Home of the Brave (45 page)
“Do not bother threatening
me, old man with one leg,” she said scornfully. “There is nothing
that you can say to frighten me. Death is stalking you. I can smell
it on you. You stink of death, fear and of cork.”
March 12-29,
1847
Veracruz, Mexico
On March
12
th
,
when General Patterson had completed the siege line, he returned to
the command post and told General Scott that Yank Van Buskirk had
been wounded, captured and taken to Fort Ulúa.
On March
18
th
,
the siege guns at last arrived. Captain Robert E. Lee placed them
seven hundred yards from the city walls and began the bombardment
of Fortress Veracruz.
On March
22
nd
,
Congreve rockets set Fort Santiago ablaze.
On March
24
th
,
Persifor F. Smith’s brigade captured a Mexican courier who was
carrying reports from Santa Anna informing the commanders at
Veracruz that he was marching an army from Mexico City to reinforce
them. Scott sent Colonel Harney and a company of dragoons to scout
Santa Anna’s position. Harney made contact with Santa Anna and sent
back a call for reinforcements, stating that Santa Anna was in
command of about two thousand. General Patterson, with volunteers,
soon arrived and Santa Anna withdrew.
On March
25
th
,
the Mexicans called for a cease-fire to plead with Scott that the
women and children be permitted to leave the city. Scott refused,
continued the bombardment and began to prepare to storm the
fort.
On March
29
th
,
General Morales officially surrendered the Mexican garrisons in
Veracruz and Fort Ulúa. That day the Stars and Stripes were raised
over San Juan de Ulúa and Yank Van Buskirk walked out, dressed in
rags, to rejoin his sons and countrymen, as if nothing untoward had
happened.
“Jack has yellow fever,”
Robert said after awkwardly embracing his father.
“How bad is it?” Yank
asked.
“Bad. His liver’s affected.
He’s very jaundiced.”
“Any bleeding from his
eyes?”
“Not yet. How bad are
you?”
“I’m good. A cut on my hand,
one on my leg and two minor bullet wounds in my back.”
“Minor bullet wounds?”
Robert raised an eyebrow.
“As you demonstrably know,
Mexican gunpowder is unreliable. What you may not know is that it
often flashes back causing serious injuries. The officers that shot
me had their pistols loaded with half charges in hope that they
wouldn’t get their hands blown off. The bullets barely penetrated
my skin. An Indian in the dungeon dug them out for me and closed
the wounds with a hot iron.”
“Your hand looks very
bad.”
“It looks worse than it is.
It’ll be fine after I soak it in whiskey, but I’m going to tell Win
Scott that I need some convalescent time so that I can stay with
Jack.”
“Do you want me to stay
too?”
“No. You go on with the
army. If Jack pulls through, I’ll send him to Thomas and Jane’s
ranch.”
“Do think he might pull
through?” Robert asked hopefully.
“Over the years I’ve learned
some things about yellow fever that might help him. Either way it
should be over in three or four days and I’ll catch up with
you.”
“Santa Anna’s set up a
strong defensive position about halfway between here and Mexico
City. Preliminary reports say that he’s got twelve thousand men.
We’ll probably be there for some time.”
“Don’t worry, Robert. I’ll
find you. I need to wash off some of this filth and rid myself of
all the insects that have nested in my hair before I see Jack.
Please go tell him that I’m fine. He’s the family
worrier.”
April 3, 1847
Brownsville,
Texas
Lucky’s Saloon suddenly went
silent and Savannah looked up to see a U.S. Army captain and a
Texas Ranger who had just come into the tent. She got up and walked
to meet them. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”
The Ranger took off his hat.
“We’re a-lookin’ fer a fella name of William Van Buskirk. He
sometimes goes by the handle of Lucky Billy Van.”
“He was captured by the
Mexican army,” she said.
“We were told that he’s the
proprietor of this establishment,” the army captain
said.
She nodded. “We’re partners.
But, like I said, he was captured and I haven’t seen him
since.”
“When was this?”
“Umm.” She wrinkled her
nose. “Early October, I think.”
The two officers exchanged a
glance.
“That would of been when
Chino Cortina attacked the camp, I reckon,” the Ranger
said.
“Yes. That’s what the army
told me when I reported that Billy was taken.”
“You reported it?” the
captain asked.
“Yes.” She nodded. “They
didn’t seem to care since Billy’s an outlaw.”
“How comes y’ even told the
army, since you knowed he’s a wanted man?” the Ranger
asked.
She shrugged. “It seemed
like the right thing to do at the time.”
The captain looked around.
“Well, I’d bet that you own this entire place now.”
“Does that mean you think
Billy’s dead?” she asked.
“No,” the Ranger replied. “I
think the Cap’an means you ain’t likely to see Billy again. Have y’
heard tell of the Red Robber of the Rio Grande?”
She nodded. “Of course. He
just stole the payroll for Fort Brown. There’s been little talk of
anything else.”
“The Red Robber is Juan N.
Cortina,” the captain said. “Your partner is riding with
him.”
She closed her eyes for a
moment. “Oh no.”
“We’ve took up enough of yer
time, Ma’am,” the Ranger said. “If ol’ Billy should turn up, be
mighty careful. He ain’t what he seems.”
“Thank you.”
Savannah walked back to the
table and resumed her seat then winked at the bearded man across
from her.
Outside the tent, Josiah
Whipple signaled the combined U.S. Army and Texas Ranger task force
to encircle the tent. “She’s a good liar,” he said to the young
army captain. “Onliest thing she forgot to mention is that she
didn’t get around to reportin’ Van Buskirk as bein’ captured by
Cortina fer almost a week. I figger he come back and told her
to.”
“So he could hide in plain
sight, so to speak,” the captain suggested.
Whipple nodded. “Like he
just done.”
“Pardon me?”
“That feller with the beard
was him.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But everybody else in
the place was lookin’ at us except him.”
The captain nodded. “How do
you want to handle it?”
“I’ll go back in and either
flush the bastard out, kill ‘m or get kilt. You make sure he don’t
get away.” As he turned back toward the tent, gunfire erupted from
behind it and a lone rider on a cavalry mount dashed out, headed
toward the resaca. “Sum-bitch.” Whipple swung onto his horse and
raced out in pursuit.
April 16, 1847
Port Isabel,
Texas
Whipple rode up to the front
of the wagon train and dismounted.
“Jack Van Buskirk, have you
met Captain Josiah Whipple of the Texas Rangers?” Thomas
asked.
Jack was on a stretcher on
the ground behind a small covered wagon and Thomas was standing
beside him. Jack tried to sit up but got no higher than to prop
himself on his elbows. “I don’t think so but I’m a bit
fuzzy.”
“Don’t believe I’ve had the
pleasure,” Whipple said, kneeling to shake Jack’s hand. “I’m gonna
be takin’ you and these other folks back up to the ranch while Tom
heads down to Mexico City.”
“A word with you please,
Josiah,” Thomas said, walking away from the wagon train.
“I know, I know,” Whipple
said as he caught up with Thomas. “I’m right sorry, Tom. I plumb
forgot what you said about not mentionin’ where you was
goin’.”
“There were two things I
told you not to mention,” Tom said angrily. “Do you remember the
other one?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Whipple
said, showing some of his own temper. “I ain’t supposed to tell yer
brother, Jack, about yer murderin’ sum-bitch brother, William.” He
shook his head. “I ain’t never seen the like of y’all with yer damn
secrets and fancy ways.”
Tom turned his back on
Whipple and returned to stand beside Jack’s stretcher.
Jack raised himself on his
elbows again and looked questioningly at Thomas. “Mexico
City?”
Thomas shrugged. “I wasn’t
going to tell you but you’ll hear sooner or later. Mother was
captured by the Mexican army just after the battle of Buena Vista
in late February. I got word last week that she’s being held in
Chapultepec Castle. I’m going down there with my regiment to free
her.”
“Chapultepec Castle isn’t
going to fall to a regiment of cowboys turned horse soldiers,
Thomas.”
“It’s a military academy,
Jack.”
“It’s a fort, first, and a
school second.”
“Ya’ll still fight like
schoolboys,” Whipple observed.
“Why don’t you go see what’s
holding up this train instead of minding our business?” Thomas
suggested. “The rest of the people are anxious to move out.” He
pointed.
“We’re waitin’ on
Clementine,” Whipple replied in an annoyed tone of voice. “She’s
makin’ sure everybody’s singin’ from the same hymnal.”
“Were you planning to drag
me along behind you?” Jack asked.
Thomas made a face. “That
might be easier than lifting you into that high wagon.”
“We need somebody inside;
soon as Clem gets back, we’ll load y’ up,” Whipple said.
“We can load Jack without
her,” Thomas replied.
Jack gritted his teeth and
tried to sit up again. “I’m not a damned invalid.”
“Yeah, y’are.” Whipple bent
to pick up the handles of the stretcher. “Say when,
Tom.”
“When.” Tom lifted his end
then tried to put the handles into the wagon but lost his balance.
To keep from dumping Jack off the stretcher, Whipple had to lift
his end over his head. They were in a real struggle when a pretty
young girl in a red cloak rushed over to jump into the wagon and
help pull Jack inside.
“Thank ye, Clem,” Whipple
panted when they had the stretcher in the wagon bed. “Damn near
dropped our charge before we even got ‘em on the road.”
“I’m Clementine Rogers,
Colonel Van Buskirk,” the young woman said to Jack. She patted his
hand.
Jack smiled but couldn’t
manage a reply.
Clementine pointed out the
back of the wagon at the wagon train. “The people behind us are
impatient to get underway.” Stooping to avoid the cover bows, she
walked forward, gathered her skirts and slipped over the seat back
and into the wagon’s seat.
“Ya’ll better say yer
goodbyes,” Whipple said, walking toward his horse.
Thomas nodded and squeezed
Jack’s hand. “I’m happy to see you, brother.”
“Go gather the family and
I’ll see you at your place,” Jack replied.
Thomas jumped down from the
back of the wagon and secured the gate. “Move out,
Clem.”
Clementine released the
brake. “Giddyap,” she called to the team. She whipped the reins
then looked back to watch the other wagons.
“Who are all those people
following us?” Jack called out over the rumble and rattle of the
wagon.
“Family and other folks that
came down here with your brother’s regiment,” she replied. “Tom
wants to be able to move faster now, so he’s sending most of us
back. He says we’re non-essential personnel. Who thinks up all
those convoluted military phrases?”
Jack tried to sit up but
abandoned the effort quickly. “Do we have an armed escort other
than just Captain Whipple?”
“We’ll have other Rangers
with us as we pass through their territories. Not that we really
need them. All these women and older children can load and shoot a
rifle. Nobody’s going to mess with two hundred guns.”
“Do you have a
rifle?”
“No. I have a Walker-Colt
six-shooter and a shotgun.”
“Let me have one of
them.”
“Just relax and let us take
care of you, Colonel. You’re in good hands.”
April 17, 1847
Cerro Gordo,
Mexico
At the sound of distant
cannon fire, Winfield Scott halted his march toward Mexico City.
“Go see what that’s about,” he said to an aide.
“Yes, sir.” The man kicked
his horse into a run and continued down the road.
“I don’t know what purpose
my cavalry serves when they’re out there skirmishing and leaving
this army blind,” Scott complained to Yank.
