Bonny Blue Flag 4.4

Previous    First

[Continuing chapter four]

Walker watched the mounted men pass through the gate of the low-walled fort, waiting until the large, heavy doors closed before he turned back down the road. The patrol had come from the direction of the river, and he was grateful now that it had taken so long to get his column separated into its three companies and moving out along their designated routes. If they’d moved much faster they’d have encountered the Canadian dragoons on the road, with possibly uncomfortable consequences. Not that he doubted for a moment the victory his men would have won over the dispirited-looking squadron of green-clad men—Canadians rather than British regulars. The sounds of fighting, though, would have been heard for miles around and would have brought the rest of the garrison, not to mention announcing the presence of an armed force on the border with Texas. No, it was much better that military entanglements be avoided just now.


Convenient though the delay had been, mind, it was still disturbing to contemplate just how long it had taken to get the column moving again. He envied the leaders of standing armies, who could enforce discipline at sword-point if necessary. He had had to cajole his men into motion, and their reluctance to move when they felt they should have been eating supper was as nothing set against that of the mules. It was small consolation that Wheat and Fontaine had appeared to be having no more success in getting away. Once we’re out of the woods and onto the prairie in Texas things will go much more smoothly, he assured himself one more time.

Once he was sure that Fort Edward had stood down for the night, Walker turned east again and rode back toward the company he was leading in Nelson’s absence. They were not where he’d expected to find them. He had to ride a full half-hour by his pocket-watch before he encountered the first of the scouts, and it was ten minutes more before he met up with the main body of men and wagons. Nobody was moving.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked John Baylor, the Texan he’d left in charge.

“It’s the dresses, Colonel Walker.” Baylor spat a plug of tobacco and shifted nervously in his saddle. “The boys are sure unhappy about having to wear them.”

“Their feelings one way or another do not matter,” Walker said quietly. This is not right, he told himself angrily. This is not how it was supposed to be.

Perhaps he hadn’t made it clear to the men what their duties and responsibilities were. I should have spent more time with the men and less in New Orleans, he thought. Forgive me, Lord, for my presumptuousness and vanity. “Gather the men together, Mister Baylor,” he said, making his voice as cold as he could. “I will speak to them before we set out again.”

Next    Chapter One    Chapter Two    Chapter Three    Chapter Four