Read Michener, James A. Online
Authors: Texas
That morning, however, the Fort Richardson men retired, rode i short distance eastward and fired their guns in the air. Some of :he shotgun men riding next to the drivers responded, and now ilmer Toomey, a twenty-one-year-old farm boy from Indiana, Tesh from West Point, was in command of his first important ietachment. He rode at the front, always attentive to the bound-ess horizon for indication of storms or Indians; at certain periods >nly a few trees would be visible, and sometimes he would scan the our points of the compass and see none at all.
At such times Sergeant Jaxifer rode slowly back and forth, checking on his ten horsemen but never speaking to or even
looking at the sixteen carters, who were disgusted to think that they were being guarded by niggers. One, a surly fellow from West Virginia who would have sold half his cargo in Jacksborough had not one of the cavalrymen kept close watch, protested to Lieutenant Toomey: Tou keep them niggers well shy of me. You ask me, we fought on the wrong side in the Civil War.'
They're soldiers of the United States Army,' Toomey said stiffly. 'I'm an officer in their company,' and the carter sneered: 'The more shame for you.'
'Attention, you bastard! One more word like that and I'll have you in the guardhouse when we get there.'
The driver, knowing that he could exercise no control over him, laughed: 'Little boy, don't play soldier with me. Now run along and nurse your niggers.'
An hour after dawn on the next day this driver shrieked in terror: 'Comanche! Where in hell's the army?'
Sixteen unreliable carters and eleven enlisted men led by an untested lieutenant were suddenly responsible for holding off more than a hundred Indian braves on terrain that afforded no protection. But they were not powerless, because the black cavalrymen were toughened professionals and their white lieutenant was about to prove that he more than deserved his rank.
'Wagons form!' he shouted, personally leading the tail wagon toward the head of the line and showing the others how to place themselves.
'Sergeant Jaxifer! Keep your men inside the line of wagons!' When carters were slow to obey, he threatened to shoot them, and before the Indians could strike he had his band in the best defensive position possible, but even so, they were not prepared, not even the black veterans, for the fury with which the Comanche struck.
From his command post Matark ordered: 'Circle them! Set them on fire.'
His entire contingent formed a huge circle around the wagons, his braves wheeling counterclockwise, as they preferred, for this enabled them to fire across their steady left arms as they sped. But as the battle waxed, a cadre of fourteen braves bearing lighted brands detached themselves from the circle and dashed boldly at the wagons, trying to throw their flame so as to ignite the canvas covers. Six fell from their saddles, shot dead, but the other eight delivered their fiery brands, which the carters extinguished.
Inside the ring of wagons no orders were issued, for these embattled men required no exhortation. Each was aware of the terrible tortures he was going to undergo if he lost this fight, and each
resolved that there would he no surrender This ight to the
death, and several wagoners muttered to their friends: If come at us, at the end 1 mean, shoot me."
The eight carters who rode shotgun knew how to use their weapons, and the eight drivers, shaking with fear, also fired with determination, with the early result that the India kept
some distance from the wagons; eleven now lav dead before the first member of the convoy had been seriously wounded
Toomey stayed mostly with the panicky drivers, and lit furious when the mean-spirited men began to blame their plight on the fact that black troops had been sent to protect them 'Damned niggers, don't know nothin'.' One man growled as lie fumbled with his gun, which had suffered a minor jam: 'Ni is no better than Indians. Curse 'em both.' Toomev said nothing, interpreting the ugly expressions as signs of nervous fear, but he did what he could to reassure the civilians: 'My men know how to hold a line. We'll get out of this.'
'Jesus Christ!' One of the carters pointed to the north, where a line of at least forty shouting warriors came in solid phalanx.
'Hold your fire,' Toomey cried, knowing that jaxifer would have his own men in readiness. He then called for two of the troopers to help him defend the spot at which the oncoming force seemed likely to hit, and there he stood, heels ground into the sandv soil as if he intended never to be budged.
The Comanche were so determined in what they expected to be their final charge that despite heavy losses to the steady fire of the black troops and the trained shotgun men, they simply rode down the defenders at two points, the victorious braves in the lead galloping right through the circle where mules attached to the wagons lay dead.
But they did not stop. They were not given time in which to rampage inside the circle, because whoever tried was either shot or clubbed down by the troops. They had broken the line, as they were determined to do, but they had not disorganized it, and they had lost many in the attempt. They did, however, succeed m taking with them a good portion of the horses, and had not the mules drawing the wagons been left in harness, they too would surely have been stolen. The men of the 10th Cavalry were now on foot.
Toomey was appalled to see his horses go, but he knew that he-must not display either fear or consternation lest the civilians panic: 'Sergeant jaxifer, your men m good shape 7 '
'Fine, sir.'
Indeed, the cavalry veterans were handling this battle as if it
were a parade-ground exercise; they were not impeded by the loss of their horses, for they had learned that in a dozen typical engagements, they would in at least ten be expected to fight on foot. Said critics: They ride comfortably to battle. Dismount and become infantry. Why in hell aren't they infantry in the first place?' Such critics were about to receive the best possible answer, but before it manifested itself, the Comanche organized another frontal assault, and this time they directed it specifically at where the surviving drivers stood, for their clever fighters had detected this to be the weak spot of the circle.
Toomey, seeing them come, stood beside the drivers, and once more twisted his heels to dig them in, but when the Indians struck he was powerless to hold them off, and he was tomahawked twice. His head was split open and his left arm, with which he tried vainly to defend himself, was nearly severed.
Jaxifer was now in control, and he was ruggedly determined to save the remnants of this escort, but when he started to tell the carters how they must arrange themselves to be most effective in the charges that he knew would soon come thundering at them, they refused to obey his commands: 'No nigger tells me what to do.''
He did not respond. Instead he said slowly: Two carters, one cavalryman. That way we can cover the space better.'
'Don't you touch me, nigger.'
'You must move to that weak spot.'
i ain't takin' no orders . . .'
Sergeant Jaxifer stopped, smiled: 'Man, we gonna survive this. They ain't gonna ride us down, never. But we got to do it sensible. You been in this one fight. I been in sixteen. I don't lose fights, and I ain't gonna lose this one. Now fill those gaps.'
After thus disposing of the survivors, he threw a blanket over the corpse of his lieutenant, but even as he did so a terrible pain struck at his heart. He knew that as long as he remained in the service, he would be remembered as the black sergeant who had lost his white commander.
During the fight so far, no member defending the wagons had seen Chief Matark, nor could anyone have been aware that a white man was helping direct the fight, but had the defenders been told that such a man was hidden behind the first small hill, they would have guessed that it was Amos Peavine, for the Rattlesnake's reputation had reached all the forts. He was the Comanchero they despised but also feared, and the men of this train
would not have been surprised to learn that he was again trying to steal army guns for sale to his Indians
At nine-thirty that morning Peavine was ling Matark
'Wear them down. Send your men m from a different din each time.'
'How soon will they surrender?'
Peavine did not want to tell the chief that the behavior of the Comanche toward captives made it unlikely that soldiers would ever surrender, or carters either, so he dissembled: 'By noon we'll have the wagons.'
'The next charge, I lead.'
Peavine did not like this at all, for he had often observed that when a great chief died, the problem of succession could become messy, with the friends of the old chief suddenly the enemies of the new, and he did not like to speculate on what might happen to him if, on this lonely plain, Chief Matark perished in a fruitless attack which he, Peavine, had recommended and helped organize It was in his interest to see that Matark lived, so he counseled against participation in the charge: 'You are needed here.'
'I am needed there,' Matark growled, and when the charge-began, directed at a spot with three fallen horses, he was in the lead. Again his men ripped right into the circle, and again the stubborn black troops with their fiercely effective gunfire drove them out.
But Matark had seen the diminished strength of the defenders, and now he knew for certain that their officer was dead: 'By noon we take the wagons.' And this would have been a safe prediction except for the cautious behavior of two men who were not yet engaged in the battle at Three Cairns.
Hermann Wetzel never slept well if even one of his soldiers, infantry or cavalry, was absent from any fort to which he was attached, and he had been attached to many. His stubborn German conscience and his love of Prussian order hounded him if any man was not safely accounted for. Furthermore, the absence of Toomey made him most uneasy, for the young lieutenant was untested and operated under two severe disadvantages, which led Wetzel to interrupt his breakfast and hurry over to Reed's quarters.
it's a short ride in from the Cairns, and Toomey's a good man.' 'But he's cavalry and they never know tactics. And his men are .niggers, and they don't know anything.' 'None of that, Colonel.'
'I'm still worried, sir. Very.'
Reed had put down his knife and fork, arranging them meticulously beside his plate: i'm concerned too. What do you recommend?'
'I'd send troops out to intercept them. The Comanche have been silent for too long.'
Reed, a man who never flinched from hard decisions, looked directly into the eyes of his German adviser: i think you may be right, Colonel.' And as soon as these words were uttered, he leaped from the table, rasping out orders for an immediate formation of the remainder of Company R, 10th Cavalry to intercept the incoming train. Of the company's authorized strength of eighty troopers, only sixty-eight had been sent to Fort Garner; of these, one had deserted, seventeen were on guard duty or in the hospital, and twelve, including young Toomey, were already at Three Cairns. Thus, only thirty-eight answered the muster call.
He would lead, of course, for whenever there was a likelihood of action he insisted upon being in the vanguard; Wetzel, who disliked serving with the cavalry, would remain in charge at the fort, which he could be depended upon to defend should the Indians strike when the others had been lured away. Isolated forts were sometimes endangered, but not when Captain Wetzel was in command.
Reed wanted to take Jim Logan as cavalry officer, but the Irishman was absent, on a scout, his men said, and when Reed checked quietly, he learned that Mrs. Minor was absent too, but for the moment he decided to do nothing about this: 'Colonel Minor, you will be second in command.' And then, with that second sight which had made him an able commander, he added: 'Full campaign issue.' Minor deemed it folly to carry full battle gear on such a trivial excursion, considering the abundance of supplies this involved, but he assumed that Reed wished to test his men, so he said nothing, and within eighteen minutes of having made his decision to intercept his young lieutenant, Reed was headed east with Minor and thirty-eight Buffalo Soldiers.
He posted scouts well in advance, of course, but they could find only remnants of Toomey's march in that direction and no signs whatever of Indian activity. However, one of the ragged older men who served the army, a tracker with one-quarter Indian blood, elected to ride well to the north, from where he returned with ominous news: 'General Reed! One hundred, two hundred Comanche headed east, maybe six days ago.' Now it was clear! Chief Matark had made a most daring move.
'Colonel Minor, he's going to attack the wagons between here
and Jacksborough.' He was inclined to start immediately at full gallop, but his innate caution directed him to consult his subordinate: 'How could he be trying to trap us. Mini
'He could be feinting, then attack the fort '
'Colonel Wetzel can handle that. How about us 7 '
'If he tricks us eastward, what gain to him? Moves us closer to the wagons.'
'Bugler!' A muted call, which could be heard only yards away, was sounded and the force of thirty-eight blue-clad troopers spurred their horses into an easy trot. They had gone only a few miles when another scout reported the news which Wetzel had intuitively feared: 'Major battle. Hundreds of Comanche.'
Without halting, Reed shouted his tactics: 'Half left, half right But the moment we spot where their command is, everyone straight at it. Ignore the wagons.'
When they reached a rise from which they could see the embattled wagons and the Indians assaulting them, Reed ordered his bugler to sound the charge. With Minor and the black cavalrymen at the gallop, they rushed to join the battle.
Reed's men behaved with precision, his group following him in a circle to the north, with Johnny Minor's horsemen riding swiftly to the south, where they picked off several stragglers. At the far end of the circle they joined, then wheeled about to face a main charge of nearly eighty Comanche. It was a mad struggle lasting nearly ten minutes, but in the end the blue-clads were driven back to the wagons, where steady fire from the circle supported them.
It now became a melee, not a battle. Many Indians were killed and five of Reed's men. Minor was badly wounded, taking a bullet through his left hip, but the circle remained intact as the charge of the Indians wavered and then broke. The attack on the Cavin & Clark wagon train at Three Cairns had failed. Thirty-one Indians and nine defenders lay dead, but the fight was over.
When Reed learned that Toomey had died he went to where the body lay, drew aside the blanket, and saluted. 'He died bravely, I'm sure.'
'That he did,' one of the carters said, 'but I'm brmgin' charges against them damned niggers. They let us down.'
Reed did not listen, and a few moments later one of the shotgun men came to him. 'That big sergeant, none braver. He held us together.'
'I'd expect him to,' Reed said.
Reed now faced a series of difficult decisions, which he proceeded to make in rapid-fire order, as if he had long contemplated
them. First he had to know his exact strength: 'Sergeant Jaxifer, your condition?'
'Started out with Lieutenant Toomey and ten men. Toomey and three dead, three wounded. Five effectives, including myself, sir.'
Reed turned to Corporal Adams, who had ridden with him: 'Started with you, Colonel Minor and thirty-eight men. Five dead. Minor and three men wounded. Thirty-one effectives, sir.'
Reed studied the situation for less than ten seconds: 'Our immediate job, get this valuable train safely to Fort Garner. Our permanent job, catch Matark before he leaves Texas.'
To the horror of the C&C carters, he assigned the six wounded Buffalo Soldiers and Corporal Adams to escort the train on the remainder of its journey. This, of course, brought wild protestation from the carters, who wanted the entire force to lead them to safety.
Reed listened to their protests for about twenty seconds, then drew his revolver and summoned Adams: 'Corporal, if this man gives you any trouble, shoot him.' He rode to the eight drivers, looking each in the eye: 'Men, you've brought your wagons this far. Finish the job.' To the eight men riding shotgun he said: 'My men couldn't have held them off without your fire. Keep it up.' With an icy smile he tapped one of the loaded wagons: if you should need more ammunition . . .' He turned on his heel and paid no further attention as the C&C men organized their wagons for the limping journey to Fort Garner.
His job was to pursue Matark, but with Corporal Adams gone, he had only thirty-four men, including himself, to do battle with the much larger Comanche force, but this disparity gave him no trouble, for if he had with him no fellow officer, he did have Sergeant Jaxifer, who was a small army in himself. With such men he could give the retreating Comanche a lot of trouble.
So twenty minutes after the battle at Three Cairns ended, Reed was in foolhardy pursuit of Chief Matark and his many Comanche, and not one of the black horsemen who followed him was apprehensive about overtaking the Indians or fearful of the outcome if they did: 'They got the men, but we got the guns.'
The chase continued for a day and a half, but when it looked as if the cavalry, with its superior horses and firepower, were about to overtake the Comanche and punish them, another act in the great tragicomedy of the plains unfolded, for when Reed and his men threatened to overtake the Comanche, the latter simply turned north, reached the Red River, swam their horses across, and
found sanctuary in Camp Hope, administered by the Pennsylvania Quaker Earnshaw Rusk
Under the specific terms of General Grant's Peace Policy, the army was free to discipline the Indians as long as they operated in Texas south of the Red River, but the moment they crossed north into Indian Territory the Quakers were in control; specifically soldier could touch a Comanche and certainly not fire a gun at him so long as he was north of the river and under the protection of Earnshaw Rusk.
As soon as Reed saw Matark and his men fording the river he knew he was in trouble, but ignoring it and his official directives, he followed them across and with all his men cantered in to Camp Hope, demanding to see the agent. The Indians, now dismounted and almost beatific in their innocence, smiled insolently as he rode past.
'Agent Rusk? I'm Captain Reed from Fort Garner'
Tve heard the warmest reports of thee, Captain '
Tve come to arrest Chief Matark of the Comanche '
That thee cannot do. Matark and his men are m my charge now, and as the terms—'
i know the terms, Mr. Rusk, but Chief Matark has just waylaid a supply train and killed ten American citizens, including eight soldiers under my command.'
Tm sure there's been a mistake m thy reports,' Rusk said.
'And I'm sure there's not, because I personally counted the bodies.'
it's thy word against his, Captain Reed, and we all know what thy soldiers think about Indians.'
'Will you surrender Chief Matark to me?'
'I will not.'
'Will you allow me to arrest him, then?'
'I forbid thee to do so.'
'What am I allowed to do?'
'Nothing. Thee controls south of the Red. I control north, and it's my duty to bring these Indians to peaceful ways '
So the two Americans faced each other, the blue-clad soldier representing the old ways of handling Indians, the homespun Pennsylvanian farmer representing the new. Reed was a Baptist who believed that God was a man of battles, a just judge administering harsh punishments; Rusk, a Quaker who knew that jesus was a man of compassion who intended all men to be brothers. Reed trusted only army policy: 'Harry the Indians and confine them to reservations'; Rusk believed without qualification that he
could persuade Indians to move willingly onto reservations, where the braves would learn agriculture, the women how to sew, and the children how to speak English. Reed interpreted his task as clearing the land for occupation by white ranchers and then protecting them and their cattle from Indian raiders; Rusk saw his as helping both the white newcomer to the land and the original Indian owners to find some reasonable way of sharing the plains. In fact, the only thing upon which the two administrators agreed was that the West should be organized in some sensible way that would permit the greatness of the American nation to manifest itself.
They even looked as dissimilar as two men of about the same age could: Reed was not tall, not heavy. He wore his dark hair closely clipped and affected no mustaches. He stood very erect and spoke sharply. His eyes were piercing and his chin jutting. By force of unusual character he had risen in the Union army from being a conscripted teacher from a small town in Vermont to a generalship in command of an entire brigade of troops. He loved the order of army life and expected to obey and to be obeyed, an attitude which manifested itself in all his actions. He looked always as if ready to step forward and volunteer for the most difficult and dangerous task. By the sheerest accident he had stumbled upon the one career for which he was best suited, and he proposed to follow it with honor as long as he lived.
Earnshaw Rusk was a gangling fellow whose unkempt hair matched his ill-fitting clothes. He had such weak eyes that he disliked looking directly at anyone, and his voice sometimes cracked at the most embarrassing moments, as if he were beginning a song. His Quaker parents had trained him never to press an opinion of his own, for Quakers tended to reach decisions by unspoken consensus rather than through exhibitionist voting; but he had also been told that when he felt he was right, 'to forge ahead without let or hindrance.' He had never been sure what those words meant, but he did know from observation that it was fairly difficult to dislodge a believing Quaker from a position morally taken, and he saw no reason why he should be different.