Bonny Blue Flag 20.2

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[concluding chapter 20, and finishing the novel]

6 JUNE 1851

WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS

Part of him had been dreading this; part of him couldn’t wait to leave. Either way, it was no longer possible to put it off. Patton dismounted and tied up his horse—a parting gift from the Republic of Texas, and a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve—and then walked to where Stewart and Cleburne waited. For a moment he entertained the idea of having one of the slaves watch his horse. It was an idea quickly abandoned, though; no help was really necessary to watch over the handful of things that were all of Patton’s possessions that had been recovered from the battlefield.

Bonny Blue Flag 20.1

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6 JUNE 1851

WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS

“Am I being bloodthirsty?” Stewart turned to Cleburne. “I probably ought to go straight back to General Lee… but after all that’s happened I think I owe it to myself—and to everyone who died because of him—to stay here to see William Walker hanged.”

“Then I’d say you weren’t so much bloodthirsty as, well, thorough.” Cleburne smiled and clapped him on the back. “Justified, too. I’ve no interest in seeing another man hanged—got more than enough of that in my travels—but it might make an interesting story for you to share with your uncle.” Stewart laughed, but even to himself the laugh sounded flat, even bitter.

Do I really want to go back to Virginia? The thought was unexpected, and it forced Stewart to look around him.

Bonny Blue Flag 19.7

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[concluding chapter 19]

“I won’t be going to Hampton Roads,” Stewart said, wincing as he sat upright and his leg protested. “My place, sir, is with General Lee, and my intent is to assist him in the defeat of the conspiracy within our government and army. They have the influence and reputation to see that justice is done. And they have the love of country that will compel them, I think, to do whatever is necessary.”

“That might be sufficient,” Travis said. His eyes narrowed, and Stewart got the impression of a man distracted by a sudden idea.

“If you have a message you wish delivered to our government,” Stewart said, “I can do that for you through General Lee.”

“A message.” The words were more expelled than enunciated. “Yes, I think I might want to send a message to your country from my country.”

Bonny Blue Flag 19.6

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[continuing chapter 19]

“I don’t believe I have properly thanked you, Captain Stewart, for all you have done to help us this week,” Travis said. “Please let me do so now. The Republic of Texas is most grateful, sir.” The secretary closed the door to his office and pointed Stewart to a chair. Then he sat behind his desk, opened a decanter and sloshed Bourbon into two glasses.

“I was only doing my duty, sir.” However little some people back home might regard it as my duty, he added silently. He sat, grateful for the opportunity to ease the pain in his leg, and took the glass offered to him. “If I might ask, sir, what are your plans for Captain Patton? He really is not much more than a schoolboy, sir. I am at least in part at fault for letting himself get in over his head.”

“Think nothing of it. Captain Patton is small fish to me. To us. I believe his brother is prepared to take him in hand, and the republic will be happy with that.” Travis sipped his drink, and the lines of his face seemed to harden. “How much more are you prepared to say? About your duty.”

Bonny Blue Flag 19.5

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[continuing chapter 19]

“I’m glad you feel that way, young man,” said a voice from the doorway. Patton turned to see Secretary Travis entering the room. He struggled to get up, and was grateful when Travis waved him back down. “This is an interrogation,” Travis said, “but I don’t think we’ll make it too formal. You being treated well?”

“Thank you, sir. Yes. My head hurts, but that’s no one’s fault but my own.”

“I’d love to know how you obtained your wound,” Travis said with a thin smile. “You appear to be one of the few prisoners we took who wasn’t injured by our single artillery piece.”

Bonny Blue Flag 19.4

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[continuing chapter 19]

A dark-complexioned woman replaced the cloth on Patton’s head, and after a momentary sting the cool damp felt as soothing as his mother’s touch. He sat in a comfortable, wood and canvas chair in a garden behind Travis’s house on the outskirts of Washington-on-the-Brazos, and a soft evening breeze plucked at the loose cotton shirt and trousers they’d given him to wear while someone washed the blood and grime from his clothes. He had been bathed, and his head wound cleaned and bound. Droplets of condensation clustered on the side of a mug filled with a punch of rum, water, and lemons—just enough rum to help numb the pain in his head without getting him drunk.

Bonny Blue Flag 19.3

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[continuing chapter 19]

You’re a Virginian, Patton reminded himself. You may be at fault here, but you’re still a Virginian. You can’t let them think you’re licked.

They had taken him from his litter and sat him in a chair on the porch of a farm or plantation house. His head ached almost unbearably, the injury and the damp, stifling heat of the day making him feel sick to his stomach. Under the circumstances it seemed ridiculous to be contemplating how to put on an appearance of competence and pride without seeming cocky or arrogant. Ridiculous, save that the reputations of Virginia and the entire Confederacy might be riding on the way these Texans responded to him.

“I apologize for my appearance, sir,” he said to the man who’d just introduced himself as William Barret Travis, the Texan secretary of state. “In both senses of the word.”

Bonny Blue Flag 19.2

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[continuing chapter 19]

At first, Walker didn’t comprehend who it was who stared at him. He had stopped thinking when the soldiers took him, grateful at the last for being relieved of any further responsibility for anything. The night march had been peaceful, the temperature blessedly cool. His life—what was left of it—was in God’s hands. When they told him to march, he marched. When they said to stop, he stopped. They’d driven him, and the few officers who’d stayed around to be taken with him, down the road toward the Texan capital, where the government’s officials were no doubt eagerly waiting to pass judgment on him. The staring man was standing behind a stone fence; Travis wouldn’t have noticed at all had his march not been halted so that two other Texans could come and fuss over the wounded Patton.

Bonny Blue Flag 19.1

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1 JUNE 1851

WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS

“You know what you’ve done, don’t you?”

Travis turned to the newspaperman. “I hope I’ve saved the republic, Russell.”

They sat on a stone fence alongside the road into Washington. Behind them somewhere, Susan Reynolds, white-faced and thin-lipped with shock and anger, supervised a makeshift hospital. Travis had commandeered the Reynolds place; it was only fair, and Thomas Reynolds was unlikely to ever appear to complain about it.

“Oh, aye,” said Russell. “That goes without saying.” Russell seized Travis’s hand, and shook it. “But you’ve also guaranteed yourself the presidency, should you want it. We voted for Mirabeau Lamar, after all, and all he did was beat a bunch of sleeping Mexicans at San Jacinto—and most would agree that you and Bowie had more to do with San Jacinto than he did. Ah, Travis, but you—you have defeated a desperate invasion by well organized and equipped white men. And you did it virtually by yourself.”

Bonny Blue Flag 18.10

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[Concluding chapter 18]

The other men he encountered by the river were fleeing north, so Patton turned his horse south, weaving around trees and keeping the river in sight on his left. After a few moments he didn’t see any more mercenaries—they must have been the survivors of Fontaine’s company—and that made him feel a bit better. The last thing he wanted right now was to be affiliated in any way with any member of Walker’s filibuster.

As for what might be the first thing he wanted, he didn’t know.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.9

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[Continuing chapter 18]

“What happened?” It was a stupid question, Walker realized. But he had to know.

“What happened?” Fontaine coughed. “I got shot. What does it look like?”

One of his men had pulled the blanket-roll from behind Fontaine’s saddle and propped it under the captain’s head and neck. Surrounded by green grass, Fontaine might have been thought to be resting—were it not for the dark red stain that soaked his coat and shirt.

“I know you’ve been shot,” Walker said. “The surgeon’s on his way. But what happened to your men? Those costumed popinjays should have been no match for you.”

“Those costumed—” Fontaine coughed weakly, spat black liquid into the grass and didn’t finish the sentence. “They were drunk, and they were mean,” he said after catching his breath. “We shot ‘em. Didn’t make a lick of difference. They come at us with bayonets and huge knives and even an ax or two. My boys saw the look in their eyes, and just ran. Didn’t see where they went. Don’t much care, if you ask.”

Bonny Blue Flag 18.8

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[Continuing chapter 18]

Patton fired, cocked, fired again. He wasn’t hitting anything, he knew that. But it felt good to be doing something, since he’d so utterly failed to persuade the men to move forward.

Some of those nearest him were firing away too, cursing between shots in steady, quiet voices that belied the danger they were all in. Wheat was down at the far end of the line, still shouting. He’d gotten down from his horse, now, Patton noticed. Probably to make himself a less obvious target.
Motion far to the right caught his eye. Colonel Parsons was running, his horse in full gallop as he fled the field and abandoned his men. Parsons was fleeing forward, not backward: he’d crossed the creek, and was heading south-west. Calculating bastard, Patton thought. You know you face a bigger risk if you try to run past us than if you skirt around those boys with their cannon. Still, he hoped against hope that the gunners would feel as much contempt for Parsons as he did, and drop a shell on top of the man.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.7

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[Continuing chapter 18]

Ben McCulloch’s first thought on seeing the cloud of dust moving toward him was blasphemous. What kind of cruel joke, he thought, lets us get the best of that bastard Walker, then throws reinforcements into his pocket just when we’re getting ready for a final charge?

He had taken part in the fighting at the beginning, until he’d been certain his fellow Texicans would stand. Then he’d gone around the fighting to scout, to do what he did best.

Now he was in the same position he’d been in a couple of hours ago: watching the approach of a large force he had to assume was hostile. He moved his horse into the lee of a hill, then climbed to the summit to see what he could learn of the approaching men, and still return to the scene of the battle in time to give Travis some sort of warning.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.6

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[Continuing chapter 18]

God moved in mysterious ways, Walker knew. Still, it would be a shame if success on this field came about because of Parsons’s infantry rather than his own men.

He’s doing just what I would have done, Walker told himself as Parsons brought his second company forward, doubling the strength of the force with which he obviously intended to outflank the defenders of the bridge. Now why can’t I make my own men follow my orders? He’d succeeded in getting Nelson’s company to move up a bit, but though they were well within range of the enemy and he’d ordered them to twice already, Nelson’s men would not fire. Fontaine was within two hundred yards of the creek, and his men at least were firing into the militia on the opposite bank. But Wheat’s company still refused to move at all, in spite of the increasingly profane exhortations of its officers.
Because he was watching Fontaine, he didn’t notice the enemy crossing the creek until Lieutenant Baylor brought it to his attention. “They’re going to hit Parsons in the flank!” Baylor shouted.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.5

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[Continuing chapter 18... which continues on through next week]

“Here they come,” Cleburne shouted as he moved behind the line, and Travis nodded—but Stewart realized the man was still looking to his right.

“The danger’s that way, sir.” He pointed to the left. Travis turned to see the renegade infantry, white coats seeming to shine against the green of the grass, moving forward at a steady pace. Stewart was surprised when Travis’s face took on a small, tight smile.

“I can’t help myself, captain,” Travis said, seeing Stewart’s expression. “Despite what they’re doing, I’m proud of the way those men are moving in unison, bayonets pointed sun-ward and shining.” He paused, apparently searching for words. “I fought long and hard to have the army established on a regular basis, you see. So in a terrible way it is good to watch soldiers behaving like soldiers—even if they are arrayed against me by officers whose corruption and wickedness would disgust Satan himself.”

Bonny Blue Flag 18.4

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[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.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.3

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[Continuing chapter 18]

Patton turned around. The two three-pounders were being wheeled forward by their crews; a thin cheer rose from the column as the guns passed and rumbled down the gentle slope. Patton smiled as the first of the guns came to a stop directly behind the small crater left by the first cannon-shot. Somebody with that gun crew was operating on the assumption that lightning wouldn’t strike twice in the same place.

“All right,” he said. The words were inaudible to all but the handful of men closest to him, but that didn’t matter; he’d meant them for himself. To the company he shouted, “Dress that line and prepare to dismount!” Some of the men cheered in response, but the cheer didn’t sound all that enthusiastic. You boys deciding you don’t care for soldiering after all? he silently asked them. He checked himself; you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking that. Another, more recently born part of himself replied, you should truly be ashamed of yourself for being here at all.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.2

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[Continuing chapter 18]

There was nothing unique about the landscape on the south side of the low rise. It was just another piece of Texas prairie, tall green grass bordered by trees on the east where the river was. Patton knew, nonetheless, that he would remember his first sight of the field on which they were to fight. Stewart had once told him his first view of the Bolivar Heights at Harpers Ferry was forever burned into what he had called the memory-gallery in my mind.

The Texans—he could no longer think of them as “the enemy”—were spread out in a straggling line on the south bank of a creek, on either side of a crude wooden bridge. White- and gray-uniformed men held the bridge and the banks to the west; to the east the defenders wore a bizarre mix of buckskins, dress coats, and uniforms whose combined colors suggested a peacock’s tail. Napoleon’s armies were said to have looked like that, though on a much more grand scale. Presumably they were better disciplined, too; it was well after Captain Fontaine’s company had led the advance over the crest of the rise that the ridiculously dressed defenders began to form up into line. Patton automatically took his spyglass from his belt and raised it to his eye, judging distances.

Bonny Blue Flag 18.1

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30 MAY 1851

I think I’m going to be sick, Travis thought. I’d forgotten how wretched a man can feel when he’s on the verge of facing the guns.

The problem was that there wasn’t enough for him to do. He just didn’t have enough men, and the few he had were being arranged with admirable facility by Cleburne and Captain Stewart. The wounded Irishman and limping Confederate seemed to be in their element here, and Travis idly wondered if either man might be amenable to staying around, should the day end happily for them.
And what chance is there of that? he wondered. “I do wish you’d counted them,” he said to McCulloch. “I’d feel better knowing what we’re up against.”

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Secretary,” McCulloch said. “There’s easily twice as many of them as there is of us. That ought to make you feel just fine. Knowing any more would just depress you, I think. It’d scare Hell out of me.”

“I know. I’m not criticizing you, Marshal. You’ve done good work these last few days, and I’m grateful. I just want the fighting to start, I guess. I hate waiting.”

Bonny Blue Flag 17.5

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[Concluding chapter seventeen]

Patton nudged his horse forward. It must have been instinct that made him curious about the reason the column had stopped moving, he decided, because it could no longer be a matter of him caring about what happened. The letter that weighed so heavily on his heart had pretty much destroyed his chances of ever caring about anything again. How could he ever face Stewart again, should God give him the chance to? And what would his family think if they learned what he’d been doing? He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and fought to banish those thoughts. If instinct was still working for him, then let instinct take over completely, and leave the rest in God’s hands. In a deliberate gesture of acquiescence, he slackened his hold on the reins and let God guide the horse.