The explosion disintegrated the cask, turning its wood staves and metal rings into shrapnel that killed Jellicoe Fuller and three of the warriors outright. Several other Comanches were wounded and stumbled out of the cabin as it began to burn.
By the time the Quohadis had regrouped and were on their way north along the river road, the Fuller cabin was consumed by flames and a pillar of smoke rose high into a clear blue sky.
Cedric Cole and his ferry were on the east bank of the Brazos, having just transferred Benjamin Sturgis and a wagon across the river from Grand Cane. Sturgis was a freighter who plied the route between Gonzales and Houston, and it was he who first saw the plume of smoke.
"Look there, Cole. What do you make of that?"
The ferryman took one look and said, "Comanche."
Sturgis turned as colorless as the canvas tarpaulin strapped down over the load in his wagon. "Good God, man. It can't be. The Comanches wouldn't come this far east."
"Wanna bet?" asked the laconic Cole.
Sturgis clambered up onto the wagon and whipped the team into motion, maneuvering his vehicle down the ramp he and Cole had just put in place. Once he was on dry land he checked the mules in their traces and looked back to see, much to his surprise, that Cole was already hauling on the towline to take the ferry back across the river.
"Cole! Where the hell are you going? If there are Comanches over yonder, you'd better stay . . ."
But it was obvious to him that Cole wasn't paying any heed. Shaking his head, the freighter whipped up his team again and drove the wagon up the embankment and down the road to Houston as fast as the mules would take him.
Billy Fuller's yelling brought Artemus Tice out of his office. He saw Jellicoe's boy sliding off of the old mare that also carried Nell Fuller and her three-year-old daughter. Billy's cries brought others from their homes and businesses, but it was Tice who reached the Fullers first.
"Calm down, Billy," he said firmly, nodding at Mrs. Fuller. "Good morning, Nell. What's happened?"
"I'm not altogether sure." Nell Fuller was making every effort to remain calm and in control, but Tice could tell she was more distraught than he had ever seen her. "I fear my husband is in grave trouble. He sent Billy in from the field to tell us to come to town straightaway."
"I heard sumpin what sounded like thunder," said Billy.
"I am afraid—" Nell Fuller's voice broke, and she paused just long enough to regain her composure. "I am afraid it may be Comanches, Artemus."
It was at that moment that Tice heard the strange thunder. He knew right away what it was.
"Grab your guns, boys!" Tice yelled at the men who stood in the street. "Comanches are coming to call"
Billy Fuller grabbed Tice's sleeve as the doctor turned to enter his office. "My pa's dead, ain't he?"
"I reckon he is, son."
"Give me a gun. I'll fight."
"You make sure your mother and sister get on Cedric Cole's ferry." His tone of voice made it clear to Billy Fuller that no argument would be brooked.
When Tice came back out with a brace of pistols in his belt and his walking stick in hand, a dozen armed men had gathered in the street. Among them were Scayne and Deckard and Ainsworth and Will Parton. The latter had a Bible in one hand and a rifle in the other.
"No time to fetch the others," said Tice. He meant those Black Jacks who, like Yancey Torrance, lived on the outskirts of Grand Cane. "They'll come to the sound of gunfire if they're able."
"Let us smite the wicked," said the preacher solemnly, "and we will fear not death, for the Lord God is with us."
Tice started walking down the street toward the south end of Grand Cane, and the other Black Jacks followed, fanning out on both sides.
Yancey Torrance and his son Brax were in the smitty when they heard an eruption of gunfire from Grand Cane. Yancey knew immediately what had happened. He dropped his mallet and snatched up a pair of rifles that had been within quick and easy reach ever since John Henry McAllen's speech about the likelihood of Comanche attack. One of the long guns he tossed to his son.
"Brax, you make certain Emily and your ma get to the ferry."
"But Pa! Let me go with you. I'm the best shot in Brazoria County. Everybody says so. You've said as much yourself. I can fight Indians, so why don't you ever let me—"
"Stop your whining and do what I tell you," snapped Yancey.
Fuming, Brax ran to the nearby cabin. It was Saturday, which meant his mother was at home rather than the little one-room schoolhouse on the other side of town. Mary Torrance stood in the doorway, wiping dough-encrusted hands on her apron. She could hear the shooting. Concern furrowed her brows as she watched her husband leave the smitty at a dead run, turning down the road into Grand Cane without a backward look.
"Is it Comanches, Brax?" she asked.
"Reckon so."
"Dear God in heaven," she murmured.
Emily appeared in the doorway behind her. "What's the matter, Aunt Mary?"
"Pa says I'm to get the two of you to the ferry," said Brax.
"Oh, I must take a few things with me," said Mary. She appeared to be in something of a daze as she turned to go back inside.
"There's no time for that," said Emily, taking Mary by the hand. "We'll come back home when it's all over."
Mary gave her a funny look. "There may not be a home to come back to."
Brax took his mother's other hand and tugged hard. "Come along, Ma. We've got to hurry."
He led them down into the trees by the river and turned south. Mingled with war whoops, the gunfire from the vicinity of Grand Cane was becoming more intense. Brax endured it as long as he could; finally he stopped and turned to the women.
"The ferry's right up ahead. You all can make it from here, can't you?"
"I should have at least brought the family Bible," said Mary.
"Where are you going, Brax?" asked Emily.
"I'm going to help Pa." Brax turned away. "Take Ma to the ferry, Em," he shouted over his shoulder as he loped up through the woods in the direction of town.
Major Charles Stewart was standing at the top of the veranda steps when McAllen came running up the slope of the bluff to the main house, Jeb and Joshua in his wake. The Englishman had been enjoying a glass of sangaree when he saw a plume of smoke about three or four miles south along the course of the Brazos. It was a fine clear morning and one could see quite a long way from the vantage point of McAllen's house atop the bluff. A few minutes later, Stewart thought he heard, very faintly, the crackle of what sounded like gunfire, carried on the northerly breeze. This had brought him to the top of the steps, much to the chagrin of Leah McAllen, who had been doing her level best to charm the dashing young major with her small talk and sultry glances. Now Leah sat at the table in a huff, pouting beautifully, resentful of whatever it was that had stolen Stewart's attention.
"I say," said Stewart, as McAllen arrived, "I could swear I heard the sound of firearms."
"I think it's coming from town." McAllen was in his shirtsleeves, having been down at the mill.