Eyes of Eagles (39 page)

Kate knelt down beside the wasted body of her husband and let her tears bathe his face. Jamie was alive and conscious, but his hideous wounds had ravaged him. He had lost about seventy-five pounds and was only a shell of what he had once been.

But he was alive.

Kate pressed a hundred dollars in gold coin into the hands of the Mexican couple. They gasped at the money. That was a small fortune. They had never seen so much money. They tried to return it, but Kate would have none of that.

“I wish I had more to give you,” she told them in Spanish. “You have done so much. I could never repay you all that I owe you.”

Jamie was so weak he could scarcely speak. For the fevers, more than his wounds, had nearly killed him. Egg picked him up in his arms and carried him to the wagon — the bed had been filled with straw — and gently placed the man on the softness.

“Now we go home,” the huge Cherokee said.

Far to the east, between a bayou and the San Jacinto River, Houston was preparing to launch the battle that would finish Santa Anna's reign of terror in Texas.

The battle cry of the Texans was, “Remember the Alamo, Remember Goliad.”

Houston's men had blood in their eyes and slaughter on their minds. And that is exactly what it would turn out to be for the Mexican troops.

On the 20th of April, Houston's men and the Mexican troops exchanged a few rifle shots and that was about all. The Mexican army was well-dressed in their colorful uniforms. Houston's men were dressed mostly in rags, for their clothing had taken a beating during the long days and nights of marching. Their clothing was tattered, but their spirits were high.

Santa Anna viewed the newly formed army of Texans with contempt. His scouts had told him they were filthy, all dressed in rags, had no food, and the mounts of their small cavalry unit were scrawny and looked as though they had not been fed in days.

“We shall send them fleeing for their lives with the first charge,” Santa Anna was told.

“Very well,” Santa Anna said. “In the morning we shall finish with this distasteful business and then make ready to go home.”

They were going to go home, all right. To their maker.

On the afternoon of the 20th of April, Houston knew he could contain his men no longer. To do so would light the spark of insurrection, for his men were ready for a fight and his commanders had told him their men were, by God, going to fight, whether Houston liked it or not.

The thinly timbered field of San Jacinto was all that separated Houston's army from Santa Anna's army. At about three o'clock that afternoon, Houston gave the orders: Move out. But do it silently. The Army of Texas moved out, silently as ghosts, flitting through the timber, advancing to the open field where the Mexicans were camped. The cannon were being pulled along by men to cut down on the noise horses might make.

Santa Anna was asleep in his tent.

About two hundred and fifty yards from the huge encampment of Mexican soldiers, many of them resting, Houston shouted, “Remember the Alamo. Remember Goliad!”

Houston's small battery of cannon roared, shattering the tranquility of the balmy afternoon.

Many of the men had lost friends at the Alamo and at Goliad. They screamed out the names of the dead and opened fire with their rifles.

The Mexican Army was caught flat-footed. Why Santa Anna's guards had not detected the advancing Texas army remains a mystery. But they did not. Many of the Texans had moved into a position only a few yards from the sprawling Mexican army and the afternoon turned into a slaughter. Houston's fifers were tootling and the drummers were pounding as the startled and frightened Mexican army sprang to their feet and grabbed rifles. Santa Anna's cavalry, the dragoons, ran for their horses, which were not saddled. Houston's cavalry galloped into the Mexican camp, their sabers flashing in the afternoon sun. Within seconds, the sharpened steel was dripping with blood, and blood splattered the clothing of Houston's cavalrymen and their mounts. The Texan cavalry rode down many of the panicked Mexican soldiers, the hooves of their mounts smashing the life from the soldiers.

Santa Anna was in the saddle, waving his sombrero, attempting to rally his men. “Fight them, goddamn you!” he shouted, his voice just audible over the howling din of battle and the cries of badly wounded men.

But his men were in panic. They looked for their leaders and could not find them. The advancing line of Texans was about three quarters of a mile long and coming at a run. It must have seemed to the Mexican soldiers to be an endless line of soldiers. It was not; it was a very thin line but Santa Anna's troops did not know this. It was not the Mexican policy for the officers to share much intelligence with line troops.

The Mexican soldiers went into total panic and confusion. They began running in all directions and Houston's men chopped them down. The battle turned into a slaughter.

Houston had his horse shot out from under him. He swung into the saddle of a riderless Mexican horse and had that animal shot out from under him. On foot, he was felled by a musket ball to his left leg, knocking him to the ground, the bullet breaking his leg. He crawled into the saddle of yet another horse and rallying some men, led a charge, waving his sword. Houston leaped his horse into the fray. Swinging his sword, he beheaded a Mexican colonel and turned in the saddle just in time to see a Mexican general riddled with bullets from the rifles of the Texans.

“Let them surrender!” Houston shouted. “They're trying to surrender, boys!”

But the Texans were having none of that. The blood-splattered walls of the Alamo and the terrible slaughter at Goliad were too fresh in their minds. The Texans went after Santa Anna's men with a vengeance. They gave no quarter as they ripped and shot and slashed their way through the Mexican lines.

Santa Anna and many of his senior staff officers managed to escape in all the confusion. As one sergeant in the Texas Army put it, “They took off like their asses was on fire!”

The actual battle lasted just over fifteen minutes. But the blood lust was hot in the veins of the Texans, and they more than got their revenge for the slaughter at the Alamo and at Goliad. To say the men under Houston's command went berserk would be putting it mildly. They were bent on killing and nobody was going to stop them.

About eight hundred Mexican troops were killed that late afternoon, and over six hundred finally taken prisoner when the blood lust had cooled and the men began to take stock of what they had done.

Houston, in great pain, lay on blankets and took reports from his commanders. He had lost eight men and had nineteen wounded.

“Santa Anna?” Houston questioned.

“Gone.”

“Not far,” Houston said. “Order patrols out and tell them to look for a man dressed like a peasant or a common soldier. He's an arrogant bastard, but he isn't a fool.”

Santa Anna was no fool, but he had a lousy sense of direction. He got lost and wandered around in the night like a goose. Not only that, but he lost his horse and was on foot. Instead of heading for his own army, located about forty miles away, on the Brazos, he turned and walked straight back toward the killing fields of San Jacinto. That night, a patrol picked him up and by daylight, he was standing in front of Sam Houston. Santa Anna was one scared man, but still full of bluster.

“I demand to be treated as befitting a man of my rank,” he said.

Houston told him, quite bluntly, where he could put his demands.

Nobody had ever suggested that to Santa Anna, but it sure got Santa Anna's attention real quick. He stood trembling with fear and indignation.

Houston added, “You're damn lucky I don't have you shot on the spot.”

Santa Anna was sure now that he was a dead man.

But Houston spared General Santa Anna, feeling that the man was much more valuable to him alive than dead. He made Santa Anna write out a letter, acknowledging Texas's independence from Mexico, and also had him put in writing that from that moment on an armistice between Texas and Mexico was declared.

Houston's men didn't like it; they wanted to hang Santa Anna right then and there, but Houston was firm on the matter: Santa Anna would be spared.

Santa Anna also wrote out a message to be delivered to his troops at Fort Bend and Houston sent two men to deliver the message. The same day the message was received, nearly five thousand Mexican troops began packing up and pulling out of Texas.

“I may go now?” Santa Anna asked, considerably humbled by the experience.

“Not yet,” Houston told him.

Santa Anna would be held prisoner, albeit treated well, for almost seven months, to make sure that Mexico kept its promise, then he was released. For all intents and purposes, the war was over. Texas was free of Mexico's domination.

Jamie's recovery was long. But under the care of family and friends, he soon began to show signs of improvement. Slowly his strength began to return and by midsummer, he was taking walks around the cultivated fields in the Big Thicket country. He sent one of the Nunez boys down to Galveztown, or Galveston, as some were now calling it, with a note to the newspaper editor there, telling him of the dispatch pouch he had left the Alamo with, and of the messages carried therein. The editor did not come himself, but did send a friend to talk with Jamie. The man did not believe Jamie's story, dismissing his claims. Had Jamie been fully recovered from his wounds, the man would have returned to Galveston with a busted jaw, along with other contusions and abrasions.

But the owner of the paper, while interviewing Santa Anna at a later date that summer, was startled to learn that Santa Anna himself remembered the tall young man with the courage of lions, as Santa Anna put it. The editor made a note of it and mentally vowed to visit the Big Thicket country to personally speak with Jamie Ian MacCallister.

As for Jamie, Kate watched him recover and noticed that his gaze often turned longingly to the west.

“We'll be leaving soon,” she told her circle of friends.

“
What?
” Sarah blurted. “Leave? And go where? And why?”

“I don't know exactly where,” Kate admitted. “West, I'm sure. I know Jamie.”

“But, this is your home!”

Kate smiled and cut her eyes to Hannah, who had said nothing. She, too, knew Jamie, and Kate's announcement had come as no surprise to her.

“We'll all go,” Hannah said, causing Swede to swallow his chewing tobacco.

Sam remained silent. Like Kate, he had seen the signs of restlessness growing in Jamie. Jamie had not confided in him, but Sam knew the Alamo had changed Jamie. He could not know to what degree, only that it had.

By August, Jamie had fully recovered and announced that he was riding south to meet with the editor of the paper at Galveston.

“I have to try,” he told Kate. “I have to try to get Bowie's message to the public. It's important.”

He had never told anyone what Bowie had written. But he knew every word by heart.

The owner and editor believed him, but without at least some modicum of proof, he felt he could not publish what Jamie had memorized.

“Those are Bowie's words, sir,” Jamie told him. “And Crockett's words and Travis's words. It's important for the sake of history that they be recorded and preserved.”

“I agree, young man. Wholeheartedly. And as you see, I've written them down, word for word, just as you told them to me. Maybe someday But not this day.”

Jamie returned to the Big Thicket, a bitterly disappointed man. Moses Rose knew Bowie and Travis and Crockett had given him messages, but Jamie could find no trace of the man. Louis Moses Rose had dropped out of sight.

* * *

Little Wolf, like Jamie, had recovered from his wounds. The Shawnee had dragged himself into the brush and lay like a wounded animal for several days. He was in the brush when the patrol came along and found the bodies of the dead. But Jamie was not among them. Little Wolf was now consumed with hatred. It was what kept him alive. The patrol had not buried the dead, and that infuriated Little Wolf. That the whites would allow Indian dead to be left for the scavengers was unthinkable to Little Wolf. It showed how unfeeling they were. The fact that he had left a dozen or more of white bodies to rot under the sun or be eaten by animals did not enter his mind.

Little Wolf did not have the strength to bury his father and his friends. He tried, but could not. He prayed that his father would forgive him. Little Wolf did not try to return to his mother's village, far to the north.

As he slowly healed, Little Wolf had only one thought in his mind: to kill Jamie MacCallister.

* * *

Jamie rode into San Augustine and bought a wagon from an American who had just emigrated from the States. Along with the wagon, he bought six big Missouri mules. It was October 1836.

“We'll leave in the spring,” he told Kate.

“Everyone is going,” she replied.

Jamie was not surprised.

Jamie rode to the Nunez family's cabin and told a very startled Juan he was giving his land to him. “You're a good farmer, Juan. You'll treat the land well. Be happy.”

Egg came to see Jamie one last time. The huge Cherokee, now out of a job since Texas had declared its independence from Mexico, shook hands with Jamie.

“What will happen to you now?” Jamie asked.

Egg smiled. “I will survive. I shall live quietly in this land of swamps and forests. Soon no one will remember Egg.”

But Egg would not survive to live out his remaining years in peace. He and the remaining band of Chief Diwali's Cherokees, including Diwali's son, were massacred on the banks of the Upper Brazos River in 1839, while trying to flee to Mexico.

Jamie watched Egg walk toward the swamps. He felt he would never see the man again. Jamie owed Egg a great deal; probably his life.

“Egg!” Jamie called.

The Indian stopped and turned around.

Jamie made the sign for brother. Egg smiled and returned the gesture, then stepped into the gloom of the swamp.

Jamie never saw him again.

Kate came to his side and Jamie put his arm around her waist. “All you have to do is say no, Kate. And this will be our home forever.”

She smiled up at him. “I only have one objection, Jamie Ian MacCallister.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. With all the kids we have, you should have bought two wagons!”

* * *

In West Texas, Little Wolf had made friends with a small band of renegade Kiowa and Comanche and they spent the winter making life miserable for the few settlers who lived in that area. Little Wolfs reputation as a fearless warrior grew, and soon more renegades joined his ranks. These were Indians who had been kicked out of their tribe for one reason or the other, usually for stealing or coveting someone else's wife... or murder. They were the worst of the worst and they liked the idea of killing Jamie and of taking the blond Kate for their own use. But riding into East Texas was not such a great idea, for the people there had no patience for warlike Indians.

However, two half-breed Kiowa renegades did step forward, agreeing to travel into East Texas and scout out the area. Since Spanish was their first language, they felt they would have no trouble with whites. The saddles on their horses would be Mexican — stolen, of course. They would dress as Mexicans, act as Mexicans, and speak Spanish. They would see what they had to see and return as quickly as possible.

* * *

The fever of moving west into uncharted lands soon caught on with everybody in that one little pocket of the Big Thicket. It took some convincing, but Moses and Liza soon agreed to move west, as did Sally and Wells. It would be a big enough wagon train to discourage all but a very large war party of hostiles.

That winter everyone worked on wagons, repairing or replacing harness, making spare wheels, and getting ready for spring. The women, of course, hated to leave their snug cabins, but the growing excitement of the children soon became infectious and all looked forward to spring's budding.

Little Wolfs scouts had ventured into the area, actually never entering the Big Thicket country but instead gathering their information by hanging around San Augustine and listening to talk and gossip. It did not take them long to learn all about Jamie's plans to move west. As soon as they learned all there was to know, they were back in the saddle and heading west to report to Little Wolf.

They had learned that Jamie planned to visit the Alamo, then cut north and west from there, heading for the big mountains, hundreds of miles away. Little Wolf smiled his insane curving of lips.

“Perfect,” he said.

And it was perfect for Little Wolf and his band. Texas was not going to tolerate much more from the Indians. The philosophy among the settlers was quickly becoming that the only good Indian was a dead one. The climate was rapidly beginning to get very unhealthy for the red man.

“There is only one way they can go,” it was pointed out to Little Wolf. “When they reach this vast emptiness, we can strike.”

“No,” Little Wolf said. “Once they leave the settlement of San Antonio, they will be on guard. And if they are with Man Who Is Not Afraid, they are fierce fighters all. Even the women. I despise Man Who Is Not Afraid, but he is a warrior without equal. I know,” he added bitterly. “So we must strike before they reach the settlement. We have time to plan carefully. They will not leave until spring warms the land. I think it would make my father rest easier if we took them along the same river where my father's bones are now scattered. Yes. I think that is where Jamie MacCallister will lie rotting. And I will take his wife like a dog beside his body. Or perhaps allow him to live long enough to watch while I humble her; to hear her shrieking in pain and disgrace while we take our turns with her. Yes. That is a good plan. A very good plan.” Little Wolf laughed insanely. His followers knew that Little Wolf was a tad off-center, but they did not know to what extent.

Little Wolf was as crazy as a lizard. But like many insane people, he was also cunning. Little Wolf did not fear death, as long as he saw Jamie die with him. He did not care if every man who followed him died. He cared only in seeing Jamie MacCallister dead.

Dead. Like his father. Little Wolfs eyes began shining with a mad glow. Those renegades close to him slowly backed away, for Little Wolfs temper was a terrible thing to behold. And he was cruel and quite inventive when it came to torturing prisoners — man, woman, or child.

His followers smiled. The taking of this wagon train should prove to be fun. There would be hours, perhaps days, of the screaming of prisoners under torture. There would be women and girls to rape and sodomize.

Fun for everyone.