American Legend: The Real-Life Adventures of David Crockett (38 page)

Despite a number of warnings by scouts that the enemy was fast approaching, Travis remained calm and dismissed the reports as exaggerations. Conflicting intelligence passed through Béxar like prairie fires, so that no one knew quite what to believe. There was heightened tension about town, with some of the Tejano population beginning to pack what they could of their belongings. Still, on February 22, 1836, Travis and Bowie agreed to an impromptu celebration of George Washington’s birthday, held at Domingo Bustillo’s establishment on Soledad Street. Barbecues crackled in the cold air, and people roasted beef and feasted on tamales, enchiladas, and strong grain liquor. As the night wore on the guitars and fiddles came out and the volunteers and conscripts danced, even attempting the fandango by whirling smiling Mexican girls awkwardly around the place. Crockett, never one to miss a party, held forth with the ladies, told hunting stories to the men, and dazzled onlookers with jigs on his fiddle for a few songs.
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Like the earlier fandango held in Crockett’s honor, this one raged on through the night, the mood festive rather than foreboding, the men perhaps sensing that it was the last chance for fun in the foreseeable future.

Neither Crockett nor Travis would have had much time to sleep. By early morning the town was bustling with activity, with the sounds of squeaking oxcarts, of horses neighing, chickens squawking across the busy streets. People were scurrying away from Béxar in droves, scattering with their entire families out into the country. However many of Santa Anna’s forces were coming their way, they wanted no part of them, and would rather take their chances out on the plains.
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When Travis finally roused and noted the exodus, he detained a few Tejanos for questioning, and when none offered anything of use, explaining deceptively that they were merely getting a head start on their spring planting.
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Frustrated, and sensing that all these frightened-looking Tejanos knew something that he did not, Travis appealed to a trusted local merchant named Nathaniel Lewis, who reluctantly gave him the grim news: just five miles southwest of Béxar, at Leon Creek, the Mexican army had been sighted, and they were on the move.
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Sometime in the night the Tejanos had received the intelligence, and they’d been streaming out of town ever since.

In fact, Santa Anna had intended to mount a surprise attack during the fandango, but the storm, snows, and heavy rains had swollen the rivers, thwarting his chances for smooth, efficient crossings. He would have to wait for more cooperative weather, even a full moon.

Travis wanted confirmation of the news, so he positioned a man in the belfry of the San Fernando Church to keep lookout toward the southwest. At mid-afternoon, there sounded the desperate clanging bell from the San Fernando watchtower. Travis and some others hurried to the tower, barely able to hear the watchman shouting “the enemy are in view!” over the din of the bell and their own labored breathing.
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Travis himself scrambled to the lookout, and he anxiously gazed across the horizon, but there was nothing. No men, no horses, no movement. It must surely have been a false alarm. The sentinel swore adamantly that just moments before he had seen hundreds of mounted cavalry, but now they had hidden behind the brushwood.
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Travis was inclined to believe the sentinel, but wished he had seen them himself. A moment later Dr. Sutherland suggested that he would ride out and confirm the sentinel’s sighting, if he could take along someone knowledgeable of the area; John Smith, a local carpenter known affectionately as “El Colorado,” volunteered for the detail.
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They would ride out slowly and signal to Travis in this way: a return at anything other than a “slow gait,” would indicate that the sentinel had seen true.

Sutherland and Smith rode easily but attentively south-southwest, likely trotting along the Laredo Road for a mile and a half or so before they ascended the slope cresting the Alazan hills.
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The wide flat vista afforded them a dreadful sight, and they reined up hard. They had ridden directly into the head of Santa Anna’s advance guard, hundreds of “well-mounted and equipped” cavalry, and some 1,500 troops at the ready.
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Sutherland and Smith wheeled their horses around, loosed their reins and spurred hard, whipping their animals quickly to a gallop. Driving rains had slicked the hoof-worn road, and Sutherland ’s horse lost footing, skidding and finally crashing down on its side, Sutherland’s leg crushed in the violent roll. Smith returned just as the horse shook itself back up from the ground, and he helped the injured Sutherland as they galloped again toward Béxar.

Their return speed told the grim news, confirming the sentinel’s report, and Travis launched into action, barking orders, evacuating the town and sending everyone inside the walls of the Alamo. Crockett rode out on his own reconnaissance and met Sutherland and Smith near the vacant main plaza, informing them of the orders to take refuge inside the Alamo. Crockett escorted them inside helping Sutherland down from his horse and, grabbing him up under the shoulder, assisted the limping, shaken man into Travis’s office.
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Travis was frantically scribbling a letter to Judge Andrew Ponton in Gonzales: “The enemy in large force is in sight. We want men and provisions. Send them to us. We have 150 men and are determined to defend the Alamo to the last. Give us assistance.”
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He scrawled a similar plea to Fannin in Goliad, reiterating his dire needs: “We have removed all our men into the Alamo . . . We have one hundred and forty-six men, who are determined
never to retreat.
We have but little provisions, but enough to serve us till you and your men arrive . . .”
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Travis handed the first missive to Sutherland, who, practically on one leg, agreed to carry the message to Gonzales. He gave a young messenger named Johnson the note for Fannin. Crockett immediately spoke up, offering his services and those of his men. “Colonel, here I am. Assign me a position, and me and my twelve boys will try to defend it.”
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Sutherland noted, as he readied to leave, that Crockett and his boys were assigned to “the picket wall extending from the end of the barracks, on the south side, to the corner of the Church.”
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As a sign to his enemy, Travis raised the national tricolor flag, bearing two stars signifying the two states of Coahuila and Texas.
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Sutherland met up with Smith again on his departure, and as they rode they could see Santa Anna’s cavalry and foot soldiers marching directly into the main plaza, storming the town without a single shot of resistance. The sight, and the sheer numbers, would have chilled the men as they headed quickly out of town and onto the open plain. Sutherland would later recall that the pain in his knee was so excruciating that he considered turning back, returning to the Alamo, for fear he would not be able to bear the long ride to Gonzales. But then the single echoing boom of cannon fire drove him onward.
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Travis had witnessed the unnerving spectacle, too, the rumbling hoofbeats entering town, then watched in bitterness as Santa Anna ordered the blood-red flag of “no quarter” hoisted, signaling his intentions to show no mercy, and the promise of death to any man who dared oppose him, where it waved threateningly above the San Fernando church.
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In defiant response, Travis ordered the single blast from his eighteen-pounder, a dull and exclamatory report. Insulted, Santa Anna lobbed back a brief volley of four grenades aimed into the compound, but none caused damage or casualties. Word traveled that at the same time the four cannons were fired, the faint sound of a bugle had gone up, indicating the desire to meet and talk.

Travis and Bowie discussed their options, at odds over the next move. Travis preferred to wait, to see what Santa Anna would do, while Bowie thought a discussion, a “parley,” was in order.
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Though feverish and weakening minute by minute with fever, Bowie still had a brash and independent, even rogue, character, acting on his own as he tore a page from a child’s schoolbook and dictated a message to be written in Spanish. He wished to know if in fact a parley had been called for by the Mexicans. Bowie made certain to end the brief message with words of defiance: “God and Texas.” Without consulting Travis, he handed the message to the Alamo’s engineer, Green Jameson, and sent him off bearing a white truce flag. The cannon fire ceased as he emerged from the garrison.
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Santa Anna considered the men in the garrison rebels and foreigners, in violation of Mexican law, and he had no intention of negotiating. He sent Jameson back with a clipped message: “The Mexican army cannot come to terms under any conditions with rebellious foreigners to whom there is no other recourse left, if they wish to save their lives, than to place themselves immediately at the disposal of the Supreme Government from whom alone they may expect clemency after some considerations are taken up. God and Liberty!”
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Though the response was ripe with interpretive possibilities, Travis figured that at the very least, he and Bowie would be executed if they surrendered, and if they would not be allowed to leave their garrison with standard “honors of war,” such as those that had been afforded Cós when he was allowed to leave Béxar, then there would be no deal.
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Travis decided to dispatch his own emissary, Albert Martin, who rode out and spoke directly with Colonel Almonte, who had been educated in the United States, and spoke fluent English, so would perhaps prove reasonable.
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Almonte simply replied that he could not presume to speak for the general, and that in fact, Santa Anna had already offered his reply, and his terms, to Bowie. The discussion was over. Travis added that he would soon let them know if he accepted their terms, and if not, he would discharge another single round from his cannon.
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Travis had no intention of negotiating, and after a brief and animated rallying of the troops, he let fly the cannon shot.

The Mexicans replied immediately with a sustained volley of bombardment, and Travis could do nothing but retreat to his quarters and wait. Bowie did the same, his condition worsening with some combination of pneumonia, malaria, or typhoid, and with the Mexican artillery fire shaking the Alamo walls, he was barely able to rise from his bunk.

The shelling continued the next morning and into the afternoon of the following day, with Travis now in sole command of the garrison. The men did what they could, which was little, other than remain out of harm’s way. Finally, unconvinced that his and Bowie’s appeals to Gonzales and Goliad had been received, or were explicit enough, Travis stole time in his quarters to pen an eloquent and rousing missive addressed to “The People of Texas & All Americans in the World”:

I am besieged, by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna—I have sustained a continual Bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man.—The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken—I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, & our flag still waves proudly from the walls—
I shall never surrender or retreat. Then,
I call on you in the name of Liberty, patriotism, & everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch—The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country—
Victory or Death.
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Travis understood his predicament, knew the odds were stacked against them, and now all he and the men could do was hope for some manner of reinforcements. Despite imminent defeat, surrender was simply not an option for the headstrong Travis and the proud men. Like it or not, they were committed to the stand, attempting to defend a relatively indefensible structure against staggeringly overwhelming odds. Bowie lay quivering and shaking in his bunk. Hundreds of miles away, Sam Houston sat sharing a peace pipe with Chief Tewulle, their collaborative efforts having produced a treaty with the Cherokees and assuring they would stay out of the Mexican-American skirmish.
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Crockett, peering over the wall and squinting out at the swarms of soldiers amassing around the flaking adobe compound, would have wondered just what in the hell he had signed up for, and whether the bear he was about to grapple with was a sight bigger than he had reckoned.

SIXTEEN

Smoke from a Funeral Pyre

C
ROCKETT WOULD HAVE RELISHED his detail at the southern wall, firing his long rifle at enemies a great distance away in the manner of a sharpshooter, his legendary marksmanship boosting the mood of the men. Of the 146-odd men inside the compound, nearly forty were sick and weak with dysentery, run down from lack of rations, exposure to the elements, and the abysmal condition of food and water stores. On the morning of February 25, the enemy artillery served as an early reveille, and Travis soon witnessed more than 200 Mexicans crossing the San Antonio and brashly setting up just 100 yards from the southwest corner of the Alamo, right where Crockett stood leveling his weapon.
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Travis quickly ordered his crack riflemen, including Crockett, to fire on the Mexicans by opening “a heavy discharge of grape and canister on them,”
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scattering them into confusion and pinning them down in the brushy-roofed huts or
jacales.