The Blade, the Beginning

By R.A. Carbajal

Two families—irrevocably connected by a fighting knife—go through history unaware of their binding ties that lead them from one conflict to another. The blade repeatedly rises to link them over the deadliest conflicts of their country.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662454837

Book preview

Chapter 1

October 1835. Central Texas.

John Standaford stood atop a small rise and surveyed the land that spread out before him. He was a large broad-shouldered man. His rugged good looks were topped by a shock of bright-red hair and piercing blue eyes. His size was commensurate to this land. It was as wide as the sky and welcomed the hardworking man. It was little more than grasslands interspersed with mesquite scrubs and Texas live oak. A stiff breeze and a small stream wound its way across the land and made a deep emerald scar where foliage sprouted close to the life-giving water. This was not land meant for the plow. No, both the native longhorn and his own breed of cattle John brought wandered freely and thrived off the grasses and water, which—while not abundant—was enough. It was a hard, unforgiving land and grudgingly provided the cattle the means to survive and to thrive. It was all that John could ask for or expect. Yet it was much more than he had ever had at home. The thought of grinding his life away in the coal mines of Ireland was something that John could not accept. He felt that his future was destined for so much more than living his life out in the dark and dangerous mines. That was not a future to be relished.

It was a cold day yet not bitter by John’s standards. He came from the Welsh town of Plymouth that was a center of a large percentage of Wales’s pig iron. His father had died in those mines extracting the precious ore as had his grandfather and great-grandfather before him. That would have been John’s future had he not made the decision to immigrate to America as a young man. And Michael—his younger brother—seeking adventure, decided to accompany him.

The brothers had sailed to America with the clothes on their back and a change of linens in their knapsack. Between them, they had forty American dollars—an incredible sum in those days. While they both settled in the predominately Welsh portion of New York, both brothers had the desire to move further west. With diligent work—during which the Standaford Brothers saved every penny they earned—they were ready to strike out on their own within two years. Michael, John’s brother, had met a dainty maid, Sarah, who had connections in Illinois. They married, and he moved with her to work in the family business of dry goods. It was a good job, paid good, and with hard work, Michael prospered.

John took to cattle with a fellow Welshman, Ian Connery. Together, they bought into a small herd of six head—three each of males and females—but Ian grew tired of the work and sold his share at a fair price to John. By this time, John had also met and married a woman of Welsh descent, Martha Hennesy. She was an orphan—alone and grateful for the attention and the opportunity to be the wife of a good hardworking man.

Her parents had died of illness a year before, and life had been hard on a single young girl. Her attachment to John had come at a truly fortunate time in her life. Love had little to do with their pragmatic relationship. John was a good Catholic man of some means, so there was little decision-making when he asked her to marry him. Being ten years junior to John’s twenty-five made little difference in such matters. So on a blustery day in November 1831, John and Martha were married in a simple church ceremony. Within two years, she had presented him with a son they named John Jr. It was then that John learned of the opportunities being offered to settlers who moved to Texas. The promise of six hundred acres of good cattle land was too good for John to pass up. He quite literally jumped at the opportunity. So with his wife and infant son—in the spring of 1832 with a small herd of twelve animals—John began the long trek to Texas and the promise of a new life. The journey had been long and tedious, yet upon their arrival in their homestead in Texas, Martha announced she was again pregnant—this time with their second child. Life at the beginning had been difficult but bearable. A neighbor woman had come to help with the birth of John’s second child—also a son whom they both named Michael, after his brother. Unfortunately, the birth had been a difficult one, and the midwife had informed John that Martha would not be able to have more children. Two sons was more than any man could ask for, and John was content with his life. Over the two years, his herd grew to a respectable thirty-five animals, and John could begin to barter them for materials to improve the sod hut they currently lived in and other goods that made life easier for Martha.

One Christmas, John received an especially nice present from his brother, Michael. It was an exceptionally beautiful knife: the blade was easily fifteen inches long and made of especially fine steel. A beautiful fifteen-inch Highlander dirk: shorter than a sword but longer that even the big Texas knives wielded by his neighbors with such pride. It was an especially good working knife and could be used either to butcher an animal or to use in self-defense. In either event, John was pleased with his present, and he carried it with him wherever he went. It was held in a beautiful leather scabbard that had a loop for his belt. He was truly pleased and proud. Yes, it was a good day.

As John stood on the rise and surveyed his property and animals, he was as content as a man could wish. Unfortunately, events were transpiring that would have a life-altering effect on John and succeeding generations for decades to come.

At the end of October, word filtered down that a Mexican force had occupied the nearby town of Bexar. A call had gone out to the settlers that men were needed to repel the invaders. They had already skirmished over the cannon Mexico had given them to help drive off marauding bands of Indians. Even though the settlers had yet to employ the weapon, it galled them that Mexico would demand its return. Although John had taken an oath to support the Mexican Government, become a citizen, and follow the Catholic faith, none of this mattered to John. He was already a Catholic by birth, and he had made an honorable vow to follow the Mexican Government. Being Irish by birth, he was looked upon as an outcast by Anglo-Americans, yet the Mexicans accepted his word and expected nothing more than he follow his vow.

Unfortunately, there was little he could do but follow his friends and neighbors and attend to the intent of the avowed rebels. Therefore, at the end of October 1835, John joined his comrades—numbering a total of eight men—and moved to Bexar. The men nominated him as their corporal and accepted him as their leader.

Upon their arrival at Bexar, they were assigned to a larger force as a squad, which kept them together. This suited John fine. In the middle of November, John received a package from Martha. It was a fine new suit of buckskins. She had been working on them for some time, and there was an accompanying set of warm moccasins and woolen socks. The other men were suitably impressed, and John was puffed with pride.

Chapter 2

October 1835. Villahermosa, Mexico.

Francisco Amador awoke to the sounds and smells of his mother Lupita’s cooking. He stretched luxuriously on his mattress of cornhusks and straw-filled covers. It was cold outside. He was a large lad, much bigger than his friends. As he exhaled, he could see his breath as a fine fog. His raven-topped hair held a set of brown eyes so dark they seemed black. His frame held his 175 pounds evenly distributed. There was a strength hidden in his limbs that foretold of a greater development as he grew. As it was, it was just another backbreaking day in the fields with his brothers and father that lay ahead of him. This day would be different, though—one that would change Francisco’s life forever.

Francisco’s sisters and mother would remain at home to do the cleaning and cooking that kept the home alive while he and his father and brothers went to the fields. Before the day was over, the women would sweep the house from floor to ceiling. The sweepers were hand fashioned from brooms made of corn stalks and yucca. The sweeping would keep insects and small animals from trying to settle into the dirt-floored house.

The women would cart water from the stream a gallon at a time. Some water would be used to scrub down the cooking pots and spoons and some for washing clothes. The wash water would be thrown onto the garden, and the rinse water would be sprinkled around the doorstep to help keep dust from blowing into the house.

A little bit of the water would be strained and used for making coffee. Even the little ones would drink the coffee after it cooled. Lupita remembered her grandmother telling her that boiled water never brings illness, so she always gave her children boiled water made into coffee when they were too old to be nursed. Outside milk from the goats—which usually went to make cheese—coffee was their only drink. For special occasions, a special treat of cocoa was available, but cocoa was scarce and expensive.

Arising from the palette that he shared with his brother—shivering from the cold—Francisco pulled his simple peasant pants and shirt on to complete the ensemble of his daily attire. Slipping his feet into his leather huaraches (sandals), Francisco moved outside the hut and over to the small covered area where his mother was cooking. Reaching over, he grabbed at one of the thick maize tortillas his mother was already stacking. For his efforts. he received a slap on the wrist.

Orita no mijo [Not now, son], his mother said. Wait for your father and brothers. Now off. E lava te [wash yourself].

Moving outside to the other side of the house, Francisco was surprised to see three uniformed men standing before him. His curiosity took in the fine lines of the men’s uniform and the gleaming accoutrements of their accessories. He had absolutely no idea what any of the items were; however, he immediately had a youth’s interest in what he could only imagine were their significance. The apparent leader stepped forward from the other two.

Where is your father, young one?

At that time, his father emerged from their crude home. And what do you wish of me? he said. I am his father.

Very well, the uniformed man said. I am here representing the Government of Mexico and specifically Generalissimo Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón. I am here to recruit new men for the Army of Mexico. There is a new campaign in the making, and new men are needed for travel to a faraway land to defend the honor and glory of Mexico.

Not so fast, my friend, not so fast, replied his father. Do you propose to take me, an old man?

No viejo [Old man], you are far too old and past the ability to march with the Army and endure the hardships of the campaign! I am here to get your son. He seems young and strong. The people in the town have spoken of him, and I am here to convince him to enlist!

Francisco was taken aback at the implications. He had never considered in his wildest imagination that he would someday leave his father’s house. It was simply his assumption that he would live here forever! At the same time, he felt his skin crawl at the possibility—not out of fear but at the adventure of it all. What young man had not thought of adventure! Even in his youthful imagination, he could see himself in a fine uniform, coming home draped in glory to the envy of his family and friends.

But it was his father that quickly put a damper on it all.

Speaking to the soldados, he said, Why you, young pup, I know more about hardships than you will ever know. Pah! I could take on all three of you and leave you holding your balls and crying for your mother’s teat!

All three of the soldados laughed at the old man’s reply but not enough to embarrass him.

Yes, old one, of that, I am sure, but we need the strength of the young and their endurance, said the leader. But enough of this talk. We need to move on to other homes and have but a short time to do so. Will your son come willingly? He left the statement hanging, but all knew that there was no alternative.

Francisco understood what was in the unsaid declaration. There were three younger brothers, and already, he knew that providing for all of them and his two sisters was putting a strain on the family’s resources. There was enough help to tend to the small farm and the few heads of sheep and goats the family owned. His would be one less mouth to feed, and to tell the truth, he was prepared to accept the challenge.

Cutting the tension, Francisco blurted, No, I will go. Just let me say my goodbyes to my family, which were all standing now at the doorway—observing all that took place. Francisco could tell that his mother was clearly unhappy at his decision. Nevertheless, she could see that what was happening was beyond her control. Deep within her heart, she also knew that it was inevitable and for the best that her oldest son had to leave. Still and all, her heart was close to breaking. Quickly, she darted into her home and retrieved a treasured relic and returned quickly to her son.

Approaching her son, she placed a silver crucifix into his hand. My son, never forget us. No matter where God should take you, remember where you come from. Say your prayers and remember to keep the Commandments. Tilting his head, she said the words of commendation, May Almighty God watch over you and protect you from the grasp of Satan, and may the Blessed Mother keep you in her thoughts all the days of your life! Crossing him, she finished her blessing and kissed his forehead. Afraid to say anything more, she withdrew into her home—better not to see him walk away. Likewise, his sisters said their tearful goodbyes as did his brothers.

Francisco had nothing to gather. All his worldly possessions consisted of the clothes he wore and a spare shirt. The leader, sensing his hesitation, said, Do not worry, young one. You will have clothes enough in a few days and shoes too!

Francisco’s father simply stood by and observed the events of the last few minutes. He knew that what was happening was out of his control. He likewise knew that he would say farewell—for possibly the last time—to his oldest son.

Mijo [My son], you do not need to do this.

I know, Papa, but it will be okay. I will send money home, and I will be back. I promise.

Remember well what you have been taught as a Christian. Be a good man wherever you may go and never forget your God!

Spinning on his heel and careful lest his family see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, he said to the leader, I am ready, senor. Let us go now.

Twenty minutes later, Francisco walked over the hill and caught a final glimpse of his home and his family standing together, watching him as he disappeared over the rise. His meager belongings were in a wicker bag slung over his shoulder, and his thoughts were already of the prospect of never seeing his family again. His mother had wept. His father had cursed the soldados soundly. But in the end, the soldados had their way. The government needed manpower regardless the cost. Francisco was now a soldado in the Army of Mexico for a period of eight years or until he died, which seemed the more probable.

The stops of the other two villages proceeded likewise. Two more young men were selected and were brought along as new recruits who were needed for the ever-swelling ranks of the Army.

Chapter 3

Mid-October 1835. Near De Calakmul, The Yucatán Peninsula.

Xolchi (Solchi) lived in the mountainous rain forests of the Yucatán. His life was simple. Some villagers had made a living from clearing the forest and becoming farmers. When the need arose