Custer and Crockett

by Gregory Urbach

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Got a plan, sir?” Voss asked.

  “Remember General Stoneman?” I said.

  All three smiled. After all, at heart we were still the Seventh Cavalry, and we would do what cavalry does best.

  ____________

  At four o’clock, a cannon roared from the riverbank behind Veramendi House. It was the 18-pounder threatening the partially demolished west wall of the Alamo. Powder was limited, so I did not expect a full scale bombardment, but it would provide a useful distraction.

  My first instinct was to find Traveller and join the attack, but this was Keogh’s station. It would be poor form for me to overshadow his authority.

  I did return to the river just upstream from the bridge, looking again at the old mission where two-hundred and fifty men had held off Santa Anna’s three thousand on a cold March 6th morning. The fortress had been greatly altered since I left. The north wall where Travis, Bonham and Cos had died was gone, as was most of the west wall. Green Jameson had shortened the perimeter, enlarged the southwest bastion, and built a gun emplacement on the north end of the long barracks. Where a wooden stockade had once defended the south wall, a raised platform with three guns now defended the prairie extending toward the Alameda.

  But the Alamo still had irretrievably fatal flaws. Supplying a large garrison was difficult in this part of Texas, and the adobe walls could not be sustained against a persistent barrage. The enemy cannon on Powder House Hill had softened the east wall enough for an attack through the corrals, and that portion of the fort remained a shambles.

  I could not help wonder what the enemy holding force was thinking. As long as they held the hill, they had a secure line of retreat, but Captain Badillo and K Company were now occupying the position, supported by a hundred Tejano volunteers. Unable to withdraw, surrender seemed the garrison’s only option, but no white flag had been seen. If they were expecting help, they would be disappointed.

  “Shouldn’t be much longer,” Crockett said, joining us in the redoubt. “Gots plans for the prisoners?”

  “Recommendations?” I asked.

  “Santa Anna wants ta shoot ’em, ’specially after want happened in Goliad,” Crockett said, though he sounded unconvinced.

  “Wish I could shoot them, David,” I replied. “But Señor Seguin says our enemies are divided into three or four different factions. Burleson, Fannin, Houston, and many who don’t support the rebels at all. I can’t do anything that will unite them.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t hang the ringleaders,” Butler suggested.

  Badillo’s artillery on the hill fired several shots while Santa Anna’s troops formed up south of the Alamo in full view of the garrison. Chief Flacco was demonstrating east of the fort, his Apache riding back and forth waving their feathered lances. I saw the rebels moving to protect the main gate and manning the southwest bastion, leaving the north wall weak. Keogh appeared on the bridge with his staff. The 18-pounder roared again, the solid shot ripping a piece from the west wall. Standing only sixty feet away, we were forced to cover our ears.

  Santa Anna’s company moved forward, then stopped and prepared for volley fire. The former dictator of Mexico sat behind the line on a fine white charger, resplendent in his gold-braided blue uniform, personally directing operations. Scattered musket fire came from the fort, most falling short.

  As the firing grew general along the south wall, commotion erupted on the far side of the fort. I could hear the rebel sentries yelling warning, though little inside the compound could be seen. I raised my field glasses to see Cochise’s company coming over the north wall, scaling the end of the long barracks to seize the idle cannon. Apparently the Rebs had run out of powder for the gun.

  Bugles blew on all four sides of the fort, Keogh coming from the west, Santa Anna from the south, Cochise on the north, and Badillo closing off escape to the east. It took little time for the encroaching forces to take and walls, the armies disappearing from view.

  “General, shouldn’t we get in there?” Butler asked, for it was hard to resist such a battle.

  “Wish I could, Jimmy,” I answered, continuing to watch.

  Within twenty minutes, the blue rebel flag with a white star was hauled down, replaced with the Buffalo Flag. The fighting ceased. Prisoners began to emerge from the gate, marched toward the Alameda in ragged bunches. They wore no specific uniforms and looked well spent. A messenger rode in our direction.

  “General Santa Anna’s compliments, sir,” Sergeant Allen said. “He requests your instructions on the captured pirates?”

  “Detail the officers to the presidio. Confine the enlisted men to La Villita under guard pending further orders,” I said, offering a salute.

  Hughes came up with our horses and we rode across the creaking bridge up the gentle slope to the Alamo. Men were coming and going through the south gate, helping injured friends and rounding up stray horses. I noticed the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Bits of adobe littered the ground where cannon shot had torn holes in the wall. I went inside, finding that casualties were light, perhaps two or three dead on our side, and a dozen of the enemy. The wounded were being tended in the quadrangle before the old chapel.

  I made a few acknowledgements and went into the long barracks to check on the armory where our Springfields were being manufactured. The entire lower floor looked like a factory turned upside down. Several of Señor Seguin’s Tejanos were starting to clean up. Two of Fannin’s teamsters were sitting on the floor with rifles pointed at them.

  “They got greedy,” Crockett said, inspecting several crates stacked near the door.

  Tools, molds and spare parts were boxed, stuffed with straw for protection. A dozen wagons sat in the corral already loaded.

  “They were going to take the wagons out last night,” Autry speculated. “We showed up just in time to stop them.”

  “It’s a wonder Fannin left without them,” Butler said.

  “Not if you know Fannin,” I said.

  The sun was beginning to set on what had been a blue spring day. A light wind was blowing. Erasmo Seguin was back in his shop, urgently resuming the production of ammunition with what little powder remained. I would need all he could make.

  “What are ya thinkin’, George?” Crockett asked as we walked back to town, giving our mounts a rest.

  “Béjar sure is a mess, sir,” Butler said.

  “No time to worry about that, Jimmy,” I said. “The rebel attempt to seize San Antonio has been repulsed, just like Lee’s attempts to invade the North at Antietam. The Army of the Potomac under McClellan failed to pursue. I will not make the same mistake.”

  “You’re going to attack?” Voss said.

  “The Seventh Cavalry is going to attack, but we’re going to be smart about it,” I replied.

  “That will be a change,” Hughes said.

  The command was not ready to move out immediately. We had seven hundred men spread over many miles of territory, some scouting, others gathering food from ranches north and west of town. The region to the south and east was largely stripped by encroaching armies. There was only one thing to do.

  “A grand review?” Keogh said at the officer’s call.

  “You’ve won a splendid victory, general,” I congratulated. “Each troop will form up in their finest, parade down Main Street, and then we’ll have a fiesta to wake the angels. When the Seventh moves out at the end of the week, everyone will know we’re the finest fighting force in Texas. Maybe the world. And where we ride, victory will ride with us.”

  The room filled with officers and sergeants cheered. I pretended my speech was spontaneous, but I’d been rehearing it all morning, waiting for the right moment. I put Crockett in charge, for the man knew how to throw a shindig.

  It came time to visit our prisoners, two officers and seventy-five volunteers, from what I’d heard. I took Keogh and Santa Anna with me, Keogh being the garrison commander and Santa Anna feeling aggrieved from the murd
er of Mexican soldiers in Goliad. I had made no decision on the enemy’s fate, and preferred to postpone one if possible.

  “The criminals should be shot,” Santa Anna said, walking beside me as we crossed the plaza toward the presidio.

  “Hangin’ is better. Spare the powder,” Keogh said.

  Keogh was not normally a vengeful man, but he’d taken young Harrington’s death hard. I could not blame him. And I remembered the murderous raids of John Mosby in the Shenandoah in 1864. I’d executed as many of the skulking killers that could be caught, returning evil for evil, and when General Sheridan ordered me to burn rebel homesteads to the ground, I did so with relish.

  San Antonio’s presidio, located behind the cathedral, was surrounded on three sides by barracks and storerooms. Officers generally lodged in the hotels, but there was a commandant’s office used by Keogh. The captured officers were being held in the saddlery, a narrow windowless room that smelled of oil and leather.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, bursting through the door first without introduction.

  The two jumped to their feet, both dressed in blue wool uniforms absent decoration.

  “We beg for nothing,” the younger said in an Irish accent, tall with thin shoulders and a stubby red beard. I guessed him at twenty-five years.

  The other was older, about Tom’s age, with light wavy hair and the build of a cavalryman. By his bearing, I assumed he’d had formal military training. He looked at me with curiosity, but not the contempt of his youthful subordinate.

  “Colonel Albert Johnston, sir. Houston’s Rangers,” he said, offering to shake hands. The accent was Kentucky, mostly.

  The name could mean nothing to Santa Anna, but Keogh and I looked at each other in surprise. In another time, this man had once commanded the Texan Army during Houston’s first term as president. He would later lead the U.S. 2nd Cavalry, fight in the Mexican War, command troops in California, resign to become a Confederate general, and bleed to death at the Battle of Pittsburgh Landing. Jefferson Davis thought him the most talented Southern general of the war, though Lee’s admirers disagreed. By reputation, Keogh and I considered Johnston the ideal soldier.

  “You graduated West Point, Class of ’26,” I said, shaking his hand as if touching a ghost.

  “I’ve heard General Custer claims to be a West Point graduate, but I don’t remember that name on the rolls. Either does Jim Fannin. Fannin may be an ass, but he’s not a liar,” Johnston said.

  “It’s a complicated story,” I replied, sad that I couldn’t explain. “Fannin and Burleson attacked this town, but not Houston. What are you doing here?”

  “Emissary,” Johnston said.

  “Let us send his head back to Houston in a box,” Santa Anna said, reaching for his sword. The younger officer stepped forward, fists clenched. Johnston merely stood his ground.

  “Captain McCormick, please control yourself,” Johnston said, pulling him back.

  “Mr. Johnston, the Buffalo Flag does not recognize the Brazos Convention,” I emphatically said. “Nor have your commanders been kind to their prisoners. You place me in a dilemma.”

  “And your solution?” Johnston asked.

  I glanced to Keogh for confirmation, for we shared the same experience.

  “If we may have your parole, you may remain here in Béjar until the war ends or you are properly exchanged,” I said, much of Santa Anna’s displeasure.

  “You will accept my word, sir?” Johnston said.

  “I know your reputation,” I answered.

  We waited patiently, for such a decision is important to a man’s honor.

  “You have my parole, sir,” Johnston finally agreed, standing at attention.

  “You won’t get mine, ya lying Yankee scum,” McCormick said. “I will fight your kind to the bitta’ end.”

  Again I glanced at Keogh. He nodded.

  “Officer of the guard,” I summoned.

  Lieutenant Sebastian entered with three soldados. They had joined me after the surrender of General Castrillón and served well ever since.

  “Sí, General Custer,” Sebastian reported.

  “Escort this man to La Villita, Lieutenant Sebastian,” I ordered. “Give him five minutes with a priest, and then hang him in the square.”

  “A la vez, general,” Sebastian said, motioning for the prisoner to be bound. There was a brief struggle, but resistance proved useless.

  “General Custer, may I intervene?” Johnston requested in distress.

  “I’m sorry, sir. You may not,” I replied, motioning for McCormick to be removed. “Have you changed your mind about the parole?”

  “I gave my word,” Johnston answered.

  McCormick was led away. If he thought I was bluffing, he was soon proved wrong.

  ____________

  Tom was restless, wanting to ride out with the command three days later, but he wouldn’t be ready for another week. I held a final conference in his sick room with Keogh, Santa Anna and Erasmo Seguin.

  “Kit Carson is bringing as many men as he can from New Mexico,” I said, having just received another message. “Myles, you need to reinforce Béjar, then join us in a final campaign to suppress the rebel governments.”

  “Where will you be, George?” Keogh asked.

  “Hard to say. March to the sound of the guns,” I said. “Antonio, you’ll take three companies and move south. Retake Goliad and go on to Copano. If Filisola will ally with us, take command of the forces and march east toward Galveston.”

  “Vicente may resist such a proposal, if he still commands the army,” Santa Anna said. “How do you know I won’t seize control for myself?”

  “I don’t,” I replied, for it was something I’d worried about. “But I do have one request. If you capture Fannin, save him for me.”

  “No promises, George,” Santa Anna replied.

  “Where are you going, Autie?” Tom asked, sitting up in bed as best he could.

  Morning Star was nearby should he need help, and Tatanka sat in the corner, just watching. Walking-In-Grass was busy in the next room treating some of the children injured by stray artillery fire. Two had died.

  “I’m taking five companies in pursuit of Burleson,” I explained. “He’s heading for Gonzales to resupply, but there can’t be much left they haven’t already scavenged. If I can catch him unprepared, it will be a short fight.”

  “He still outnumbers you, Autie,” Tom warned.

  “They are a rabble,” I said.

  “So was the Continental Army,” Tom said.

  “I’m not Lord Cornwallis, and there’s no French Navy to save them,” I said.

  “There might be in Galveston,” Santa Anna suggested.

  “Let’s worry about that when we get there,” I replied. “Does everyone understand their assignments?”

  “I would rather ride with the command,” Keogh said. “Señor Seguin can rally San Antonio without my help.”

  “That is true, general. I would not see Myles denied his rightful place,” Erasmo agreed.

  They had worked together for two years and grown close. I wondered if Erasmo had another daughter that Myles might marry. Or he might choose Isabella, who had ignored me at the review.

  “General Keogh and I will have a talk,” I said. “Gentlemen, you are dismissed.”

  Santa Anna and Seguin left, having much to prepare. I caught Keogh by the elbow.

  “Myles, if Burleson tries to hold Gonzales, where will he find supplies?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “Nothing left in San Felipe or Victoria. He’ll try to get food from the Cherokee,” Keogh answered after a moment of thought.

  “And I’d like to get there first,” I whispered. “If I bypass Gonzales, can you keep Burleson pinned down while I cut the legs from underneath him?”

  “Going Stoneman on me?” Keogh said.

  Myles knew much of such things. He had been at John Buford’s side on July 1st, 1863, when Lee’s armies were invading Gettysburg.
A year later, he served as George Stoneman’s aide de camp during the failed attempt to free Union prisoners at Andersonville.

  “It’s my turn, isn’t it? I let you take Béjar while I was holding the Alamo,” I recalled, still jealous of his glorious feat.

  “I’ll be riding with Myles,” Tom insisted.

  “You be careful, little brother. That’s an order,” I said.

  The wars in Texas had burdened the people, robbed them of possessions, and now many faced starvation. It was thought the Cherokee, who had done no fighting, were rich in food, and without their help no army could thrive. Custer spoke of another army, in a place called Appomattox, that had fought bravely only to fall into destitution. Custer admired this army and was proud to have defeated it, but he no longer admired the white men who brought death to his empire.

  Chapter Ten

  A RIVER AND A RECKONING

  We were marching east on the trail again, organized in five units. Four were Seventh Cavalry: Crockett’s Company A, Brister’s Company B, Company C with me, and Company K commanded by Juan Badillo. The fifth was Chief Flacco, who was surprising me with his discipline. Not typical of an Indian, let alone an Apache. I promoted Cochise to aide-de-camp, for I could not let him ride home without glory. Because Tatanka’s people were the least experienced, they had been left behind to repair Béjar, though the boy rode with my staff.

  A hard ride would get us to Gonzales in a day and a half, but we had wagons and two 6-pounders, so our progress was slower. The road was good, however, well-trod and dry. I had no desire to attack the town. George Kimble and thirty-one mounted volunteers had ridden to the aid of the Alamo in 1836. William Irvin was good friends with Keogh and Seguin. Galba Fuqua was serving in Santa Fe with Sharrow. There were no slaves in Gonzales, and they had been loyal friends to the Buffalo Flag. I had no intention of burning the town as Houston had threatened to do.

  Crockett found us a strong position with rivers on our flanks and an open pasture to the rear. We threw up a log barricade and placed the cannon to good effect. The fortification was necessary, because I had no intention of keeping the command together.