Chapter 8
Silver Blades of Grass
I have at various times submitted the question of storming the fortifications to a council of officers, and they have uniformly decided against it.
-Stephen Austin
Gonzales-Early November, 1835
Sam Houston had never been a man to run from a fight. On the contrary, if there was a fight within a hundred miles, you could count on him to be square in the middle of it. His instincts told him that he had chosen well. Since Texas might well be the last frontier in his lifetime, he had most assuredly come to the right place. The skirmishes having already begun, he had decided he’d best get himself down to where the fighting was as quickly as possible. Accordingly, he’d arrived in Gonzales shortly after Stephen Austin departed with his volunteer army for San Antonio de Bexar.
Throughout the months of October and November both delegates from the Texas colonies and would-be freedom fighters had converged on Gonzales. Since the first shots had been fired there, it seemed the logical place for all concerned to converge. Eventually a consultation was convened composed of representatives from the colonies. While most of the freedom fighters converging on Texas from the United States wanted independence for Texas, the majority of the colonists preferred to remain a part of Mexico, seeking instead to obtain statehood in Mexico.
They had formed a new provisional government, electing Henry Smith as governor, and David Burnett had resigned as interim president of the short-lived government of Texas. The provisional government had then voted in favor of creating a regular army of Texas, and Sam Houston had been appointed major general and commander-in-chief of the regular army.
Meanwhile, Stephen Austin continued to command the army of volunteers that besieged San Antonio de Bexar. As a result, a state of general confusion reigned across Texas. As rumors and misinformation spread across the colonies, potential enlistees were uncertain where to report in order to be of most service to the cause.
In the midst of this mess, Sam Houston set about the task of raising a standing regular Army of Texas.
Gonzales-Late November
Governor Smith sat in his office with his feet propped upon the desk. It had been another long day. It seemed to him that every time he got going in the right direction, something else went the wrong way. He was still contemplating the latest turn of events when there came a knock at his door, thereby eliciting him to reply, “Please enter!”
The door opened, and Sam Houston entered. Houston was an extraordinarily big man. As such, he found it necessary to crouch in order to keep from scraping his head on the door sill, but it was clear from his graceful entrance that he was quite used to this maneuver. “Governor, would you have a few minutes to spare?” he inquired politely.
“Why of course, General Houston. Have a seat. Take a load off.” Smith was clearly intimidated by Houston, but Houston did not appear to take note of the fact. Smith waited expectantly for Houston to speak.
As Houston had already removed his hat, he took this occasion to roll it around in his hands. Apparently uncertain quite how to begin, he finally broached his subject, “Governor, we have a situation. I’ve seen this sort of thing before, but never in such dire circumstances.” He paused, as if waiting for Smith to reply. As he did not, Houston continued by admitting, “I’m having a hell of a time raising a regular army. What it all comes down to is money, sir.”
“In what way, General?”
“Well, sir, at first it was all smooth and straightforward. “About fifty men signed up in the first two days. I thought it was going to be a piece of cake. But then things started slowing down. It’s now been three weeks, and I’ve got maybe sixty-five men signed onto the regular army.”
“General, what do you mean by ‘maybe’? Don’t you know how many men you have?”
“Well, that’s just the thing, Governor. I cannot honestly tell you how many men I have because some of them seem to keep disappearing!”
“What! Where in tarnation are they disappearing to, General?”
“That I do not know, sir. It’s damn mysterious, if you ask me. I’ve been asking around town, and it appears that there are two different groups of men here. First, there are the colonists, those that have made Texas their home. Quite a few of them came here with their hearts in the right place, but they have families to feed, and crops to plant. So that seems to be where some of them are off to. Then there are the newcomers. I suppose they’re not unlike me, although I’ve been here a bit longer than most.
“Anyways, these fellas are in too big a hurry to fight. Seems some of ‘em sign up, and when nothing happens within a few days, they up and head south to Goliad or southwest to San Antonio to join the volunteers. Seems they can’t stand the thought of missing out on some of the fighting, although from what I hear, there is little fighting of any significance going on at either place at the moment.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all!” replied the governor, words clearly befitting the occasion if not the office he held. “Tarnation, what a mess. But you said it was about money, general. What did you mean by that?”
“Well, sir, I believe that ultimately, we can’t hold these men of the “regular army” up to any sort of standard of desertion unless we pay them. That’s the gist of what I’m thinking, sir.”
“I see, I see,” Governor Smith replied, but he really didn’t see at all. “What do you have in mind, General?”
“I have in mind to pay them, Governor!” replied Houston.
At that the governor guffawed, slapped his knee, and supposed, “With what are you going to pay them, that’s what I’d like to know!”
“Well, sir, I studied a bit of military history in my time. Seems the Romans under Julius Caesar had one potential solution to our problem.”
Now the governor was seriously interested. He leaned forward in his seat, got down low, and looked over his spectacles at Houston, “And what would old Julius Caesar do in the present circumstances, sir?”
“Well, sir he would draw up his own monetary instrument, and he’d pay the men!”
“General, you’re going right over my head, sir. Speak plainly, if you will.”
“Julius Caesar wrote notes of legal tender and paid the soldiers with them until the army could receive funds from the government.”
“Oh, I get it, he wrote out a bunch of I Owe You’s, right?”
“Exactly!”
“And did the soldiers accept this form of payment, General?”
“Yes, sir, they sure enough did.”
At this Smith leaned back, propped his feet upon the desk, and offered up profoundly, “There’s only one problem with your plan, General. This here government ain’t got no money!”
“Neither did the Roman government at the time, sir.”
“But they eventually did, General, if I guess correctly.”
“Yes, sir, those soldiers all eventually got paid.”
“I fail to see how that applies to Texas, sir!”
“Governor, we have no money, I know that as well as you do. But in my view there’s one of two things that will be the outcome of this war. Either we’re going get our butts whipped, in which case we’ll likely all be dead, and Saint Peter won’t be asking for our I Owe You’s at the pearly gates, or we’re going to kick the hell out of the Army of Mexico, and there’ll be enough money and land around to take care of every one of the soldiers that sign up for the Army of Texas.”
Smith leaned back, pondered a few moments, and suggested considerately, “General, let’s print us up some legal tender. We got an army to build and maintain.”
General Houston smiled his agreement and replied conspiratorially, “Yes, sir, Governor, I couldn’t agree more. I will see to printing immediately,” and, the conversation having reached a most satisfactory conclusion, he arose and headed off to draw up the documents.
Houston was well aware this was no way to run a war, b
ut times such as this demanded ingenuity. He had learned that from Andrew Jackson. But while his thinking was sound, the conditions just did not favor such a solution at this point in time. Events were focused elsewhere, and no amount of legislating and offering up “legal tender” would solve the monumental challenge before him. He knew that he would need to take substantially more profound actions if this war was to succeed.
Volunteer Army of Texas Camp-Late November
Hank had no idea what to make of Hawk’s demeanor. Ever since Colonel Bowie had said he wanted to see him, Hawk had turned surly and uncommunicative. Hank had attempted on three different occasions to engage him in conversation, but to no avail. Then, out of nowhere, one morning Hawk had awakened in the finest temper Hank thought he had ever observed in him.
To make it even more confounding, there was a cold drizzle soaking everything and everyone right down to the bone. It was the first one of the coming winter, the one that reminds you what you had forgotten that you disliked so much about winter. Hank was always amazed that he could forget it over and over every year. And every year, as soon as it became cold, it all came back to him – the huddling around fires on cold days, the chasing cows in storms to get them into the barn so they wouldn’t freeze to death, and the muddy slimy boot-sucking roads when that cold rain came on. Winter was hell to mankind, so why was it that hell was deemed to be hot? And in the midst of it all, why was Hawk so inexplicably cheerful?
Breaking into Hank’s distraction, Hawk inquired cheerfully, “How’s your coffee this morning?” You keeping warm?”
At this Hank eyed him suspiciously and exclaimed, “Well, I declare, if you don’t take all, Hawk Banks. I ain’t heard two words out of you in the last three days, and soon as the weather gets downright nasty, you come burstin’ out like sunshine. What in the name of Andy Jackson has got into you? I would just like to know, sir.”
Chuckling at this observation, Hawk shifted his serape to ward off the encroaching drizzle. Hank could not for the life of him comprehend why Hawk had taken to wearing that smelly serape of late. And it appeared that he was letting his mustache grow out as well. Scratching his head in disbelief, he pondered Hawk’s truly incongruous behavior.
For Hawk’s part, he just kept on grinning.
Eventually, Hank blurted uncontrollably, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had something goin’ on the side, Mr. High-and-Mighty Banks. But that ain’t possible in the current circumstance we find ourselves in, is it?”
“Nope, that is a fact,” Hawk observed, “But I may as well confess to you, seeing how there’s no hiding reality from your observance. I have received an assignment from Colonel Bowie, a task of some importance, I might add.”
“And what might that be, sir?”
“I’m scouting the enemy’s fortifications on behalf of our leaders. That’s what I’m up to, Hank.”
Scratching himself distractedly, Hank observed, “Well now, that does sound important, I’ll give you that. But what I want to know is why it first makes you act like some damn ogre for three days, and then all of a sudden, you start actin’ like a bear that just found his self a whole hive of honey?”
“Fair question, my man. The two are in no way related. Fact is, I felt a might sickly the last three days, and now I find my health to be considerably improved. And tonight I am to go off for a jaunt on my assigned scouting task. So you see, the mystery is solved.”
“I swear, may as well take your word for it, but all I got to say is – with you there is surely never not no mystery, if you get my meanin’.”
At this profundity Hawk could only nod in astute agreement.
Mission Concepcion
Colonel Bowie received word that General Austin wanted to see him. As he headed to the general’s office, he mumbled absent-mindedly to himself, “Wonder what that’s about.” Austin had been a good enough leader, but Bowie wished he had been more forceful with the situation in San Antonio de Bexar. While it was most likely true that the enemy outnumbered the Texians, Bowie was confident that the Texians were in all ways superior fighters. And if it came to a fight, he had no doubt who would win. Arriving within the colonel’s office, he saluted and announced, “You summoned me, sir?”
“Yes, Colonel, indeed I did. Please, sit down.” Austin put his pen down and touched his fingertips together. Subsequently placing his elbows on the desk before him, he exclaimed matter-of-factly, “Colonel, I have been appointed to be an emissary from the State of Texas in Mexico to the United States of America.”
Rising halfway from his chair, Bowie cried, “What the...what in blazes has gotten into those politicians in San Felipe? This has got to be the doings of Sam Houston. Damn outsider wants you out of the way. That darned Governor Smith is a softy - must’ve buckled under to Houston!”
“Now, now, James. There’s time enough for that. We need to deal with the situation at hand first. We are enmeshed in a situation here that needs to be resolved.”
Bowie eyed Austin thoughtfully and asked, “What do you plan on doing, General Austin?”
“Why, I aim to do my duty to our government. I have been ordered to leave immediately for the United States for the purpose of raising men and resources. Those are my orders, and I intend to follow them to the letter.”
“Good God, sir, we’re in the middle of a battle here! You can’t just go high-tailing it out of here with nobody left in charge.”
At this Austin rejoined bluntly, “On the contrary, I can and I will. It’s not like there are no men here capable of taking command of the troops, sir.”
Bowie blurted, “And I’d like to know who, Colonel.”
“That we shall determine before day’s end, sir,” Austin responded. “Tomorrow I shall be on my way eastward. I believe that there is some amount of insight in this decision to send me north, sir. I believe that the situation here at Bexar is well in hand, but I do believe that the long-term hopes for Texas rely on raising a regular army. Do not assume that because we have a small Mexican Army bottled up here at Bexar, that we also have the whole of Mexico in our grasp. By next spring we will be in a far more desperate situation, and we must do what we can to prepare for that eventuality while we can.”
San Antonio
Hawk barely managed to contain himself till sundown, but once it grew dark he immediately set off for the city. His mustache had now grown in, and he’d been practicing the right phrases with a Tejano accent. Accordingly, he had no trouble making it through the lines. The fact is, the soldiers at the gate didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. He probably could have ridden up on a white horse and said he was Andrew Jackson himself and they wouldn’t have noticed. As soon as the sun went down, the only things they were interested in were drinking mescal and chasing women. God knows where all that mescal came from, but there seemed to be plenty enough to go around.
He was still thinking on the absurdity of it when he arrived at the cantina. As anticipated, she was there, and quite a crowd had already gathered for her performance. It was obvious to Hawk that he was not the only man that had taken notice of Antonia.
He observed as she waited tables, and quite a few soldiers were recipients of one of her well-aimed wallops. Each time he saw her slap a soldier, he relived the one she had delivered to him. And in each and every case the offending soldier made it clear that he was proud of his well-deserved penance. Though the cantina was exceedingly rowdy, she managed to keep them all under her control, and she did so with little apparent difficulty.
And then she sang a touching song of passion, the kind that stops a room full of men and makes every one of them pay perfect attention. For his part, Hawk was absolutely transfixed by the scene before him. At the end of her song, she made the rounds, here and there playfully shoving aside a too-friendly soldier. When she came to Hawk’s table she leaned forward to retrieve an empty glass from the table and, wrenching backward, she turned and sl
apped him playfully as if he had suggested something illicit. She subsequently retreated, at which point he noticed a small piece of paper in his lap. He opened it discreetly and read the following: Leave now. Same place. Midnight. As commanded, he arose and silently exited the cantina.
Thereafter he awaited her arrival within the courtyard. At the appointed hour she stepped within, strolled directly to him, and led him into the room across the courtyard. “How long have you been here?” she inquired abruptly.
“A couple of hours,” he replied nonchalantly.
“Good. Smart move. I was right about you, I can see. And nobody saw you, right?”
“Right,” he replied. “What news do you have for me, senora? Anything?”
“Yes, I do. There is a rumor that they are going to bring a load of silver in from Laredo.”
“When?”
“I don’t know, perhaps next week.”
“Excellent. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Alright then, here is your money, senora. I will see you Thursday night,” and so saying he exited and made his way back to camp.
Volunteer Army of Texas Camp
Colonel Bowie had just about had it with this army. Elections! How could anyone run an army with such important decisions made by election? General Austin had now stepped down as commander, and the darn fools had elected David Burleson to head up the Volunteer Army. Darn fools! Bowie himself was the only logical replacement! But no, they had to pick Burleson! That man couldn’t lead an army if his life depended on it.
Bowie was preparing his resignation letter when Hawk Banks came into his office. Still nursing a hangover of whopping proportions, he snapped, “What do you want, Banks?”
“Sir, I have news, important news.”
“And what might that be?”
“Sir, my source tells me that the Mexicans are bringing a shipment of silver up from Laredo.”
“My, my, that is indeed important,” Bowie surmised, “Did your source say when, Lieutenant?”
“Sometime within the next week, I believe, sir.”
“Well, we’ll just have to intercept that shipment, won’t we, Mr. Hawk Banks!”
“My thoughts exactly, colonel.”
Shortly Thereafter
Hearing a knock on his door, General Burleson called, “Enter!” at which James Bowie entered and saluted.
“Sir,” Bowie began, “Our agent has just reported that the Mexican Army is bringing up a load of silver from Laredo to pay the Mexican troops.”
“Ho! This is indeed good news, sir!” Burleson responded, “We must intercept that shipment!”
“Exactly,” Bowie replied coolly.
“What do you suggest, James?”
“Sir, as we do not yet know exactly when the shipment will arrive, why don’t’ you send a scout down the main highway to Laredo. When he spots the enemy approaching, I suggest you send out a party to cut them off.”
“Yes, excellent suggestion, sir,” Burleson responded, “And who do you suggest that I send out to reconnoiter?”
“Normally, I would suggest Banks, sir, but he is otherwise engaged at the moment. I would therefore recommend Deaf Smith. He is quite a superb horseman.”
“Agreed. Send out Deaf Smith immediately with orders to inform me as soon as he spots them.”
“Yes, sir,” Bowie responded, and so saying, he departed to carry out his orders.
Two days later Deaf Smith came riding into camp at a full gallop and headed directly to Colonel Bowie’s quarters. A few moments later the pair showed up at General Burleson’s office.
Upon entering, Bowie exclaimed, “Sir, Deaf says they’re five miles outside the city, exactly as we anticipated.”
“Colonel Bowie,” Burleson replied, “This looks like a job for you. Ever since Concepcion, you’ve had the confidence of the men. How many troops did Deaf say are coming up from Laredo?”
“He says about a hundred, sir.”
“Alright, take a company of your best horsemen out there and engage them as quickly as possible. I will follow with an additional hundred foot soldiers to support you in the field. I leave it to you to decide how you will engage the enemy, but just make sure you get between them and Bexar.”
“Understood, sir,” Bowie replied, and with that he and Deaf left immediately to carry out their orders.
Within the Texian Camp
Hawk was stretched out, blithely planning his next visit to Bexar to see the lovely Antonia, when Colonel Bowie rushed up and ordered him to saddle up his horse and join the force that was headed out to engage the enemy. Sure enough, within minutes Hawk was riding south with close to fifty other horsemen. They rode hard, and within less than a half hour they came upon the Mexican troops approaching from Laredo. Colonel Bowie didn’t seem to be in a mood to stop and sort things out. Instead, he led the men directly into the enemy force as rapidly as was humanly possible.
The Mexican troops were strung out along an arroyo adjacent to the San Pedro Creek and, their hands full with the forty mules they were packing, they failed to see the Texian force coming until they were right on top of them. Taken completely off guard by Bowie’s bold move, they scattered within seconds, the mules scampering unattended into the underbrush. It appeared that Colonel Bowie’s surprise attack was well-conceived - that is until the Mexican’s regrouped and found cover within the arroyo.
Hawk hadn’t much of a clue what Bowie had in mind. He just found cover and started firing his long rifle and musket as rapidly as he could reload.
Elsewhere Within the Texian Camp
Hank was somewhere off in dreamland. Within his dream it was a gorgeous summer day, and Julie was traipsing with him through an illusory field dotted with bluebonnets and Indian paints flowers, when he was suddenly kicked wide awake. Screwing up his fists in irritation, he wiped his eyes and blubbered, “What the..?”
Kicking him a second time, a surly-looking soldier cajoled, “Get up MacElrae! We’re headin’ out to fight the Mexican Army!”
“Alright, I’m comin’. You don’t need to keep kickin’ me, dang it!” he yelped and, hastily jumping up to pull on his boots, he prepared to march out as quickly as his distracted brain would allow. “Where’re we goin’ anyway?” he mumbled groggily, but the soldier had already moved on in search of other human kicking posts.
Within minutes they were marching down the road at a brisk pace, Hank stumbling along in a half awake daze. He was still annoyed that he’d had to leave Julie’s side like that, especially in such a romantic setting, but he kept reminding himself what Hawk had said about war – that you had to give up all your waking hours, absurdly including sleep as well. Attempting to maintain pace with the others, he stumbled along as quickly as possible.
To his eye it was quite a force, too. There must’ve been at least a hundred men and, just like him, most of them were grousing about being roused from doing nothing. Hank thought that was kind of funny - half the men had been complaining about not having anything to do, but when they got ordered to do something meaningful, they complained even more. No wonder more and more men deserted every day. Pushing such negative thoughts away, he distracted himself as best he could - thinking wistfully on Julie and that field of flowers.
With the Texian Force in the Field
Hawk was by now beginning to wonder about his earlier positive opinion of James Bowie. At Concepcion he had thought Bowie was a military genius, but in the current situation it appeared that Bowie was downright incompetent. The Mexicans had reformed quickly, and had forced Bowie’s horsemen to seek cover in an adjacent arroyo. From there things had degenerated from bad to worse.
General Cos must have been able to see the battle from the Church tower in Bexar, for he quickly sent out reinforcements. Now Hawk and the other fifty Texians were pinned down between the two enemy contingents, and the newly arrived enemy foot soldiers were forming up for a Napoleonic charge.
From Hawk’s vantage point, the situation didn’t look good at all.
With the Texian Force in Route
Now wide awake, Hank just kept on marching and thinking on those yellow flowers, doing his best to drown out the sounds of the other men. Meanwhile the sounds of rifle and musket fire were coming closer and closer, and before Hank realized it, the whole battalion had stumbled directly into the middle of the battlefield.
Hank had no idea who was in charge, but he figured whoever it was had to be an idiot, because he and a hundred Texians had charged right in between two sizable enemy forces, whereupon they were immediately pinned down. Seeing no other option, Hank just hunkered down in some rocks along the creek and did his best to keep his head down. Every once in a while a bullet would whiz by, prompting him to fire off a shot in self-defense. But mostly he just kept his head down, all the while waiting for someone to take charge of the battlefield.
Elsewhere on the Battlefield
Hawk and the other Texian horsemen also remained pinned down, so much so that they had no chance of mounting any sort of offensive. Under the circumstances, he could do nothing but hope that no more enemy reinforcements came from town.
For the first time in this war, he was actually impressed with General Cos’ army. They formed up in ranks, and they attacked the Texians in the same way he had seen in Europe. Fortunately for the Texians, the enemy’s weapons were of inferior quality. The fact was, their opponents couldn’t hit anything from more than twenty feet distant, and the Texians had such deadly accurate rifles that they were able to keep the enemy attackers at bay. This unfortunate state of affairs ran on for at least an hour, but eventually the foot soldiers that had shown up to reinforce Bowie’s men made a run for the opposing cannon. Their charge motivated the enemy forces to retreat to Bexar, and the battle abruptly came to an uneventful end.
The Texian Command
Recognizing that the hostilities had ended, Colonel Bowie was the first to emerge from the arroyo. He immediately commanded, “Come on men, they made a run for Bexar. The battle’s over, and we got their mules!” and at this he signed to Deaf Smith to go check out the mules.
Deaf Smith jumped on his horse and took off, riding out to round up the mules before they could scatter. At the site of Colonel Bowie the troops began climbing out of the arroyos, and within moments the entire Texian force appeared on the prairie.
One soldier let out a whoop and said, “We got ‘em, Colonel Bowie, we got ‘em on the run!” And at that, the entire force began to whoop and holler, as if they’d all been out on a Sunday picnic.
The Battlefield from Hank’s Perspective
Hank scanned about in search of Hawk, and sure enough, there he was off to his left, not more than a hundred yards distant. Having nothing better to do, he trudged over to where Hawk was seemingly surveying the battlefield. As Hank strolled up he grinned and joshed, “Some battle, eh Hawk?”
Hawk could only shake his head in disgust. As he stood watching the enemy troops continue to retreat into Bexar, he hawked, spat furiously, and opined, “Well, that was about the most poorly executed military operation I’ve ever laid eyes on. Still, I suppose it’ll have to do, seein’ as how we got their load of silver!”
Dumbfounded by this pronouncement, Hank blabbed, “What? What silver?”
Hawk exclaimed in apparent exasperation, “I expect you must be the only soldier in this army that hasn’t heard that the Mexican Army was bringing in a load of silver from Laredo to pay their soldiers. I swear, this army couldn’t keep a secret if it meant we were all set to win a parole pass from perdition!”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Mr. Hawk Banks. But I do know this, if we got silver, I want my share!” Hank replied gleefully.
Just at that moment Hawk observed as Deaf Smith rode up to Colonel Bowie and relayed some sort of message. Narrowing his eyes in the mid-day sun, Hawk could see that Bowie did not look happy at all. He therefore decided to saunter over and see what the problem was.
Unaware of the escalating setback, Hank busied himself with helping one of the soldiers who had been wounded in the battle, but within minutes Hawk had reappeared.
Observing the thunderous look on Hawk’s face, Hank blurted, “What’s up, Hawk? Somethin’ the matter?”
“Nothing,” Hawk murmured and, as if on cue, he hawked and spat.
Well aware that such behavior had hidden meaning, Hank persisted, “Meaning exactly what, Hawk?”
“Meaning, we got nothing, private, absolutely nothing,” Hawk thundered.
“Nothing? You mean, there ain’t no silver?”
“No sir, there ain’t no silver,” and it was clear that Hawk was not the least bit happy at this revelation.
Hank scratched his head and, gazing at the battlefield surrounding them, he inquired doubtfully, “I don’t understand! What the hell are all them mules carryin’?”
“Grass, my man, grass. Those mules are all carrying grass!” Hawk mumbled in obvious disgust.
Hank glared at Hawk, at which Hawk glared at Hank. Suddenly, the pair of them let out simultaneous howls of laughter, “Haw, haw, haaaw.” They laughed so loud that every head on the battlefield turned their way.
Hank laughed so hard he cried. Finally, he declared ludicrously, “Well, I’ll be tickled by a turtle turd. We done won ourselves the grass fight!”