Texas Rising

by Stephen L. Moore

  Houston had returned from his Cherokee peace negotiations just in time for the historic convention, and he remained after the independence document was signed. He was determined not to leave until he had been granted absolute control over all military forces, including regulars, volunteers, and rangers. He had seen firsthand the empty powers of a commander in chief over only regular soldiers during the ill-fated Matamoros expedition. The convention’s military committee granted Sam Houston the powers he desired, but he stayed on hand at Washington for two more days to partake in the celebrations that ensued for the new nation.20

  The convention members approved yet another act to provide for frontier rangers on March 3. The resolution for a “Regiment of rangers” was presented by empresario Sterling Robertson, and two of his old acquaintances, Jesse Benton and Griffin Bayne, were appointed as the senior commanders. Colonel Benton and Lieutenant Colonel Bayne were directed to immediately begin recruiting ranger companies to serve during the war, subject to the order of General Sam Houston. Their first was that of Captain William C. Wilson, who had already started mustering in rangers at Milam that week. One other small ranging company was organized in Robertson’s Colony near Washington-on-the-Brazos under Captain Thomas Hudson Barron in early March.21

  Jesse Benton would have little involvement in the recruiting of rangers for his battalion. He soon departed Washington-on-the-Brazos with some recruits to complete a proper military road to the United States, leaving Lieutenant Colonel Bayne to assemble men in the Texas settlements. The Texas convention had done its part to properly provide for the frontiers and to structure the main military. Any reinforcements for Travis and his gallant defenders in Béxar would now be directed by Sam Houston—who seemed content for the moment to continue enjoying the celebrations in Washington.

  BY MARCH 4, DAY eleven of the Alamo siege, the Mexican artillery had weakened the walls. His men had rolled a battery of cannon in close enough so that each round caused a portion of the north wall to collapse. Chief engineer Jameson worked his men tirelessly through the night to make hasty repairs with old pieces of timber.22

  Some of the Texian defenders were beginning to feel despair. Susannah Dickinson heard David Crockett say during the siege that he would prefer to march out and die in the open. “I don’t like to be hemmed up,” he said. Susannah spent her time working with the other women inside the Alamo cooking for the men, grinding corn, cooking it into cakes and tortillas, and roasting beef. She also assisted in the hospital, where dozens of men lay sick and wounded. Her fifteen-month-old daughter Angelina charmed everyone with her personality. Susannah paid visits to her husband, Captain Dickinson, atop the platform over the church’s eastern end when the Mexican bombardments had ceased. She visited with enough men of the fort to understand how much their minds and bodies were suffering from the confinement and realization of their likely fates. Susannah noted that Colonel Crockett was quite the performer with his violin “and often during the siege took it up and played his favorite tunes.”23

  Santa Anna called a meeting of his officers on March 5. Some of his men believed they should just wait. Travis would run out of provisions soon enough and lives could be spared. Lieutenant Colonel Peña did not see the need for such sacrifice over just a handful of men. Santa Anna, however, insisted on attacking and he was supported by at least some of his top officers, including General Ramirez y Sesma and Colonel Juan Nepomuceno Almonte—who had been educated in the United States and was once an envoy to London.

  Inside the Alamo, Travis called his men together. He said if anyone wished to escape, they should do so now. Travis drew his sword and used its point to draw a line in the dirt. “I want every man who is determined to stay here and die with me to come across this line,” he said. “Who will be first? March!”

  Tapley Holland, a twenty-six-year-old artilleryman from Ohio who had participated in the Béxar siege, was the first to cross the line. One by one and in groups the Texians stepped across. Even Jim Bowie asked that his cot be carried across. As Susannah Dickinson watched, the only man to refuse was fifty-year-old Frenchman Louis Rose from Nacogdoches—whose skin was dark enough to pass for a Mexican man. Rose scaled the low wall of the cattle pen in darkness and followed the San Antonio River out of town toward the colonies.24

  Only one other Texian left the Alamo that night. Travis called for a courier to make one last desperate attempt to solicit aid from Colonel Fannin. Twenty-one-year-old James Lemuel Allen mounted his mare bareback and headed out the main gate before the moon could rise. He raced past the Mexican sentinels and galloped toward Goliad with his verbal instructions.

  The remaining defenders prepared to accept their fates. Travis made the rounds, stopping to visit with Susannah Dickinson and her daughter. He removed a gold ring embedded with a black cat’s-eye stone, put it on a string, and placed it around the neck of little Angelina. David Crockett donned a pair of clothes recently washed by the women of the fort, saying in jest that he wished to die in clean clothing in order that he might be given a decent burial. Other defenders gave watches, jewelry, and other valuables to the women for safekeeping.25

  Travis did consider the option of surrendering his men, on the terms that their lives would be spared if they gave up their guns. One Mexican woman left the fort that night and passed the word to Santa Anna. Both Peña and General Filisola recorded that El Presidente would offer no such terms. He demanded that the Texas rebels surrender with no guarantee of life itself, since they were viewed as nothing more than traitors. “With this reply it is clear that all were determined to lose their existence, selling it as dearly as possible,” Filisola recorded.26

  Santa Anna then began preparing his men for action during the late hours of March 5. He split his force into five units. Four columns would attack the Alamo from each direction, while he would personally command the reserves. His lancers would form around the fort to prevent anyone from escaping. His artillerymen were ordered to cease their firing at 5 A.M. His men were ordered to get some rest. They would storm the rebel fortress at 5 A.M., when Santa Anna hoped he could catch Travis and his men napping.27

  After twelve days of artillery action and rifle fire, a welcome but strange silence fell upon the darkened Alamo compound. Travis turned the watch over to adjutant John Baugh so that he could get some rest. Every man, on both sides of the walls of the old Spanish mission, was aware of what they would face the following day.

  Victory or death.

  9

  THE FALL OF THE ALAMO

  ALL WAS IN READINESS by 5 A.M.

  The Mexican troops sat shivering for another half hour in the predawn chill before Santa Anna finally passed the word to move out. General Cos took his lead column toward the northwest corner. Colonel Francisco Duque led the second column toward the patched breach in the north wall. Colonel Juan Morales advanced his men toward the chapel, while Colonel José María Romero brought his column in behind the fort from the east. They caught snoozing Texas sentinels outside the walls of the compound and silently disposed of them with blades and bayonets to their throats.1

  Santa Anna’s hopes of reaching the Alamo with complete surprise were dashed when an excited soldier shouted, “Viva Santa Anna!”

  Another hollered back with, “Viva la Republica!”

  Hundreds of voices soon broke the silence just after 5:30 A.M. Several Texans suddenly spotted the masses of troops closing in on their compound. John Baugh saw the columns advancing and raced across the Alamo plaza. “Colonel Travis!” he yelled. “The Mexicans are coming!” Joe, the personal servant of Travis, also awoke and both men grabbed their rifles. They ran for the north battery wall as Travis shouted, “Come on, boys, the Mexicans are upon us and we’ll give them hell!”

  Artillerymen were quick to light off their first rounds of lethal shot. Each tube had been packed with all the scrap iron that could be scavenged, and the ferrous projectiles ripped through the leading infantrymen below like a murderous hailstorm. The gunners follo
wed by firing solid iron balls into the advancing ranks, mowing down even more enemy soldiers.

  Because of the close range of the Mexican Army, the once-deadly Texian sharpshooters were now terribly exposed as they stood to take shots. The Baker rifles of the Mexicans were good from long range but the distance had been closed sufficiently to make even the aged Brown Bess muskets deadly. William Travis was among the early victims of the Alamo assault. He had just emptied both barrels of his shotgun into an advancing column. A Mexican bullet then caught him square in the forehead, causing the Texas commander to tumble down the earthen ramp on which he was perched. His slave Joe then took shelter in one of the rooms along the west wall.

  The Mexican assault force took heavy casualties but they were forced onward by their officers. First Sergeant Francisco Becerra, a veteran of seven years’ service in the Mexican army, recalled: “The firing of the besieged was fearfully precise. When a Texas rifle was leveled on a Mexican, he was considered as good as dead.” Santa Anna released his reserves to join the fighting but he stayed out of rifle range. Many of the Mexican soldiers were cut down by grapeshot and became disorganized for a time. José Enrique de la Peña saw Colonel Duque tumble to the ground as metal ripped through his left thigh. Captain Herrera then fell dead to the effect of another cannon blast as the cazadores charged forward. Morales, leading the assault on the palisade, found himself in heavy fire from a cannon and from David Crockett’s riflemen.2

  The surviving Mexicans began climbing over the makeshift barricade at the base of the wall. General Juan Amador and some of his men made it over the twelve-foot north wall and raced across the plaza to open the north wall postern and swing it open. The Texians abandoned the north wall as waves of Mexicans began rushing through. Alamo gunners blasted the incoming uniformed soldiers and cut others down with rifle fire. The long-range rifles were slow to load, though, and members of the Morales battalion soon seized an opportunity to advance over the south wall. The outflanked Texians fell back to the final defensive line inside the long barracks as enemy troops swarmed over the front and rear walls.3

  Andrea Castañon Villaneuva, wife of a San Antonio innkeeper and better known as Madam Candelaria, recalled hearing the ominous sounds of the Mexican bands playing the degüello tune outside the Alamo. The Texans first heard a chilling, dancelike melody but its eerie nature was quickly replaced by degüello’s march—a more sustained sound with the pounding movement of percussive energy like that of marching soldiers. Mexican cavalry manuals of the 1840s would carry the El Degüello bugle call, which was to be blown at the climax of a cavalry charge to signify “no quarter” to the enemy. As mentioned earlier, in Spanish, the word degüello meant cutting the throat—utter destruction to an enemy.4

  Crockett and his men fell back into the chapel. The barracks was well fortified to make a good position from which to fire upon the Mexican soldiers. Unfortunately, the retreating artillery crew on the northwest battery failed to spike their guns before retreating. Now the Mexicans seized the rebels’ cannon, swung them toward the barracks, and began blasting away at the heavy door.

  Some of the Texans inside the barracks tried to surrender by waving white cloths. The Mexicans offered a brief lull and advanced. When they entered the barracks, however, they were gunned down by other Texians who did not wish to surrender.

  Much angered, Mexican soldiers swarmed into the barracks and fought in close quarters, taking no prisoners. Even the wounded, including Jim Bowie lying in his bed, were killed. Captain Dickinson ran down the ramp and back through the church to find his wife, Susanna, and daughter, Angelina, huddled with the other terrified women and children. “Great, God, Sue, the Mexicans are inside our walls!” he said. “All is lost. If they spare you, save my child.”5

  Dickinson hugged and kissed them both, drew his sword, and raced back into the fight. Sixteen-year-old Galba Fuqua, one of the Gonzales Mounted Rangers who had so recently joined the Alamo, stumbled into the room moments later. He tried to speak to Mrs. Dickinson by holding his shattered jaw with his hands but she could not understand him. The wounded teenager shook his head in frustration and departed.6

  One group of Texans fled from the Alamo through an opening and raced for cover. General Ramírez y Sesma ordered a company of lancers in pursuit, spearing and shooting every man who tried to escape. The last defenders to fall were in the chapel. The Mexicans took possession of the eighteen-pounder, swung it around, and blew down the wooden door and sandbags guarding the main entrance. Bonham and Dickinson died beside their cannon on the battery at the rear of the church. Crockett and six of his men fought on until they were overwhelmed in the small lunette midway around the west wall.7

  At least one servant woman within the fort was killed, but the other women and children were spared. Susannah Dickinson and her daughter witnessed the final minutes of several men near them in the church sacristy who were shot and stabbed to death. Dickinson and the other women were removed from the fort as Mexican soldiers pilfered all of the watches, jewelry, and valuables that some of the soldiers had left in their possession. As she passed through the courtyard, she could see countless Mexican soldiers moving about—finishing off the wounded with musket shots or bayonet thrusts while others stripped the Texian corpses of their shoes, clothing, and valuables. It was little more than an hour since the first bugle call had sounded as the Mexican Army stormed the Alamo.8

  Santa Anna finally ventured into the fort once he heard that it had fallen. General Castrillón brought forth five prisoners who had been found hiding. Although Castrillón tried to intercede on behalf of the defenseless prisoners, Santa Anna gave a gesture to execute them. Peña and others were outraged by the senseless murders. Staff officers and others who had not participated in the real fighting now drew their swords and slashed the five men to pieces.9

  THE MEXICAN ARMY PAID dearly for their victory at the Alamo. As many as six hundred men were killed or wounded, a full one-third of the assault force. José Juan Sánchez-Navarro remarked: “With another such victory, we will all go to the devil.”10

  Santa Anna’s personal secretary, Ramón Caro, recorded that more than a hundred wounded Mexican soldiers died after the Alamo battle from a lack of proper medical attention. Santa Anna showed no remorse for the Texians as he surveyed the carnage. As the corpses were being dragged outside away from the fort, a small man named Henry Warnell was found hiding among the bodies. Warnell begged for mercy when he was brought before Santa Anna, but the general ordered the Texan executed on the spot.11

  Santa Anna said that his men had killed six hundred Texans, a number that was an outright lie. The Mexicans took possession of the New Orleans Greys flag as a special trophy of war. The bodies of the slain Texans were heaped in piles, layered with firewood, and set ablaze that night. Barely a dozen people had survived the massacre, mainly women and children and one Mexican defender who pleaded that he had been a prisoner of the Texans. Juana Navarro de Alsbury, recently married to a Texas soldier, had taken refuge in the compound with her sister and her sister’s infant son when the siege began. The only American-born survivors were Susannah Dickinson, daughter Angelina, and Joe, the loyal servant of Colonel Travis.12

  Santa Anna was not swift to carry on his war against the Texians. He spent a considerable amount of time dallying about in San Antonio, interviewing the female survivors of the fort, and enjoying the company of his seventeen-year-old “bride.” On March 11, he decided to send a special message to the rebels in the nearby town of Gonzales. He had Dickinson and her daughter placed on a pony. They were sent eastward in company with Colonel Almonte’s cook, a freed black named Ben Harris who carried papers from the colonel. As they rode from San Antonio, Susannah saw two long pyres of ashes, wood, bones, and charred flesh—the last remains of her husband and at least 180 other Alamo defenders. As the trio passed the Salado River outside of town, they were suddenly joined by Travis’s ex-servant Joe, who had been released by the Mexicans after a lengthy interrogation.13


  Santa Anna knew the grieving widow and her daughter would make fitting symbols. The Texians who found them would learn what they could expect if they too dared to stand up to his Mexican Army.

  GENERAL SAM HOUSTON ​remained in Washington-on-the-Brazos two more days after the signing of the Texas Declaration of Independence before riding to take command of his army.

  He claimed to be settling various affairs with the convention. Some of his critics had other ideas. Former ranger captain Robert Coleman wrote: “The whiskey of the town of Washington had more charms for him than the honorable service of his country in the battlefield.” On the morning of March 6—as the Alamo was being overrun—the final appeal from Travis reached the convention. Nacogdoches delegate Robert Potter moved that the convention rush to the aid of Travis. Houston called this idea “madness” and said that he would ride to the front to organize the troops while the government remained in session.14

  General Houston left Washington that afternoon in company with young volunteer Richardson A. Scurry, Captain James Tarlton, and three members of his new staff: Colonel George Hockley (adjutant and inspector general of the army), Major Alexander Horton (aide-de-camp), and Major William Cooke (assistant inspector general). Hockley, a former war department clerk who had gotten to know Houston during his time with the U.S. Congress, was a close friend of the Texas general and had followed old Sam to Texas in 1835.

  Seventy miles east of San Antonio, a growing number of Texas volunteers were assembling. The fate of the Alamo would be unknown to them for days as eager bodies rode in from the outlying settlements. Among them was thirty-five-year-old José Antonio Menchaca, who had been born in Béxar and considered it to be his home. Menchaca had served in Captain Juan Seguín’s tejano company but Seguín and Jim Bowie had deemed it advisable for the tejano to move his family to safety during February.15