Chapter 6
The Bexar Expedition
Bowie was a born leader, never needlessly spending a bullet or imperiling a life.
-Noah Smithwick
Near San Antonio-Late October, 1835
Hank was nearing total exhaustion. He had only been apart from Julie and Auggey a month, and in that time he had travelled nearly two hundred miles. His horse was close to breaking down, and his clothes were torn and grimy. He had dirt on every square inch of his gear, and he reeked of horse sweat, old boots, and, worst of all - horse manure. He had never been a part of an army before, but he was by now well past the romantic images of his youth. He kept reminding himself that it was all for a good cause, but what he really needed was a bath. He wondered how much farther they had to go. Worse still, he wonder how much farther he was even capable of going.
Although it was well known among the volunteers that they were going to San Antonio, after three full days of hard march, the troops had yet to catch a glimpse of anything suggesting it was near to hand. He was by now extremely hungry, but his thoughts were nevertheless consumed with wonder at what sort of Mexican Army General Cos would have awaiting them at Bexar.
Peering off in the distance, Hank observed The Volunteer Army of Texas strung out down the road for more than a half mile. He wondered if they would sneak up on the Mexicans at night, or possibly attempt one of those “Napoleonic charges”, like he’d been told the Mexicans were trained to do.
He hated this time of year in Texas. Summer would have ended by now back home in North Carolina, but here in Texas, October was just another summer month. The mosquitos were out in force today, and the army attracted them like flies on stink. Hank thought a body such as his could probably be whiffed from ten miles away. Even a little breeze would have been welcome, but such was not afforded him on this miserable day.
“Column, halt,” came the command from up the line, accompanied by, “Half hour break. Everyone spread out, get some rest, and eat some biscuits and hard tack.” Hank could see the order was coming from Sergeant Peek. Peek was from Kentucky.
It seemed like quite a few men were from Kentucky or Tennessee. They were good men, good hunters, sure shooters, and so far as he could tell, they could be depended on in a fight. Peek now came alongside Hank and spoke in an unofficial way to the men nearby, “General says we’ll be in San Antonio by nightfall. So take it easy, we’re almost to the end of our march,” and at this, he rode off.
Hank and Hawk perched under a scrawny mesquite tree, basking in what little shade they could. Hawk now observed pleasantly, “Hauugh (spit), we sure have most of it done, haven’t we, Hank!”
Hank never did know why Hawk did that insufferable spittin’, but he didn’t bother asking, having become used to Hawk’s peculiarities after a day or two. Instead, he inquired disinterestedly, “Most of what, Hawk?”
“We’re getting on down the road to San Antonio in short order, I expect,” Hawk chirped.
“It’s anything but quick, if you ask me,” Hank muttered.
Observing Hawk silently, he noticed that Hawk was built like a bear. His forearms seemed to be the size of a ship’s mast. Hank was still struggling to decide whether he thought Hawk was a moron or a genius. He seemed to know lots of things about subjects that Hank had never heard of, but that incessant hawking still had him confused.
Before Hank could resolve this dilemma, another man came up and asked, “Which one of you is Hawk, and which is Hank? I can never remember; you’re always together.”
Hank looked at him and, staring in rank surprise at Hawk, he guffawed sunnily, “Haw, haw, haaw!”
“What‘re you laughing at, beanpole?” the man replied with a surly glance.
“Sorry,” Hank answered sheepishly. “I thought you was surely jokin’. I didn’t think anyone on this whole wide earth could possibly mistake me for Hawk Banks!”
Appearing even more offended at this remark, the man replied, “What in blazes makes you say that?”
“For godsakes, man, just look at him,” Hank volunteered, “He even looks like a hawk, don’t he?”
The man paused, scratched his chin with one hand and, contemplating Hawk, he murmured at last, “Yeah, I kindda do see what you mean.”
Hawk stared back at the man and, scratching his own chin in mocking mimicry, he proffered quite appropriately, “hauuggh (spit)!”
The man peered at Hawk as if he’d been insulted. Then suddenly his eyes lit up, and he seemed to realize for the first time why he was called Hawk. He stood watching the pair for another moment and, turning to move on down the line, he added over his shoulder, “Oh, yeah, Captain says it’s time to git goin’. So mount up, boys. Oh, and General Austin wants to see you, Hawk.”
“The enemy will be smelling our gun powder by tomorrow, I’ll wager,” Hawk offered up, somehow failing to hawk for a welcome change.
“Hell, they can smell my backside for all I care,” Hank answered, “So long as they skee-daddle back down across the Rio Grande.”
“Haauggh (spit), har har,” crowed Hawk.
Baffled as to how anyone should respond to such utterings from a human being, Hank could only smirk in return. He pondered for a moment and asked, “Hawk, you’re supposed to know about these things - whaddya think? Will we just charge right down on ‘em, or will we lay siege?”
“Haauggh (spit, spit). Well now, I’ve been thinkin’ on that very thing. Here’s what it all comes down to – it’s a matter of military strategy. On the one side we have all these marksmen Texians – a bunch of finely tuned killing machines. On the other side, we have these conscripted soldiers, most of ‘em men who don’t give a rat’s behind about this here war. We Texans number about three hundred men. Word has it the opposition numbers maybe five or six hundred. Given our superior firepower, we could take them in any sort of fight, I expect. So I’m thinking if the walls are short, perhaps as short as climbing height, we’ll just waltz right in there, poke our gun barrels over the wall, and shoot ‘em all dead. But if the walls are tall, then we’ll sit back and fire off a volley ever once in a while, and wait for ‘em to run out of supplies.”
Hank was impressed with neither Hawk’s insight nor his delivery. Still, Hawk’s assessment somehow seemed to make sense to him. “What do we need to do to prepare for the battle - clean our weapons, I suppose - and what else?”
“Already cleaned mine,” Hawk observed, “I expect I’ll get myself a poke, soon as we get to town.”
Powerfully perplexed by this, Hank inquired, “Getting’ a poke don’t seem like gettin’ ready for battle to me.”
“Haauggh (spit!). Of course it does,” Hawk shot back, “Man has to have everything in order when he’s facing the prospect of meetin’ his maker. You ponder on that now, Hank. You need to be preparing yourself.”
Hank pondered further and suggested, “’Spect Julie wouldn’t like it if’n I was to go whorin’, ‘specially when I’m supposed to be soldiering.”
“Heck, no! Now, I didn’t mean that YOU ought to go chasing down on some sweet young thing. Meant to say to get your affairs in order,” Hawk advised.
Continuing this line of thinking, Hank queried, “Affairs? How so?”
Hawk reflected, “Well, now, some married fellows write a good clean will leaving their land to their family so that nobody can steal it if they die. Others just write a letter to their wife and give it to someone else in the event they get shot dead. Stuff like that.” He said this last emphatically, as if it were some sort of law.
“There it is again,” Hank thought to himself. Ol’ Hawk sure was smart. He’d been around and seen it all, Hank supposed. He promised to himself that he’d write a good letter to Julie that very night and give it to Hawk for safe-keeping.
Near San Antonio-October
William Fannin was a proud man and, never having quite recovered from the embarrassment of his ejection from West Point,
he had left South Carolina for that very reason. Having cast his lot in Texas, he meant to make a better go of it this time around. His first step had been to conveniently alter the facts. In Texas he let it be known that he had attended West Point, but he had seen fit to be evasive when it came to further details. Appropriating the title “Colonel” had clearly been a smart move on his part.
His first year in Texas had been really tough. Although he’d been flat broke, he had managed to convince Joseph Mims to let his family live in a house on his plantation in Brazoria. Shortly thereafter Mims had shown interest when Fannin had proposed that he smuggle slaves from Cuba into Texas. Mims had subsequently financed the scheme, and although Fannin had succeeded in transporting a fair number of slaves, he had continued to carry significant debts.
Still, it all seemed to be working out as he had hoped. In August, the council had awarded him the title of confidential agent, thereby granting him the right to bring together what volunteers he could in order to build a fighting force. This force had been designated ostensibly for the purpose of defending against possible Indian aggression, but in reality the council was preparing for war against Mexico.
In his new official capacity Fannin had attended the council meeting in early October in San Felipe. He had characterized himself as an experienced military man, and General Austin had fallen for it. Now Fannin was a captain in the Army of Texas, having attained a rank that would have taken half a lifetime to achieve had he stayed on at West Point. Accordingly, he was mighty pleased with himself. Yes, indeed, he thought to himself, Texas was the place for him to make his name and fortune. At this rate, he expected that before long he would attain the rank of general.
The Outskirts of San Antonio-October
Stephen Austin pulled up his horse on the prairie overlooking the San Antonio River. Off in the distance he could see the town of San Antonio de Bexar. To look at the dilapidated rows of stone huts, anyone would have been surprised to hear that it was one of the largest cities in Texas. Unfortunately, this part of Texas was not prone to natural beauty, but there was good clean water in the river. West of San Antonio was a land of endless nothingness. Filled with little but Indians and death, the vast expanse beyond rendered San Antonio de Bexar the last outpost of civilization in Texas.
The Alamo Mission could be seen plainly on the eastern edge of the town, and there, above the makeshift fort, the flag of Mexico fluttered in the late afternoon breeze. “Captain Fannin,” Austin commanded, “Tell the men to break ranks and set up camp. We’ll lay up here for the night.”
“Yes, sir,” Fannin replied.
“After you’re finished eating - you, Travis and the other officers meet me in my tent to discuss military tactics,” Austin ordered.
“Will do, sir,” and Fannin rode off to pass on the order.
Austin watched as the procession of Texians slowly trudged into the camp and began the process of bedding down for the night.
Sergeant Peek rode up with another rider, a stocky man that Austin thought he recognized. “You’re Banks, are you not, sir?”
Dismounting to salute, Hawk responded, “Yes, sir, General Austin, at your service.”
“I hear you’ve been rangering up north. Am I correct, sir?”
“Yes, sir, and before that I was in Kentucky.”
“Good to have you with us, Mr. Banks, and thank you for your service to Texas. It has come to my attention that you are a fine marksman and a leader of men, sir. Need I say, the Army of Texas is in desperate need of military leadership. We have here all sorts of volunteers, and I am sure that they will acquit themselves well if and when we engage the enemy, but I am greatly concerned at the lack of military training within our volunteer army. I am wondering if you might be favorably disposed to accept a commission as lieutenant in this army. Might that suit you, sir? Of course, I cannot pay you, as this is a volunteer army.”
His surprise evident at this offer, Hawk responded politely, “Sir, I have had no formal military training in my entire life.”
“I understand, Mr. Banks, but I am told that you have indeed fought in the War of 1812. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Then I submit that you, sir, are more experienced than I am in the art of warfare. And here you see before you the commander of this rag-tag mob of an army. We are in desperate need of your leadership, sir! Can I count on you?” Austin now implored.
Swayed by such eloquence, Hawk volunteered, “Why yes, sir. I am here to serve in any way that will help the army to achieve its objectives.”
“Spoken like a born military man, Mr. Banks. I hereby confer the rank of lieutenant upon you. Please report to Captain Fannin on the morrow. He will have specific orders for you. You are dismissed, and God be with you, sir,” Austin responded.
“Yes, sir,” Hawk replied and, commencing to salute reflexively, he thought better of it, instead hiking himself into his saddle and cantering off to locate Hank. He had been greatly impressed with Stephen Austin on this first meeting, thereby instilling a surge of relief within him that the army was indeed in good hands.
Once Fannin and the other officers had joined Austin inside his tent, he commenced with, “They tell me they’ve reinforced the walls around the old mission, and if my reports are correct, they outnumber us by at least two- or perhaps even three-to-one. I’m thinking we should lay siege rather than attack. Your thoughts, Captain Fannin?”
“Well, sir, the army is growing every day. At the current rate we may outnumber them in two weeks’ time. But for the moment, given the superior force we are dealing with, as well as their strong defensive position, I would have to agree with you, sir.”
“Thank you, sir. As you are well aware, I have no military training,” General Austin proffered. “Therefore, I trust that you will advise me in any way that you feel necessary regarding our military position. Are you prepared to do so, gentlemen?”
Speaking for the other officers, Captain Fannin responded, “Yes, of course, sir.” Pleased that Austin had chosen to seek out his counsel, he intended to take advantage of this opportunity in short order.
“Right,” General Austin commanded, “Well, here then is my order of the day. Get the men awake an hour before sunrise. We’re going right in there and lay siege first light tomorrow. Best not wait any longer.”
“Yes, sir,” the officers replied in unison, withdrawing thereafter.
“Oh, and Captain Fannin, a word, if you please,” Austin added.
“Yes, sir,” Fannin responded.
“I have commissioned Mr. Hawk Banks as a lieutenant in the army as of today. I have ordered him to report to you for duty tomorrow morning. I believe that you will find him to be very capable. He is a Texas Ranger.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve already heard of him. A good choice, sir,” and so saying, Fannin saluted and departed.
October 20, 1835
Julie MacElrae
Bastrop, Texas
Coahuila y Texas, Mexico
Dear Julie-
I got here to Gonzales. We got ourselves into a little fight with the Mexicans there, but I didn’t even get off a shot. General Austin came later and sent us to San Antonio to fight the Mexican Army. We walked three days, and now we’re here. I met a new friend named Hawk Banks. He’s a smart man I reckon. He said I should write and tell you if I’m gonna die. So far I haven’t. Truth is, it’s all just hot and tiresome.
I’ll write you when I can. Tell Auggey I said hi and keep the barn cleaned out good.
I miss you-
Hank
San Antonio de Bexar
General Cos was at dinner when word came from his scouts that an army of Texians was approaching Bexar from the northeast. As his was the only remaining Mexican garrison in Texas, he had been expecting this for some time. He realized with satisfaction that now the word would spread rapidly through his army, and the troops would understand
that what he had been warning them was true – they had a war on their hands.
Cos had serious doubts about the abilities of his army. He had no idea how many Texians were coming, but he was certain that his own troops were not the fighting sort. For several years it had been the custom to populate the northern outposts of the army with convicted felons, conscripts and inferior troops. While this made no sense to a military man such as himself, as a student of military history, he realized that it was common for armies to make such tactical mistakes – the weakest troops are almost always sent to the farthest outposts. Even the Romans had made such mistakes at the height of their empire.
Now Cos was faced with the prospect of dealing with these hardened revolutionaries that outnumbered his poorly equipped and trained army by as much as two-to-one. So be it. He had two things on his side. First, the Texians were not - indeed they could not be - an army in any sense of the word. Second, Cos had the advantage of holding the mission at Bexar, which offered a formidable defensive position for the coming battle.
San Antonio
Awakening from a night of hard drinking, James Bowie found himself with a thundering headache. From considerable practice, he knew exactly how much to imbibe so as to bring on just such a painful recovery. Apart from death it was his only escape. Though it had been two years since the cholera epidemic had swept his entire family away in Monclova, he could hardly face a day burdened with sobriety. He had cared greatly for his lovely young wife, but in death his love for her had grown to nearly unbearable proportions. The loss of access to the Veramendi family fortune had been an immediate shock due to his wife’s passing, but that was as nothing compared to the enduring emotional void created by the loss of his wife and children.
Bowie tried hard to be a good man. He wanted desperately to believe that Ursula was with God, watching over him, instilling in him the fortitude to pursue his better nature. But deep down inside, to his eternal chagrin, his inborn persona repeatedly exerted itself upon him. Bowie was at the very least rambunctious, at the worst impossible. He simply could not contain his propensity to plot and scheme, to always search for a challenge just beyond his reach. His failures were legendary, his successes few. But despite this, he continued to wade headlong into adversity, always the optimist, ever certain that his next adventure would turn a fortune.
In his role as Colonel in the Texas Rangers Bowie had scouted lands far northwards in Texas over the course of the previous year, ostensibly for the purpose of containing potential Indian uprisings, but there had always been a hidden agenda. With the loss of his family, his only remaining passion was land. Accordingly, he sought profit from the purchase and sale of acreage, and this had been his ultimate motive for exploring along the upper reaches of the Trinity River. Unfortunately, nothing of value had come from the expedition, and so it had gone for him yet again.
Now Bowie was back in San Antonio, where he had first met the Veramendi family in 1828. Juan Martin de Veramendi had been a wonderful mentor and business partner, providing Bowie access to the highest levels of the Mexican society in San Antonio. It had only been later, when Juan’s daughter Ursula had grown into womanhood that their personal relationship had blossomed. Reminiscing wistfully, Bowie understood all too well - it was all gone now - and his pounding headache, painful though it was, provided his only escape from reality.
Army of Texas Camp near San Antonio
James Bowie entered General Austin’s office and, not bothering to present any sort of formal salute, he emitted brusquely, “You sent for me, General?”
“James! Great to see you,” Austin responded and, holding out his hand, he implored, “Welcome, please come in and have a seat!”
Accepting the general’s proffered hand, Bowie responded pleasantly, “Thank you, sir.”
“Please don’t call me sir,” Austin responded elegantly, “We are friends, and for whatever reason, we have been thrown together at a turning point in time here in Texas.” Austin paused for effect and continued, “So, it has been two years since last we met. And in that time we have both been imprisoned in Mexico.”
“But I was only held for little more than a month,” Bowie interjected.
“And you managed to escape. Bravo for you. And I hear of other exploits of yours in my absence. Bravo, sir!”
“Thank you, Stephen. I am flattered,” Bowie responded, “But I am only doing what I can for Texas.”
“Just so, James, just so.” Austin responded and, leaning back in his chair, he placed his fingertips together. Bending forward in supplication, he suggested, “Permit me to offer my sincere condolences over the loss of your family, sir.”
“Thank you, General.”
“General! Ha! I feel like a clown in a circus side show. But you sir, you are a born leader of men. The council has seen fit to place me in charge of this rabble we call an army. So be it, I intend to play my part. But you, sir, you possess the charisma to lead men into battle. They will follow you. May I therefore count upon you to be my second in command of this expedition?”
Having anticipated something of the sort, Bowie exclaimed in feigned surprise, “Why, I would be honored to serve in any way that I can, sir.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” Austin replied cheerfully. “I am most indebted to you. The Volunteer Army of Texas is in desperate need of your skills.”
Taking on a slightly more formal attitude, Bowie queried, “What is your pleasure, General?”
“I would ask you to be commander in the field, sir. As you are already a Colonel in the Texas Rangers, I would expect that rank to be commensurate with such a responsibility. Shall we say, Colonel Bowie, field commander for The Volunteer Army of Texas?”
“I would consider it an honor, sir, a great honor indeed.”
“Wonderful. I assume that you are familiar with Captain Fannin, sir.”
“I have not had the pleasure of meeting Captain Fannin,” Bowie rejoined, “But I do know him by reputation. He has served as a Colonel in the militia if I am not mistaken.”
“You are correct, Colonel,” Austin responded. “I believe that he will serve you well in the field. He has had military training at West Point. Now to the point - we are challenged with deploying a volunteer army that is little more than a mob. I need not tell you that General Cos commands twice our number of men or more. Furthermore, they are well trained and supplied. They occupy Bexar, which you would know better than anyone else in this army, provides a great deal of protection for his men. My charge to you, sir, is to provide the inventive genius required to overcome the odds we face.”
“Fair enough, sir, and I am honored that you have seen fit to offer me such a pivotal role in this engagement. But let me say that we do indeed seem to have the makings of an army here at Bexar. And I for one believe that we can lick any force that they throw at us. I must say I like our odds, sir.”
“Excellent. I am quite intoxicated by your sense of optimism, James. My suspicion was that you were the man for this challenge. And so you are, sir!”
“I will do my best, sir,” Bowie responded earnestly and, well aware of the responsibility implicit in Austin’s supposition, he added hopefully, “And if we are fortunate, we will drive the enemy from Texas for good.”
“Listen, James, they are not going to give up Texas without a fight. I’ve met Lopez de Santa Anna, and he is a brilliant military man,” Austin said and, pulling out a map and spreading it on the table, he posited, “Now we’re here, east of Bexar. The Mexican Army is spread throughout the city, presumably at the Alamo mission as well. I’m not telling you anything you do not already know, but what are your thoughts on how to proceed?”
“Sir,” James now began and, cupping his chin in contemplation, he offered, “I have been thinking on just that ever since General Cos arrived here ten days ago. I believe we need to find a good defensive position close to the city.”
At this suggestion Aust
in called to his aide, “Private, Get me Captain Fannin.”
Fannin entered the room shortly thereafter and, Austin and Bowie still engrossed in their study the map, Austin momentarily turned to accept Fannin’s salute.
“Yes, sir,” Fannin said smartly. “You wanted me?”
“Yes, Captain. This is Colonel James Bowie, my new second in command.”
Hearing this, Fannin immediately saluted Bowie, observing, “Heard of you, Colonel Bowie. A pleasure, sir. Welcome to the Army of Texas!” at which the two shook hands cordially.
“Good,” General Austin said and, without waiting for comment, he elucidated, “Colonel Bowie and I are discussing the situation. We three seem to be the leaders of this rag-tag army, if you could call it that. We have about three hundred and fifty men, with a few trickling in every few days. What with winter still a couple of months off, there is ample opportunity to engage the enemy, but the Mexican Army seems to be well concentrated in Bexar. Given the circumstances do you have any thoughts on our military position, Captain?”
“The men are itchin’ for a fight, sir,” Fannin volunteered, “With winter comin’ fair soon, they want to get the job done quick, so they get on back to their families before travel gets difficult.”
“I understand, captain, but what is your military view of the situation?” Austin queried officiously.
“Honestly, General, the Mexican Army holds the upper hand,” Fannin observed, “Cos clearly has both superior numbers and a commanding defensive position. In view of these facts, it would appear to me that we need to lay siege to the city immediately, thus insuring that no food or communication gets in or out of the city.”
Turning to his new-found second in command, Austin inquired, “Colonel Bowie?”
“Sir, with all due respect to Captain Fannin, I believe that General Cos is soft, sir,” Bowie proffered, “If pushed, his men will disperse quicker than a fart on a windy day. I say we search out a location where we can get close in to the city, and fortify that location as quickly as possible. There are a couple of missions close to Bexar, and either one of them could afford us great protection as a point of departure for an attack on the city.”
“How say you, Captain?” Austin queried.
At this Fannin responded, “I can see where Colonel Bowie’s plan might be fruitful, sir. It would at least give us time to entrench, and it provides flexibility.”
“Excellent, then we are agreed, gentlemen. I will entertain a more detailed plan of execution from the two of you tomorrow at mid-morning. Dismissed.”
General Austin could see that General Cos’ army held a strategic advantage over the Texians at Bexar. He therefore held his army at bay for several days, during which time he instructed Bowie and Fannin to seek out the best location for a general assault on Bexar. For the time being, he would limit his troops to skirmishing as a means of keeping the enemy on their heels.
Army of Texas Camp near San Antonio-A Few Days Later
Hawk strode up to the makeshift tent and announced tersely, “Get your gear together, Hank. We’re moving out.”
Remaining motionless in obvious dissent, Hank blabbered insolently, “Well, listen to mister high-and-mighty his self. Got himself an officer’s title, and now he thinks he can give orders to anybody he pleases.”
“Listen here, Hank,” Hawk commanded, “We’re done screwing around now. There are seven hundred or more well-trained Mexican soldiers right down there in that town, and unless we start to work together, we’re going get our butts kicked all the way to Louisiana. So GET YOUR GEAR TOGETHER! NOW!!!”
At this sharp rebuttal, Hank jumped a foot in the air. All he could think of to say was, “Whew!” But then he added surreptitiously, “Yes, SIR!” And so saying, he scurried off to do Hawk’s bidding.
“And one more thing, Hank,” Hawk called to his retreating back.
“What!” Hank squawked lamely.
“If anybody asks you, you’re my orderly, hear?” Hawk commanded loudly.
“Orderly? What the hell is an orderly?” Hank responded, a doubtful look on his face.
“It means you’re attached to me,” Hawk instructed.
“Attached! What the hell you talkin’ about, Mr. Hawk Officer?” Hank blubbered inanely, “I ain’t attached to you. On the contrary, I’m about as unattached to you as anyone I ever did know in my entire life!”
Hawk snarled, apparently on the verge of saying something even more biting, but then, recalling that he was now an officer, he replied mildly, “It’s just a term, Hank. If you say you’re my orderly, it gives you the right to stay close wherever I go. That’s all it means.”
“Oh,” Hank responded and, calming at the realization of it, he murmured, “Alright, I get it. Where’re we off to, Lieutenant Banks?”
Ignoring the innuendo, Hawk replied authoritatively, “A mission - Mission Concepcion. By all accounts, it affords a good defensive position.”
“Defensive position? What do we need that for? Didn’t you say we were goin’ to waltz in there and shoot over them short walls?” Hank volunteered derisively.
“Yes, sir, I did. But as it turns out, the walls are tall, in fact quite a bit too tall for that approach,” Hawk imparted, “So we’re reconnoitering, looking for their weaknesses, and while we’re doing that, we don’t want those soldiers down there haphazardly picking off our men, do we, Hank?”
Suddenly intent on accomplishing his military assignment, Hank hedged, “Aw, heck, I was just askin’, for God’s sake. I’ll shut up now and leave the strategizing to you geniuses at the top.”
“You do that. I don’t aim to be giving you a speech every time I tell you to do something.”
Ignoring this final cutting remark, Hank set off to get his gear together.
East of San Antonio
James Bowie pulled up his horse and, taking in the scene before him, he observed that the bluff he sat atop gave him a commanding view of the city off to the west. In the distance he could see the Alamo. The Veramendi house, where he had spent his happiest times with Ursula, was down there in the center of the city. The city was not impressive, but General Cos having seen fit to set up a series of breastworks surrounding the city, he had to admit that it would be difficult for the Texians to take it. General Austin had ordered him to find the best approach for an assault, and now he could see what looked to be the closest place that offered a strategic position for the Texians.
At that moment Captain Fannin crested the ridge, and he too gazing off in the distance, he queried formally, “What do you think, Colonel Bowie?”
Bowie was irked by Fannin’s formality. He didn’t give a damn where Fannin had studied. He only cared about results, but he decided to let it pass. He peered off to the south and, pointing to a particular spot, he blurted, “See yonder? See those short white buildings, and then just east of that there’s a mission.”
“Yes, I do, sir” replied Fannin solemnly.
“I’m thinking that’s as close as a group of three hundred men can approach to the city and be protected from gunfire by the opposing army. It can’t be more than a couple of hundred yards from the defensive line the enemy has constructed around the city. What do you think, Captain?”
“I see it, and yes, I believe you are correct, sir. Is that Mission Concepcion?”
“Why, yes, it is indeed. I’m thinkin’ it might be best to get down there with as many men as we can and occupy it before the Mexican Army beats us to it. What do you think, Captain?”
“On the surface it makes sense, but General Austin gave specific orders to report back before occupying any new sites, Colonel Bowie.”
“I know, but that could destroy the element of surprise,” Bowie suggested, “I’d hate to lose that advantage. I don’t see another location that fits our needs.”
“I see your point, Colonel Bowie,” Fannin responded in agreement, “Perhaps we should advance forthwith and attempt to gain a f
oothold before dark sets in.”
South of San Antonio-Later that Day
Hawk surveyed the terrain to the north in the late afternoon sun. They had circled around to the south of the city and come up the old La Bahia road. First they had passed the old Mission Espada. Somewhat later they had arrived at the Mission Concepcion, perhaps two miles south of the city. Just beyond the mission, the column had halted in the trees along the banks of the San Antonio River. The area was nicely wooded, thereby providing plenty of natural protection for the Texians. Hawk figured there were about a hundred men under Colonel Bowie’s command.
Hawk observed that the river afforded a natural protection - the enemy would have to first cross the river and then cross that open plain in order to attack. “Damn,” he thought to himself as he surveyed their position, “Bowie is a genius. We are safe as ‘coons in a cave. There is no possible way the Mexican Army can get at us here.”
Just at that moment shots rang out and, the troops scurrying instinctively for cover, they were so well protected that not a single soldier was struck. The enemy was suddenly aware that the Army of Texas had flanked them in force and, observing correctly that they could not successfully attack such a large force, they wisely withdrew back into the city. Hawk assumed that tomorrow there would be a fight, perhaps this time even a real one.
Army of Texas Camp near San Antonio-That Evening
General Austin was savoring his evening coffee when his adjutant came trotting up to his tent. “What news from Colonel Bowie?” he inquired, “Have they found a good site for the attack?”
“Yes, sir, they have,” the messenger responded.
“Well, then, where are they?”
“Colonel, they have occupied the old Mission Nuestra Señora de la Purisima Concepcion with the search party.”
Rising so abruptly that he spilled his coffee, Austin scowled, “What!” Jerking backwards to avoid the escaping liquid, he grabbed a rag to swill off the coffee that had burned his hand, then shouted in obvious irritation, “What in tarnation has got into Bowie! That Louisiana squirrel has disobeyed my orders!”
“Sir, I know, sir, but they found a really good spot. At least it looks that way to me!” the adjutant responded in obvious consternation.
“Corporal, may I remind you that this is an army, not a school children’s outing. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed.”
“Yes sir,” was all the soldier could think of to say.
General Austin was clearly out of control. In point of fact, he was so out of sorts that he failed to sleep at all that night.
South of San Antonio-The Same Evening
For his part, Hank was sick and tired of all this riding around in circles. They had ridden clear around the city, taking darn near the whole day to do so, and all they had succeeded in doing was to draw the Mexican Army out in this direction rather than the other. He wished he’d stayed behind with the other half of the army. But he was now Hawk’s “orderly” and, finally realizing the irony of the term, he murmured to himself, “All it means is I’m Hawk’s property to order around.”
Hawk now strode up, explaining, “We’re here for the night, Hank. There will surely be a battle tomorrow, maybe even sooner. So no sense in building a fire or pitching a tent. You’ll just attract enemy fire. Just stay low and wait for the fun to start. In the meantime, you can catch some sleep if you want.”
At this Hank’s eyes grew wide and he emitted idiotically, “Sleep? We’re gonna have a fight here? If I sleep I might miss it!”
“You will not miss a thing, I assure you,” Hawk said condescendingly, “As soon as the first shots are fired, it’ll be pandemonium around here. There won’t be one single person asleep, I guarantee it,” and, shaking his head in disbelief, Hawk turned to attend to his responsibilities.
“Hawk?” Hank called to his receding silhouette.
At this Hawk turned and exclaimed impatiently, “What, damn it!”
“Why are we here exactly?”
“Patience, my man, patience. You will see soon enough. We got the enemy trussed up tighter than a goose in a noose. You’ll see.”
South of San Antonio-The Following Morning
Having dined on mescal and sugar candy the previous evening, James Bowie had somehow managing to sleep like a baby on the eve of battle. He awoke to an encroaching and impenetrable fog. When the fog finally lifted he discovered that the opposition had managed to cross the river under cover of the fog. His army was now completely surrounded by the enemy.
It being immediately clear that they would have to fight their way out if they were to see today’s sunset alive, Bowie was suddenly in his element. Not being a man to run from a fight, he repositioned his troops so as to take as much advantage as he could of the natural protection afforded by the bend in the river and the surrounding trees. Fortunately, the opposing forces seemed to be unhurriedly preparing for the assault, thereby allowing Bowie sufficient time to position his forces beneath the bank of the river. They then settled to await the coming attack.
Once the shooting started, the superior defensive position held by the Texians was too much for the enemy troops. Their cannon, poorly positioned at the head of the bend in the river, was completely ineffective. Though General Cos’ forces fought courageously, the Texians drove them back time and time again.
Along the San Antonio River-During the Battle
Observing the battle from his position, Hawk observed it unfolding in exact agreement with his expectations. The Mexican Army, attempting to fight in the style of Napoleon’s Army, were forced to learn that style of combat simply was not going to cut it here. The Texians could sit there all day and pick off the attackers one by one, like turkeys in a pen. Had there not been people wounded and dying out there on the plain, it would have been laughable. As it was, the Texians would surely live to fight another day.
During a short lull in the fighting, Hank called out to Hawk, “Captain Fannin wants you, lieutenant.”
“Alright, I’ll be back in a minute,” he replied officiously.
When he returned, he called to several men who were nestled up against the river bank, “Men, follow me - Colonel Bowie’s orders. We’ve been ordered to take that cannon!”
The group followed Hawk down the river bank towards where the enemy had positioned their artillery piece. Because the sharp-shooting Texians had been picking off members of the artillery crew one by one, there weren’t a whole lot of them left to defend it at the moment.
Hawk’s detachment crawled within mere yards of the cannon, and on Colonel Bowie’s command, the Texian army unloosed a barrage at the artillery crew. The remaining soldiers were decimated, at which point Hawk led his men over the river bank. They captured the cannon without losing a man, and the Mexican Army was forced to withdraw from the battlefield shortly thereafter. Thus ended the Battle of Concepcion, the first major engagement of the Texas Revolution.
The Battle of Concepcion was a complete disaster for General Cos and his army. The Texians had not only had the advantage of a virtually impenetrable defensive position, it was also clear that their long rifles were dramatically superior to the muskets of the Mexican Army. Whereas the Mexicans had lost more than fifty soldiers, Bowie’s forces suffered only one killed and one wounded. Word of the victory spread across Texas like wildfire, and as the month of November commenced, volunteers began pouring into Bexar, eager to be a part of the anticipated victory over the Army of Mexico.
For his part, Colonel James Bowie’s star ascended to new heights. Already a legend on the western frontier for his many escapades, he was now a true hero of Texas, the commander of the first bona fide victory of the Texas Revolution.