Come Sundown (23 page)

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Authors: Mike Blakely

BOOK: Come Sundown
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“
L
ook,” Blue said. “That looks like Pino's boys coming down the road.”
“That's them,” I agreed. “They're escorting the rest of McRae's battery.”
Kit nodded. “Prepare to mount!” he shouted, his old warrior's voice booming with extraordinary resolve. Captains and lieutenants passed the order on down the line until every last man had heard. “Mount!” Kit ordered. “Form fours!” he shouted.
Within seconds the First New Mexico Volunteers were mounted and filing into their familiar positions by squadron and platoon. As they moved into place, the men were quiet, except for the rattle of their equipment and the hoof beats of their mounts. Kit rode to the center of the right flank of his regiment.
“Listen, boys,” Kit said in a voice loud enough to carry to the farthest man.
“Oigan, hombres.”
He would give the whole speech alternately in Spanish and English.
“You've seen what can happen down there. Now, them Pikes Peak boys looked brave and fought hard. They remembered their drillin', and stood their ground. They did good. You'll do good, too. Listen to your orders and do what you're told. I know you'll be brave and do your part. It's time for us to ride down there and win this battle for our country, and for the notion that men ought to be free. That's what we're fittin' fer. Don't forget that. These Rebels—well, they're
tejanos.
You all know that they've wanted to get their hands on New Mexico ever since Sam Houston won at San Jacinto. They've sent expeditions here to conquer us before, and failed. They've attacked our trade wagons to Missouri. They've sent agents to build Texas counties out of our pueblos and our valleys. Now, they've sent a whole army, but we won't let 'em take our country. No, sir! Our side is in the right, and we have no choice but
to fight them that's in the wrong and come invadin' our country. Now, check your weapons and get ready. I'd sooner die than give up a single pumpkin patch to them no-'count Texans!”
A Mexican soldier let loose a
grito
—half shout, half scream; a yell that expressed both joy and sorrow—and a host of others released their anticipation with battle cries lost in the smoky valley air.
“Move 'em out, Blue.”
“Squadrons—trot!
March!
” Blue said, and we all began our movement toward the front.
We stayed on the main road until we came face-to-face with Miguel Pino's volunteers. Kit and Pino exchanged salutes, and Kit led his men down off the road, toward the Valverde Ford—a remote river crossing out here in the wilderness, now the unlikely object of such violence and bloodshed.
We passed field hospitals where men groaned and screamed in pain. Others sat with bloody, bandaged stumps where arms and legs had once grown, blank expressions on their faces. We passed soldiers smoking pipes, or eating hardtack and beans. Some laughed at jokes; others pointed to places along the front and recounted the battle so far. We came to the river and crossed the ford handily. It was a good, solid crossing, used for centuries. A shell sang through the air and exploded fifty yards to our right. Horses ramped and bolted, but the men held them in check and regrouped, with the exception of one volunteer who rode his bucking mount for almost a full minute as the boys cheered him on. Finally, the bronc stumbled and the rider jumped off, but a comrade dashed forward and caught the horse by a rein. The rider gamely remounted, and now the pony seemed to have bucked himself out, and resolved himself to the fate of a war pony. We rode on toward the front.
There was something of a gap between Captain Selden's hard-bitten fighters, who had steadily advanced and Duncan's men, who had held their ground but failed to move. That gap was ours to fill.
“Kid, see if you can round up Selden and Duncan so we can have a parley.”
I rode among the ranks shouting for the unit commanders until I found Selden on the left, and Duncan on the right. They met
Kit at the head of his column. The uniforms of both men were covered in dirt. Selden's right cheek was black with powder.
“Gentlemen,” Kit said, “Colonel Roberts has ordered me to move my boys in between your two commands. Captain Duncan, I've been ordered to take command of your unit as well as mine, only because I talk some Spanish, and I know a lot of your boys don't speak English. When it starts, I'll give my orders in English and Spanish. My scout, here, Mr. Greenwood, speaks a tolerable good Spanish hisself. He'll pass my orders to your Mexican volunteers, Captain Duncan, so place those boys on your left, if you would, so they'll be closer to Mr. Greenwood.”
“Kid,” Colonel Carson said to me, “you'll be busy riding between me and Duncan with orders and communications. I'll use Blue as my courier between me and Captain Selden.
“That about does it, unless you gentlemen have somethin' to throw in.”
“It's an honor to have you alongside us,” Selden said. “And we need your fresh troops. My boys have maneuvered since last night, and have fought hard. They're about done in, but they've got one more good scrape in 'em.”
“That's all we'll need.” Kit said.
“Do I have the authority to give orders to my own men?” Duncan said.
“Sure you do, as long as they don't go against the grain of what I've ordered. I'll be gittin' my orders from Colonels Canby and Roberts, but I'll also have the authority to give good commonsense orders of my own. I'd expect no less of you.”
“Then I may use your scout, Mr. Greenwood, to translate my orders to my Mexican troops as he moves between us?”
“I'm sure Mr. Greenwood will cooperate.”
I nodded. “With pleasure,” I said.
Duncan breathed a sigh of relief and nodded back. It was plain he had been frustrated all day long by his language difficulties.
“Now, gentlemen,” Kit said, his voice striking a hard and certain timbre I had scarcely ever heard him use. “We've got to hold the middle of this here line together.
We must not fail.
We've got the satisfaction of knowing we are on the right side of this fight, and the honor of knowing our nation will stay free
because of our sacrifice, should any of us fall in battle. You can tell your boys to fight like hell. We are here to do our duty, and we are
right.
”
That simple speech from Kit Carson visibly moved the two captains. It was not so much the words he chose as the determination in his voice and the conviction in those battle-hardened eyes. Duncan and Selden saluted Kit and rode back to their units to move into their positions.
As Kit gave orders to throw his men into battle formation by companies, a cheer rose from the west, and we turned to see Colonel Canby riding down from Fort Craig, following the escort for the third section of McRae's gun battery.
“Are they cheering Canby or the guns?” Blue asked.
I chuckled.
“I'm plumb happy to see 'em both,” Kit remarked. “Kid, let's me and you ride up there and parley with the colonel.”
We loped across the ford and joined Colonels Canby and Roberts on the eastern riverbank. The unlit cigar still jutted from Canby's mouth. Dust and powder burns covered Roberts's uniform, for he had made several hard charges across the river to bark orders at subordinates. A few other officers joined the commander there as Roberts pointed out the positioning of the troops.
“We've taken the bosque …” Roberts was saying as we rode up. “Finally. Wasn't easy, and there have been casualties.” He pointed to the northeast. “I know we've disabled at least one of their howitzers, but that goddamn Teel is still pounding away at us. He keeps moving around in the riverbed where we can't see him to shell him back.”
Canby grunted, whether in approval or amusement, I could not tell. “How do you see it, Kit?”
Kit turned his weathered face to glance across the battlefield. “Ben's got 'em backed up as far as they can back up. They've got to fight now. They can't get out of this valley quick enough to retreat. But that riverbed's a strong position for 'em, Ed. Real strong.”
“Can we take it with a direct bayonet charge?” Canby asked.
“It wouldn't be advisable,” Roberts said.
“Kit?”
“They'd lay us low. Most of 'em are carrying twice-barreled scatterguns loaded with buckshot. Then there's some with Colts. Those sand hills and that old riverbed are like breastworks. If we charged 'em head-on, they'd cut our infantry down at close range.”
Colonel Edward R. S. Canby looked over the battlefield and terrain for a few seconds, and shifted the cigar in his mouth. A few flakes of snow fell on his hat brim and shoulders, and melted.
“What if we flank them? Get our rifles and artillery into that old riverbed where we can enfilade their position beyond the range of their short arms? What then?”
“Makes sense,” Roberts said. “Their lack of rifles is their weakness. We should take advantage of it.”
“We'll push them right up that old river channel and beat the hell out of them,” Kit added, a determined grin curling one side of his mouth.
By now, Captains McRae and Hall had joined us, having left their batteries of big guns to get in on the battle plans.
“Which flank is their weakest?” Canby asked.
Roberts pointed southeastward. “Their left. We've engaged them for seven hours now. Our artillery has pounded away at them, and our infantry has driven them back out of the cover of the bosque. They've got to be tired.”
“Do you agree, Kit?”
“Yep. Their right flank is feelin' cocky about now. They pushed our left back after that charge by their lancers.”
“So we agree that their left is weak,” Canby said. “Here's what we'll do. Captain McRae, you're to move your entire battery to our left flank. You will serve as our pivot point. I urge you to make good use of those guns when we attack. Weaken their position ahead of our attack. Stay ahead of our charge. I don't want you firing on our own men. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” McRae said with a nod and a confident smile.
“Captain Hall, your battery will anchor our right flank and support our attack in the same way. However, you must be prepared to move forward as our flanking maneuver succeeds. I want your guns on the rim of that old riverbed at the earliest opportunity. You'll fire over our infantry and weaken the enemy in advance of our charge. You must remain mobile.”
“I understand, sir.”
Now I could see that Colonel Canby had some grasp of the vast human chessboard before him, though he had remained back at the fort all morning. “With our left flank as our anchor, gentlemen, we will attack with our right. Captain Duncan will lead, followed by Carson and Selden in a sweeping maneuver. Dismount your men and move forward as skirmishers. We will swing our right flank and force them northward up the old river channel. Captain Lord's cavalry will remain mounted and support the entire right flank as a reserve unit. Is there anything else?”
“I'm concerned about cover for McRae's battery,” Colonel Roberts said. “As we sweep them up the old riverbed, we'll drive them en masse right into our left flank. They'll attempt to capture the battery.”
Canby sank his teeth into his cigar. “I'll order Hubbell's and Mortimore's volunteers in place to guard McRae's battery, and reinforce them with Plympton's regulars. Mr. Greenwood, you'll carry orders to Colonel Miguel Pino and his volunteers and assign them the duty of serving as reserves. Should the enemy threaten McRae's battery, Pino is to leave his post on the wagon road and hasten across the river to defend the guns. When you've delivered those orders, get back to the front with Kit.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a nod.
“Get back to your troops, gentlemen, and listen for the bugle.” I reined my pony away from the officers to deliver the orders to Colonel Pino. My heart pounded and my stomach twitched. I had prepared myself for battle in the Comanche way—giving my fate over to the Great Mystery—yet this war council I had become a part of now swept me up into a torrent of anticipation, energy, and fear. I did not fear for myself, for I was insignificant. But there were thousands of human souls in this valley caught in the unavoidable vortex of impending bloodshed. I hated playing a part in that, for men were going to have their bodies ripped limb from limb in very short order, like those cottonwood trees pounded by the cannonade down in the bosque, their branches hurtling through the air. I dreaded
it. Yet I knew my part in what I believed to be right. Men should not build their fortunes on the backs of other human beings. That was what this war was about, even here, in the remote valleys of New Mexico, far from the nearest working slave plantation. The Texans had come here as if on some gallant quest to hold on to their way of life. But there was nothing noble about working a fellow human into an early grave through a life devoid of dignity. I knew slavery was wrong, among any people. Here was my chance to do something about it, bloody as it might become. I was ready.

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