CHAPTER XIII.
Conclusion.
The Fortress of Alamo.--Colonel Bowie.--Bombardment of the
Fort.--Crockett's Journal.--Sharpshooting.--Fight outside of the
Fort.--Death of the Bee Hunter.--Kate of Nacogdoches.--Assault on
the Citadel.--Crockett a Prisoner.--His Death.
The fortress of Alamo is just outside of the town of Bexar, on the
San Antonio River. The town is about one hundred and forty miles
from the coast, and contained, at that time, about twelve hundred
inhabitants. Nearly all were Mexicans, though there were a few
American families. In the year 1718, the Spanish Government had
established a military outpost here; and in the year 1721, a few
emigrants from Spain commenced a flourishing settlement at this
spot. Its site is beautiful, the air salubrious, the soil highly
fertile, and the water of crystal purity.
The town of Bexar subsequently received the name of San Antonio. On
the tenth of December, 1835, the Texans captured the town and
citadel from the Mexicans. These Texan Rangers were rude men, who
had but little regard for the refinements or humanities of
civilization. When Crockett with his companions arrived, Colonel
Bowie, of Louisiana, one of the most desperate of Western
adventurers, was in the fortress. The celebrated bowie-knife was
named after this man. There was but a feeble garrison, and it was
threatened with an attack by an overwhelming force of Mexicans under
Santa Anna. Colonel Travis was in command. He was very glad to
receive even so small a reinforcement. The fame of Colonel Crockett,
as one of the bravest of men, had already reached his ears.
"While we were conversing," writes Crockett, "Colonel Bowie had
occasion to draw his famous knife, and I wish I may be shot if the
bare sight of it wasn't enough to give a man of a squeamish stomach
the colic. He saw I was admiring it, and said he, 'Colonel, you
might tickle a fellow's ribs a long time with this little instrument
before you'd make make him laugh.'"
According to Crockett's account, many shameful orgies took place in
the little garrison. They were evidently in considerable
trepidation, for a large force was gathering against them, and they
could not look for any considerable reinforcements from any quarter.
Rumors were continually reaching them of the formidable preparations
Santa Anna was making to attack the place. Scouts ere long brought
in the tidings that Santa Anna, President of the Mexican Republic,
at the head of sixteen hundred soldiers, and accompanied by several
of his ablest generals, was within six miles of Bexar. It was said
that he was doing everything in his power to enlist the warlike
Comanches in his favor, but that they remained faithful in their
friendship to the United States.
Early in the month of February, 1836, the army of Santa Anna
appeared before the town, with infantry, artillery, and cavalry.
With military precision they approached, their banners waving, and
their bugle-notes bearing defiance to the feeble little garrison.
The Texan invaders, seeing that they would soon be surrounded,
abandoned the town to the enemy, and fled to the protection of the
citadel. They were but one hundred and fifty in number. Almost
without exception they were hardy adventurers, and the most fearless
and desperate of men. They had previously stored away in the
fortress all the provisions, arms, and ammunition, of which they
could avail themselves. Over the battlements they unfurled an
immense flag of thirteen stripes, and with a large white star of
five points, surrounded by the letters "Texas." As they raised their
flag, they gave three cheers, while with drums and trumpets they
hurled back their challenge to the foe.
The Mexicans raised over the town a blood-red banner. It was their
significant intimation to the garrison that no quarter was be
expected. Santa Anna, having advantageously posted his troops, in
the afternoon sent a summons to Colonel Travis, demanding an
unconditional surrender, threatening, in case of refusal, to put
every man to the sword. The only reply Colonel Travis made was to
throw a cannon-shot into the town. The Mexicans then opened fire
from their batteries, but without doing much harm.
In the night, Colonel Travis sent the old pirate on an express to
Colonel Fanning, who, with a small military force, was at Goliad, to
entreat him to come to his aid. Goliad was about four days' march
from Bexar. The next morning the Mexicans renewed their fire from a
battery about three hundred and fifty yards from the fort. A
three-ounce ball struck the juggler on the breast, inflicting a
painful but not a dangerous wound.
Day after day this storm of war continued. The walls of the citadel
were strong, and the bombardment inflicted but little injury. The
sharpshooters within the fortress struck down many of the assailants
at great distances.
"The bee-hunter," writes Crockett, "is about the quickest on the
trigger, and the best rifle-shot we have in the fort. I have already
seen him bring down eleven of the enemy, and at such a distance that
we all thought that it would be a waste of ammunition to attempt
it." Provisions were beginning to become scarce, and the citadel was
so surrounded that it was impossible for the garrison to cut its way
through the lines and escape.
Under date of February 28th, Crockett writes in his Journal:
"Last night our hunters brought in some corn, and had a brush with a
scout from the enemy beyond gunshot of the fort. They put the scout
to flight, and got in without injury. They bring accounts that the
settlers are flying in all quarters, in dismay, leaving their
possessions to the mercy of the ruthless invader, who is literally
engaged in a war of extermination more brutal than the untutored
savage of the desert could be guilty of. Slaughter is
indiscriminate, sparing neither sex, age, nor condition. Buildings
have been burnt down, farms laid waste, and Santa Anna appears
determined to verify his threat, and convert the blooming paradise
into a howling wilderness. For just one fair crack at that rascal,
even at a hundred yards' distance, I would bargain to break my
Betsey, and never pull trigger again. My name's not Crockett if I
wouldn't get glory enough to appease my stomach for the remainder of
my life.
"The scouts report that a settler by the name of Johnson, flying
with his wife and three little children, when they reached the
Colorado, left his family on the shore, and waded into the river to
see whether it would be safe to ford with his wagon. When about the
middle of the river he was seized by an alligator, and after a
struggle was dragged under the water, and perished. The helpless
woman and her babes were discovered, gazing in agony on the spot, by
other fugitives, who happily passed that way, and relieved them.
Those who fight the battles experience but a small part of the
privation, suffering, and anguish that follow in the train of
ruthless war. The cannonading continued at intervals throughout the
day, and all hands were kept up to their work."
The next day he writes: "I had a little sport this morning before
breakfast. The enemy had planted a piece of ordnance within gunshot
of the fort during the night, and the first thing in the morning
they commenced a brisk cannonade, point blank against the spot where
I was snoring. I turned out pretty smart and mounted the rampart.
The gun was charged again; a fellow stepped forth to touch her off,
but before he could apply the match, I let him have it, and he
keeled over. A second stepped up, snatched the match from the hand
of the dying man, but the juggler, who had followed me, handed me
his rifle, and the next instant the Mexican was stretched on the
earth beside the first. A third came up to the cannon. My companion
handed me another gun, and I fixed him off in like manner. A fourth,
then a fifth seized the match, who both met with the same fate. Then
the whole party gave it up as a bad job, and hurried off to the
camp, leaving the cannon ready charged where they had planted it. I
came down, took my bitters, and went to breakfast."
In the course of a week the Mexicans lost three hundred men. But
still reinforcements were continually arriving, so that their
numbers were on the rapid increase. The garrison no longer cherished
any hope of receiving aid from abroad.
Under date of March 4th and 5th, 1836, we have the last lines which
Crockett ever penned.
"March 4th. Shells have been falling into the fort like hail during
the day, but without effect. About dusk, in the evening, we observed
a man running toward the fort, pursued by about half a dozen of the
Mexican cavalry. The bee-hunter immediately knew him to be the old
pirate, who had gone to Goliad, and, calling to the two hunters, he
sallied out of the fort to the relief of the old man, who was hard
pressed. I followed close after. Before we reached the spot the
Mexicans were close on the heels of the old man, who stopped
suddenly, turned short upon his pursuers, discharged his rifle, and
one of the enemy fell from his horse. The chase was renewed, but
finding that he would be overtaken and cut to pieces, he now turned
again, and, to the amazement of the enemy, became the assailant in
his turn. He clubbed his gun, and dashed among them like a wounded
tiger, and they fled like sparrows. By this time we reached the
spot, and, in the ardor of the moment, followed some distance before
we saw that our retreat to the fort was cut off by another
detachment of cavalry. Nothing was to be done but fight our way
through. We were all of the same mind. 'Go ahead!' cried I; and they
shouted, 'Go ahead, Colonel!' We dashed among them, and a bloody
conflict ensued. They were about twenty in number, and they stood
their ground. After the fight had continued about five minutes, a
detachment was seen issuing from the fort to our relief, and the
Mexicans scampered of, leaving eight of their comrades dead upon the
field. But we did not escape unscathed, for both the pirate and the
bee-hunter were mortally wounded, and I received a sabre-cut across
the forehead. The old man died without speaking, as soon as we
entered the fort. We bore my young friend to his bed, dressed his
wounds, and I watched beside him. He lay, without complaint or
manifesting pain, until about midnight, when he spoke, and I asked
him if he wanted anything. 'Nothing,' he replied, but drew a sigh
that seemed to rend his heart, as he added, 'Poor Kate of
Nacogdoches.' His eyes were filled with tears, as he continued, 'Her
words were prophetic, Colonel," and then he sang in a low voice,
that resembled the sweet notes of his own devoted Kate:
'But toom cam' the saddle, all bluidy to see,
And hame came the steed, but hame never came he.'
He spoke no more, and a few minutes after died. Poor Kate, who will
tell this to thee?
The romantic bee-hunter had a sweetheart by the name of Kate in
Nacogdoches. She seems to have been a very affectionate and
religious girl. In parting, she had presented her lover with a
Bible, and in anguish of spirit had expressed her fears that he
would never return from his perilous enterprise.
The next day, Crockett simply writes, "March 5th. Pop, pop, pop!
Bom, bom, bom! throughout the day. No time for memorandums now. Go
ahead! Liberty and Independence forever."
Before daybreak on the 6th of March, the citadel of the Alamo was
assaulted by the whole Mexican army, then numbering about three
thousand men. Santa Anna in person commanded. The assailants swarmed
over the works and into the fortress. The battle was fought with the
utmost desperation until daylight. Six only of the Garrison then
remained alive. They were surrounded, and they surrendered. Colonel
Crockett was one. He at the time stood alone in an angle of the
fort, like a lion at bay. His eyes flashed fire, his shattered rifle
in his right hand, and in his left a gleaming bowie-knife streaming
with blood. His face was covered with blood flowing from a deep gash
across his forehead. About twenty Mexicans, dead and dying, were
lying at his feet. The juggler was also there dead. With one hand he
was clenching the hair of a dead Mexican, while with the other he
had driven his knife to the haft in the bosom of his foe.
The Mexican General Castrillon, to whom the prisoners had
surrendered, wished to spare their lives. He led them to that part
of the fort where Santa Anna stood surrounded by his staff. As
Castrillon marched his prisoners into the presence of the President,
he said:
"Sir, here are six prisoners I have taken alive. How shall I dispose
of them?"
Santa Anna seemed much annoyed, and said, "Have I not told you
before how to dispose of them? Why do you bring them to me?"
Immediately several Mexicans commenced plunging their swords into
the bosoms of the captives. Crockett, entirely unarmed, sprang, like
a tiger, at the throat of Santa Anna. But before he could reach him,
a dozen swords were sheathed in his heart, and he fell without a
word or a groan. But there still remained upon his brow the frown of
indignation, and his lip was curled with a smile of defiance and
scorn.
And thus was terminated the earthly life of this extraordinary man.
In this narrative it has been the object of the writer faithfully to
record the influences under which Colonel Crockett was reared, and
the incidents of his wild and wondrous life, leaving it with the
reader to form his own estimate of the character which these
exploits indicate. David Crockett has gone to the tribunal of his
God, there to be judged for all the deeds done in the body.
Beautifully and consolingly the Psalmist has written:
"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them
that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are
dust."
THE END
