The Black Bean Episode.
Inspired by information discovered while researching background for “Fernando” by ABBA for a short story under the theme “Seven Men”.
“Hush Pop, don't take on so, you'll tire yourself.”
“Got to tell you son, I need for you to know. We did what we thought was right.”
“Yes Pop, I know, but it was all so long ago and it's probably best forgotten”
“But I cheated son, I cheated death. Now death's coming again and I'm not going to be able to cheat him this time.”
“OK Pop, you tell me then, but take it slow and, here, have a sip of this first.”
“Can you hear the drums, Fernando?
“He's not here Pop, he died, you remember, last winter, pneumonia. I know you miss him Pop, him and that damn guitar.”
“I could hear the distant drums and sounds of bugle calls were coming, they were somewhere in the distance. We'd crossed the Rio Grande and we were going to show them. We were going to push into Mexico and make them pay for their raids on us. We were going to show them that Texans won't be pushed around. Sam Houston gave the order and Alex Somervell was in command. There were about seven hundred of us all told. We were ready for anybody. I remember the night was starry and you were strumming your guitar gently and somehow those drums and bugles seemed to keep time.
They were closer now Fernando and every hour, every minute seemed to last forever. I was so afraid; we were young and full of life and not a one of us ready to die. And, Fernando, I'm not ashamed to say the roar of guns and cannons almost made me cry. But not you boy, no, not you, Fernando. You sat there strumming that guitar as if we were out at harvest supper.
When it came down to the fighting we did alright. December 8 at Laredo. We took the town. It was easy. We wanted to push on, grab more, take Guerrero and then deeper into Mexico. There was arguments.
It seems that this whole thing was one of them there political things. Someone just wanted to show that we couldn't make a big attack on Mexico. Well, we were showing them. That bastard Joe Bennett wanted to go home. I never thought he had the stomach for a fight. Well he went, and took a couple of hundred others with them, lily-livered bastards. We went on with about five hundred of us and we captured Guerrero. I thought we was doing great but Somervell decided it wasn't worth going on. He seemed to think we had failed, though God knows why. He ordered us to disband and go home. That was when the argument really got started. It came to blows as all such arguments do and in the end one hundred and eighty-nine men and officers headed for Gonzales with their tails between their legs and the rest of us got ready to move further along the banks of the old Rio Grande and try our luck.
There were just over three hundred of us set off for Mier on that fated expedition. We chose Billy Fisher to be our commander and he ordered a spy force under Ben McCulloch along the west bank. They were Texas Rangers, all good men. We kept to the east bank with the main force and by December 22 we reached a spot opposite Mier. McCulloch found that Mexican troops were gathering on the west bank and advised against going on. When he heard that we had no intention of turning back he lit out with a few others and we got ourselves another spy commander. John R Baker, sheriff of Refugio County said that he wasn't going to run out on us and he took over the spy company.
On December 23, we left forty-five men to guard the camp, we crossed the river and went into Mier. I didn't know what the fuss was about. There wasn't a shot fired. We just walked in and took over. We got down to business about what we'd come for. We wanted rations badly. This raiding and capturing is alright but it takes a heap of vittles to keep hundreds of men happy and a whole lot of powder to keep them fighting. We gave those people a list of what we wanted, and bless me, if that alcalde didn't offer to have the supplies delivered to our camp the next day. Well, we did take him with us as a hostage. That could have been one reason why he was keen to do the right thing.
So, we sat around the next day, which was Christmas Eve, waiting for the goods to arrive and hoping for something special for the next day, and nothing arrived. Holderman had gone off in the morning, looking for horses and we didn't see hide nor hair of him that day. Turns out he'd got himself captured by some Mexican cavalry. Any way the goods never came and the next day we learned that some guy called Ampudia had arrived with close on three thousand Mexican troops and we could whistle for our supplies. We didn't care how many of the bean eaters there was, we wanted, no needed, our supplies so we went looking for them.
God, what a Christmas! We fought until the afternoon of December 26, heavily outnumbered, lost thirty guys killed and wounded. Killed about six hundred of them but they still had lots of guys left and we were short on food and powder and we sort of came to a halt. What could we do? We out fought them but we had to eat and we couldn't just throw rocks at them. They brought out a white flag and Billy gave them our surrender.
We considered ourselves prisoners of war and the Mexicans seemed to treat us as such. Then we heard that the Mexican government had decided to have the lot of us executed. Seems that that little shit Houston had said that we were acting against his authority. The bastard sold us down the Rio. General Pedro de Ampudia was a different sort and said that he wouldn't execute us. Those of us who was fit enough was marched through the river towns to Matamoros where they kept us till they was ready to move us to Mexico City. They fed us and looked after the walking wounded but you can have enough of beans and we had plenty enough.
We weren't going to end up in Mexico City, no way. We planned our escape as we marched and by the time we reached Salado we was good and ready. On February 11, we broke out and headed north. A couple of days later and we would have been glad of a plate of them beans. It was the dry season. It certainly was dry and hot, and there was little food to be found and not a lot of water neither. God, we suffered! We were tired and hungry and parched as we tried to find our way through the mountains to the river, trying to stay out of sight of the bastards hunting us.
Seven days we lasted, then we'd had enough and they rounded us up in ones and twos and returned us to Salado. Three men got away, three out of one hundred and seventy-nine. You and I were pretty fit considering, Fernando. You seemed to stand up to hardship better than me. You sang to keep our spirits up and you played that guitar, battered though it was. You carried that guitar through everything, even through the mountains. Sometimes I think you'd have left your woman sooner than leave that guitar behind.
Governor Mexia came to speak to us. Seemed like a fair man to me. He told us that his illustrious, that was the word he used, his illustrious leader, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna had ordered that we all be shot. We were about ready to line up for that, our spirits had sunk so low. Well this governor guy said he wasn't going to have that. He turned down the idea flat. Seems to me they must have had a lot of toing and froing, back and forth Over that little problem and eventually they come to a decision just what to do about us. They decided that they weren't going to execute us all, no sirree. No, what they were going to do was shoot one in every ten of us. They left us a long time to stew over that idea before they came to tell us how it all was to be done.
Would you believe it, they was going to use them damn beans. They was going to put a bean in a jar for each of us. We had to take a bean out of the jar and if it was a white bean then we got to live, but if it was a black bean then they'd shoot us. Well, if we wasn't sick of beans before, well we sure was sick of them then. Guy named Huerta was the one who had the job of “decimation”, as he put it. Guy spoke good English for a Mex but he had to explain what the word meant. It don't seem it was used much in our way of speaking.
He brought out the jar with the one hundred and seventy-six beans in it and we commenced to draw for our lives. The officers drew first then the men. Our names were called out as they were on the muster rolls. We watched as each man drew and it seemed that there was a sort of dignity to the whole thing and each man who took out a black bean put back his shoulders and drew a breath to show he was a man and a Texan and he would face death with courage. Some even smiled as if to give the rest of us the guts to do what was needed.
Will Eastland was the first to draw black. He was captain of Company B. He showed us the way. Always a dignified man, he squared his shoulders and gave Colonel Huerta a smart salute before joining the escort of those who were to die. And so it went on. Those who drew white tried hard not to show the relief on their faces as they joined those whose lives were to be spared. Edward Este drew black and stepped unsteadily to the growing group of condemned men. Robert Durham and Robert Harris drew black.
Fernando, when you stepped up to the jar my heart was in my mouth. I wanted to wish you luck but I could not speak. You showed me the white bean in your shaking hand and gave me a sly smile. I was standing by Bigfoot Wallace as the draw went on and I saw that he was watching more intently than anyone. Every time a black bean was shown, his body swayed towards the man who had drawn it as if he wanted to get as close as he could, as near to that bean as the guards and his dignity would allow.
As he stepped forward to the jar, I knew he had worked it out. I was not in the least surprised that the bean he drew out was white. The look on his face showed that he was not surprised either. He tried to hide it but I could see his look of satisfaction. That was when I knew that I, too, would cheat death. I could live and another would die. When my turn came I stepped forward but I did not feel proud or dignified. I tried hard to look it but as my unsteady hand slid into the jar I knew I would not die. My hand closed on the few remaining beans. There were six of them and I knew that one of them was a deadly bean. I had a six to one chance, but there was no chance that I would die. I fingered the beans, one at a time. At the same time, I looked into Colonel Huerta's face. I held his eye as I felt around until I found the one that was a little smaller than the others. Then I carefully placed it aside and drew another bean, showing my life to the officer who held the jar. He declared that I had drawn a white bean and I joined those who were safe. I could not look Martin Wing in the eye as he moved to the ranks of the dead, letting fall the black bean that had sealed his fate. The process went on, though the last four drew with the confidence of knowing that they were not to die.
The condemned men were led away to another courtyard to await their fate. In the late afternoon one of the Mexican officers came with letters they had written home. He said in broken English that he would see that they was delivered. For what was left of the day we sat around and talked in low voices. Some prayed. You don't think I saw you with your rosary, Fernando, but I did. You must have wondered why I didn't go near you that afternoon. The truth is I couldn't face you. I couldn't sit and talk with anyone, knowing that I had cheated death, that I had cheated Martin of his chance at life. I hardly knew the man but I had cheated him.
At dusk, the dusty boots of Mexican soldiers clattered on the cobbles as they marched towards the courtyard. The setting sun was blood red behind them as their black silhouettes, ram-rod straight, marched to their dire business. The faint call of orders floated over the wall to us as we stood or sat, hardly breathing, waiting for the sounds of death. Then the shots rang out as the groups of condemned men faced the firing squad. We could not count the shots but with each fusillade we numbered lives snuffed out, their names became etched on our souls, James Cocke, John Cash, William Eastland, Patrick Mahan, James Ogden, James Torrey, Robert Durham, Edward Este, Robert Harris, William Rowan, Thomas Jones, Christopher Roberts, James Shepherd, J Thompson, James Turnbull, Henry Walling and Martin Wing, whose name was carved deep on my heart.
We spent more than a year in the custody of Mexico. We worked on the roads and we rotted in prison. Some died in the pestilence that was Perote Prison. From time to time a few of us were released at the request of some officials of the United States or other governments, but you and I were there until the last of that fateful crew were sent home on September 16, 1844.
I tried hard to live, to the full, the life that I was given on that day so long ago. I tried to raise a good family, Fernando, to not waste what I had cheated to keep that day. I even called my first son Martin so that the name should always be before me. I never knew what family that man had but I knew I had to make my family worthy. But I would do it again, Fernando. If I had to do the same again I would, my friend, Fernando.”
“Are you done now Pop? Now lie back and rest. You've got it off your chest. Don't you fret on it."
“Fernando!”
“No, Pop, it's me, Martin. I've heard every word, you got it all said. Now you rest. I'm sure that Fernando, God rest his soul, heard you too and he understands. He saw that you worked hard to raise us to do right, and we're all here; there's James and Robert, Cissie and Rachel. We're all here for you and we're sure that Momma is waiting with your old friend, Fernando. In fact, all those old friends are waiting, even my namesake. Look Pop, I bet that starry night was just like this. Rest now Pop, there's no regret."
