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[Continuing chapter eight]
Patton was trying to decide whether to follow his brother when a messenger hailed him: Colonel Walker wanted to see him. Responding to the order, Patton found Walker outside his ambulance, talking with Captain Wheat and another man whom he introduced as Captain Fontaine. They were drinking coffee as they talked, and a map was spread underneath an oil-lamp suspended from a hook on the vehicle. Patton wanted to look at the map but knew better. Instead, he saluted and stood, awaiting Walker’s pleasure.
“That is the sort of behavior I wish I saw more of in the ranks,” Walker said, acknowledging the salute. “We have enough soldiers with us; it’s a shame they’re mostly deserters and hate the very idea of discipline.”
“They fought reasonably well today,” Wheat said. “That’s what counts in the final analysis, Colonel.”
“Looked better today than any of the men in Cuba,” said Fontaine. “And as good as some of the men I led in Europe.” Patton cast a sideways glance at Fontaine, curious. It appeared the man was a real soldier of fortune. Was that, he wondered, the kind of life the future held for him? Walker’s comment about deserters had stung, even though Patton had resigned rather than desert; it was likely, though, he’d never be able to have a proper military career in the Confederacy now. Cleburne had seen something in this place that seemed to call to him the way the farm had called to his relations back home; to Patton, everything he saw in Texas was little more than the physical manifestation of lines on a map.
“I have decided,” Walker said to Patton, “not to replace Mister Pickett in command of the third company. It was never meant to be a permanent promotion in the first place; Pickett was merely to administer the company until Captain Nelson joined us.” Walker cast a cool, appraising look on Patton, who remained at attention. “Since that will not be happening,” Walker continued, “it seems to me the wisest course of action is to divide Nelson’s company between those of Captains Fontaine and Wheat. This I will do tomorrow once we have crossed the creek and resumed our march.”
Walker got to his feet, and stood facing Patton. “I appreciate your quick thinking today, Mister Patton. I need that kind of behavior from my subordinates if we are to succeed in our quest. By way of thanks, I am assigning you to Captain Wheat as his senior lieutenant. He will explain your duties to you, presumably tomorrow morning; we still have things to discuss this evening amongst ourselves. You may keep your friend Cleburne with you if you’d like. Any questions?”
For a mad moment he considered asking about his brother’s warning, but it was easy to see how idiotic that would be. So Patton shook his head. “No, sir. Thank you, sir. I do have a suggestion, though.” When Walker nodded, Patton took it as a sign that he should continue. “I think it might be wise to break up the group of men around Pickett. I don’t like the way they’ve been behaving since we made camp. Left to themselves, I’m afraid they might try to free Pickett and desert—or do something worse within the camp itself.”
Walker smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant,” he said. “I would imagine that Pickett’s friends aren’t behaving all that favorably toward you right now. But in fact our desertion rate has been pleasingly low since we crossed the Sabine. Am I not right, gentlemen?”
Wheat nodded, though without enthusiasm. Fontaine said, “Most armies I’ve been in, a regiment’d lose more men in a day than we have in a week.”
“So you see, Lieutenant Patton, I’m not that concerned with the attitudes of a handful of unhappy men. They know that their interests are better served by remaining with me, and by following my orders.” Walker extended his hand. “I want to reiterate my appreciation for all that you’ve done for this expedition. Rest assured that when I am placed to offer you more reward than just this handshake, I will do so.”
Patton shook the offered hand, but left Walker’s fireside wondering at the meaning of the man’s final remark. How did he propose to be in a position to reward anyone? Or had he been promised some sort of sinecure once Texas was free of its oppressors? It was certainly possible, Patton knew. There was a political side to this expedition that he had never troubled himself to understand, being even less interested in politics than Stewart.
There was something else to think about, too, something of more immediate relevance than politics. When Walker had spoken of how low the desertion rate had been, Captain Wheat had not looked at all happy. This was the second time within the few hours since Patton had caught up with the expedition that something like that had happened—Wheat had by his expression suggested there was more to a situation than Colonel Walker’s explanations provided for.
He shook his head. Stewart might think that a well-rounded soldier would pay attention to all of these things, but Patton had to wonder just how well such a soldier would fight. General Jackson was the most deeply religious man he knew, but when it came time to fight, fighting was the only thing that occupied the general’s mind.
Besides, there was something that Cleburne hadn’t noticed that made Patton doubt that anything could be that seriously wrong. Morale in an army decayed from the bottom up. If there was a problem with this expedition, Patton thought, I should be seeing it in the faces of the men. And except for those few who’ve taken Pickett’s side against me, these men seem not just content but actually happy.
The camp was settling down for the night as Patton returned to where he had pitched a tent for himself and Cleburne, who wasn’t up to much in the way of physical work just now. Laughter still rose up from around the fires, but it was low and steady now, rather than raucous. Colonel Walker would no doubt have the camp awake before sunup, so the wise man settled in for the night as soon as it got dark.
There was no one at the tent, though. For a moment Patton felt a rush of panic, wondering if Cleburne had run; then he saw the bags and gear scattered in and around the tent, and was ashamed that he had assumed so little of his friend. You ran off to talk with Walker without a thought for Cleburne, he reminded himself. You’ve no right to be upset if he’s found something to do without you. He pulled a couple of blankets from the tent onto the grass outside; then he opened his bag and, eventually, settled for the suit rather than the uniform. After the confrontation with his brother he found himself reluctant to put on the white jacket and pale-blue trousers. He decided that he’d have to ask Captain Wheat whether it would be permissible to wear a uniform he no longer, strictly speaking, had the right to put on. He laid out the suit so that it would have a chance to air before morning. Then, making a pillow of one of his saddlebags, he crawled between the blankets and, looking up at the stars, waited for sleep to overtake him.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
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