Davy Crockett in his signature buckskin.
Crockett arrived in the Mexican province of Texas in February 1836, leading a group of fourteen men known as the Tennessee Mountain Rifles. His help was welcomed in the town of San Antonio de Béxar, which was under the control of a small band of Texas rebels led by James Bowie and William Barret Travis. When Mexican general Santa Anna attacked the town with thousands of troops on February 23, Crockett and fewer than two hundred men moved the fight to a fortresslike former church, which Spanish troops formerly stationed there had named the Alamo. For thirteen days, they withstood the artillery of the Mexican troops. In a letter that was smuggled out on February 25, William Travis wrote, “The Hon. David Crockett was seen at all points, animating the men to do their duty.”
When Santa Anna’s forces finally overwhelmed the Alamo on March 6, the general ordered his troops to kill every rebel. While there were conflicting reports about how Crockett died, a diary of Santa Anna’s lieutenant colonel José Enrique de la Peña claims that “some seven men had survived the general carnage and, under the protection of General Castrillón, they were brought before Santa Anna. Among them … was the naturalist David Crockett, well known in North America for his unusual adventures.” Santa Anna ordered their immediate execution. De la Peña wrote that his soldiers, “with swords in hand, fell upon these unfortunate, defenseless men just as a tiger leaps upon his prey. Though tortured before they were killed, these unfortunates died without complaining and without humiliating themselves before their torturers.”
Just days after the slaughter of the Texas troops, visitors to the Alamo began to report ghost sightings. Since that battle, many people have claimed to see the spirit of Crockett, wearing his distinctive racoon-skin cap and carrying his flintlock rifle, standing at attention outside the chapel. As Crockett wrote to his family when he arrived in Texas, “Do not be uneasy about me. I am among friends.” It appears his spirit has chosen to stay.
One reason the phrase “Remember the Alamo” and the small fort have become so famous are the letters written by William Barret Travis during the thirteen-day siege. The most famous reads: “FELLOW-CITIZENS AND COMPATRIOTS: I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continued bombardment for twenty-four hours, and have not lost a man. The enemy have demanded a surrender at discretion … I have answered the summons with a cannon-shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat … Victory or Death!”
Not many images exist of William Travis. This one was created after his death, and the artist had never seen nor met Travis.
Santa Anna assured the rebels that they would all be killed. Travis wrote, “A blood red banner waves from the church of Bexar, and in the camp above us, in token that the war is one of vengeance against rebels; they have declared us as such; demanded, that we should surrender at discretion, or that this garrison should be put to the sword. Their threats have had no influence on me or my men, but to make all fight with desperation, and that high souled courage which characterizes the patriot, who is willing to die in defense of his country’s liberty and his own honor.”
And die they did. Waves of Mexican troops attacked the fort in the dark predawn hours of March 6, fighting their way up the Alamo’s thick walls. Travis was quickly killed by a gunshot to the head. De la Peña described the chaotic scene: “The sharp retort of the rifles, the whistling of bullets, the groans of the wounded, the cursing of the men, the sighs and anguished cries of the dying, the inordinate shouts of the attackers, who climbed vigorously, bewildered all.”
Eight-year-old Enrique Esparza’s father was one of the Texan soldiers. Enrique was hiding in the chapel with him when, he later recalled, “there was a terrible din. Cannon boomed. Their shot crashed through the doors and windows and the breeches in the walls. Then men rushed in on us. They swarmed among us and over us … And so my father died fighting. He struck down one of his foes as he fell in the heap of the slain.” After Crockett and the six other remaining rebels were caught and executed, most of the approximately two hundred Texans killed were piled up and burned. An estimated six hundred Mexican soldiers died, making it a costly battle for Santa Anna.
News of the slaughter at the Alamo reached the American newspapers. Inspired by the rebels’ heroic struggle, hundreds of men rushed to join the Texas independence movement. At the end of April, the Texans defeated Santa Anna at the Battle of San Jacinto, many yelling “Remember the Alamo!” as they rushed into the fray.
Throughout its history, the Alamo has been plagued by ghosts. In February 1894, the San Antonio Express News wrote, “The Alamo is again in the center of interest to quite a number of curious people who have been attracted by the rumors of the manifestations of alleged ghosts who are said to be holding bivouac [camp] around that place so sacred to the memory of Texas’ historic dead. There is nothing new about the stories told. There is the same measured tread of the ghostly sentry as he crosses the south side of the roof from east to west; the same tale of buried treasure.”
At one point, the city of San Antonio considered using the Alamo as a jail. However, there were so many incidents of terrifying shadows and unexplained noises that the city council decided it would be “cruel and unusual punishment” to have prisoners locked up there. The building was later turned into a museum.
Museum staff and visitors have reported seeing numerous ghosts. Vincent Phillip, former chief of the Alamo Rangers, has described seeing an Alamo defender wearing a white shirt, light brown pants, a long brown coat, and high black boots. The spirit appears to be fleeing from the Long Barracks with a frantic look on his face. He runs a few steps and then disappears into thin air.
The Alamo at night can be creepy, with many people claiming to have seen ghosts.
On July 1, 1863, the Confederate soldiers of Alfred Iverson’s North Carolina Brigade advanced across an open farmland battlefield in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Normally some soldiers, called skirmishers, would have been sent ahead to scout for enemy troops. None were sent on that hot day. Iverson’s men would pay the price.
Rising from a low stone wall, enemy Union soldiers released a deafening volley of gunfire. Hundreds of Confederates were cut down dead. A soldier later wrote that the North Carolina Brigade had died so quickly that after the slaughter they were “laying dead in a line, perfectly dressed … Three had fallen to the front, the rest had fallen backward, yet the feet of all of these men were in a perfectly straight line.” Out of the 1,470 troops in the brigade, more than 500 were killed and wounded and 300 were missing. Some say this was the most deadly minute of the Civil War.
When the Union forces won the bloody battle two days later, they gathered their fallen troops for burial. However, the Confederate dead were quickly buried where they fell in shallow graves that became known as “Iverson’s Pits.” Plants grew in a straight green line over their graves, nourished on the bodies of the North Carolina Brigade.
After the battle, farmworkers avoided that area after nightfall. Stories began circulating of ghostly moans and odd lights coming from the pits. In more recent years, otherworldly voices have been recorded at the site. These are just some of the many ghost sightings on this blood-soaked battlefield.
The Battle of Gettysburg was the death-filled turning point of an already horrific Civil War. Confederate leader Robert E. Lee brought his troops into the North, where they clashed with George Meade’s Union Army. In three short days, the largest battle ever fought on American soil caused nearly 28,000 casualties for the South and 25,000 for the North.
The Union and Confederate armies faced off on either side of a 30-acre cornfield, which over the course of the bloody battle became a killing field.
In a letter to his wife, Calvin A. Haynes of the Union’s 125th New York Infantry wrote that, for him, the second afternoon was the bloodiest part of the battle: “At 2 p.m. they opened on us … with over a 100 cannon. We lay flat on our faces for 2 hours. Th
e air was filled with shell bursting in every direction. The battery that lay in front of us had 55 horses and 80 men killed … That night and the next day [the Rebels] retreated leaving their dead and wounded on the field. I went over the field. Such a sight I never wish to see again. Every conceivable wound that can be thought of was there. There was so many wounded that it was impossible to attend to all of them.”
After the Union Army won the battle, corpses littered the fields and roads of the small Pennsylvania town, including nearly 3,000 horses. Photographers Timothy O’Sullivan and Alexander Gardner took images that showed the American people the terrible result of war. In the caption for one photo, Gardner wrote, “Slowly, over the misty field of Gettysburg … came the sunless morn, after the retreat of Lee’s broken army. Through the shadowy vapors, it was, indeed, a ‘harvest of death’ that was presented; hundreds and thousands of torn Union and rebel soldiers … strewed the now quiet fighting ground, soaked by the rain, which for two days had drenched the country in its fitful showers.”
Photographs like this one, entitled Harvest of Death, allowed many Americans to see an actual battlefield for the first time.
Without enough people to bury the dead and care for the wounded, the townspeople were overwhelmed. One local woman later said, “Wounded men were brought into our houses and laid side-by-side in our halls and rooms. Carpets were so saturated with blood as to be unfit for further use. Walls were bloodstained, as well as books that were used as pillows.”
Elsewhere in Gettysburg, Brigadier General William Barksdale led a Confederate brigade into battle, yelling “Advance! Advance! Brave Mississippians, one more charge and the day is ours!” But then, according to a fellow general, “Barksdale, gallantly leading his men in the terrific fight, fell mortally wounded. The last words of that ardent patriot to fall on the ears of one of his countrymen were, ‘I am killed. Tell my wife and children I died fighting at my post.’ ” Barksdale was brought to the nearby farmhouse of the Hummelbaugh family, where in a fever he repeatedly called for water before dying. He was buried in the backyard, where his ghostly cries for water can still be heard.
Brigadier General William Barksdale, a former congressman, was known as a fiery leader. He was shot in the knee, foot, and chest before finally falling.
Some say that Barksdale’s wife came with his dog to collect his body. The dog immediately went to his grave and began howling. When she began her trip home, he refused to leave his master’s grave. The dog was said to have died of dehydration a week later. His howls are heard on summer nights.
James Culbertson was a Confederate soldier from South Carolina. His brother-in-law, H. J. Douvall, was fighting alongside him when Culbertson was shot. Douvall wrote in August to Culbertson’s wife, Eliza, about how Culbertson died: “He got shot directly as we went into the fight. He was shot in the leg and through the shoulder. After the fight was over we carried him to a house and me and 3 or 4 men stayed with him all night. He died about twelve O’clock in the night and we buried him the next day. He was put away the best we could do it. The grave had planks in the bottom of it and his oil cloth was put under him and his blanket was put around him, and there was planks put over him to keep the dirt off of him.” His ghost is said to haunt the halls of the Gettysburg Hotel, which is situated a few blocks away from the battlefield.
Less than an hour into the battle at the Little Bighorn River, it had already turned into a slaughter. George Armstrong Custer and approximately fifty soldiers were surrounded by Native Americans on a high ridge, fighting for their lives.
Custer was originally supposed to be joined by two other army columns to help force the Native Americans out of the Black Hills and onto reservations. But when he encountered a large group of Lakota Sioux and Northern Cheyenne camped along the river, he didn’t wait for the other columns.
Afraid that Native scouts would alert the tribes to their presence, Custer divided his 700 troops of the Seventh Cavalry and quickly launched a three-pronged attack. This was a huge mistake. Custer believed they were facing around 800 warriors. It was more like 1,800.
Custer’s column of cavalry, artillery, and wagons crossing the plains of the Dakota Territory in 1874.
Custer and his five companies of 210 men each held off the warriors for a short while. “We chased the soldiers up a long, gradual slope or hill in a direction away from the river and over the ridge where the battle began in good earnest,” said Shave Elk, a Sioux warrior.
Some say that’s when the Native “suicide boys” attacked. These warriors had decided before the battle that they would keep fighting until they were killed. To prepare, they performed the “Dying Dance” and paraded through the encampment the night before. The Battle of Little Bighorn was their day to die.
As the battle grew hot, a group of more than twenty of these warriors surged unexpectedly up the hill. This forced Custer’s men into hand-to-hand combat instead of shooting from a distance. In the chaos, more Native Americans joined in the fight and frightened off the soldiers’ horses, taking away their only means of escape.
Many Natives died during the battle and their bodies were taken from the battlefield by their tribes. Later interviews with those who participated in the battle said the suicide boys were among the dead.
More than a hundred years later, Mardell Plainfeather, a park ranger, was working late one night at the former battlefield. She looked up on the bluffs and saw the ghosts of two Native braves. They were sitting on horses, dressed for battle, with feathers in their hair. Had she seen these long-dead warriors?
When Custer divided his troops into three groups on June 25, he gave three companies to Captain Frederick Benteen to go southwest and three companies to Major Marcus Reno to attack the Native American camp from the south. They charged down the valley and, for a few miles, were chasing Natives who appeared to be running away. But they weren’t retreating—they were drawing the troops into a trap. Reno wrote later, “I could not see Custer or any other support, and at the same time the very earth seemed to grow Indians, and they were running toward me in swarms, and from all directions. I saw I must defend myself and give up the attack mounted.” He had his troops dismount along the edge of the woods for protection and to battle the incoming warriors.
The painter Edgar Paxson spent twenty years interviewing and researching the battle before creating Custer’s Last Stand, which includes more than two hundred people.
But Reno was losing men in the fierce fighting, including his Native American scout, Bloody Knife, who was shot in the head while Reno was talking to him. They had to move. Reno and his men made a desperate dash through the river to the bluffs on the other side, during which a number of men were killed, including a man named Lieutenant Benjamin H. Hodgson.
Private William Slaper later wrote about seeing Hodgson die: “As I glanced about me, the first thing that engaged my attention was Trumpeter Henry Fisher of M Troop, riding in the river some distance up, with Lieut. Benny Hodgson hanging to one stirrup. Hodgson had been wounded and was on foot in the stream, when Fisher came dashing into the water. Noting Hodgson’s helpless condition, he thrust one of his stirrups toward him, which Hodgson grasped and was thus towed across to the opposite bank, under a galling fire from the Indians, who were now riding into the stream, shooting into the ranks of the stampeding troopers, and actually pulling many of them from their horses right there in the river. As Fisher gained the opposite bank, dragging Hodgson at the end of his stirrup, and the latter was trying to struggle up the incline, another shot rang out and Hodgson dropped. I did not see him move again, and suppose he was killed right there.”
Captain Benteen’s men eventually joined Reno’s men on the bluffs. As night fell, Reno had his men prepare for the next day’s fight. They dug rifle pits and built barricades out of dead horses, mules, and boxes of hard bread while the Natives sang and performed a war dance in the dark nearby. Reno kept expecting Custer’s men to join them, not realizing that they had all already bee
n killed in their stand on the hill.
At daybreak, the roar of gunfire began again. If any part of a soldier was not hidden, it was hit. “We could see, as the day brightened, countless hordes of [Indians] pouring up the valley from the village and scampering over the high points toward the places designated for them by their chiefs, and which entirely surrounded our position,” Reno later recalled. “I think we were fighting all the Sioux Nation.”
Later that afternoon, the Native Americans set fire to the area beneath the bluff, creating a huge cloud of smoke, which confused Reno and his men. They later realized it was to hide the Native Americans while they packed up their camp because they had learned that another column of the army under General Alfred Terry was due to arrive. Reno wrote, “It was between 6 and 7 p.m. that the village came out from behind the dense clouds of smoke and dust. We had a close and good view of them as they filed away in the direction of the Big Horn Mountains, moving in almost perfect military order.”
When Terry’s column arrived, Reno learned that Custer and his companies had been wiped out. Their bodies had been stripped and then mutilated by the Native Americans, who believed that the way the body is in death is how the soul remains in the afterlife. When the news hit the papers, there was intense outrage, as Custer had been a well-known Civil War hero. Many criticized Reno for not coming to Custer’s aid, but he felt his men would have been slaughtered if they had.
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