Home of the Brave (30 page)

“This is the most likely
spot but they know we’re here so they’ll find another. There’s a
dozen to pick from if all they want to do is cross.”

“Do they know your
strength?”

“Yes, sir. A Coushatta brave
that was over here went and told them yesterday. That’s when they
moved to the high ground.” He waited a moment for another officer
to join them. “General John Van Buskirk, let me introduce you to
Captain Matthew Caldwell, known in these parts as ‘Old
Paint’.”

“Proud to make your
acquaintance, General.” Caldwell offered his hand. “Is Tom
coming?”

“No.” Yank shook hands with
the man. “Tom had pressing business elsewhere. Which of you is in
command?”

“Neither of us,” Caldwell
answered. “The militia from Fayette and Columbus didn’t want to
report to us and they elected their own officers.

“John Henry Moore of Fayette
is in overall command,” Martin said.

Yank pointed to their rear.
“You have company. Four Mexican infantrymen and a
civilian.”

“Looks like a delegation of
some kind,” Martin observed.

Caldwell squinted. “That’s
Doc Smither.”

They waited until the
civilian stopped and spoke to the soldiers, then came on by himself
and shook hands with Caldwell. “I need a moment of your
time.”

“You know Al Martin, don’t
you Doc?”

The doctor nodded and shook
Martin’s hand.

“And this is General Van
Buskirk,” Caldwell continued. “General, please meet one of
Gonzales’s leading citizens, Doctor Lancelot Smither.”

“Doctor.” Yank shook his
hand.

“Pleasure,” Smither said
distractedly. He quickly turned back to Caldwell. “I was in Bexar
on business when I heard that Ugartechea had sent men to retrieve
our cannon so I went to the Alamo to talk to him. He asked me to
convince you to cooperate with Castañeda and he sent those soldiers
to escort me.”

“Thanks Doc,” Martin said.
“But we’re not giving up the cannon.”

“That cannon isn’t worth a
single drop of blood,” Smither argued. “You don’t even have
cannonballs for it.”

“It’s a matter of honor,”
Caldwell said.

“That’s
ridiculous.”

“I’ll tell you what, Doc,”
Caldwell replied. “Since you’ve got an escort and all, why don’t
you slip across the river and invite Castañeda to town in the
morning to discuss it?”

“You’re serious?” Smither
said looking at the two militiamen.

“I doubt that we’ll be able
to change his mind,” Martin said, “but it’s worth a
try.”

“Then let me see what I can
do.” With a nod at Yank, Smither hurried back to his escort and the
five men were soon wading across the river.

Yank watched them until they
were across. “Where are these other troops from Fayette and
Columbus, Captain Martin?”

“They’re camped downstream
about three hundred yards.”

“I think I’ll ride down
there and introduce myself,” Yank said. “Just in case my son
changes his mind and joins us, I’d like him to know where I
am.”

~

After introducing himself to
John Henry Moore, the commander of the combined militias from
Fayette and Columbus, Yank rode his horse to a little grove by a
meadow, where he unsaddled and curried the animal, then let it
graze on a tether. He had ridden all night, so after a meal of
dried beef and cold tea, using his saddle as a pillow he lay down
to rest.

At about sunset, Yank was
awakened by the sound of militiamen struggling to put the ferry
back in the water. He walked down to watch a ferry load of mounted
and dismounted soldiers make the crossing. “Excuse me,” he said to
a mounted officer. “Did you know that Captain Martin negotiated a
cease fire until tomorrow?”

“That’s got nothin’ to do
with us,” the man replied, dismissively.

Yank shrugged and went back
to his camp. Two hours later, he rode his horse onto the barge and
crossed with the last load of soldiers.

There were no officers with
this group of men and one or another was constantly asking Yank
questions, which he deferred to the only sergeant. At midnight, a
dense fog descended and the men in front lost contact with the
column. For a time they wandered aimlessly, then finally the
sergeant called a halt and set pickets.

At about 3:00 AM a dog
barked and the Mexican perimeter opened fire. Using the muzzle
flashes as a guide, the sergeant moved his men forward to a line of
trees to wait for orders from someone in authority.

At dawn, some Texians
emerged from the trees on foot and fired a volley at the Mexicans.
Castañeda sent a lieutenant and about forty mounted men to attack
and the Texians immediately withdrew into the trees where the
mounted men could not follow.

As the sun began to burn off
the fog, Doctor Smither was pushed onto the field by Mexican
soldiers. When he made his way to the Texian lines, he was arrested
and was being roughly treated when Yank rode up and intervened,
explaining quickly to Captain Moore that Smither had been on a
peace mission.

Doctor Smither then told
Moore that Castañeda wanted to talk. Moore agreed and crossed the
field to meet Castañeda in the center. The conversation was very
short.

As Captain Moore was coming
back to his lines, the Texians raised a homemade banner with a
crude image of the cannon and the words “Come & Take It”
painted in bootblack. As Moore reached the trees, a muzzle full of
rocks, nails and scrap iron was fired from the cannon toward the
Mexican camp. Castañeda led his troops back toward Bexar before the
Texians could reload and fire the cannon a second time.

Yank rode away from the
Texians and followed the river until he came to the ford and
crossed to where Captains Martin and Caldwell were still
bivouacked.

“What was all that shootin’
up there?” Caldwell asked as Yank dismounted.

“I guess you forgot to tell
Moore that you’d called a cease-fire until this morning,” Yank
said. “He attacked the Mexican position last night and Doctor
Smither almost got killed as a spy by both sides.”

Caldwell looked at Martin.
“I thought you told Moore.”

“I thought you did,” Martin
replied.

“Castañeda pulled out for
San Antonio de Béxar,” Yank interrupted. “He may be crossing here.
I don’t know if Moore is planning to follow him or not, but I
thought I’d better warn you.”

“Are you staying,
General?”

Yank shook his head. “I’m
going back to my son’s ranch where I should have gone in the first
place.”

November 1, 1835

San Felipe de Austin,
Texas

Yank was dozing with his
feet propped up on one of the many vacant chairs and his hat tipped
down over his eyes.

“Hey old man. No sleeping in
the meeting hall.”

Yank pushed his hat back
with one hand and reached for his pistol with the other.

“Don’t shoot. It’s me. Sam
Houston.”

Yank made a face and dropped
his feet to the floor, then offered his hand. “Forgive me if I
don’t stand up. Old bones and hard chairs don’t complement each
other.”

Houston shook Yank’s hand
and sat down. “What’s going on here? This meeting was supposed to
be held in October, then it got moved from Gonzales to here and
postponed. Now they say it’s postponed indefinitely.”

“It was moved from Gonzales
and postponed until today because of a little tussle down there
between some Mexican dragoons and a couple of companies of Texas
militia. It’s been postponed today because we don’t have a
quorum.”

“Why? Are they too scared to
come?”

“No. Austin raised a
volunteer Texian Army to lay siege on the Mexican garrison at San
Antonio de Béxar. They’re all there. My son Thomas and some of his
friends rode out to find as many delegates as they can. He thinks
there are enough that didn’t go with Austin.”

“Wish I’d known Austin was
going to attack the Alamo,” Houston said miserably.

“You’re a whole lot better
off not being with Austin, Sam,” Yank said. “The Texas militia
system is a nightmare. At Gonzales, when the reinforcements
arrived, they decided that they didn’t want to report to the local
commander and they just elected their own officers. The next day
the Gonzales Militia negotiated a cease fire and the reinforcements
attacked.”

Houston chuckled.

“One of the things we’re
going to get done in this Consultation is authorize a regular
army,” Yank said.

“Austin won’t allow
that.”

“Austin’s not here. He’s at
the Alamo.”

“Will the regular army take
over the militia?”

Yank shook his head. “We’d
never get that through, and if we did it would fracture the
delegates. The regular army will have to be separate. At least for
a time.”

Houston nodded. “Count me
in.”

“I already have. If we get
our way, you’ll be in command.”

“Of the whole
army?”

“Of a whole army that
doesn’t exist.”

“It should be you in
command.”

“I’m too old and I don’t
have your charisma. You’re a famous hero and troublemaker. The
volunteers will flock to you.”

“Oh.” Houston took a fat
envelope from his back pocket. “This is just the principal. I still
owe you the interest.” He handed Yank the envelope.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve done very well
over in Nacogdoches, thanks to Will Wharton and his brother. And I
quit drinking. Almost.”

Yank got to his feet. “Well
then, I think I’ll put this in the bank. Do you want to walk with
me and make sure I don’t get robbed?”

“The day you need my
protection is a day I don’t ever want to see.”

November 23,
1835

Two Alone, Texas

“Grampa!” Quincy raced down
the driveway with two dogs at his heels.

Yank leaned down and caught
the boy, then swung him up in front of the saddle. “Oh,” he
complained. “You’re getting too heavy to do that.”

Quincy squirmed trying to
turn to look over his shoulder at Yank. “I missed you,
Grampa.”

“Did you, now?” Yank kissed
him on top of the head. “Well I missed you too.”

“Nina’s angry with
me?”

“Why?”

“I shot a bird.”

“What kind of
bird?”

“A brown one. I cried. I was
bad.”

“Sometimes you have to kill
things for food or for defense but killing things for no good
reason is bad. I’m glad you learned that lesson.”

The front door opened and
Jane ran out followed by Anna. As they ran down the drive, Marina
came out and limped down the steps.

Yank handed Quincy to Anna
then dismounted, gave her a kiss, then accepted a big hug from
Jane. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m good as new,” she said.
“Well, maybe a little plumper than I was.”

“What’s my new grandson’s
name?”

“Johnny. Not John, just
Johnny.”

“Where’s Paul?”

“Out with his other
grandfather somewhere. Those two are inseparable.”

Yank kissed her again.
“What’s the matter with Marina?”

Jane looked back. “She
insisted that she could ride one of the stallions that Miguel
brought in. It bucked her off and kicked her in the
hip.”

“Did she shoot
him?”

“No,” Jane said. “She caught
him and ran him until he was so worn out that he was ready to
collapse.”

Yank walked forward to meet
Marina. “What part of you can I hug?”

“Just don’t pat me on the
butt.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.
“We’ve been hearing scary stories about the provisional
government.”

“It’s called the
Consultation. Let me wash some horse-sweat off me and I’ll tell you
all about it.”

~

“As I was saying, the
provisional government of the independent state of Texas is called
the Consultation,” Yank said to enthralled faces surrounding him in
the crowded living room. “We were finally able to gather enough
delegates to obtain a quorum on the third of October. It became
clear very soon that there was a faction that wanted war and
another that wanted peace. Austin was at the Alamo but he sent a
letter with Jim Bowie asking us to follow the Constitution of 1824
and to make it clear to Mexico that we just wanted our rights as
Mexican citizens, not independence.”

“Boo,” Josiah Whipple said,
then he sniggered.

“As you might expect there
was a long and heated debate,” Yank continued. “But the deadlock
was finally broken when Sam Houston said that if we voted for
complete independence we’d get no support from the rest of the
citizens of Mexico. That made enough sense for a compromise to be
put forward that we hope will garner support from the federalists
here in Mexico and the United States. The resolution passed
thirty-three to fourteen.”