Chapter 5
Misplaced Euphoria
I hope to see Texas free from Mexican domination of any kind.
-Stephen Austin
Bastrop-Mid-October, 1835
Hawk stayed drunk the better part of the succeeding week, whereas the army remained in a perpetual state of injudicious elation. From Hank’s viewpoint, everyone seemed to be overly optimistic, and worse still, the army appeared to be little more than a mob. With no real leadership in place, no one had any orders whatsoever.
Given such lax circumstances, quite a few volunteers simply set out for their homes. And perhaps worst of all, latecomers frantically attempted to attach themselves to the excitement, acting as though they had been there from the outset. All things considered, Hank concluded it bore a striking resemblance to a carnival.
Finding Hawk leaning uncertainly against a street-side post one morning, Hank inquired cynically, “Mornin’ Hawk, how’s the war progressin’?”
“Morning, Hank,” Hawk responded languorously, “Well, sir, I do not know about you, but I feel that at this most profound juncture in time I am definitely winning this war,” and for all the world, Hawk appeared to Hank to be infinitely certain of his own judgment.
Hank was in no way confounded by this rather presumptuous remark and, immediately sizing up Hawk’s real reason for such a state of satisfaction, he abruptly rejoined, “What’s her name?”
At this rather presumptuous suggestion Hawk responded blankly, “What? Who?”
“You ain’t foolin’ nobody, Mr. Hawk Banks,” Hank accused, “No sir, we can all see what’s goin’ on here. If you ask me, you sir, are a man of little substance. You prance around showin’ off as if you’d been in a real war, and as reward for your farcical insinuation, you drink yourself into a stupor every night, but not before you stick your flamin’ hot poker into whatsoever female you can find to quench it.”
At this Hawk grinned and exclaimed sarcastically, “Dang, and there I thought I was fooling you. I swear!” but then his smile suddenly disappeared and he followed with, “Truth is I don’t give a dead skunk’s behind what you think of me, Hank MacElrae. I admit quite freely to entertaining carnally desirous tendencies. I also have been known to partake of a dose of hooch on occasion. For those of us who have no feelings of guilt over experiencing divine happiness on rare occasions, these are normal human activities. It’s you God-fearin’ Christians who have saddled the rest of us with your high-and-mighty sense of propriety.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Hank roared in apparent offense.
“It means, my good friend, mind your own damn business!” Hawk rejoined grimly. Hank was sorely upset by this remark, but Hawk’s demeanor suddenly changing, he added pleasantly, “There I was, all intent on contemplating a serious matter, and you have to come up and interrupt my reverie.”
“What the…” Hank blurted. He could see another one of those infernal speeches coming on, but he felt he had no choice but to play out his part. Accordingly, he cued dutifully, “Thinkin’ on what, Hawk?”
“Well, outwardly, this town bears considerable semblance to places I’ve visited in Spain. The Spanish influence is definitely stronger here than anywhere I’ve been on this continent, and I expect it will increase the further south we go. But there’s something irritating about this town that I don’t like at all, no, sir, not at all.”
“What’s that?”
“People! Too damn many people!” At this last, Hawk spat in order to accentuate his meaning, and without awaiting further prompting from Hank, he predicted, “And where there’s people, there’s bound to be lawyers. Especially when a war is brewing.”
“Lawyers? I don’t see no lawyers, Hawk.”
“That’s just what I mean, Hank. They’re like a cancer. You can’t see them, but they’re all around nonetheless.”
Hank gazed about doubtfully. He observed the street filled with folks, all of them scurrying about as if they had significant concerns to deal with, but he saw no one that he could accurately pinpoint to be a barrister. Accordingly, he inquired in obvious bewilderment, “Where?”
Peering about, Hawk replied incisively, “Well, sir, take that gentleman directly across the street there, the one just standing there leaning against that post with his hands on his vest pockets, dressed up like he’s running for the Congress of the United States of America! That there is a lawyer if there ever was one.”
Hank scrutinized the man carefully, searching for telltale signs of the affliction that Hawk seemed to be accusing him of, but he could discern nothing out of the ordinary. “Can’t pick out nothing untoward, sir,” he supplied, “Looks like a fine man, if’n you was to ask me!”
“Check out the demeanor,” Hawk suggested accusingly, “Clearly views himself as a superior being. Sees everyone else rushing by, but considers himself a member of the upper crust. He has no need to be rushing about, because he knows where his next dollar will be turned.”
Hank studied the man at length and, concern mounting that he might indeed be a scoundrel of some sort, he inquired furtively, “And where would that be?”
“Why from these unsuspecting folks right here on this street, sir!”
“Oh,” Hank blurted in surprise, “And just how, pray tell, is he going to do that?”
“What we have here is the approach of civilization, my friend. Look about you. There’s hustle and bustle. The world is moving fast, and lots of folks are migrating into town. That brings money, and unsuspecting folks with money are to lawyers as wounded animals are to buzzards.”
Hank was positively perplexed by this revelation, and just to emphasize the point, he volunteered absurdly, “Don’t like buzzards, but they do have their place, I suppose.”
“Up to a point, I would agree sir,” Hawk opined and, well aware that he had begun to win Hank over, he propounded, “But what would happen if there was too many buzzards, Hank?”
Hank pondered a moment and suggested, “Well, I expect they’d eat everything, and then we’d all die.”
“Glory be! My faith in humankind is once again confirmed. Hank, my man, you are a genius!”
Doubting the sincerity of this last statement, Hank uttered cynically, “Yeah, and my father is the Pope!”
Ignoring this last, Hawk continued, “By and by, we will see about this fellow across the way, but you be wary of all lawyers, my friend. They subsist off of society by making laws, if there isn’t enough money to be made, they make more laws. And if that don’t work, they change the laws!”
“But the world needs laws to maintain order, don’t it, Hawk?”
“You sir, are a Christian, if I am not mistaken,” Hawk answered bluntly.
“Course I am, but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Have you checked the ten commandments out lately?”
“Why, I know ‘em by heart, sir!”
“No surprise, sir, no surprise,” Hawk replied agreeably, “I submit to you sir, that THERE are your laws. Nary an additional law is needed if we can just abide by those ten laid down by God.”
All Hank could think of to say to this was, “Oh.”
Seeing Hank’s confusion, Hawk appended, “God made some laws, and they don’t change. There’s even scientific laws, like the ones discovered by Sir Isaac Newton. But even though Newton discovered them, they were designed by God, and they don’t need changing. Lawyers keep changing laws. I don’t trust anyone that keeps changing laws. No sir, not a one of ‘em, not on your life!”
Hank had to admit to himself that he was learning something. He had no idea whether he agreed with Hawk, but of one thing he was certain - over the past few days he had gotten more things to absorb than at any other time in his life. He resolved to allocate some time to think over these issues. He might even write some of them down so as not to forget. Yes, sir, this was turning into more than a military engagement - it was turning into an academic education of whopping
proportions.
Near San Antonio de Bexar-October
Francisco Ernesto de la Garza was growing tired from the day’s march. He had much preferred the passage by ship from Tampico to Matagorda. The march from there overland to Goliad had taken only three days, and the terrain had been relatively flat. The two weeks they had rested at La Bahia had even seemed a bit like a vacation, despite the fact that the weather had turned considerably hotter inland.
Now that they were on the move again, the march seemed much more difficult to Francisco. First of all, the terrain was growing more uneven by the mile. There were now numerous steep hills, and they were interspersed with plenty of streams that necessarily had to be crossed. While there was only a little water in most of them this time of year, there was nevertheless the repeated up and down along the way that slowed the march. Perhaps the only relief was supplied by the abundance of oak trees that provided welcome shade from the late summer sun. Taking it all together, Francisco concluded that although this might not be too bad for homesteading, it was by no means a convenient place for traversal by an army.
On the fourth day of the march they arrived at San Antonio de Bexar. While it was indeed larger than his own village, Francisco was nonetheless wholly unimpressed. Even the mission - they called it the Alamo - was not very imposing. Located at the far end of the town, it was far too distant for him to attend mass therein. All in all, he could see no reason why the army should consider such a desolate place to be of strategic import.
The Alamo-October
Martin Perfecto de Cos contemplated from his vantage point atop the east wall of the Mission de Bexar. Having arrived in Texas three weeks hence, he had successfully moved his force of 500 soldiers north from Mexico to Goliad in short order. Arriving at San Antonio de Bexar a few days later, his troops had quickly prepared the Mission de Bexar for battle. Having deployed his army in record time, he was indeed satisfied with his first month as Commander of the Army of Mexico in Tejas.
Gazing out over the barren countryside, he wondered to himself when the enemy forces would arrive. Although colder weather was sure to arrive before long, he was certain the enemy would not wait until spring. They would surely come soon, before the winter rains made the roads impassable.
Having served under General Arredondo in Texas when he was a boy, he knew the terrain well, but this was the farthest west he had been north of the Rio Grande. Because the elevation was much higher around the capital of Mexico, it was not nearly as cool here as it was in Mexico City. In fact, the weather was significantly more extreme here, both hotter in summer and colder in winter, and the land was fallow and unforgiving, like much of Northern Mexico.
As he pondered, he questioned why men were willing to fight for such poor land. Surely there were other better places to try to make a life. Who knew how the minds of the Texians worked. They clearly did not respect the government of Mexico. His innermost suspicions made him think that the underlying problem lay with the United States of America. The English language, and the form of government set up by this new fledgling nation, both were barriers that perhaps would never be surmounted peacefully between Mexico and the United States.
But Cos was a military man, and his sworn responsibility was to obey his government, and his orders were to put down this uprising. Of course, the Texians were not a real army. They were instead a disorganized rabble, poorly equipped, and without strong military leadership. Given these facts, his army would surely dispose of them in short order.
General Cos had only one serious cause for concern. Reinforcements for his army would not come from south of the Rio Bravo before spring, and were the Texians so inclined, they could conceivably organize a semblance of an army in short order that might even outnumber his garrison at Bexar. This then was his chief concern – how to maintain the upper hand until spring, when Santa Anna would surely bring reinforcements to Tejas.
San Felipe-October
William B. Travis sneezed repeatedly. “Damn this influenza,” he said to himself as he wiped the sputum away, “I intended to be halfway to Goliad by now.” Unfortunately, he had come down with the flu just at the moment when word had reached them that the first shots had been fired at Gonzales. And now, under the command of Stephen Austin, the army was on the move. By all rights Travis should have been with them, but this damn flu had intervened.
Near San Felipe-Several Days Later
Stephen Austin was pleased that the council at San Felipe had elected him to command the Volunteer Army of Texas. He was certain that he was the only person who could bring together an army sufficiently large to deal with the current state of affairs. Word having come to him that more than a hundred volunteers were already gathered in Gonzalez, he determined to go there in hopes of attracting those forces to his volunteer army. Setting out immediately from San Felipe, he recruited as many additional volunteers as he could along the way.
Among them was William B. Travis, the young but competent soldier who had led the attackers at Anahuac. Travis had apologized for his late arrival, but he had explained that he had been down with the flu in San Felipe when Austin had left there. “I like this young man,” Austin thought to himself, “While he is rough around the edges, his desire to be of use in this war is beyond debate.”
After two days’ hard ride, General Austin and his followers arrived in Gonzales. The town was bustling, a clear indication to him that there was optimism in the air. Word of his arrival spread through town faster than a jackrabbit chasing a field mouse.
Men came out on the street from everywhere just to catch a glimpse of their famous military leader. Austin had for many years been the most famous Texian in all of Texas, but he was nevertheless flattered by the attention given him by these volunteers. Within hours of his arrival he began to consider the possibility that they might indeed win this war. Perhaps they could at least convince the Mexican government to grant Texas full statehood in Mexico, and if fate was them, perhaps even full independence might be won.
Word came to Austin shortly thereafter that General Cos and his army had vacated Goliad and marched on Bexar a few days earlier. Apparently, a Texian force under the leadership of George Collinsworth had intended to capture Cos and his army, but Cos had managed to elude them.
Collinsworth had subsequently taken the thinly manned mission at Goliad on the night of October 9. One of the two main fortresses protecting the settlements against the possibility of an attack from the south was now in the hands of the Texians. The other was the Alamo in Bexar, and it was now clear to Austin that Cos planned to make it the base of operations for the Army of Mexico.
The initial battle lines having now been drawn, General Austin gave a short speech that evening to the citizens of Gonzalez. Although he was in no way a military man, he was a gifted and sincere speaker. Demonstrating this skill to great advantage on this occasion, he managed to convince the majority of the volunteers to join with his abruptly planned expedition to Bexar. Within two days the Volunteer Army had swelled to more than three hundred men and buoyed by his rapidly swelling force, Austin set off immediately in pursuit of General Cos’ army.
West of Gonzales-Late October
His feet aching fiercely, Hank quickly degenerated into a state of exceeding irritation with Hawk. Hawk had to be at least fifteen years older than him, but that wily son of a no good tree stump could walk for sure. Within a single day’s march Hawk had walked Hank into the ground. By the second day out of Gonzales, Hank had to ask Hawk for a drink from his hip flask. Hank wasn’t much of a drinking man, but there was medicinal value in a shot of whiskey. Otherwise he wouldn’t have risked the inevitable response from Hawk.
“Damndest thing I ever heard of, a Scotsman who’s sworn off drink,” Hawk replied cheerfully.
Uncorking the proffered bottle, Hank snorted, “I do drink, just not so much as you.” He took a short drag, grimaced as he swallowed and croaked, “What in
hell is that stuff, anyway?”
“Don’t even know. Don’t care,” Hawk shot back. “It serves the purpose at hand, I reckon.”
“What purpose is that?” Hank asked.
“Why, you tell me! You’re the one that’s swillin’ it down, Hank MacElrae.”
“Dang it. I just need to take the edge off. My feet are killing me.”
Scratching his chin in reflection, Hawk muttered, “Pain killer. Right. I suppose that’s one use for whiskey, but not a very good one, if you ask me.”
Observing that Hawk was somewhat doubtful of his intent, Hank interjected, “Well, sir, now that you mention it, I don’t recall askin’ you. But seein’ as how you raised the subject, what other purposes for whiskey might there be in your arsenal of choices?”
“Depends,” Hawk murmured succinctly.
Sensing another one of Hawk’s condescending diatribes coming on, Hank responded wearily, “Here we go again.”
“Again…again with what?”
“Again with you leadin’ up to divulging somethin’ profound, and me needin’ to do the leadin’ up in order for you to do the divulgin’,” Hank grunted, “Can we skip the leadin’ up part and cut straightaways to the divulgin’ part?”
“I would be more than happy to do so if I could remember what the heck it was that we were discussing,” Hawk responded in apparent exasperation, “You’ve led me so far off the track that I’m damned if I can remember the gist of the conversation.”
Hank reacted to this by unscrewing the flask and taking yet another nice long swig, from it.
His face lighting up, Hawk abruptly exclaimed, “Oh, right - purposes for drinkin’! That was the subject at hand. Well, you’ve quite stolen my thunder, Hank. Because that is one of the primary purposes right there - socializing!”
Clearly unimpressed by this rejoinder, Hank just stared at Hawk, thereby encouraging Hawk to continue his now-unfolding soliloquy.
“Well, and there’s another one that works on most folks, but apparently not you, Hank MacElrae.”
“What’s that?” Hank queried disinterestedly.
“Tongue-loosening.”
“What?” Hank blurted in obvious stupefaction. He could feel his tongue swelling a bit, but certainly not loosening. His senses commencing to dull a bit, he simply continued staring doubtfully at his companion.
“See, tis like I said - it seems it doesn’t work on you,” Hawk reiterated, “Most folks would be talking up a storm after a couple of swigs of whiskey. You, on the other hand, defy the laws of nature, Mr. Hank MacElrae. Instead, you’ve done turned into a clam.”
“A what?”
“I said - a clam! You know, those sea creatures that you have to stomp on to get their mouths open.”
His voice becoming noticeably slurred, Hank stammered, “I ain’t no clam, dammit!” And to make matters worse, he wasn’t watching where he was going.
“How’re your feet?”
“Feet ‘re fine,” Hank replied lugubriously.
“And there you are, sir. Whiskey is one of the finest inventions of mankind, I’d say,” Hawk opined sagely.
At this revelation Hank suddenly laughed aloud, “Har har, haaaaa!”
“Right. And that is most assuredly another use for whiskey – mood altering drug - most often for the better!”
Hank bent over, guffawed and exclaimed, “Mood! Altering! What in hell are you talking about? I ain’t changed my mood. I miss Julie every minute of every day. My mood is constant as the sky is blue.”
“It’s cloudy today,” Hawk observed patiently.
At this Hank allowed, “Well, if them clouds wasn’t there it’d be blue, wouldn’t it, and that’s just like my mood! If you take away the surface, I’m still blue underneath.”
Hawk belched and, continuing to walk briskly, he observed, “Well sir, THAT statement is profound. That, sir, is truly profound. And now I have discovered another use for whiskey. It brings out the hidden talents in a man, don’t it though!”
Confused, Hank murmured, “What talents?”
“Your talents, Hank. Why you’re a romantic poet at heart. Never would have known if it hadn’t been for my little friend here,” and so saying, he gestured towards his hip flask.
Suddenly reaching forward, Hank yanked the flask away from Hawk and exclaimed, “Gimme that!” at which he guzzled down yet another mouthful before Hawk could intervene.
“Well, I’ll be,” Hawk muttered as he himself took a swig, “Now we are all on the same trail. I’m thinking this stroll down to San Antonio is going to cheer up from here on. You see, there’s something I’ve been holding back.”
“What’s that?”
“I got us another entire bottle of this hooch in my saddlebags!”
San Antonio de Bexar-Late October
Francisco was the only soldier in the work detail that was not unhappy with his orders. Miguel had said that he wanted to practice firing his musket. Others just grumbled about doing any sort of work at all, but Francisco had not liked the laxness of the duties that most soldiers had been assigned in Bexar. When Captain Mendez had singled out Francisco and six others to build a redoubt next to the old mission he had been proud to finally be assigned something important to do. He felt that for the first time he was being treated like a true soldier.
Under the command of Sergeant Pena, the detail set out from their bivouac at sunrise. They headed east on Portero Street and crossed the river. The mission was a hundred yards beyond, just on the eastern edge of Bexar.
Sergeant Pena indicated the spot where they were to build the redoubt. The mission had walls surrounding it except for directly adjacent to the mission itself. Francisco was no fool. He could tell from the layout that General Cos intended to use this as a fortress. Since the only place where the mission was not protected by a wall was at this spot, a redoubt was the obvious solution.
As Sergeant Pena paced it off Francisco and the others watched, wondering just exactly how they would go about building a wall here. Would they be forced to build a stone wall like the others surrounding the mission, or would they build something less challenging?
“Men,” Sergeant Pena began, “My orders are to build a defensive redoubt connecting from the front corner of the mission right there to the edge of the wall over there. I make it to be about sixty feet. My orders are to complete this task in three days’ time. Now, what you may not know is that in my home town in Coahuila my family has several stone masons, which is why I was selected to do this job. That is quite funny to me, because I can tell you right now that there is no way that we could build a stone wall here in such a short span of time. So, my friends, we are going to build a wall made from timber!” At this announcement, Sergeant Pena grimaced at the six soldiers for effect. Several were paying little attention, but Francisco had heard every word, and he was by now searching about for trees.
“Any questions?” Pena asked.
Francisco glanced around uncomfortably and, seeing that no one seemed to be inclined to say anything, he murmured softly, “Well, yes, I do have a question, sergeant.”
“Yes?” Sergeant Pena asked impatiently, “What is your question, private?”
“If we are going to build it from timber, we will need some trees. Where exactly are the trees, sergeant?” At this, the other soldiers glanced about and, seeing no trees at all, they seemed to realize that this was a very good question.
Sergeant Pena responded, “Ah, excellent question, private. What is your name?”
“Private De la Garza,” Francisco responded in embarrassment.
“Well, Private De la Garza, seeing as how you have correctly discerned our dilemma, I am putting you in charge of a work party. You are to take two other soldiers with you and scout around the local area. Find out where there are trees this big around and at least ten feet tall that can be cut down to use for timber. And don’t go too far, understood?”
Del
ighted to be singled out for leadership, Francisco responded, “Yes, sir!” He had not only been given command, he was going to be allowed to go for a walk. This was as close to freedom as a soldier ever came. So off he went with two others looking for trees to cut down. They could see plenty of mesquite trees, but very few appeared to be large enough to meet the requirements laid out by Sergeant Pena.
Francisco supposed that a single stand of trees was optimum. He figured that an opening of sixty feet meant they would need at least that many trees, and it stood to reason that it would be best that they be in a single location. Reasoning that such trees would most likely be located near the river, he led them in that direction.
As it turned out, they only had to go upriver a couple of hundred yards before they found a large stand of cottonwood trees. By the time he reported back to Sergeant Pena, the remaining soldiers had already begun digging a long ditch where the redoubt was to be located.
Seeing their struggles, Francisco was suddenly very glad that he had spoken up, but his optimism was short lived. Sergeant Pena summarily ordered his detail to cut down the trees, so off they went again, this time far less excited.
It was back breaking work. For two days they cut down trees. By the end of the second day Francisco decided that he was growing old. Every joint in his body was sore. But on the third day, the logs were hoisted into the trench, and the redoubt was quickly completed. The Alamo was now a completely enclosed fortress.