I learned Cochrane’s squadron had arrived two weeks earlier escorting several sloops from Boston and Philadelphia. The small rebel garrison under Burnet had fled, leaving Galveston to the Yankee abolitionists. Tom’s arrival a few days later had insured control of the port. Having changed hands several times during the war, the locals seemed to take it all in stride.
The New Englanders were a disparate group, their outfits reminiscent of the Second Cavalry Dragoons. Much like the New Orleans Grays had been. But these uniforms were dark blue wool with off-white trousers and tall black boots. The officers carried dashing sabers on their wide leather belts, each highlighted by a red sash.
Reverend Danforth of the Boston Brigade told me that not all of the volunteers were Northerners. One troop of thirteen had joined them in New Orleans from west Tennessee, and I sensed Danforth held some suspicion of their motives. Thomas Morris, leader of the Philadelphians, declined to offer an opinion. I would draw my own conclusion when the Tennesseans returned from duck hunting on the far side of the island.
After making the customary rounds, particularly with the merchants and their womenfolk, Isabella went to visit with Hughes and Butler. Several years before, they had helped me rescue her from a roaming band of Comanche. I went to the Golden Eagle Tavern up from the docks, making sure I’d have their best room, and then limped down to the customs house. The commandant’s office was at my disposal.
Someone had done a diligent job of gathering newspapers from different parts of the country. A crate on the office floor held recent issues of The Picayune from New Orleans, the New York Herald, the Weekly Register out of Baltimore, a few copies of the Edgefield Advertiser from South Carolina, and even the Times of London. I had spent fifteen minutes perusing the major stories when Tatanka entered.
“Is it as you expected?” he asked, taking a seat across the desk from me.
“I believe so. At West Point, we learned the country had bitter divisions over the annexation of Texas,” I recounted. “The North did not want another slave state in the Union. The South wanted to expand slavery into the territories. Several times they came close to war. Even during my days as a cadet, there were bitter arguments, and three score of my classmates left the academy when the Southern states seceded.”
“What does this mean for Texas?” Slow asked.
“I’m not sure. The South may have to give up their dreams of expansion. Or they may challenge the North now instead of twenty years from now,” I speculated. “From what these newspapers say, both sides are passionate for their cause.”
“Then you expect war?”
“There is always going to be a war somewhere,” I said.
Admiral Cochrane announced a grand dinner for us that night, taking over the entire dining hall at the King’s Arms. Included were the town fathers who had stayed after Burnet fled, Isabella and Almonte, the British sea captains, and the leaders of the new volunteer contingents. An hour before sunset, a Mexican brig received approval to drop anchor and several officers rowed to shore. I rushed down to meet them.
“General Castrillón,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to see you so well.”
“We heard you were in Alta California hanging horse thieves,” Castrillón said, his deep brown eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Duty called,” I responded. “I heard you were fighting Fannin outside Victoria.”
“The pirates retreated. We had no supplies for pursuit,” he explained.
“Will you take dinner with us?” I invited.
“Gladly, though I may need a moment to gain my land legs.”
I led him away from the wharf, past the warehouses, and beyond the farthest workshop, walking along the beachfront until we were alone.
“Are you here as Antonio’s emissary, or Mexico’s?” I asked. “Or are they again one and the same?”
“It is true General Santa Anna has been invited back to Mexico City,” Castrillón admitted. “The Congress has proven corrupt. The country is in chaos. But he has not yet been offered a return to power.”
“And if he is?” I pressed.
“George, such directness,” Castrillón chided. “Have you no diplomacy?”
“You’ve been his best friend for twenty years. I have been your friend. And I have been Antonio’s friend. I think I deserve a straight answer.”
“General Santa Anna has taken Velasco with two hundred men. He expects Urrea to bring a thousand more. If he destroys the pirate army first, he may lay claim to all of Texas.”
“And California?”
“No, he is not a fool. Alta-California is lost to Mexico.”
“So is Texas.”
“He is not sure of that.”
“Then I will need to convince him,” I decided. “What do you think?”
“I am just an officer in his army.”
“Manuel, what do you think?”
“I think if you leave Texas, the Americans will come in, and that is not good for Mexico,” he said.
“When the time comes, I will call upon you,” I warned.
“That will be a difficult day,” he replied.
We walked back toward the King’s Arms slowly, enjoying the sunset. I was glad some history had been changed, for on another day in another time, this fine gentleman had been murdered on the battlefield at San Jacinto.
Just as we passed the docks near the hotel, a lanky thirty-year-old in buckskin came in my direction. He was tall and sandy-haired with a bold smile. Every inch a politician, albeit a familiar looking one. He rushed to greet me.
“General Custer, I just heard you were here,” he said with a Tennessee drawl. “How is my father?”
“Who is your father?” I asked.
“David Crockett, sir. My name is John Crockett, his oldest son.”
“I heard you were running for Congress?” I said.
“A few of the voters didn’t take kindly to Pa’s stand against slavery. But it was a close election. Only lost by a hundred votes.”
“Well, John, I was with your father just two days ago,” I said, shaking the offered hand. “The old bear-killer never looked better. He’ll be here day after tomorrow.”
Crockett the Younger let out his breath with relief.
“I was worried. We haven’t had word in months,” he said.
“Mr. Crockett, General Castrillón and I are preparing for dinner. Care to join us?” I invited.
“That I would. Thank you, sir,” he answered.
The formal state dinner at the King’s Arms was splendid. Cochrane had his silver plate brought over from his ship, and the room was lit with dozens of elegant candle holders. A small army of servants served three courses of beef, fish and poultry, along with an excellent onion soup spiced in just the right way. It reminded me of Delmonico’s. Later, a Marine band played music and many of the participants danced, though I was forced to watch, leaning on my cane.
Afterwards, the men retired to the smoking lounge. Present were Admiral Cochrane, Captain Bush, Almonte, Crockett, Castrillón, Dr. Anson Jones of Massachusetts, Tatanka, and half a dozen others. I enjoyed a fine Havana cigar, a small taste of brandy, and got down to business.
“Where do we stand, Sir Thomas?” I asked.
Cochrane leaned back in his padded chair, his ruddy cheeks flushed, letting the question hang for a moment of mischievous drama.
“No one knows what to think of Texas, George,” he finally replied. “Every time it looks like the Republic and Mexico are reaching a decisive moment, the Buffalo Flag appears to upend the situation. Between the sectional conflict and financial panic, Van Buren’s administration is paralyzed. France is afraid to alienate Mexico, for a great deal of money is owed them. Spain has hopes of resurrecting their empire if Mexico falters.”
“Few believe you can hold Texas with such a small army,” Captain Bush added. “But until a victor emerges from the chaos, none are likely to intervene.”
“And after a victor emerges? What happens then?” Dr. Jones
asked.
“George has the power of the British Navy, as long as our alliance is firm,” Bush said. “It is firm, isn’t it?”
“Yes, William. The promises we made in San Francisco will be kept,” I assured him. The British officers were satisfied by my answer, for we all knew where our best interests lay.
“And what of the South, Mr. Crockett? The stream of volunteers seem to have lessened in the last six months,” Castrillón asked.
“The promise of free land has not been forthcoming,” John said. “And the more adventurous souls have gone to California. But the big plantation owners still see promise in Texas.”
“And you?” I asked.
“I stand with my father,” John replied.
“The Missouri Compromise limits the South’s ability to expand,” Jones said. “After Florida and Arkansas, they will have no new territories, unless they seek conquest overseas.”
“Cuba?” Almonte asked.
“It’s been spoken of,” John said.
“The grip of Spain is strong in Cuba. I know. I grew up there before joining Ferdinand VII’s army,” Castrillón said.
“The South could aspire to the Indian Territory,” Cochrane suggested, for he was well-versed in Washington politics. Tatanka looked at him, then over at young Crockett. He was not pleased.
“The Five Tribes have little land left. They will not let the white man take it from them,” Tatanka said. “If they must, they will call upon the Sioux and Cheyenne. The Kiowa and Comanche. The Cherokee and the Creek. They will call upon the Seventh Cavalry.”
All heads turned to see my reaction, for none thought the Buffalo Flag capable of waging war against the United States.
“The Indian Territory is safe for now,” I said. “Let’s not look for more trouble than we already have.”
It was late when I returned to the Golden Eagle. Though I had begun to drink again during the last few years, after a decade of abstinence, I was still not good at holding my liquor. A good night’s rest would help.
There was nothing cosmopolitan about a Galveston hotel. The clapboard rooms were drafty, the floors creaked with every step, and there was the persistent scent of a barnyard. But there was a bowl for washing on the dresser, and a bedpan for use in the middle of the night. A cloth screen covered the open window to keep out mosquitoes. I had half undressed when there was a knock on my door.
“Disculpa que te moleste tan tarde,” Isabella said.
“You aren’t disturbing me, and it’s not that late, sweetheart. Please come in,” I said.
Had she never been married, or was still a young girl, I would have been more circumvent. But as a widow and of age, Isabella had the right to make up her own mind about entering a man’s room.
“We need to talk,” she said, sitting on the bed.
I would have pulled up a chair, but there were none to be had, so I leaned against the dresser instead.
“I had hoped to talk in Béjar,” I replied.
“Many brave men died in Béjar defending the town. And some brave women. I was disappointed you were not there. I was heartbroken you did not leave California when Texas needed you.”
“I should have. I offer no excuses.”
“What changed your mind?” she asked.
I was tired, and my leg bothered me. I moved to sit on the bed and she made room for me. I dared to take her hand.
“Sweetheart, I grew up dirt poor in Ohio. The son of a struggling blacksmith,” I explained. “So poor, my Pa sent me to live with my sister in Monroe because he couldn’t afford to feed me. I gained fame in the war, but not the success I wanted. My career stalled. The money I made was invested badly, and when I rode off to Montana for the last time, I left my Libbie in debt. My life was a failure.
“In California, I had a second chance. I was in command, beholden to none. I had finally started making the money I’d always dreamed of. And then Texas called me back. I didn’t want to give up what I’d fought for. For what I’d earned. Not even for glory.”
“But you did come back?” she said.
“Yes, because a vision taught me there are some things more important than wealth or fame,” I said, squeezing her hands.
“You might be a great man someday,” Isabella said, a twinkle in her eyes reflecting the candlelight.
“Not without a great woman to stand beside me,” I replied, leaning forward for a kiss.
____________
By the time Tom and Crockett rode in two days later, I had put all of Galveston on a war footing, much like City Point in 1865. Warehouses were being reorganized, a hospital established, and official government offices opened for business. The Buffalo Flag would be buying supplies, selling land grants, and confiscating the property of traitors. Dr. Anson Jones was appointed the civil magistrate, and William Garrison was detached from his militia unit to publish a newspaper. After pleading for a pardon, David Burnett was allowed to stay as a surveyor.
“Juan Seguin sent a messenger from Harrisburg,” Tom said, coming up to the roof of the customs house. “Counts about five hundred men under Thomas Jefferson Rusk. He thinks Rusk is trying to make it back to his family in Nacogdoches, but most of his army wants to link with Fannin at San Felipe.”
“Rusk. South Carolinian. Senator from Texas,” I remembered. “He opposed secession and advocated for railroads.”
“Does that mean we don’t need ta hang ’em?” Crockett asked.
“David, I’d rather not, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said.
Old Crockett and I had been watching ships in the harbor, and the fort being expanded across the bay at the ferry landing. I decided to let Samuel Parr keep most of his league of land, but it wasn’t going to be called Parrsville. I couldn’t name the new town Fort Custer, as I was trying to appear humble, and Crockett already had his own fort. We finally settled on Fort Austin, the pioneering empresario who had brought hundreds of settlers to Texas. Austin had died of pneumonia a few months after the Brazos Convention, before the war began to ruin reputations.
“This ’ere operation would be a heap much easier if we knew where Myles was,” Crockett said.
“We have Kid Flacco out looking for him. He’s got to be somewhere east of Gonzales,” Smith speculated.
“Maybe on the Colorado or San Bernard,” Tom said.
“Or following Burleson?” I speculated.
“Following Burleson where? Why in hell does Texas have to be so big?” Tom complained.
I noticed Cooke walking up from the dock, and he had some surprise visitors with him.
“Maybe we’ll get a few answers,” I said.
A moment later, Cooke came up the stairs with Mitch Bouyer, the venerated scout looking a bit green. Morning Star was with him, looking beautiful as always.
“Gen’ral, I ain’t ever getting’ on a boat a’gin,” Bouyer said, not even bothering to salute. “Up ’an down, up ’an down. Like a big jerky horse, but ya can’t git off.”
“Where have you been, Mr. Bouyer? Before the boat?” I asked.
“With General Keogh,” he answered.
____________
Four days later, the command was on the trail to Velasco. Knowing the British had blockaded Galveston, the rebels had come up with a new strategy, and it was a good one. Fannin had struck at Victoria, breaking that portion of Santa Anna’s army, and was now countermarching east. Burleson was coming down the Brazos River from Gonzales, and Rusk taken sudden flight from Harrisburg, burning the town in the process. All were converging on the port Velasco while a flotilla of supply ships were coming west from New Orleans. With a large, well-supplied force, they could then strike in any direction, defeating their opposition piecemeal. I’d had no word from Houston.
“You sure about this, Autie?” Tom said, looking back.
Our column stretched for a mile. Cavalry, infantry, wagons, carts, and cannon. Our force numbered nearly five hundred and fifty, made up of seven companies and militia units, three score te
amsters, and eighty women recruited for camp labor and hospital duty.
“It’s true we could have ridden out two days ago with three hundred troops,” I said. “And when we met the enemy, we would be poorly supplied and without artillery. If Fannin and Burleson are waiting in strength, what then?”
“We might have gotten to Velasco first,” Tom suggested, for he had wanted to move quickly on Bouyer’s news.
“No, Burleson kept us guessing, knowing all along what he needed to do,” I argued.
Colonel Crockett rode up to the head of the column. I had my staff around me, guidons and banners furled. The day was warm, our march kicking up a cloud of dust on the dry road.
“How are your new volunteers?” Tom asked.
“Most gots some ’xperience, army or militia,” Crockett said. “Thanks, George, fer lettin’ me deal with ’em in my own way.”
Crockett’s force was large now. In addition to the sixty troopers of A Company, he commanded the baker’s dozen his son had brought from Tennessee, and forty-five colonists who had switched sides to keep their land grants.
The hundred and fifty troops Tom had brought to Buffalo Bayou were now supplemented with the Massachusetts men and Pennsylvanians. I retained two companies along with Seguin’s Béjar Mounted Rangers and the Apache scouts.
Regimental Saddler George Howell, promoted to sergeant major, was placed in charge of the supply train, with our borrowed Royal Marines assigned to guard duty. I did not want them in combat if I could help it, and the sea dogs didn’t much care for cavalry duty.
Dr. Goodfellow was given the task of training the medical corp. It would be a challenge, but I’d learned during the Civil War how valuable women could be, freeing men for more important duties. His department was made up of Tejano camp followers, freed slaves, and two dozen white women. The white women were the most controversial, for such duty was not expected of them. Despite the example of Clara Barton’s nurses in Virginia. If the Angels of the Battlefield could do it, these women could, too.
“Bouyer should have word for us as we approach the port,” I said. “If Santa Anna has held the fort, we might catch Fannin out in the open. If not, we may need to lay siege until Keogh comes up.”
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