Home of the Brave (31 page)

“So who’s the governor of
Texas?” Jane asked.

“Stephen Austin, of course,”
Anna replied.

“No.” Yank shook his head.
“He was nominated but he lost to Henry Smith. James Robinson was
elected lieutenant governor.”

“What about you, Father?”
Anna asked. “Were you elected to anything?”

“They elected me as a second
delegate from here. All delegates are members of the General
Council. That’s as deeply as I want to be involved in
politics.”

“We heard there’s to be a
regular army,” Whipple said. “Who’s in command?”

“Major General Sam Houston,”
Yank said proudly.

“It should have been you or
Thomas,” Anna said heatedly.

Yank shook his head. “Thomas
has this ranch, a family and other responsibilities. I’m too old
and not political enough. Sam’s been a politician, a businessman
and a soldier, not to mention a Cherokee. He’s the right man for
the job.”

“You’re not too old,” Marina
grumped. “You’re just too lazy.”

Yank looked offended. “Well,
if you’re going to press the issue my dear, the real reason that
I’m not there with Houston or Austin is that this isn’t my country.
If Texas ever becomes a state in the United States perhaps I’ll
become less lazy.”

“Mother’s just feeling old
because a horse bucked her off,” Anna said.

“I wouldn’t be feeling old
if your father wasn’t always reminding me,” Marina grumbled. “Go on
John. Finish your story so we can all get back to work.”

January 30, 1836

Goliad, Texas

Yank Van Buskirk was wrapped
in a horse blanket and huddled in a corner between two stone
parapets of the Presidio La Bahia.

“How come every time I see
you, you’re sleeping?” Sam Houston asked loudly.

Yank pushed his hat back to
look up at Houston. “Hello, Sam. About time you got
here.”

Houston crouched to look
into Yank’s face. “You look like shit, Yank.”

“Some of your Cherokee
friends shot an arrow into me that’s been giving me some trouble.
Please accept my apologies. I had to kill three of ‘em. Hope they
weren’t relatives of yours.”

“Where was this?”

“Up north. I don’t know
whose band they were from.”

“Have you seen a
doctor?”

“Hell no. A doctor will want
to cut off my leg.”

“Let me see it.”

Yank pulled up his pant leg
above his boot top and carefully unwrapped the bloody bandage that
was covering the wound in his calf.

“Jesus Christ, Yank.
There’re worms in it.”

“They’re not worms, they’re
maggots. I put fifty of them in there to eat the corrupt
flesh.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m alive. Without the
maggots I wouldn’t be.”

“You don’t look all that
good.”

“I’ll be okay in a few more
days. Old Sally back home said that it took six days. It’s been
eight but I let the corruption get too far.”

“Do maggots live eight days
before they turn into flies?”

Yank shook his head. “You
have to change the bandage and then replace the maggots every two
days. I’ve hung a deer carcass out behind the church that’s
supplying fresh maggots.”

Houston sat down beside him.
“I’ll take you home.”

Yank gave him a disapproving
look.

“Don’t look at me like that.
I’ve decided to furlough myself until the Constitutional Convention
so I’ve got nothin’ better to do until the first of
March.”

“Furlough yourself? What
kind of foolishness is that?”

“It’s not foolishness, Yank.
The situation with the politics and the intrigue makes it
impossible to run the army. Unless our so-called government lets me
alone I’m just wasting my time.”

“Don’t make me keep asking
questions and just tell me what the hell you’re talking about,
Sam.”

Houston shrugged. “Well, I
guess you know that after Santa Anna’s brother-in-law, General Cos,
surrendered the Alamo, Austin sent James Grant and Frank Johnson to
attack Matamoros without even discussing it with me?”

“Yes. That was a foolish
thing for him to do but hardly worth turning your back on your
command over.”

“Now wait a minute. I’m just
getting started.”

Yank nodded. “Sorry. Go
on.”

“Before Grant and Johnson
left, they stripped the Alamo of nearly everything useful. Colonel
Neill doesn’t have enough men or materiel to hold it if he’s
attacked and he’s begging me for help.”

“So who are you
sending?”

“I sent Jim Bonham and some
of the Mobile Grays over from San Filipe when I was there. I sent
Jim Bowie yesterday. And I’m here to send Fannin today. That’s a
direct violation of my orders to stay neutral, by the
way.”

“Neutral?”

“Yes.” Houston nodded. “My
orders are to remain neutral in matters between Texas and Mexico. I
was told to negotiate a treaty with the Cherokee
instead.”

“How many men do they
have?”

“Who?”

“Bonham and
Bowie.”

“Thirty.”

“Thirty? That’s
all?”

“Yes.”

“So all they’ll really have
are the men that Fannin takes from here.”

“That’s about the size of
it.”

Yank sighed. “Where’s
Travis?”

“San Filipe. Until I can get
control of the army away from Austin and the politicians, the
Alamo’s at risk. I don’t want to be held responsible if it falls,
so I’m furloughing myself until the convention.”

“What about the treaty with
the Cherokees?”

“That’s done. They were
happy to have somebody to help them fight the Comanches. I might as
well take you home in a wagon so you don’t have to walk on that
worm-infested leg.”

“Done? If it was done I
wouldn’t have this worm-infested leg.”

“It’ll take a while for the
word to spread to all the bands. Stop avoiding my question. Do you
want me to take you home or not?”

“Not home, but if you could
take me someplace that’s warm and has a bed I’d be grateful. When
I’m stronger, we’ll decide what we’re going to do about
Austin.”

February 22,
1836

San Antonio de Béxar,
Texas

Sam Houston walked into the
bar at the Southern Hotel and raised his hand to Yank who was
sitting alone at a table in the back.

With both hands, Yank took
his foot down from the opposite chair then stood up to shake hands
with Houston. “How does the Alamo look?”

“Pitiful. None of the
supplies that Neill’s been begging for have come.”

“Did Bowie and Bonham ever
get here?”

“Yes. A couple of weeks ago.
Their messenger went home, got lost or got killed. Travis is here
too. And former Congressman David Crockett, who claims that he’s a
friend of yours.”

“Did you know Davy when he
was with Jackson?”

“No. I just met him. He’s a
very colorful character.”

“He’s nowhere near as
colorful as you.”

“He’s a close second then.
He wears a coonskin cap, with the tail intact.”

“A good twenty percent of
your army wears coonskin caps.”

“True, but not a one of them
was ever a United States Congressman.”

Yank laughed. “We quarreled
the last time we met. Maybe I’ll go down there tomorrow and see him
to try to patch it up. He’s a good man.”

“I wanted to talk to you
about tomorrow.”

“So talk.”

“Do you think you can
ride?”

“Yes. I’m right as
payday.”

“Good. I’d like to head back
to Goliad in the morning as soon as you’re ready and see why Fannin
isn’t at the Alamo.”

“Okay. But why do you need
me?”

“Fannin’s a bit hard to
handle. He may respond better to you.”

“Why wait until the morning?
Let’s go now.”

“There’s a baile tonight at
Domingo Bustillo’s house to celebrate Washington’s Birthday. I
really have to put in an appearance and we both could use some
fun.”

“A party? Uh-uh.” Yank shook
his head. “Count me out.”

“Oh don’t be like that,
Yank. Crockett will be there. Domingo just lives a short ways north
of here on Soledad Street. Come on. Please.”

“Okay,” Yank said after a
moment. “We can get packed and ready, and then leave right after
the dance.”

“I can tell you’ve not had
much of a social life in Texas. The baile will last until
dawn.”

“My gimpy leg will give you
an excuse to leave early. If you really are in a hurry to go, that
is.”

“I’m not in much of a
hurry but Santa Anna is. Deaf Smith says he crossed the Rio Grande
on the 16
^th
. He’ll be here within a week.”

“Where’s Smith
now?”

“I sent him back to
Gonzales.”

“Who’s watching Santa
Anna?”

“The outposts.”

“You ought to reconsider
that. Santa Anna’s famous for using flying columns. We should have
eyes on him every minute.”

“I’ll think about it
tomorrow. Right now I’m gonna take a real long bath, get a shave
and have my clothes brushed so I look my best for all the señoritas
tonight.”

Yank stood up. “I’ll meet
you in front of the stables at sundown and then you can decide when
we’re going to leave for Goliad.”

February 23,
1836

Calaveras Creek,
Texas

Yank turned in his saddle
and looked back toward the northwest. “Did you hear
that?”

Houston was dozing in his
saddle. “Huh?”

“Does that sound like
artillery?”

Houston sat up and looked
around at the cloudy sky. “Thunder? Maybe there’s a storm comin’
and we’re fixin’ to get wet.”

“No. I think that’s the
sound of guns, Sam.”

“I’m starting to worry about
you, Yank. Last night you saw Santa Anna disguised as a mule driver
at Domingo’s party and this morning you’re hearing his
guns.”

“That mule driver must have
been his twin brother if it wasn’t really Santa Anna.”

“What would the dictator of
Mexico be doing at George Washington’s birthday party?”

“Counting enemy officers and
learning what he could from drunks.”

“He could get the
information from his spies, or any of those pretty señoritas,
without risking being recognized.”

“Why would he fear being
recognized? I recognized him but nobody believed me.”

“Well you created enough
stir to scare the muleskinner away, so you should be
happy.”

“If I’d caught him I’d be a
lot happier.”

Houston chuckled.

“What’s so damned
funny?”

“You trying to run through
all those big hoop dresses on your gimpy leg.” He
laughed.

“I should shoot you in the
damn leg.”

“I’ve been shot in the leg
and I didn’t go whining about it for a month.”

“Keep talking and I’ll shoot
you where it won’t heal.”

Houston chuckled again.
“Guess those maggots aren’t the answer.”

“The problem with my leg
isn’t the maggots,” Yank grumbled, “it’s the sail
thread.”

“The what?”

The only thread I could find
to sew up the muscle was sail thread. It doesn’t give like it
should when I put my heel down. I’m going to pull the damn stitches
out when we get to Goliad and just hope the muscle doesn’t pull
apart again.”

“We can take a wagon or a
buckboard from Goliad to Washington-on-the-Brazos so you don’t put
any strain on it.”

Yank turned in his saddle
again. “That sure sounds like cannon-fire to me, Sam.”

“We have outposts all along
the Medina River, Yank. If Santa Anna was close enough to bring
cannons to bear on the Alamo we’d have known about it days
ago.”

“I hope you’re
right.”

Houston yawned. “Oh, my. Do
I need a siesta. How about we stop over by those trees?”

“I thought you were in a
hurry to see Fannin.”

“That was before I spent
half the night drinking mescal and dancing with pretty Mexican
girls.” Houston looked longingly at the little grove next to a
placid lake. “Just an hour, Yank,” he pleaded.

Yank squinted at the trees.
“How sure are you of the treaty you negotiated with the
Cherokee?”

“Sure? I’m sure.
Why?”

“There’re five or six
Cherokee warriors in the brush behind those trees.”

“I’m not that sure.” He
pulled his rifle and laid it across his saddle. “Did you know that
Fannin went to West Point?”