Manifest Destiny ~ A black Western (chapter 1)

The road was longer than easter sermons at day break. But I had to continue. Pursued, hunted by the Calvary in this desert, that flipped a coin of choices. To kill, or be killed. The latter was nothing I preferred. The ladies hung heavy in my holster. Yet, it was better to have their bellies full than holding two starving children. These she devils were the sustainer of life. Mostly mine. The ride was lonely and dark like the mines of Pittsburg. But this time, the sot was permanent stuck in this area where my darkness were more of an amazement than a sign of subordination. How did I get here? I spoke almost out loud to my self, reassuring the reality of making a right decision. Now, on the run, clearing my conscious of this past that returned like the biting sand storms every night. 1

The confrontation still haunts me. We fled with some of our lives and hopes, still intact. Still, we were sworn to protect. This mighty 10th Calvary regiment named buffalo soldiers by the great Comanche warriors, that performed like trained vaudeville acts, blacken eunuchs for our government.2

“Our government”. I said disgruntled from the lies I recalled vividly.3

The snarl I heard from my voice only validated my anger and betrayal that festered in me more and more every riding step. Doing the bidding of our government was supposed to be an honor. Controlling the Indian population was supposed to be honorable. We showed respect and received it in return. The Comanche’s respected the black man and the blood we both spilled was out of more than any physical attack could justify. It was a clash of warriors. We showed them that and they did in return, but my government had this “Manifest Destiny” slogan they repeated in their daily war cry that sounded more like a freedom song than a code for genocide.4

These memories and many more betrayals such as the service in the Johnson county war would give free Negros land and sincere admiration from our government. That refrain remained a bitter taste that seemed to linger for far too long. We were proud Negros and part of this country. But this country’s humanity seemed non existent as I buried the countless native American bodies on this trail of tears. 5

My waking thoughts kept me company as Sugarlips kept pace with my anticipation to the next town. I had to keep enough cubes available or this stubborn old girl would bite me each chance she could get She was my companion through conflict, racial violence and despair. I lost many of friends but Sugar ran me from the best of times and the worst of times. The clip clop of the hooves signified the ticking time to my death. But we rode on, for I did not intend to die this today. 6

Thoughts flooded back to the reason of my solitude. That mid scorching afternoon when 10th regiment saddled up with the intention to deliver the Indians to the designated reservation. But our Colonel had other plans. We eyeballed the white riders galloping towards us, eager for a rousing slaughter with or without our consent. We refused to participate in the slaughter of innocent women and children when the opportunity presented itself with the Seminoles and the Cherokees. That constant tale we constantly heard, “Nunna daul Tsuny”. Still haunts me to this day. 7

But again, under circumstances away from justice and empathy, it returned with willing participants. The hunger in their eyes showed me the enthusiasm for our riding companions to kill. That’s when I knew, red blood was red in all of us, and loyalty didn’t mean blindness. The white Calvary turned towards us with a vile and contemptuous boast.8

“You black bastards will do as we say or yous will die all the same!!” His spit spewing wildly in the air like a rabid dogs held back only by the colts hanging from the Negros sides.9

“Sir we soldiers, horse handlers, cowboys and Americans. Why is we killing innocent folks? “ Fredrick was a good soul but not a worldly soul. He saw people as the children of God, even when he was told to untie the hanging bodies from the trees. Poor Fredrick, he would be dieing momentarily. 10

“Shut the hell up! You Negros step aside.” “and boy, if you say another goddamn word, lead will replace the pea you call a head!” Colonel George Custer stated his point from the barrel of his Winchester. The fine Colonel was permanent in his belief of the eradication of these people and his hatred of the negro.11

“Colonel, I reckon if we can’t settle this peaceful like. There’s going to be some widows wondering why?” I spoke up out of a mixture of fear and anger. 12

That mixture, thick like the Comanche Running rains serum for the shakes a man would get from the winter fevers one we get. Even this feeling got caught in my throat. The Comanche’s were warriors and lived their life with pride. Unlike the Black Seminoles, who cared for us and fought side by side with us. The Comanche’s defended their lands fought to the death to defend that belief. So first hand, I knew the pendulum swung to the wrong side of justice. If I was going to die, it had to be for an innocent life not some damn cause.13

There was a moment where the thought of conflict seemed like a ridiculous action. But in their eyes, their cold blue eyes, A fire began to seethe. Their fingers began to fidget like an invisible piano was set to be played. And with regret rather than compromise, it began. 14

Shots whizzed by us like sand flies at mid day in Wyoming. Sugar bolted one way, I the other. My ladies sang hot and steady in my hand as I dropped to the ground firing at the pale figures that commanded death on the lot of us. Sounds of screams and chaos flowed around us like a juke joint near Jackson Barracks in New Orleans. I almost laughed while keeping my head low. Cover was minimal but the shelter of the tents and utility boxes shielded the awkward firing of these squirrel hunters. The Colonel recruited the near by locals to participate in his nightly entertainment. He drunk his fill of their finest whiskey and repayment would to engage in this pageant slaughter. My spurs dug into the ground while I slithered as low as I could to avoid reckless gunfire. The Negro regiment held them at bay until they retreated back towards town. 15

What the hell did we just do? The thought ran through all of us like a silent prayer. Black men in this Indian/ Spanish land, fending off white men from exercising their right? That’s what the courts will say, if we ever get that far. Most likely hung from the nearest tree they could find if I don’t kiss a bullet from my own hands. Stealing land, forcing our authority on these Spaniards and Indians by force was something I was tired of seeing.. 16

I walked by the body of Fredrick that lay riddled with bullets with a stupid expression of why, written across his bleeding face. It was inevitable his life would be taken by the very people he saw as his savior and example. Sad, that’s the only thing that crossed my mind as I walked away shaking my head like a tired mule. We had maybe a few hours to load up the Comanche’s and make our way south west. Hoping, there would be a place we could be safe. At least in our own minds.17

The smell of hickory wood and charred meat brought me back to the present. Not that the present was no safer than the past, but at least I could see what was before me. With out an albatross holding me back, the wagon train would be safer with out me. And the regiment will be safe in Coahuila y Tejas. It wasn’t part of the Confederacy, so a free man could be safe. Safer than any area that would hang wanted posters of Negros across their towns. I swore that I will never become contraband of war. I resolved to move on. A Chinese rail worker once said to me, “It is a coward that lays down when the storm is around them”. Wise damn china man. Sugar rode up slowly to the camp site and I prepared myself for what may be my next struggle between life and death.