[Continuing chapter 18]
“What I wouldn’t give for another hundred men. And another gun up on that rise.” Cleburne smiled, as though he hadn’t just asked for the moon. Stewart bit back the sardonic reply that hovered, demanding to be spoken.
Instead, he asked, “You’ve noticed the gap, I take it?”
Cleburne nodded. Stewart, looking at the Texan standing beside his friend, wondered if Travis recognized the opportunity. Walker had arrayed his irregular cavalry in three units, two of which were now advancing, on foot, toward the creek. The third unit, though, hung back. And while its place in the advance had been taken by what looked to be a company of renegade Texas infantry, the infantry had had to swing well to the west to get past the blockage formed by the reluctant third company of irregulars. As Stewart watched, the westward movement of the infantry opened a steadily larger gap between its left flank and the right flank of the next-closest advancing unit. Had he been able to direct a charge into that gap, the battle would have been over within minutes.
Such dreaming was less than useless, though. They hadn’t the resources for anything but a defensive fight, and Cleburne knew it as well as did Stewart. “There’s nothing we can do about that now,” he said to Secretary Travis. “The best we can do is to continue pounding them with that gun.” He gestured behind him, to the rise on which their solitary twelve-pounder barked its defiance at the invaders. “It’s our one advantage; we should make the most of it while we still out-range Walker’s cannon.”
“Agreed,” said Cleburne. “With your agreement, Stewart, I’ll have the gun concentrate on taking out their cannon before they can be moved into range.” He turned to his horse, and prepared to mount.
“I’m not sure that’s the wisest course,” Stewart said. Cleburne stopped, one foot in a stirrup; Travis stared, eyes widening. “It’s true that those two cannon could do us a lot of damage if they get close enough,” Stewart said. He felt his words come rushing out, as though his voice itself were aware of how little time they had left to them. “But they’re small targets. They’ll be very hard to hit. I’d rather take the targets I know we can hit. If we keep pounding their men, Cleburne, we might be able to do to the others what we seem to have done to those fellows who are holding back on the left there. And if we can prevent Walker from moving his men up, he won’t dare move the guns forward. I think that’s our best chance of winning.”
Cleburne stepped away from the horse. Stewart felt his stomach tighten, which was ridiculous; he was the man with the more recent experience in the field. He ought to have more confidence in himself. Somehow he knew, though, that if Cleburne argued in favor of turning the gun away from Walker’s men, Travis would do as Cleburne suggested. There was something about the way the Irishman’s eyes lit up when he talked of tactics that made him almost irresistible. Cleburne had seemed sadly diminished, tired and sickened by his wound, when Stewart had re-encountered him not two days ago. The closer they’d gotten to a fight, though, the more lively the man had become. Now he seemed a barely contained tornado, and the thick bandage around his wounded arm was nothing more than an odd-looking bulge under the sleeves of his shirt and coat.
“I believe you may be right, Stewart,” Cleburne said, and Stewart let out his breath with an unseemly whoosh. “You’ve changed, boyo, since our time in New Orleans—and much for the better, as a soldier. I’m happy to have you rank me.” He smile. “That being the case, I think I’ll take myself over to the militia, and see how John Patton’s doing.”
“Make sure they hold their position, Cleburne. They have to hold on until those people get within musket range.”
Explosions crackled off to their right, making a mockery of his words. One of the militia-men dropped to one knee, and Stewart felt the bite of anxiety once again: their first casualty would doubtless soon be joined by others.
Cleburne didn’t seem upset, though. “Firing high,” he murmured. “That won’t do them any good at all.”
It won’t do us any good if they don’t keep moving forward, Stewart thought. If they stay back there they may not hit many of us. But we won’t be able to touch them, and Travis’s boys might not stand for much of that. He felt a sourness in his throat at the memory of how he had made it possible for the filibusters to outrange the Texans.
The invaders on his right began edging forward then, and Stewart allowed himself a tight smile. Just get closer, he willed, and we’ll show you what free men can do.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve“What I wouldn’t give for another hundred men. And another gun up on that rise.” Cleburne smiled, as though he hadn’t just asked for the moon. Stewart bit back the sardonic reply that hovered, demanding to be spoken.
Instead, he asked, “You’ve noticed the gap, I take it?”
Cleburne nodded. Stewart, looking at the Texan standing beside his friend, wondered if Travis recognized the opportunity. Walker had arrayed his irregular cavalry in three units, two of which were now advancing, on foot, toward the creek. The third unit, though, hung back. And while its place in the advance had been taken by what looked to be a company of renegade Texas infantry, the infantry had had to swing well to the west to get past the blockage formed by the reluctant third company of irregulars. As Stewart watched, the westward movement of the infantry opened a steadily larger gap between its left flank and the right flank of the next-closest advancing unit. Had he been able to direct a charge into that gap, the battle would have been over within minutes.
Such dreaming was less than useless, though. They hadn’t the resources for anything but a defensive fight, and Cleburne knew it as well as did Stewart. “There’s nothing we can do about that now,” he said to Secretary Travis. “The best we can do is to continue pounding them with that gun.” He gestured behind him, to the rise on which their solitary twelve-pounder barked its defiance at the invaders. “It’s our one advantage; we should make the most of it while we still out-range Walker’s cannon.”
“Agreed,” said Cleburne. “With your agreement, Stewart, I’ll have the gun concentrate on taking out their cannon before they can be moved into range.” He turned to his horse, and prepared to mount.
“I’m not sure that’s the wisest course,” Stewart said. Cleburne stopped, one foot in a stirrup; Travis stared, eyes widening. “It’s true that those two cannon could do us a lot of damage if they get close enough,” Stewart said. He felt his words come rushing out, as though his voice itself were aware of how little time they had left to them. “But they’re small targets. They’ll be very hard to hit. I’d rather take the targets I know we can hit. If we keep pounding their men, Cleburne, we might be able to do to the others what we seem to have done to those fellows who are holding back on the left there. And if we can prevent Walker from moving his men up, he won’t dare move the guns forward. I think that’s our best chance of winning.”
Cleburne stepped away from the horse. Stewart felt his stomach tighten, which was ridiculous; he was the man with the more recent experience in the field. He ought to have more confidence in himself. Somehow he knew, though, that if Cleburne argued in favor of turning the gun away from Walker’s men, Travis would do as Cleburne suggested. There was something about the way the Irishman’s eyes lit up when he talked of tactics that made him almost irresistible. Cleburne had seemed sadly diminished, tired and sickened by his wound, when Stewart had re-encountered him not two days ago. The closer they’d gotten to a fight, though, the more lively the man had become. Now he seemed a barely contained tornado, and the thick bandage around his wounded arm was nothing more than an odd-looking bulge under the sleeves of his shirt and coat.
“I believe you may be right, Stewart,” Cleburne said, and Stewart let out his breath with an unseemly whoosh. “You’ve changed, boyo, since our time in New Orleans—and much for the better, as a soldier. I’m happy to have you rank me.” He smile. “That being the case, I think I’ll take myself over to the militia, and see how John Patton’s doing.”
“Make sure they hold their position, Cleburne. They have to hold on until those people get within musket range.”
Explosions crackled off to their right, making a mockery of his words. One of the militia-men dropped to one knee, and Stewart felt the bite of anxiety once again: their first casualty would doubtless soon be joined by others.
Cleburne didn’t seem upset, though. “Firing high,” he murmured. “That won’t do them any good at all.”
It won’t do us any good if they don’t keep moving forward, Stewart thought. If they stay back there they may not hit many of us. But we won’t be able to touch them, and Travis’s boys might not stand for much of that. He felt a sourness in his throat at the memory of how he had made it possible for the filibusters to outrange the Texans.
The invaders on his right began edging forward then, and Stewart allowed himself a tight smile. Just get closer, he willed, and we’ll show you what free men can do.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
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