man.
Travis sulked a bit, but nodded.
“Crockett, your job is simple. Don’t let Morales over the palisade. Jameson, I want you in the lunette. The men must stay focused on our south flank, regardless of what they hear behind them. They’ll be scared and tempted to run, but if they do, our position will collapse. We are all in this together, every man doing his part.”
“Yes, General. If anyone tries to run, I’ll shoot them,” Jameson promised.
“Now you’ve got the spirit,” I said, grinning.
“Baugh, I’ll need you in the church so Carey and Dickenson can command our artillery in the courtyard. Can your New Orleans Grays hold the long barracks?” I asked.
“The only openings it that building are the musket ports, and there’ll be a gun in everyone,” Baugh said. I thought him an unimaginative officer, yet capable of inspiring the men with his good humor.
“Jimmy, pick the ten best shots in our command and station
them up here,” I said. “In any attacking force, there are always a few officers and sergeants that keep the others going even when the situation looks bad. Your job is to target those leaders.”
“I get to shoot the officers?” Butler said, bright-eyed.
Jimmy turned to look at Hughes, knowing Bobby would envy his assignment.
“Yes, shoot the officers,” I agreed. “Take a bugler with you. If I can’t issue the recall from the courtyard, you’ll need to give the order.”
“Mad at me, General? Not letting me shoot any officers?” Hughes asked.
“You’ll be with me, Bobby. I need someone fearless at my side. Have I picked the wrong man?”
“No, sir. Not wrong at all,” Hughes said, puffing up his chest.
“Does everyone understand their assignments?” I said.
“General, what do you think our chances are?” Dickenson asked.
I could tell Dickenson was thinking of his wife and child. Libbie had joined me during the Civil War, sometimes closer to the fighting than I wished. And she was my loyal companion on the Great Plains. I could sympathize with Dickenson. It also made me feel guilty that I had taken Libbie for granted so many times.
“Almaron, I won’t lie. It’s going to be tough,” I answered, looking at my officers with a sturdy defiance. “We’re outnumbered ten or fifteen to one. These walls lack a solid defense posture. We’re not flush with ammunition. But we’ve got advantages. Our enemy is overconfident. Our Springfield rifles are worth ten muskets. My men are well-trained. And this garrison knows that defeat means death. If everyone remembers his duty, stays loyal to the man fighting beside him, I think we’ll prevail.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming to our aid when so many others didn’t,” Jameson said, shaking my hand.
The other Alamo officers followed his lead, offering a handshake before going downstairs. Soon only Crockett and Travis were left.
“General Custer, I can’t agree with your politics,” Travis said. “I’m not happy you’ve stolen the command that was rightfully mine, and after this is over, we’ll have issues. But I commend you as a fine soldier.”
Custer at the Alamo Page 31