[Continuing chapter seventeen]
The sun was well up when Patton awoke next, and when he realized just how deeply he’d slept, he was grateful for the rest. No doubt, he thought, I’m just relieved that this long ordeal is nearly over.
What do I do once we’re in Washington? he wondered. He’d been so focused on the march itself that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about anything beyond that. Perhaps it’s more accurate, he chided himself, to say that you indulged in the luxury of not having to think. And now it’s time to start thinking again.
Would he be going back to Virginia a hero? Or would he be made to keep his work here a secret? How quickly would Colonel Walker release him? And once released from Texas, would he be allowed to rejoin the army?
This, he thought as he struggled out of his bedroll, is why you were so eager not to have to think while on the march. There were just too many things to consider, too many possibilities that frustrated attempts to find a simple answer to the question of What next?
Captain Wheat rode up as Patton was shaking the dust out of his coat. “You’re running behind, lad,” Wheat said, grinning. “Our colonel doesn’t approve of sluggards—and you’re not in Washington yet.”
Patton was surprised to see that Wheat had dressed himself in a uniform. It wasn’t a Texan uniform—it didn’t look like any sort of uniform you’d find in a self-respecting army. Wheat looked a bit like an actor playing a part he hadn’t studied, and his uniform suggested a stage costume more than anything military. The pearl gray coat might not have been too unattractive were it not for the bright yellow facings and the plenitude of yellow brass buttons across the chest. Or the bright yellow sash that crossed Wheat’s chest on a diagonal. The final indignity was the brace of long, yellow-dyed feathers that had been thrust into the band of the flamboyant, floppy, wide-brimmed hat that Wheat normally affected.
“I didn’t know you had a uniform.” That was all Patton could manage.
“Walker’s idea,” Wheat said, flushing slightly. “Never would have come up with something like this on my own time, I assure you.” He looked down at his sash, opened his mouth, then shook his head sadly. “Get moving, will you? You won’t get any breakfast if you’re not up and packed inside of five minutes.”
“I can eat something in the saddle,” Patton said. “If you’re going to wear a uniform today, so am I.” He turned to his saddle bags as Wheat rode off to vent some more of his embarrassment on the men. I know I have no right to this, Patton thought as he pulled from its wrappings the new uniform he had bought on learning of his assignment to the treaty commission, back in February, virtually a lifetime ago. But it looks enough like a Texican uniform I could justify wearing it. In the soft early morning light the pale, near-white wool seemed almost to glow, and the blue ribbon of the piping was as bright as the Texas sky and the new start he and Walker were bringing to the Republic. Patton began to dress, unable to suppress an excited grin.
When he put his left arm into the coat, though, something blocked it for a moment. A push dislodged a small oilcloth packet from the sleeve; it hit the grass with a soft plop. A separate piece of paper floated down as a sort of afterthought; Patton stooped to pick that up. The hand was an unfamiliar one, and the pencilled lines were smudged—how long has this been here, he wondered. He looked to the bottom of the page. The signature was Cleburne’s.
My dear Patton, he read: I trust that this finds you well, and I pray that it finds you in time. Please forgive me for the manner of my bringing this to you. I wanted to tell you before we left, but your brother argued too strongly against it. Know that John has not turned against you, but he does not know you as I do, and did not think this information safe with you, close as you are to Walker. This letter is the compromise I was able to win from him.
It saddens me to have to tell you that you have been brought to Texas under false pretenses. The expedition of which you are a part is not here to “liberate” Texas from anyone. It is here, in fact, to steal Texas from its elected government and join it by force to the Confederacy.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter TwelveThe sun was well up when Patton awoke next, and when he realized just how deeply he’d slept, he was grateful for the rest. No doubt, he thought, I’m just relieved that this long ordeal is nearly over.
What do I do once we’re in Washington? he wondered. He’d been so focused on the march itself that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about anything beyond that. Perhaps it’s more accurate, he chided himself, to say that you indulged in the luxury of not having to think. And now it’s time to start thinking again.
Would he be going back to Virginia a hero? Or would he be made to keep his work here a secret? How quickly would Colonel Walker release him? And once released from Texas, would he be allowed to rejoin the army?
This, he thought as he struggled out of his bedroll, is why you were so eager not to have to think while on the march. There were just too many things to consider, too many possibilities that frustrated attempts to find a simple answer to the question of What next?
Captain Wheat rode up as Patton was shaking the dust out of his coat. “You’re running behind, lad,” Wheat said, grinning. “Our colonel doesn’t approve of sluggards—and you’re not in Washington yet.”
Patton was surprised to see that Wheat had dressed himself in a uniform. It wasn’t a Texan uniform—it didn’t look like any sort of uniform you’d find in a self-respecting army. Wheat looked a bit like an actor playing a part he hadn’t studied, and his uniform suggested a stage costume more than anything military. The pearl gray coat might not have been too unattractive were it not for the bright yellow facings and the plenitude of yellow brass buttons across the chest. Or the bright yellow sash that crossed Wheat’s chest on a diagonal. The final indignity was the brace of long, yellow-dyed feathers that had been thrust into the band of the flamboyant, floppy, wide-brimmed hat that Wheat normally affected.
“I didn’t know you had a uniform.” That was all Patton could manage.
“Walker’s idea,” Wheat said, flushing slightly. “Never would have come up with something like this on my own time, I assure you.” He looked down at his sash, opened his mouth, then shook his head sadly. “Get moving, will you? You won’t get any breakfast if you’re not up and packed inside of five minutes.”
“I can eat something in the saddle,” Patton said. “If you’re going to wear a uniform today, so am I.” He turned to his saddle bags as Wheat rode off to vent some more of his embarrassment on the men. I know I have no right to this, Patton thought as he pulled from its wrappings the new uniform he had bought on learning of his assignment to the treaty commission, back in February, virtually a lifetime ago. But it looks enough like a Texican uniform I could justify wearing it. In the soft early morning light the pale, near-white wool seemed almost to glow, and the blue ribbon of the piping was as bright as the Texas sky and the new start he and Walker were bringing to the Republic. Patton began to dress, unable to suppress an excited grin.
When he put his left arm into the coat, though, something blocked it for a moment. A push dislodged a small oilcloth packet from the sleeve; it hit the grass with a soft plop. A separate piece of paper floated down as a sort of afterthought; Patton stooped to pick that up. The hand was an unfamiliar one, and the pencilled lines were smudged—how long has this been here, he wondered. He looked to the bottom of the page. The signature was Cleburne’s.
My dear Patton, he read: I trust that this finds you well, and I pray that it finds you in time. Please forgive me for the manner of my bringing this to you. I wanted to tell you before we left, but your brother argued too strongly against it. Know that John has not turned against you, but he does not know you as I do, and did not think this information safe with you, close as you are to Walker. This letter is the compromise I was able to win from him.
It saddens me to have to tell you that you have been brought to Texas under false pretenses. The expedition of which you are a part is not here to “liberate” Texas from anyone. It is here, in fact, to steal Texas from its elected government and join it by force to the Confederacy.
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Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
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