“We’ll wait for the scouts following Lamar to report back, and send messengers to Gonzales,” I answered. “If Keogh needs our help, we’ll need to go back.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We’ll strike south,” I said.
“Strike at what?” Crockett asked.
“Whatever gets in our way. Our opponents have three, possibly four armies separated by quarreling commanders and hundreds of miles,” I explained. “If Santa Anna can take Victoria, Fannin will fall back on San Felipe. Burleson will need to do the same if Gonzales falls. They’ll be short of supply.”
“And their only source of supply is Galveston,” Crockett realized.
“That’s our mission, David.”
“It’s a mighty big mission,” Crockett said, stirring the fire with a stick.
“Then I guess we’ll need some Custer luck to see it through,” I replied.
____________
We lingered near the Cherokee towns for a week, partially due to heavy rains. Information from the west was sparse and somewhat contradictory. Burleson was slowly withdrawing from Gonzales, but to where? In what numbers? Was Keogh in pursuit? And Santa Anna had apparently declined to march on Victoria. Why? And where was Fannin?
“Start’in ta feel kinda ’lone out here,” Crockett said early one morning as we prepared to ride south.
“During the Rebellion, the army had telegraph lines. Railroads. Maps for the dispatch riders. Texas is a land of many rumors and few facts,” I complained.
“We gots three well-armed companies an’ plenty a scouts. More than our enemies got,” Crockett said.
“That’s what I thought at the Little Big Horn,” I remarked. “Where is Tatanka? Maybe we can ask what his damn birds have to say.”
“I hope you’re a jokin’,” Crockett said.
“I hope so, too,” I answered.
We walked from our camp, the ground now drying out under a summer sun. The mounts were fed and rested, our equipment repaired. The men were saying goodbye to new friends among the villagers.
“We’re ready, General,” Butler said, organizing the march.
“Keep them jumping, Jimmy,” I said.
“General, mis guerreros están listos?” Flacco the Younger asked.
“Tell them we ride to glory, my friend,” I said, patting the fine Spanish sword on my hip.
Crockett and I inspected the preparations, offering encouragement. It wasn’t the manner in which I preferred to command. A general should issue orders, not cajole and flatter. But this wasn’t a professional army.
“Turning on the charm, George?” Crockett asked.
“I can’t afford desertions, and volunteers are notorious for running from a fight,” I said.
“Catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” Crockett said.
“I’ll be satisfied to catch Lamar before he regroups with Burleson,” I replied. “Tell your company to mount up. You have the lead.”
Crockett moved out in mid-morning. I sent Flacco the Younger and Cochise with him. They got along well, though Crockett seemed to get along well with everyone. And the Apache made the Cherokee nervous. Chief Gatunwali sent half a dozen guides with them.
“Company C is mounted, sir,” Major Baugh said with a salute.
“As are the Béjar Rangers,” Seguin reported, doffing his wide brim hat.
Both were dressed for the trail in leathers, as was my regimental staff, our blue uniforms no longer suitable for a long day’s ride.
“Proceed, gentlemen,” I ordered, staying behind for a final chat with Gatunwali. I had come to admire the old chief.
“All the chiefs are gathering on the new moon,” Gatunwali said. “If they will not fight, my own people will. We will ride under this flag.”
Gatunwali motioned to two young warriors. They unfurled a red cotton flag with a large black buffalo sewn in the middle and a white owl mounted in the upper left quadrant. The design was striking, and I instantly decided the other nations under the Buffalo Flag would use the same model.
“It’s a noble banner, my friend,” I said, shaking Gatunwali’s hand. “From this day forward, we are brothers. I will not disappoint you.”
“We must struggle together now, General Custer. Your people and mine,” Gatunwali said.
I turned to mount Traveller. Butler, Hughes, French and Voss were already mounted with the rest of my staff, twenty in all. Tatanka was overseeing our teamsters and two dozen unruly mules.
Before we could ride out, I noticed a distraction coming in our direction. It was Sam Houston. I’d not seen him since Diwali’s funeral, nor spoken with him since the day of the battle.
“General Custer, may I have a moment of your time?” he asked, reining in next to me on a tall brown sorrel. Nearly forty Cherokee were riding with him, well-armed with muskets and outfitted for the road.
“How may I serve you, General Houston?” I coldly replied.
“Colonel Houston, sir. I am resigned from the Army of Texas, but feel entitled to my rank in the Tennessee militia,” Houston said.
“Militia?” I said.
“You’ve not contested Crockett’s title,” Houston protested.
It was true. Crockett had only been a third sergeant under Andrew Jackson during the Creek War, his more exalted rank came when he was elected lieutenant colonel of Tennessee’s 57th militia regiment. And my own title was honorary as well, for general was my brevet rank during the Rebellion. I had ridden to the Little Big Horn as a lieutenant colonel, though I had no intention of telling Houston that.
“What may I do for you, Colonel Houston?” I asked.
“I wish to join your army. Me and my warriors,” Houston said.
“Permission denied,” I said, preparing to leave.
“Sir, I am a proud man,” Houston said, sitting erect.
And he was impressive, at least six inches taller than I. I looked him over carefully. A heavy drinker, but not drunk. At the moment. Intelligent, determined, but with the wits of a fox. Could I trust him?
“We will not let Texas be annexed to the United States as a slave state,” I said. “Why would you want to join us?”
“To protect my people,” he said, indicating the Cherokee.
Tatanka rode up, already dusty from organizing the cantankerous mules. He smiled to see Houston.
“Has Colonneh finally heard the ravens?” Tatanka asked.
“Yes, young chief. Though it took the death of my father to see it,” Houston replied.
Houston’s statement was sincere. I looked back to see my men nodding their heads. Though I had ignored Houston as best I could, many others had not been able to resist this living legend.
“Sir, Sam here has lots of friends in Texas, and we need all the friends we can get,” Butler whispered.
He was right, damn it.
“Colonel Houston, you may ride with us, if you take oath to the Buffalo Flag,” I said.
“I take oath,” Houston said, holding up his hand.
My men cheered. The Cherokee cheered. Houston grimly smiled, looking for my reaction. I reluctantly shook his hand. After all, the son of a bitch was Sam Houston.
With experienced scouts leading the way, the command made good time going down the Trinity River Valley. Where the river abruptly turned east, we continued south through a pass and over low foothills to the headwaters of the San Jacinto River. Unlike west Texas, this land was green, and many of the more remote ranches were yet to be raided by desperate mercenary armies. We even found a small cattle herd that we paid for in script and a handful of California dollars. When Crockett’s company raided a modest cotton plantation, freeing eight slaves, the overseer fled for his life.
“Comin’ up on Buffalo Bayou, General,” Seguin reported. “Signs show a few of Lamar’s men headed for the Sabine, but most are going toward Harrisburg.”
“Keep watch on their position, Juan. They may attempt to block our march,” I decided.
“San Felipe is
close by. Just on the other side of the Brazos,” Seguin warned.
“The Brazos is a tricky nut,” Houston said. “Runs high, runs low. Lots of swamps. Be hard to cross if we burn the ferry crossings at San Felipe and Fort Bend.”
“Small group a good men kin burn ’em both,” Crockett urged.
I took out one of the hand-drawn maps Cooke had made, for nothing published in Texas was remotely adequate for military operations. Without word from Keogh or Santa Anna, I was on my own, and possibly outnumbered. A chance for glory?
“Colonel Houston, you and the Cherokee detachment will destroy ferry at Fort Bend, but I want the ferry at San Felipe left alone,” I decided. “Let the rebel army cross if they wish.”
“If Lamar and Burleson link, and Fannin joins them, they’ll have the biggest army in Texas,” Houston said.
“Yes, I suspect they will,” I agreed.
“Kinda risky, don’t ya think?” Crockett said.
“I like the odds. Gentlemen, you have your instructions,” I said.
I waved to my staff and gave Traveller a kick, galloping off toward the muddy creek a few miles distant. Crockett shrugged and motioned for A Company to follow.
I was not overly concerned with Harrisburg, or even San Felipe. In my time, due to the railroads, the largest towns in Texas were San Antonio, Galveston, Austin and Houston. Harrisburg was a hamlet when I visited in 1865, and no one even knew where San Felipe had once been. Neither town boasted sufficient resources to support an army.
“Chief Flacco,” I summoned.
“Yes, General,” Young Flacco said, his English continuing to improve.
“As we approach Buffalo Bayou, I would like you to scout the San Jacinto River,” I said. “Major Baugh will be on our right. You’ll encounter a marsh, then a creek that empties into the bay. Rejoin us there before sunset.”
“Thank you, General,” Flacco said, for he liked to act independently. And as the Apache hadn’t massacred any settlers yet, I was willing to trust his judgment.
As we got closer to the bayou, ranches began to appear. Nearly all were deserted. Butler found a suitable ford, though we would still need to swim the horses for a short distance. A flatboat was appropriated for the pack mules. When I reached the far shore, I found Tatanka in conversation with a local farmer.
“Sam Watkins, sir,” the tall lean fellow said in a thick Southern accent.
“Armies have taken their crops,” Tatanka explained.
“That they have, sir. That they have. Left us a bit, but not much,” Watkins said. “Sure be glad when this war is all over.”
“Any slaves on your plantation, Mr. Watkins?” I asked.
“Plantation?” he answered with a laugh. “Ain’t no plantations round ’ere. Few to the east, and one on the lower Brazos. We mostly got swamps and alligators.”
“But no slaves?” I persisted.
“Mr. Jenkins got six slaves, but he took ’em to Harrisburg when he heard you was comin’,” Watkins confessed. “None left that I know of.”
“His property will be confiscated, and worse if we’re resisted,” I said.
“That’s what people say. Been published in the newspapers,” Watkins confirmed.
This I already knew. Northern newspapers had been supportive of the Buffalo Flag’s efforts, while Southern newspapers had condemned us for abolitionists. I wondered if Galveston was publishing a paper, for it had been two years since I stole their printing press.
Crockett emerged dripping wet from the bayou leading his horse by the bridle. Watkins’s eyes lit up with recognition and he rushed to shake hands. Whatever story Watkins shared with his neighbors, I could bet Crockett would be part of it.
We shook water out our equipment and dried off near some river shacks. A few miles to the west, Brister’s company was coming in our direction. It was midday when a fast rider approached from the east, one of the young Apache lads.
“Hombres blancos, en el río. Luchan,” Kuruk reported, out of breath. Kuruk was one of the Lipan Apache, a cousin of Flacco, with clear eyes and a ready spirit.
“What’s that?” Crockett asked, the lad’s accent strong.
“Tall Bear says there’s a battle at the river. White men,” I translated.
“Best we get a goin’ then,” Crockett said. “Corporal, Boots and Saddles, if you please.”
As the bugle call sounded, troopers ran for their horses. Tatanka ran up.
“There is fighting,” Tatanka said.
“Yes, I’ve had a messenger from Flacco,” I said.
“There are many enemies. You will need Major Baugh,” Tatanka said.
The boy rushed off to find his horse, and before I knew it, he was riding out to fetch C Company.
“Kind of decided, isn’t he?” Hughes said, coming alongside me with my guidon unfurled.
“Probably some heathen foolishness,” I said. “Let’s get Baugh up here before Crockett has all the fun.”
Though the mules were sent forward, I held back until sure that Captain Baugh knew to follow, not wanting another Benteen episode. Baugh waved from the front of his troop and I motioned my staff on at a brisk gait. We soon heard cannon fire.
“Must be near the bay, sir. The way the sound echoes,” Butler said.
“Close on, too,” French agreed.
“It could be the old San Jacinto battleground,” I said. “Tom and I visited there with my father after the war. If so, the bayou will be on the left, Peggy Lake on the right, and the river beyond. Could be a small bridge or two, but water on all four sides.”
“Possible ferry landing?” Butler asked.
“Don’t know about that, but a couple of riverboats could do as well,” I guessed.
“Who can be fightin’? Way out here?” French wondered.
“That is a wonderful question. No Mexican army in the area that we know of,” I said.
“Maybe the Texians are fighting each other?” Butler speculated.
As Baugh’s troop caught up, the rate of gunfire from the river increased. It was not intense, but steady enough to signal an engagement. At first all I heard was musket fire, but gradually, the sound of Springfields filtered through the trees. Crockett had just arrived as we came up on the Apache scouts. They were dismounted among the trees near an old wooden bridge. Heavy foliage screened whatever was happening on the island.
"Corporal Kuruk, donde está su Capitán?" I inquired.
"El jefe Flacco está siguiendo a los hombres blancos,” Cochise said.
Hardly a moment later, Flacco returned from his scout, walking quickly across the bridge. Though wide enough for a wagon, it creaked under his weight. The water was running low, but it would still take time to ford the creek if the bridge was destroyed. The swampy green water could easily be a death trap.
“General,” Flacco acknowledged, kneeling to draw a map in the dirt with his finger. “There are two groups of white men. The larger is closest with their backs to the creek. They are Texians, perhaps three hundred. They have a cannon. Beyond a big pasture are a hundred more white men. They fly the Buffalo Flag.”
“Is either side entrenched?” I asked.
“No. They battle at rifle range, but the Texians prepare to move forward. Their cavalry is mounted in the trees on the right,” Flacco reported.
“Any idea who’s flying the Buffalo?” Crockett asked.
“I believe it is General Custer,” Flacco said.
“I am General Custer,” I said.
“The other General Custer. The husband of Morning Star,” Flacco replied.
It hardly seemed possible, but Flacco was unlikely to be wrong. I saw Tatanka running for his horse.
“Tatanka, where are you going?” I asked.
“To attack,” he said.
Clearly the boy had been exposed to bad influences, but soon everyone else was heading for their horses, too, and I hadn’t even given an order.
“First on the bridge,” Baugh said, his troop already mounted.
“John, move left around their flank, then roll down their line,” I said. “Flacco, charge the enemy cavalry on the right. Carga de la caballería enemiga. Break them up. Crockett, Brister, when both flanks are engaged, our trumpeters will sound the Advance. We’ll attack the center. Any questions, gentlemen?”
“No questions, sir,” Baugh said, leading C Company across the bridge.
“Tatanka, you are my aide-de-camp. Stay close to my guidon,” I ordered.
The lad nodded, anxious for battle. We all were.
A rough overgrown trail led toward the pastures. I couldn’t remember if there had been a ranch or small town on the battlefield. There should be something. Why else would anyone build a bridge?
Flacco disappeared into the trees on the right, seemingly familiar with his destination. Apaches are good at that. Crockett rode to my side, our horses at the walk. We were surrounded by flags and trumpets.
“What do you think, George?” Crockett asked.
“Only one explanation,” I decided. “Tom followed Santa Anna to Copano and took ship for Galveston. I can’t image why, but the rascal got here before we did.”
“You figured Galveston out. Why couldn’t he?”
“Because to get here this quickly, he’d have thought of it before I did. I’m the general.”
“He’s a gen’ral now, too, George. Better set your mind on that,” Crockett said.
The ground was much as I remembered it, overgrown with tangled trees, prickly cactus and sawgrass. Birds rustled in the branches all around us.
“Captain Cochise, we will soon reach a clearing,” I said. “Have the teamsters secure the mules. Those who aren’t needed will come forward as horse holders. Crockett, Brister, when we dismount, prepare to advance in skirmish formation. Hughes, Butler, French, spread out among the men. Keep them steady. Voss, Allen, Williamson, you’ll stand by the flag.”
The firing in the meadows had paused. I saw smoke rising only a few hundred yards ahead. And then the trees gave way, revealing tents, wagons, and campfires. The smell of roasting beef filled our nostrils, making us hungry. A gentle wind blew in from the bay. We dismounted, the holders taking the mounts in charge as the command moved quietly forward through the brush.
Custer and Crockett Page 33