by H. W. Brands
They reached the edge of town without opposition and worked toward the central square. Ehrenberg’s company of Greys took a route that ran near the river. “Sometimes our way led across small Mexican gardens, which afforded us a good deal of shelter; sometimes over bare, exposed patches of ground close to the edge of the stream.”
They were almost to the square when the defenders spotted them and opened up with grapeshot. The rounds were especially lethal in the narrow streets, which funneled the shrapnel toward the attackers, forcing them to dive into doorways and behind whatever projected from the walls or ground.
“It was quite early yet,” recorded Ehrenberg, who took shelter in a stone building that had served as a guardhouse. “Most of the objects around us were still wrapped in the receding shadows of departing night, but in spite of this semi-darkness, we easily detected the enemy’s position. The lurid glow of the explosions lit up the central quadrangle of the city, from which the Mexican artillery poured forth continuous volleys of shot. A dozen or more six-pounders seemed to have chosen our small fortress as a special objective, and one of them, which stood within eighty feet of us, gave us a good deal of anxiety. . . . Cannon-balls and bullets whizzed and crashed above our heads, leaving us frightened and bewildered.”
What had started as a coordinated assault degenerated into a confusion of individual combats, with the rebels by twos and threes fighting their way from house to house, and from room to room within the houses. At times it was hard to tell enemies from friends. “On our right and somewhat farther back than we were, little clouds of smoke were rising at intervals from several stone buildings,” Ehrenberg said. “Judging from the intermittent shooting that these were held by a small number of our adversaries, we promptly made up our minds to seize the houses and use them as part of our quarters. Just as our plans were completed, several discharges from these same houses informed us that they were in the hands of our friends, who likewise had mistaken us for enemies. While they were firing upon us, one of their bullets had hit a tall Mississippian named Moore, but fortunately it had glanced off a two-dollar piece which he had in his coat pocket. The second bullet struck another very tall fellow, also from Mississippi, tore off a part of his forehead, and dashed its fragments on the flagstone and on those of us who stood around him.” Before the friendly shooters could be apprised of their mistake, they claimed another casualty, a German who was badly wounded in the shoulder.
By signals and shouts, Ehrenberg’s company finally got their fellow rebels to stop shooting at them. Thereupon both parties began reckoning how to link forces. Crossing the street between the two houses could cost one’s life. “Scores of lead and copper bullets greeted the appearance of volunteers bold enough to run the gauntlet of this well-sustained fusillade,” Ehrenberg recalled. They set to work digging a trench from one house to the other, a task made doubly difficult by the lack of proper tools and the compacted character of the soil that constituted the thoroughfare.
Meanwhile the Texans sought to silence the artillery that continued to batter the walls of their refuge. The Greys had a six-pounder of their own, which they brought to bear on the Mexican position. But they lacked much ammunition and had to ration their fire. Their supply of rifle bullets was more ample, and they employed these to good effect against the Mexican cannon closest to them. “Several of our best sharpshooters stationed themselves close to the loop-holes in our walls and mercilessly struck down every bluecoat who came near the artillery piece, which was very soon reduced to silence because the Mexican soldiers were unable to reach it.”
Despite the lateness of the season and a chill that had frosted the neighborhood in recent days, the fighters grew hot and consequently thirsty in the close quarters of combat. Initially the invaders ran to the river with pails to quench their thirst, but once the defenders realized the rebels’ predicament, they lay in wait for the bucketeers and sniped at them en route. A few hours into the fight, Ehrenberg and some of his fellows found themselves in a house with a Mexican woman, whom they persuaded to make breakfast for them. Realizing they were without water, she offered to go to the river and fetch some herself. Ehrenberg and the others wouldn’t hear of it; a snipers’ alley was no place for a woman, they declared. “But she laughed at our objections, saying that we did not begin to realize the fondness of the Mexicans for the fair sex. She added that since there was no danger it would be foolish to stop her, and was off before we had time to hold her back.” The woman made it to the river without incident, as Ehrenberg and the others watched anxiously. “She had filled the buckets and was preparing to go back when the enemy opened fire on her. Four bullets went through her body and she fell lifeless on the green grass. Our men, horror-stricken, gazed over the walls, and after a few moments several of them rushed outside and dragged in the well-meaning but unfortunate woman.” Perhaps the Mexican troops were similarly horrified upon realizing what they had done, or perhaps they just needed time to reload, but in the pause in their fire that followed the woman’s death, some of the Greys got to the river and back with water.
All day the fighting raged. The Mexican fire was active enough to make the rebels’ advance harrowing but inaccurate enough to make it possible. “The enemy’s fire increased as we drew nearer the plaza, where the buildings were stronger and more compact, all of them being of stone or adobe, with flat roofs, and a wall projecting around and about four feet above the surface of the roofs,” Creed Taylor remembered. “These walls were manned by Mexican troops who kept up a brisk fire upon us during the day, and if they had been trained marksmen, armed with any other gun than the ‘escopeta,’ few of us would have escaped death. I saw volley after volley fired from an ‘aratea’ in our front and not a man’s head to be seen. Crouching behind the roof-walls, those Mexican soldiers would load, thrust their guns over the crest of the low wall, and send a constant shower of balls in our direction, with harmless effect.” Yet the Mexicans’ inaccuracy wasn’t entirely a matter of poor training and inferior arms. “It was a matter of self-preservation, since no sooner did a head appear above the walls than it served as a target for a dozen hunting rifles, and there was always another dead Mexican.”
The fall of darkness brought a respite and an accounting. The rebels had gained a foothold in the town, at the cost of one dead and several wounded. The Mexicans had lost at least several killed and others wounded, but still controlled the central plaza and the Alamo. The Texan side maintained communications with Burleson’s camp, from which it received food under the cover of darkness. Burleson himself arrived to take stock with Milam and Johnson; though all three were surprised at the strength of the Mexican resistance, they agreed to resume the assault the next morning.
The fighting on the second day proceeded much as on the day before. “At daylight of the 6th,” explained Frank Johnson, in his after-action report to Burleson, “the enemy were observed to have occupied the tops of houses in our front, where, under the cover of breastworks, they opened through loop-holes a very brisk fire of small arms on our whole line, followed by a steady cannonading from the town, in front, and the Alamo on the left flank, with few interruptions during the day.” The rebels extended their flank to the right, dug trenches to connect their previously separated columns, moved up cannon to return the Mexican bombardment, and continued to pick off whatever careless defenders showed their heads above walls and in windows.
Late the second day, the row of mesquite trees that lined the river caught fire—probably set by some of the Texans, as the Mexicans had used the cover the trees provided to improve their shooting angle against the rebels. The fire, and the continued construction of trenches by the rebels to connect the buildings they controlled, allowed the attackers to consolidate their position and narrow the options of the Mexicans. Even so, the latter kept fighting long after dark, pounding the Texans with artillery. “Yet our labors on the preceding day had been so strenuous,” Herman Ehrenberg recalled, “that in spite of the noise and danger we slept as soun
dly as if we were residing in one of the large, peaceful communities of the Eastern states.”
On the third day, to the surprise of the Texans and probably of the Mexicans, the outcome of the battle still hung in the balance. The Texans had the advantage in arms, the Mexicans in position. At one point Creed Taylor’s company was trapped in an adobe house that came under Mexican cannon fire. With each round, another large chunk of the wall blew out. It appeared a matter of little time before the rebels would be blasted themselves. A stone house across the street promised greater protection, but its roof was held by Mexican infantrymen who added their fire to the cannons’. One of Taylor’s comrades, named Henry Karnes, determined not to wait on death. Taking up a crowbar and pointing at the door of the stone house, he yelled (in Taylor’s recounting), “Boys, load your guns and be ready. I am going to break open that door. . . . I want you to pour a steady hot fire into those fellows on the roof and hold their attention till I reach the door, and when I break it in I want you boys to make a clean dash for that house.” Taylor and the others objected that the building was full of Mexicans; couldn’t he see their escopetas in the windows? “Damn the Mexicans and their escopetas,” Karnes answered. “It’s that house or retreat. You men do as I tell you.” Taylor added, in his own voice, “And with rifle in one hand and crowbar in the other, he flew across the street, and after a few well-directed blows, the door gave way, by which time our whole company was at his heels.”
As the rebels entered by the street door, the defenders attempted to escape out a back way. Some were killed, others taken prisoner. But because the Texans couldn’t spare guards to watch them, the prisoners were paroled—released on their promise not to resume the fight—almost as fast as they were taken.
By noon the third day, the battle was shifting in the attackers’ direction, but still slowly and sometimes lethally. After the rebels captured the Veramendi house, Ben Milam employed its courtyard to scan the Mexican position with a telescope. He failed to spot a Mexican sniper in a cypress tree near the river—one of a small number of Mexican soldiers armed with top-flight British-made Baker rifles. Frank Johnson was later told by a Mexican officer that the sniper, Felix de la Garza, was the best shot in the Mexican army. At this moment he lived up to his reputation, for with a single shot he hit Milam in the head. The man who had forced the decision to storm the town slumped down, lifeless. De la Garza almost instantly joined him in death, for the telltale puff of white smoke from his rifle gave him away, and several angry Texans, seeing their leader die, blasted the sniper’s aerie.
A cold rain began falling on the night of December 7, chilling the combatants on both sides, wetting their powder, and suppressing most of their fire. The rebels filled and placed sandbags to reinforce their position; the defenders consolidated within their diminishing perimeter. General Cos sought to regain the initiative by a sally against Burleson’s camp, and at first made a good show. “It appeared we were to be swept off by a general charge by the cavalry, infantry, and lancers, playing more music than I ever heard,” one of Burleson’s men declared. But Burleson held steady. As the Mexicans approached, his artillery opened fire with grapeshot. On the uncovered plain the effect was murderous, and the Mexicans fell back.
Mexican morale surged on news that a relief column was nearing the town. Cos sent two hundred troops to cover its advance. But the news was premature, and the troops deserted. The psychological damage was even greater than the actual blow. “The reaction of those who yet remained was that the deserters had changed sides in the war,” recalled Mexican general Vicente Filisola. “There was a feeling that General Cos was dead.” Filisola added, “The fact that many of the women and children of the town had sought refuge in the Alamo depressed the troops which yet remained. They became obsessed with the idea that their cause was already lost, and increasing rumors of more desertions persisted.”
Mexican morale revived somewhat when, on the afternoon of the fourth day, reinforcements really did arrive. Five hundred troops from the Rio Grande, led by Colonel Ugartechea, eluded rebel patrols and marched into the part of the town the defenders still held. “We entered the town by the trail to cadet Flores’ house and from there to the plaza, where we were greeted with rifle fire, acclamations and ringing of bells by 300 valiant souls who for 55 days had been preparing breastworks day and night without regard for distinction of rank,” wrote José Juan Sánchez-Navarro, a lieutenant colonel of engineers, who was one of the newcomers.
But Sánchez was forced to add: “What poor support we offered!” The new troops were tired and hungry from their forced march north. Sánchez had been forty-eight hours in the saddle, and after wolfing a small meal of beans, rice, and tortillas, he fell dead asleep. “I slept so soundly that nearby cannon and rifle fire did not wake me.” He regained consciousness only at being shaken violently by another officer, a captain, who declared, “We are lost!” The arriving soldiers had brought almost nothing in the way of provisions; as a result, they became a drain on the dwindling supplies of the town. Making his way to the Alamo, Sánchez discovered how dire the situation was. “I saw about 50 horses that were eating the capes of the troops and even the trails of the artillery. . . . I found out there were no supplies at all, not even water.” Sánchez heard that Cos had been killed, and again the cry, “We are lost!”
Soon they were. Cos in fact was alive, as Sánchez learned when he received an order to report to the general. “Sánchez,” Cos said, “by reason of cowardice and perfidy of many of our companions, all is lost.” An intrepid band of Mexican troops, of the Morelos battalion, still held the plaza. “Go save those brave men,” Cos said. “I authorize you to approach the enemy and obtain the best terms possible.” Pausing a moment, he went on, “Save the dignity of our Government, the honor of its arms, and honor, life, and property of chiefs, officials, and troops that still remain with me, even though I myself perish.”
Sánchez attempted to follow orders, but the Morelos men weren’t ready to quit. When they discovered Sánchez’s mission, they refused to let him pass. “You will not go, for the Morelos Battalion has never surrendered,” their colonel declared. Several soldiers surrounded Sánchez, shouting at him and threatening bodily harm. One pulled a gun. But Sánchez explained that he was acting under Cos’s orders, and the diehards finally gave in.
Approaching the rebel lines, Sánchez discovered his own reasons for disliking to parley. “We were surrounded with crude bumpkins, proud and overbearing,” he said. “Whoever knows the character of North Americans may appreciate the position in which we found ourselves.”
But he got what he came for, and more than he or Cos had any right to expect. According to the cease-fire document, the Mexicans would “retire with their arms and private property into the interior of the republic under parole of honor” and would “not in any way oppose the reestablishment of the federal constitution of 1824.” Moreover, the rebels would supply the Mexicans with provisions for their journey, albeit “at the ordinary price of the country.”
C h a p t e r 1 4
The Army of Operations
By the time of the Texas rebellion, Santa Anna had begun casting himself as the Napoleon of the West. “Some journalists had tried to compare my campaigns to those of Napoleon,” he wrote, neglecting to mention that he was the one who suggested the comparison. Yet, egotistical as it was, it wasn’t entirely unwarranted. Like Bonaparte, Santa Anna had lived through a revolution that tore his country to pieces; like Bonaparte, he had rescued his country from foreign foes; like Bonaparte, he came to believe that a single guiding genius might divine the general will better than the untutored masses. Bonaparte had concluded that he was France, with a mission to save the French from themselves; Santa Anna concluded the same thing with regard to Mexico and the Mexicans.
His assumption of dictatorial power in the autumn of 1835 simply formalized this conclusion. Dissolving the state legislatures placed entire lawmaking authority in the hands of the central government,
which was to say in the hands of Santa Anna. For one who had never shown much interest in governing, as opposed to acquiring power, this might have been a burden. But then the Texans rose in revolt, giving the hero another chance to demonstrate his indispensability to Mexico and to the Mexican revolution, and a reason to leave the chores of governing to someone else. He appointed an acting president and headed north.
Santa Anna had no doubt of his ability to dispose of the rebels, for whom he had only contempt. They were opportunists and mercenaries aiming to rape and plunder Mexico. “Our country found itself invaded not by an established nation that came to vindicate its rights, whether true or imaginary; nor by Mexicans who, in a paroxysm of political passion, came to defend or combat the public administration of the country,” he wrote. “The invaders were all men who, moved by the desire of conquest, with rights less apparent and plausible than those of Cortés and Pizarro, wished to take possession of that vast territory extending from Béxar to the Sabine, belonging to Mexico. What can we call them? How shall they be treated? All the existing laws, whose strict observance the government had just recommended, marked them as pirates and outlaws.”
The appropriate punishment for pirates was death, and death they would receive. Santa Anna informed General Joaquín Ramírez y Sesma, the commander of his advance brigade, of the policy to be adopted toward the rebels: “The foreigners who are making war against the Mexican nation, violating all laws, are not deserving of any consideration, and for that reason no quarter will be given them.”
The most difficult part of the campaign, Santa Anna judged, would be the journey north. He established temporary headquarters at San Luis Potosí, where he gathered troops and arranged financing for the expedition. As he had before, he cajoled various wealthy persons into extending emergency loans to the government; as before, this provoked protest and charges that some of the money was being diverted to private accounts. But Santa Anna ignored the protests; as before, he reasoned that all would be forgiven in the flush of his victory.