“Captain Badillo, you will remain here with the wagons until General Keogh comes up,” I instructed. “Major Brister, you and Captain White will demonstrate to the north and south of town. I want Burleson to think he’s surrounded by a thousand men.”
“Where are you going, sir?” Brister asked.
“Crockett and I are going to see Chief Bowles. We have word the Cherokee are camped on the Trinity River near Dallas,” I said.
“Dallas?” White asked.
“If someone hasn’t built it yet, they soon will,” I explained.
“Qué pasa con la segunda caballería?” Flacco the Younger asked.
The eager warrior, tall with long black hair like his father, was learning English quickly, but Spanish was still his preferred form of communication. I responded so everyone would understand.
“My friend, in another war, there was a cavalry officer of great fame,” I said. “His name was James Ewell Brown Stuart. He rode circles around enemy armies, captured supplies, killed unlucky stragglers, and then reported back to his commander. I want you to be my Jeb Stuart. Ride around Gonzales, scare the hell out of them, and then join me on the Trinity. Can you do that?”
“Yes, General, I can do that,” Young Flacco said, pleased with the assignment.
“Riders coming in!” a sentry shouted from our picket line.
We stood from our campfire to see. There were eighty tents mixed into the forest housing three hundred and sixty men, thirty women, and sixteen stubborn boys impressed as wood gatherers. Between the horses, mules, oxen and cattle, there were better than six hundred animals. It was a busy camp, and we made no effort to be quiet, for I wanted the cowards in Gonzales to fear every movement we made.
“George, it’s Tatanka and Spotted Eagle,” Crockett said, the old man’s eyes still better than mine in the dark.
They dismounted at the picket line, turned their horses over to the orderlies, and ran in our direction. It was good to see Spotted Eagle again, though he was no longer the teenager who had bravely kicked over the trench planks at the Alamo. He was a young man, my height and broad-shouldered, wearing a blue cavalry uniform. His long black hair was tied back with a red silk scarf. There were sergeant stripes on his sleeves. Tatanka wore fringed rawhide and a gray kepi hat.
The shine in Spotted Eagle’s eyes showed he was glad to see me, but halted at attention, saluting. I returned the salute.
“Sir, Colonel Seguin’s complements,” Spotted Eagle said, his Lakota accent still thick. “The Béjar Mounted Rangers will be here before midnight. He wants to know if he should position south for an attack on the town.”
If I was going to attack Gonzales, which would be a standard tactic, Seguin’s plan would be appropriate. But that wasn’t the plan.
“My compliments to Colonel Seguin,” I said. “My instructions are for him to move east of town. Colonel Crockett and I will join forces with him before noon tomorrow. He should be rested and ready to ride.”
“Yes, sir,” Spotted Eagle acknowledged.
“Sergeant, how many men does Colonel Seguin command?” I asked, for no one had word of them in two weeks.
“Forty-seven volunteers, sir. And ready to fight,” Spotted Eagle said.
And it sounded like he’d already seen his fair share. That was one thing I liked about the Sioux. They love glory as much as I.
Without another word, Spotted Eagle returned to the picket line, grabbed a fresh horse, and rode off into the darkness. I had wanted to ask him to supper.
____________
We found the younger Seguin a few miles east of Gonzales. His company was made up of Tejanos, who were rapidly being dispossessed of their lands, and original Texan colonists unhappy with the invasion of mercenaries from the east. They had been scouting the enemy and raiding where they could. Most were dressed in worn leathers and bits of uniforms. They carried few supplies, and their horses had seen hard service.
“Want you to know we freed our slaves, General,” Captain Isham Philips of the Austin Colony said. He pointed to half a dozen Negroes riding with their company, all armed. “We aren’t happy about it, but better to lose our slaves than our land. These filibusterers are carving up Texas like a Christmas goose.”
“Have you sworn allegiance to the Buffalo Flag?” I asked, mounted on Traveller and giving these frontiersmen a careful inspection.
I saw they were farmers, ranchers and shopkeepers, not the fortune hunting horde pouring in from the states.
“We will if you confirm our land grants,” Philips said.
I glanced at Seguin. He had apparently made promises but needed my approval. I didn’t care for the circumstances, but could ill afford to reject their help.
“Those who ride with the Seventh Cavalry will have their rights protected,” I agreed.
“Then we are your men, General,” Philips said.
“News from Victoria, sir,” Seguin reported. “Fannin caught General Filisola. Shot him. Urrea is falling back on Copano.”
“Any news of Santa Anna?” I asked.
“What about him, sir?” Seguin said.
“He’s marching on Goliad with two hundred men.”
“I didn’t know the dictator was in Texas,” Seguin said.
“He’s just a general now, Juan. Crockett is the president,” I replied.
“Sir, until three days ago, we didn’t even know you were in Texas. Or that the Texians had retreated from Béjar. Many thought our cause lost,” Seguin explained.
“So Fannin is in the south, Burleson is behind us, Houston is in front of us,” I summarized. “Any other rebel armies I should know about?”
“Burnet is raising a force at Galveston, but he’s lost the confidence of Fannin, and Houston hates him,” Seguin said.
“And he’s from New Jersey. The Southerners call him a damn Yankee horse thief,” Philips added.
“He probably is,” I said.
With the extra men, I was able to reform my headquarters command, taking those I knew best and giving C Company to Major Baugh, who was once again in my good graces.
We went east away from the Guadalupe River, then turned north to the Colorado, crossed below Bastrop, and then used the Old San Antonio Road to cross the Brazos before reaching the Trinity River. The ranches we found along the way had been plundered of their stock, the small towns nearly deserted. Fortunately, the unpredictable Texas weather was kind to us, possibly due to Tatanka’s intervention with his Great Spirit.
I expected to find the Cherokee villages where they had been two years before, for the Cherokee were not nomads like the Cheyenne or Comanche. They liked to build towns, irrigate farms, and cultivate the riches of civilization. I was looking forward to meeting Chief Bowles again. Maybe he would believe me now that the Brazos Convention had proven unreliable allies.
We found no evidence of a force riding ahead of us, and finally concluded that whatever foragers Burleson had sent out for supplies decided to go south instead. Mercenaries are not famous for their loyalty, and the war was proving less than profitable.
Seguin fell in with Hughes and Butler, swapping tales of the last two years. All had struggled, but Texas had the harder case. I spoke to few, and then only when necessary. There was a boiling anger that in my younger days I would have expressed with inappropriate behavior, but now I feared the repercussions.
We neared the Cherokee villages, close enough to see the smoke of their chimneys. Because the pack animals were slowing our progress, I crossed the Trinity with my regimental staff and scouts, moving quickly along a wide river road. The summer crops were wheat and corn. We saw shacks used for storing hay and pens for the stock, though they were empty. The smoke up ahead grew thicker, and then we heard gunshots.
“On the gallop,” I ordered, giving Traveller a kick.
A branch road turned up toward the nearest village surrounded by large pastures. The cows were rushing in the other direction, fleeing the noise. I saw a log building on fire.
; Butler started to move ahead of me, his Colt drawn. Then Seguin and Allen. I pushed Traveller harder, drawing a Webley. There was a fighting force off to our right, white men in rough gray leather. A few were mounted, most were on foot. I guessed two or three hundred in all. The Cherokee had retreated to the woods on the far side of the clearing, though many had fallen during the escape. Their return fire was sporadic. Had the Cherokee been taken by surprise?
“Wheel right!” I shouted. “Voss, sound the Charge!”
Though only forty in number, we were cavalry, and better armed than our adversaries. Crockett and Baugh were still on the back trail but close enough to hear the muskets. They would be along quick enough.
It’s a known fact that a few dozen cavalry look like hundreds to a man standing in knee high grass holding a single shot rifle, especially one not formed into a disciplined unit. As we closed on the enemy line, they fired a few shots but fearfully.
I realized that most of the marauders were grouped near the Cherokee store houses, no doubt plundering grain and jerky. Wagons were being loaded, and one ambitious frontiersman was attempting to catch a chicken. A score were still firing at the villagers, who had barely managed to gather up their women and children. I saw ten wounded or dead Cherokee in the pasture and at least of pair of white men.
When the raiders saw us coming, they abandoned the wagons and began to withdraw toward the south road. A bugle replied to Voss, but I didn’t recognize the call, likely a retreat. We only rode that much harder.
Small groups of stragglers attempted to make stands, usually in groups of three or four, much as I’d seen my own men do in my vision of the Little Big Horn. Hughes took ten troopers and veered toward the largest batch. Cochise and the Lipan Apache broke in the other direction, swinging around their flank.
Down by the river, I saw a tall man in buckskins take a bead on Hughes with his Pennsylvania long rifle and I made for him, giving Traveller an extra kick. The man turned and fired as I aimed my Colt. He missed, and so did I. He spun to the ground with my second shot, clutching his chest.
The fighting in the pasture became general. I saw Private Lopez get wounded but remain mounted, teaming with Voss to drive several riflemen from a ditch. Butler with half a dozen troopers captured the supply wagons. Eight of Seguin’s scouts, and Tatanka, dismounted into a skirmish line and opened fire on the trees, firing several volleys. Seguin’s men were armed with Springfield carbines that they reloaded with great speed, but Tatanka held a Winchester, getting off eight quick rounds. The raiders in the trees faded from view, no doubt running for their horses.
I guided Traveller back toward the main road leading to the village. Many of the Cherokee were now rushing back to join the fight. Voss rode up, his bugle ready, and then Tatanka rejoined us, having run out of shells. With the enemy on the run, I was reluctant to risk more casualties, but the battlefield was still in chaos. Attempting to disengage could be more hazardous than not.
“My compliments to Colonel Crockett,” I said to Cochise. “Tell him the rebels are retreating south. He is to harass them where he can, but rejoin the command before sunset.”
“Yes, General,” Cochise said with a salute.
“Cheis?” I said.
“Sir?” he answered.
“Stay with Crockett. Come back with blood on your hatchet.”
He saluted again, anxious to find another fight.
“How are you, Tatanka?” I asked. “That was brave work, and timely performed.”
“Thank you, General,” Tatanka replied.
“I need an aide-de-camp. Want the job?” I offered.
“Yes, sir,” Tatanka said.
“Tell Voss to sound Recall. We’ll reform outside the village.”
I turned Traveller back toward the pasture where the Cherokee had made their fight, dismounting and walking through the stubby grass. Traveller paused to graze and I let him go. I kept my pistol ready but doubted I’d need it.
The first two I saw were wounded Cherokee dressed in red and black dyed wool, more festive than work wear. Their women folk kneeled at their sides rendering aid. The next two I saw were dead, unattended in the confused aftermath. One of them was white. Then I looked forward and saw a strange sight. It was Sam Houston, apparently uninjured, sitting on the ground with a wounded Indian. It was Chief Bowles, covered in blood, the eyes glazed over.
“They shot him,” Houston said, his voice choked with emotion. “We were negotiating. Duwa'li only wanted what’s fair for his people. Suddenly my own men opened fire.”
I looked about the field. There were more wounded than I’d originally been able to see, perhaps thirty, most seeking shelter in ditches or behind logs. Not all were men. The attack was not a massacre, but might have become one. And though Houston had not wanted it, I don’t know that he’d done much to prevent it.
“Where is your army now?” I asked.
“It’s not my army anymore. Lamar took them. That sneaking bastard planned it this way,” Houston answered. “And if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll cut his goddamned throat.”
“Sir, you can start by getting up off your knees,” I said, finding such behavior unseemly for a white man. “The village is on fire, the people need help. Try to make yourself useful.”
With the danger over, hundreds of Cherokee returned to suppress the fires. The store houses were standing, but many of the smaller huts were in flames. I saw the village elders approach where my staff was regrouping on the road under my guidon. Several looked familiar, and they all seemed to remember me.
“General Custer, thank you,” Chief Gatunwali said, reaching to shake my hand.
“I told you the Seventh Cavalry will stand with the Cherokee,” I said. “We do not want your land, only your friendship.”
“Which you have earned,” another distinguished chief said.
I was reassured by these words, for I had not ridden hundreds of miles merely to be rebuffed again. Had the Cherokee decided to support the rebel cause, it would have been the Seventh Cavalry robbing their warehouses.
Crockett, Baugh and Flacco the Younger rode in an hour before sunset carrying two enemy battle flags. Tom would be envious. While their men were billeted, we met in a council of war with the Cherokee chiefs.
The long log meeting house still smelled of smoke, but had not suffered much damage. I sat with the leaders in circle with Tatanka on my left, much to the curiosity of the Cherokee. Crockett and Seguin were on my right. Together, we represented Indians, whites, Tejanos, and the Seventh Cavalry. How my command had turned into such a mongrel army I didn’t know, but it had worked for the kings of Persia, so it would have to work for me.
“We have summoned our brothers from the north,” Chief Gatunwali said.
Though an older man, the war chief still made a vigorous presence. Gatunwali appeared to be in charge now that Bowles was dead.
“Got friends to call on?” Crockett asked.
“Plácido of the Tonkawa comes with a hundred warriors,” a younger chief said.
“We made an treaty with the Raven, but he could not keep his promises,” another chief complained. He had been wounded in the fighting. I heard his son was missing.
“We will have no more false allies,” Gatunwali agreed.
“Your future failed, as the future of my people failed,” Tatanka said. “Now Wakan Tanka has offered a different path. Custer has fought Indians. He has fought Mexicans. He has fought the white man. Custer will fight all of those who oppose his flag. If you make Custer’s flag your flag, he will fight for you.”
The chiefs looked at me with inquiry. I had never thought of my situation in such terms, but Tatanka had boiled me down to the essentials.
“We kinda got this plan,” Crockett said, using gestures to emphasis his words. “America is a group a states, each with its own gov’ment, but united by a Fed’ral union. We kin do that same here, with a empire that stretches to the Pacific Ocean. And we’d be right proud ta have the Cherokee as ou
r kinsmen.”
“The Five Tribes had friends in our own country, but not enough,” Gatunwali said. “Jackson forced us on a trail of death to this new land, and even here, enemies seek to destroy us. We would like more friends, but it is hard with Duwa'li lying dead in the field.”
“I know your fear,” Tatanka said. “My own people have friends among the Arapaho, Black Foot, and our cousins, the Cheyenne. But the whites are too strong. The end of the trail are the reservations unless we seek a new way. You must follow Custer. You must fly the flag of a new nation.”
“The boy speaks strong words,” a young chief remarked.
“The boy speaks truth,” Seguin said. “My own people supported the Brazos government. Lorenzo de Zavala and José Navarro signed the declaration of independence. But as Americans have come from the east, they take our property. Fine old families are shown no respect. Burleson’s government even accuses us of betrayal. These invaders are not like the Texians of Stephen Austin. If we do not fight now, it will be too late.”
“And what does Custer say?” Gatunwali asked.
“Whites will continue to come from the east,” I replied, pausing to let the suspense build. I looked each chief in the eye. “They want land. They will hunt game. This country will change. Maybe, if we work together, the change will be good. As Colonel Seguin wants, and Tatanka hopes. I am not so optimistic, but I’m willing to try. Crockett is a good man. So are my friends Erasmo Seguin and Myles Keogh. And my brother, Tom. You must do what is best for your people, but you must decide soon.”
The conference ended. The Cherokee had much to discuss, and my command needed relief from the hard ride. We were low on food, the men tired, and the mounts exhausted. Hughes found us a good campsite among elm trees near the river where we pitched our tents.
“What do you think, George?” Crockett asked.
Women had come down from the village with fish and corncakes. Furs had been provided for our bedding, and several large tents had been loaned to us. Crockett and I ate by our campfire, letting the other troop captains stay with their men.
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