Snowbound and Eclipse (30 page)

It was an itch in me to send relief at once, but these things take time, and I could only hope that my men could endure a few days more. The horror of it had descended on me, and I could scarcely look northward without feeling the lances
of tragedy stab at me. We four, mounted bareback on borrowed mules now, made our way to Taos in a long day and reached town as an azure twilight, the heavens transparent as stained glass, settled over the village. Snow topped the tawny adobe homes, while the incense of piñon smoke hung over the place, delighting my senses. Off to the east the forbidding Sangre de Cristos caught the red light of the dying sun and threw it back on the settlement like some last benediction from the Creator. It was a hushed moment, all sound blotted up by the lavender heaps of snow.

But at last we rode into the old town, past low adobes with tight-closed shutters, toward the small plaza and merchant buildings hemming it. Taos stood on a plain at a great altitude, and the winter had not treated it kindly. There were dimpled drifts about and footpaths through them. Still, this was the place of our succor.

We were a sorry lot, wild and savage looking, and starved down to nothing, and we wrought a great malaise among the staring villagers who saw us make our way to the heart of town. A black-clad older woman could not bear the sight of us and turned away. I wanted to find Carson at once and sought a certain cantina where he might be at an early evening hour.

“Godey,” I said, “begin the relief, and make haste. Take whatever you can find. You and Theodore. I'll be at La Tristeza, if not Carson's house.”

He nodded, smiling. Thus commanded, he set off at once, looking for the soldiers stationed there. I had done all I could and now looked forward to a needed rest. I wandered into the cantina just off the plaza, adjusted my snow-ruined eyes to the flickering firelight, and spotted Carson, along with Dick Owens and Lucien Maxwell, old stalwarts and friends, gathered at a hewn trestle table beside a beehive fireplace, enjoying the crackle of piñon logs and some aguardiente.
So far was I removed from the man I had been that they didn't recognize me at first.

As I approached, they surveyed me, noting my unkempt manner and hollow cheeks. Then they turned away.

“Kit,” I said, tentatively.

He stared a long moment. “Is that you, Captain? You?”

“It is.”

Lucien Maxwell sprang up. “My God, man.”

“I took bad counsel,” I said. “And now I have starving men scattered clear to the San Juans.”

“They want relief?”

“Yes. Godey's with me. He'll do it.”

“How much time is there?”

“We've lost the first. Frostbite, starvation. There's no time. My topographer, Preuss, is at the Red River settlement organizing them.”

“Are you going back with relief?” Owens asked.

“I'll leave that to Alexis.”

“Then you'll stay with me,” Carson said.

“Major Beall can help. He's commanding here,” Owens said.

“Godey's looking for him.”

“They've got some men and rations and mules,” Maxwell said.

“What needs doing now?” Owens asked.

“It's up to Godey. He plans to leave in the morning with relief.”

“Who else is here?” Maxwell asked.

“My man Saunders and Alex's nephew.”

“Are they all right?”

“A little sleep and a feast or two will make them new. They're with Godey.”

“What happened, Captain?” Carson asked.

“I listened to Old Bill Williams, that's the whole of it. He
got lost, bumbled into the wrong drainages, and led us into snowy traps. I kept asking him about his course, but he just ignored me. I think the man's addled. He had no idea where he was.”

“What about your mules?” Carson asked.

“Lost every one.”

“Didn't you eat them?”

“Buried under drifts almost before we knew they were gone.”

“Who's lost?” Owens asked.

“Raphael Proue, for one. Henry King. You know him from the conquest.”

“Not King! Proue! I knew him, too.”

“These men—some of them weren't made of the same stuff as my battalion. It was a mistake, you know. Men without heart. With more heart, we'd now be over those mountains and on our way to California.”

“What is their condition now?” Carson asked.

“I don't know. I put Vincenthaler in charge. Remember him? From California? He's charged with caching my equipment and getting the men down to Rabbit River. He'll do his duty. Wait for the relief there. That's what I directed. But I've men in that company who don't heed me, so there's no telling where they are. I imagine Godey will deal with them.”

“The San Juans, Colonel, can be tough. Especially with a winter like this,” Owens said.

“If I had better men, they would not have yielded,” I retorted. I was feeling testy. The company had thwarted my design, mostly from the lack of manhood, and now I had been forced to retreat. I knew one thing: I'd be off to California in a day or two, and I would take none of the malingerers with me. The Kern brothers would remain here, and so would Old Bill Williams, and maybe some more.

I told them my story, even as the stout proprietress plied me with sugar cakes. But ere long the pleasant heat from those piñon logs wore away my resolve. I knew that in moments, I would tumble to the earthen floor. The warmth and comfort were engulfing me.

“You come with me, Captain. It's not a hundred yards, you know. Josefa will help get you settled.”

I knew that. Carson's rambling home, built around a courtyard, lay just to the east.

“You'd better plan on a couple of days in bed,” Carson said.

“I'm not going to dawdle here—off to California in a day or two.”

Carson remained uncommonly quiet. We pushed through the gated wall into his yard, and soon he and Josefa steered me into a tiny bedroom and laid a bright fire in the adobe fireplace. In my weariness I scarcely had a look at Josefa, Carson's young bride. She seemed more a servant-girl to me, though I did notice she was heavy with child.

I fell into a luxurious sleep, well deserved after my ordeal, confined in a warm room with ample blankets above me and a corn-shuck mattress beneath. I was confident that Saunders and Theodore and Alexis Godey all found a suitable loft.

Well into the morning I was finally awakened by a stirring and realized Josefa was peeking in. She was a pretty young thing. When she saw me stir, she smiled, and brought me a tray bearing a pottery mug of hot chocolate. I had not expected such a delicacy in Taos, but there it was, warming my body with its medicinal powers and making me whole again. I thanked her and sipped while she watched anxiously.

“Bueno,” I said.

She fled at once.

I was not yet up when I received a caller, who proved to be Major Beall, commandant of the detachment there. I received him whilst I sipped. He wore his blue winter issue and eyed me with some curiosity.

“Colonel, I'm pleasured to meet you,” he said.

“And likewise, Major. Do have a seat.”

“I'll get right to it, sir. Your man Godey reached me at supper last eve with news of your distress, and I hastened to supply from my stores whatever is needed. He left at dawn with several mules and muleteers, and my men will follow with more supplies. I've sent along rations and blankets. He's taking several dozen good round loaves of bread, some blankets, and some maize to feed his mules and horses. I'm sending a squad behind him with more food, salt pork and hardtack; some horses we can dispose of; and some manpower to assist.”

“Most gracious of you, Major. I will make a point of repaying the army as soon as I reorganize.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Colonel Frémont. Your reputation as an explorer precedes you, and I take a delight in placing myself at your service, sir.”

I nodded, taking the measure of the man. “Even a man in my circumstance?”

He nodded, amiably. “By all accounts, you were caught by conflicting orders, sir.”

I was satisfied. “Major, this railroad exploration has come to grief because I didn't have well-trained regular army men with me. Even at that, this guide I was forced to hire against my better judgment turned out to be worthless. Keep it in mind.”

“I've heard similar about him.”

“I don't mean to be unkind, but I do wish to warn away the army. Use Carson if you need anyone.”

“So I've heard, sir. But what's happening up there?”

I told him that my men were giving out and that I had directed them to reach Rabbit River, where they could find shelter and expect relief. But I suspected some were still higher up. Hadn't the first relief party dawdled its way south for twenty-two days now, and had not yet reached the Red River settlements?

Beall nodded, as I briefly apprised him of the ruinous decisions of our guide and the lethargic response of some of our summer soldiers, as I thought to call any who had not hardened themselves, and thought the trip to California would be a lark.

“But of this, say nothing, sir. I wish to deal with the matter privately,” I added. “I'll be in touch with Senator Benton, with a full report, and I want it to be the true and accurate account of my travails, so he can deal with the repercussions. I'm afraid that some of those men, who were plainly chafing at my direction, might say things of no substance and thus cast aspersions on the honor of my good veterans and my company.”

I ended the interview there, having already grown weary of politics, and begged leave of the major.

Carson saw him out and a moment later joined me.

“What's the word, Kit?” I asked, still abed.

“Godey left at dawn with four muleteers and about ten mules. He said to tell you he'll hurry on ahead, getting bread and blankets to all who are still alive, and he hopes that will include most everyone.”

“I could not ask for a better man than Godey,” I replied.

“He'll pick up more provisions and mules and blankets at the Red River colony and should be intercepting your men within a day or two,” Carson said. “Beall's men will be a day behind with some slaughter colts and will do some camp tending, getting the survivors up to a trip here.”

“Tell me candidly, Kit; what do you think of Old Bill Williams?”

Carson pondered it a while. “Well, I've heard it said that in starving times, you'd best not let Old Bill walk behind you,” Carson said.

“I think I'll tell that to Jessie,” I said. “Have you a pen and ink and paper?”

“Never had much use for those,” he replied. “But Lucien Maxwell ought to.”

“I want to set down the facts,” I replied. “Before anyone else attempts to.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Alexis Godey

I labored ceaselessly to put a relief mission on the trail. The great-hearted Mexicans were ready and willing to help. I found muleteers willing to travel through the perilous winter. They offered their services with a shrug and a smile. For payment they would soon have gaudy stories to tell their families. Families donated blankets woven from unbleached wool. Others volunteered their mules and horses and saddles. I loaded golden cornmeal into sacks, collected the coarse round loaves of bread that would sustain lives, found some multicolored maize with which to feed our livestock in those snowy wastes, and soon had enough collected for temporary relief.

Major Beall's soldiers would follow with some rank condemned horses, hardtack and other rations, and the manpower to tend fires and feed the desperate until they could be recruited to travel again.

“But are you going back, sir, after your own ordeal?” he asked me.

“I am. My friends are in great peril. I will not stop.”

“But look at you. You're worn.”

“I've had bowls of cornmeal mush. They call it
tole
here, and it revives me. If I can eat, I will be alright.”

“It's a solid meal, that's for sure,” he said.

I would do what I had to do. At dawn, my Mexican muleteers and I hastened upriver, through a frosty gloom I can barely describe because it seemed hostile and dark. But my men, mostly wearing heavy wool serapes, hurried the sluggish animals with switches. Their burros and mules were all half-starved. But on their backs was life itself. The day of our departure was January 22. A disastrous four weeks had elapsed since Colonel Frémont had sent the first relief party from the Christmas camp, and we began making our way out of the white mountains.

We reached the Red River settlements late that day. Preuss, who remained weakened and unable to travel, told us that none of our company had come in, which alarmed me, so we didn't tarry except to collect more bread and blankets and shoe leather from worried villagers and hurried north once again. Surely our men could not be far ahead. But they were. It took us four days to cover the first forty miles, and finally we raised the original relief, Breckenridge, Williams, and Creutzfeldt, huddled miserably around a flame, unable to move because their feet were ruined. They had staggered along on strips of blanket until at last they could go no farther and were waiting for help or death in a sheltered arroyo where there was some wood.

I scarcely recognized any of them, but one thing will remain with me. Breckenridge clasped the loaf I gave him
and began sobbing, and soon the others wept also, as they tore at the bread.

Creutzfeldt was the weakest, and I wondered whether he could even eat the bread, but he nibbled, gained a little strength, and began tearing at chunks of it, tears leaking from his eyes the whole time.

This was clean and honorable food. They were eating something that evoked no shame. I thought the tears had something to do with that as well as the joy of their salvation.

“The army's on the way with rations. They'll tend camp here until you can be moved,” I said. “Eat sparingly.”