Read Online How Few Remain by Harry Turtledove - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harry Turtledove
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been to lead from the front. As commander of the Confederate States Department of the Trans-Mississippi, he might have made his headquarters in Houston or Austin, as several of his predecessors had done. Instead, ever since being promoted to the position two years earlier, he’d based himself in the miserable village of El Paso, as far west as he could go while staying in the CSA.
Peering north and west along the Rio Grande—swollen, at the moment, with spring runoff and very different from the sleepy stream it would be soon—Jeb Stuart looked into the USA. That proximity to the rival nation made El Paso important as a Confederate outpost, and was the reason he’d brought his headquarters hither.
But El Paso had been a place of significance before an international border sprang up between Texas and New MexicoTerritory, between CSA and USA. It and its sister town on the other side of the Rio Grande, Paso del Norte, had stood on opposite sides of the border first between Mexico and the USA and then between Mexico and the CSA. The pass the names of the two towns commemorated was one of the lowest and broadest through the Rockies, a gateway between east and west travelers had been using for centuries.
Stuart looked across the Rio Grande to Paso del Norte. Not quite twenty years earlier, the national border between Texas and New Mexico had gone up. (It would have gone up farther west and north, but the Confederate invasion of New Mexico, mounted without adequate manpower or supplies, had failed.) Now, as soon as Stuart got the telegram for which he was waiting, the border on the Rio Grande would cease to be.
His aide-de-camp, a burly major named Horatio Sellers, came walking up to the edge of the river to stand alongside him. Sweat streaked Sellers’ ruddy face. Dust didn’t scuff up under his boots, as it would in a few weeks, but the heat was already irksome, and gave every promise of becoming appalling.
Sellers peered across into what remained for the moment the territory of the Empire of Mexico. Paso del Norte was larger than its Confederate counterpart, but no more prepossessing. A couple of cathedrals reared above the mud-brick buildings that made up most of the town. The flat roofs of those buildings made the place look as if the sun had pounded it down from greater prominence.
Sellers said, “We’re giving Maximilian three million in gold and silver for those two provinces? Three
million? Sir
, you ask me, we ought to get change back from fifty cents.”
“Nobody asked you, Major,” Stuart answered. “Nobody asked me, either. That doesn’t matter. If we’re ordered—when we’re ordered—to take possession of the provinces for the Confederacy, that’s what we’ll do. That’s all we can do.”
“Yes, sir,” his aide-de-camp answered resignedly.
“Look on the bright side,” Stuart said. “We’ve got the Yankees hopping around like fleas on a hot griddle. That’s worthwhile all by itself, if you ask me.” He grinned. “Of course, Longstreet didn’t ask me, any more than he asked you.”
Sellers remained gloomy, which was in good accord with his nature. “Two provinces full of desert and Indians and Mexicans, and we’re supposed to turn them into Confederate states, sir? It’llbe a lot of work, I can tell you that. Christ, Negro servitude is illegal south of the border.”
“Well, if the border moves south, our laws move with it,” Stuart answered. “I expect we’ll manage well enough there.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet Stonewall wishes he were here instead of me. He liked Mexico when he fought there for the USA—he even learned to speak Spanish. But he’s stuck in Richmond, and that’s about as far from El Paso as you can be and still stay in the Confederate States.”
“Sir,” Sellers persisted, exactly as if Jeb Stuart could do something about the situation, “supposing we do annex Sonora and Chihuahua. How the devil are we supposed to defend them from the USA? New Mexico
Peering north and west along the Rio Grande—swollen, at the moment, with spring runoff and very different from the sleepy stream it would be soon—Jeb Stuart looked into the USA. That proximity to the rival nation made El Paso important as a Confederate outpost, and was the reason he’d brought his headquarters hither.
But El Paso had been a place of significance before an international border sprang up between Texas and New MexicoTerritory, between CSA and USA. It and its sister town on the other side of the Rio Grande, Paso del Norte, had stood on opposite sides of the border first between Mexico and the USA and then between Mexico and the CSA. The pass the names of the two towns commemorated was one of the lowest and broadest through the Rockies, a gateway between east and west travelers had been using for centuries.
Stuart looked across the Rio Grande to Paso del Norte. Not quite twenty years earlier, the national border between Texas and New Mexico had gone up. (It would have gone up farther west and north, but the Confederate invasion of New Mexico, mounted without adequate manpower or supplies, had failed.) Now, as soon as Stuart got the telegram for which he was waiting, the border on the Rio Grande would cease to be.
His aide-de-camp, a burly major named Horatio Sellers, came walking up to the edge of the river to stand alongside him. Sweat streaked Sellers’ ruddy face. Dust didn’t scuff up under his boots, as it would in a few weeks, but the heat was already irksome, and gave every promise of becoming appalling.
Sellers peered across into what remained for the moment the territory of the Empire of Mexico. Paso del Norte was larger than its Confederate counterpart, but no more prepossessing. A couple of cathedrals reared above the mud-brick buildings that made up most of the town. The flat roofs of those buildings made the place look as if the sun had pounded it down from greater prominence.
Sellers said, “We’re giving Maximilian three million in gold and silver for those two provinces? Three
million? Sir
, you ask me, we ought to get change back from fifty cents.”
“Nobody asked you, Major,” Stuart answered. “Nobody asked me, either. That doesn’t matter. If we’re ordered—when we’re ordered—to take possession of the provinces for the Confederacy, that’s what we’ll do. That’s all we can do.”
“Yes, sir,” his aide-de-camp answered resignedly.
“Look on the bright side,” Stuart said. “We’ve got the Yankees hopping around like fleas on a hot griddle. That’s worthwhile all by itself, if you ask me.” He grinned. “Of course, Longstreet didn’t ask me, any more than he asked you.”
Sellers remained gloomy, which was in good accord with his nature. “Two provinces full of desert and Indians and Mexicans, and we’re supposed to turn them into Confederate states, sir? It’llbe a lot of work, I can tell you that. Christ, Negro servitude is illegal south of the border.”
“Well, if the border moves south, our laws move with it,” Stuart answered. “I expect we’ll manage well enough there.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet Stonewall wishes he were here instead of me. He liked Mexico when he fought there for the USA—he even learned to speak Spanish. But he’s stuck in Richmond, and that’s about as far from El Paso as you can be and still stay in the Confederate States.”
“Sir,” Sellers persisted, exactly as if Jeb Stuart could do something about the situation, “supposing we do annex Sonora and Chihuahua. How the devil are we supposed to defend them from the USA? New Mexico
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