Custer and Crockett Read online

  “Someone is coming,” Slow suddenly said, otherwise disinterested in the conversation.

  “And who is that?” Smith asked.

  “One known to the general. It will bring change,” Slow said.

  “Good or bad?” Tom asked.

  “It will be good,” I quickly said. “Custer’s luck.”

  “Haven’t seen much of that lately,” Cooke said.

  “Then you’re not paying attention, Queen’s Own. Not paying attention at all,” I replied, suddenly feeling better for no reason.

  “General! Enemy approaching!” Voss shouted from the Customs House across the plaza.

  “What enemy, Henry?” Smith called out.

  “Sir, it’s the whole goddamn Mexican army!” Voss replied.

  I smiled, looked over at Slow, and clapped my hands together.

  “Excellent,” I said.

  Before any of my surprised officers could react, I charged down the stairs to the plaza. What had been a half-baked idea a week before now appeared possible.

  “Sepulveda, organize your lancers, full dress uniforms. Parade them to the dock,” I ordered. “Tom, Smith, draw your men into the buildings around the plaza. Butler, sharpshooters on the roof of the warehouse. Heads down, not a peep out of anyone. Bouyer? Bouyer? Where the hell are you, you half-breed?”

  “No reason ta git insultin’, Gen’ral,” Bouyer said, emerging from a tavern with a tankard in one hand and a barmaid in the other.

  “Take Kellogg. Go down to the pier and keep watch on the harbor. Take a Mexican flag with you and wave it when you hear the bugle,” I demanded.

  Bouyer made no response, loping off with his head down. Dressed as civilians, neither would look suspicious if seen from the opposite shore.

  “Colonel Almonte, I would not compromise your honor in this. Please stay with our horses in the meadow,” I advised.

  “I swore to serve your staff, General. I will not break my word,” he replied.

  “I would still feel better if you watched the mounts. We only have a few hired boys. I don’t want them getting nervous,” I gently said, for I had no desire to offend him.

  “It will be as you say, sir,” Almonte said, departing for the damp meadow that would one day be a city.

  “Isabella, Morning Star. Gather some of the women. Find fish baskets and a vegetable cart. Follow Sepulveda down to the dock ready for market day,” I said.

  “We will sell fish to the enemy?” Isabella asked.

  “Be friendly, Izzy. Just be friendly,” I said.

  As everyone rushed off to follow my instructions, I climbed up on the bastion of the Customs House, taking out my binoculars. Above me flapped the Mexican flag that we’d hoisted that afternoon. I saw Sepulveda take G Company down toward the water smartly dressed in the captured Tampico Lancer uniforms, forming his ranks well. He needed no explanation from me on what to do, being a clever man. Soon Isabella and Morning Star joined them with a dozen Tejano women, all excitedly carrying products to sell. After setting C Company behind the corrals surrounding the plaza, Tom joined me on the wall. Voss followed a moment later, his bugle ready.

  “What is it, Autie?” Tom said, out of breath.

  “It’s not the whole damn Mexican army, but there are about two hundred cavalry,” I said, watching through a British spyglass we’d found in the harbor master’s locker. “Dust to the west. Possibly infantry. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Shouldn’t we consider withdrawing?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said, hunkering down.

  On the other side of Galveston Bay several miles away, on a strip of beach I had known as Virginia Point, the cavalry were unsaddling their horses. The ferry landing did not offer many amenities, just a stable and a few sparse buildings for quarters. Most of the land was marshy and undeveloped, used for ranching.

  I watched an officer in a red jacket, possibly a colonel, come down to the waterfront looking at the harbor with field glasses. Sepulveda’s company remained in formation on the dock, the captured banner flapping in a light wind. Half a dozen Mexican officers were soon being rowed across the bay by a crew of enlisted men in a commandeered ferryboat.

  “Looks like someone’s in a hurry for warm food and a comfortable bed,” I whispered.

  “Someone you know?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, Tommy. An old friend,” I replied. “It’s General Antonio López de Santa Anna.”

  The white men of the east and the brown men of the south are not the same tribe, yet they both seek glory in conquest. While riding to the place of many ships, I saw lands far from those of the Sioux and our cousins, the Cheyenne. There were many animals. The buffalo, elk, deer, and bear. Birds filled the trees. Beaver damned the streams. Crops were grown in great abundance, easing the want of winter. And those who did not hunt or farm traded the white man’s goods. I realized such riches could tempt my people from our traditions, for life on the plains is hard. But Custer had proven that warriors will always be needed, for the more a people have, the more others will come to take it away.

  Chapter Three

  CHEROKEE MORASS

  As word spread of the dictator’s approach, the command burst into excitement. I motioned for Butler to keep the men calm, then signaled Cooke and Smith.

  “No firing unless I give the word,” I ordered, going into the Customs House courtyard. Hughes was there waiting with his Henry repeating rifle, Voss with a Springfield.

  “Stand just inside the gate. Follow a few paces behind when I make my move,” I instructed.

  “Are we going to shoot another general, sir?” Hughes asked.

  “That remains to be seen,” I replied.

  Thanks to Maria, my uniform was clean, the wide collars straight, and my red silk scarf neatly tied. My blue blouse had a few wrinkles, and the knees of my gray pants were stained, but the noble sword hanging from my belt still marked me as an officer and a gentleman. I adjusted my campaign hat against the setting sun.

  The ferry finished the long channel crossing and was quickly tied to a rough wooden dock. Santa Anna was helped from the boat by a corporal, dusty but well-dressed in a fine blue uniform. His tall cocked hat made him look like an admiral. He was accompanied by a colonel, a major, and two lieutenants, all appropriately attired for the president’s staff. Fifteen privates and a sergeant, tired from rowing, came last. They were armed with carbine muskets. The rough bay had probably dampened their gun powder.

  Logs imbedded in the mud formed a staircase up from the dock, necessary on the otherwise slick ground. Now that the sun had set, the dock and plaza were lit by torches. Sergeant Fuentes guided the party, Sepulveda hanging back with his lancers. Fuentes seemed to be doing the talking, for Sepulveda bore a great hatred toward Santa Anna, whose troops had sacked Zacatecas.

  They reached the plaza surrounded by women offering fresh bread and tortillas. Santa Anna waved his hand casually and the privates came forward to accept the baskets, one of the lieutenants distributing pesos. Isabella glanced over at the Customs House and saw me in the doorway. I nodded and the women began to back away.

  “Nos quedamos en el hotel,” Santa Anna said, pointing to my headquarters.

  “Lo siento mucho, Señor Presidente. Las habitaciones están ocupadas,” I said, walking into the plaza with my pistols holstered. Santa Anna recognized me. I grinned.

  “Señor Custer?” he said, hand clutching his sword.

  “I’m afraid so,” I replied, giving the signal.

  At once, companies C and E rose from their positions, rifles aimed. G Company rushed up from the dock, lances nearly poking the Mexican troopers in the ribs, many of whom dropped their baskets. Hughes, Voss, and even Slow, rushed to my side.

  “A Mexican flag flies from this town,” Santa Anna indignantly said.

  “And it will, as long as I have anything to say about it,” was my response.

  Santa Anna and his officers looked around for a solution, but there was none.


  “Señor President, you invited me to dinner in Béjar. I would like to return the compliment. Will you dine with me?” I invited.

  Santa Anna was no fool. The son of a minor official, he had clawed his way to power in Mexico City and tenaciously held it despite betrayals and revolt.

  “My pleasure, General Custer,” he replied.

  I had met Santa Anna once before, at a fine supper in San Antonio cooked by Ben Travane. Crockett and I sought to avoid a fight at the Alamo, but the dictator could not be dissuaded. He was about forty years old, stood 5’10”, and well proportioned, with black hair and large dark eyes. He looked Caucasian rather than Mexican, being of Spanish heritage. Yet it was his charisma that set him aside from ordinary mortals. As Crockett might say, he could charm the hide off a polecat.

  Private Gutiérrez, the dictator’s middle-aged orderly, was allowed to stay. As was Colonel José María Romero, commander of the elite Matamoros Battalion that had attempted to storm the south wall of the Alamo. I had met Romero in Béjar and didn’t particularly like him, but he was my age and without doubt a courageous soldier. All of the others were rowed back across the bay with the incredible story that their president had been captured by the impertinent General Custer.

  “You have a port. And a navy,” Santa Anna said, sipping wine on my hotel balcony. He wore a thick shawl for protection from the cold. I wore my fringed buckskin coat and red silk scarf around my neck.

  “Only a port. The schooner is the Pennsylvania, American register. We will have to give it back or risk war with the United States,” I said.

  I was also sipping wine, though watered.

  With us was Isabella, Tom, Juan Almonte, Colonel Romero and Slow. Kellogg wanted to attend but I kept him waiting in the next room. Drinking bourbon, no doubt. Butler was guarding the door.

  “We?” Santa Anna said.

  “I seized the ship in the name of Mexico,” I reported.

  “You are very bold,” Santa Anna remarked.

  “The other two ships in the bay are also American merchants. They’ve been ordered not to leave, and believing our cannon capable of stopping them, they have complied. I’m negotiating for their cargo,” I said.

  “They are pirates. And the servants of pirates,” Romero declared.

  “Yes, they are pirates,” I agreed. “They have come to steal our land.”

  “Our land?” Santa Anna said, leaning forward.

  “The Buffalo Flag represents the people of Texas,” I said. “But that does not mean our Mexican neighbors are excluded. Once this rebellion is suppressed, you and I can sit down and decide the best way to rule this province.”

  “You presume much, General,” Santa Anna said.

  “More, now that you are my guest,” I replied, raising my glass to him.

  “It must be said, you are a man of no uncommon destiny, to outwit the Napoleon of the West,” Santa Anna responded. “What is it you really want?”

  “I want a land grant.”

  “You appear to have Texas. Is that not enough?” Santa Anna asked.

  “No, I have another province in mind,” I answered.

  “Would this province require you to leave Texas?”

  “Yes, it would. Possibly for several years.”

  “The province is yours. Let us sign the documents,” he said.

  Santa Anna was joking. He had no intention of giving away any part of Mexico without a fight. But he was intrigued by the prospect of getting rid of me, and not above a ruse to accomplish it. We had found common ground.

  “Señora Velázquez, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Santa Anna said, changing the subject. Isabella seemed briefly miffed, but quickly regained a pleasant demeanor.

  “It has been two years, Antonio. Since the night you sent Alejandro to his death at Monclova,” she replied, elegantly sipping her soup while fussing with a napkin.

  “A commander must order men into danger when the country is threatened, even brave officers such as your husband,” Santa Anna said. “Would you not agree, General Custer? Have you not ordered many to their deaths?”

  “A leader is forced to make such decisions,” I said. “Though a wise leader does not make such orders unnecessarily. Like you did at the Alamo.”

  “Or you did, on the Little Big Horn,” Santa Anna said.

  “I see someone has been speaking out of school. But certainly a man of your sophistication does not believe such fantastical tales?” I said, glancing suspiciously at Almonte. But Juan appeared clueless, nor would I think him a spy.

  “I will believe anything that helps protect the people of Mexico,” Santa Anna responded. A politician’s answer.

  Maria returned from the kitchen with a big platter of sizzling beef steaks. I was surprised to see her followed by a middle-aged Negro woman, her hair wrapped in a bun with white silk. She reminded me of Mary, Libbie’s loyal colored servant during our years in Kansas. John was with them, bringing more wine.

  “You are keeping slaves?” Romero asked.

  “They are free,” Tom said. “Free and well paid.”

  “They will be well paid,” I corrected. “The Seventh Cavalry is a little short of funds at the moment. Much as you are.”

  “Money is always a problem for any army,” Santa Anna agreed.

  Whether Santa Anna knew I had possession of his abandoned war chest, I didn’t know. Nor did I volunteer the information. Most of the funds had been given to Erasmo Seguin to buy munitions.

  “How much of your army survives, presidente?” Almonte asked.

  “Enough to defeat our enemies, Juan. Are you ready to return to my service?” Santa Anna asked.

  “When General Castrillón was left with eight hundred starving soldiers on the San Antonio plains, I was offered in trade for mercy. My word is pledged,” Almonte answered with mixed emotions.

  “Promises given under duress are not binding,” Santa Anna said. The same fatal advice he had given his brother-in-law, General Cos, who had broken his parole and returned to Texas with an army. Cos died on the north wall of the Alamo only a few feet from Travis.

  “My word is pledged,” Almonte repeated.

  “Unless your new master releases you from his service?” Santa Anna urged.

  “It is not Custer’s decision to make,” Slow suddenly said.

  “I see you still travel with the mysterious medicine boy,” Santa Anna said, feigning amusement. But I remembered the dictator’s threats during our dinner in Béjar, and how his umbrage nearly caused a duel. Slow had belittled Santa Anna for his lack of vision, and Santa Anna had little patience for precocious children. I suggested that Santa Anna and I settle the future of Texas man to man, but he would have none of it.

  “The Almonte has a great destiny,” Slow said, unimpressed with the president of Mexico. Or anyone, for that matter, except Butler, Voss and Hughes, who he admired.

  “Juan Almonte is a junior officer who has betrayed his general, and for that there will be consequences,” Santa Anna said, just as unimpressed.

  I was enjoying myself.

  “More wine, sir?” I asked, taking the bottle from John and pouring it myself.

  “You have mentioned my old friend, Manuel Castrillón. How does he fare?” Santa Anna asked, tasting the wine without insulting its vintage.

  “The general fares well. He will be returned to your service when I return to San Antonio,” I said.

  “Oh, you expect to ride so far?” Romero asked.

  “Sir, the Seventh Cavalry can ride wherever it wants,” I said.

  “I am in no position to stop you,” Santa Anna agreed. “What may I expect of my captivity?”

  “Better than you gave the Georgia Battalion at Refugio,” Tom said, having heard of the executions.

  “That is a relief,” Santa Anna said. “Perhaps it is best I turn in. This has been a long day.”

  “Your room is next to mine,” I said, motioning for Butler to provide escort.

  The president
set his napkin on the crude table, straightened his long black jacket, and strolled from the room as if leaving a meeting of Congress. Colonel Romero and the orderly followed.

  “Tom, make sure our friend is well guarded. And have a patrol keep watch on the shoreline, just in case the Mexicans try a rescue,” I said.

  Tom took Voss with him, quick to implement my orders. If he hadn’t already given the order without telling me. I lingered with Isabella, anticipating dessert.

  The next morning I toured the harbor in good humor, congratulating G Company on a job well done. With captured funds intended for Houston, I had Cooke pay the troops, for which they were grateful. The tavern whores would have a busy night.

  The Mexican army across the bay had grown to six hundred, but I wasn’t worried. There weren’t enough boats to transport them in strength, and our Springfields would kill the crews long before their own guns could get within range. Our two captured cannon, nicknamed the Twin Sisters, were stationed on the benchland overlooking the bay.

  The American schooner Pennsylvania was an interesting ship. Captain Jack Delaure had chosen to remain aboard with his sailors, mostly Frenchmen from New Orleans, with a few free Negros and a Cuban cook. I guessed the ship at ninety feet in length, with two tall masts and a good-sized cargo hold. She carried two six-pounders for protection, the cannon placed forward on either side of the bow. My teamsters had assisted unloading vital supplies.

  “I understand the Mexicans have confiscated your ship for piracy,” I said, having boarded the sturdy vessel to stand at the wheel.

  “The only Mexicans I’ve seen were rowed back yesterday, except for the tyrant, who you should hang,” DeLaure said, a robust man in his early fifties with curly gray hair and hazel eyes. He walked the deck with bowed legs, and had a beard bristly enough to scrub the deck with.

  “Well, Captain, there are Santa Anna’s Mexicans, and there are my Mexicans. And there is your ship. I suppose we could let you sail back to the United States, though it seems like a waste,” I said.

  “You’ve already stolen my cargo. What more do you want?”