Exodus From the Alamo: The Anatomy of the Last Stand Myth
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And even if an adequate number of Travis’ riflemen had reached the north wall before the Mexicans came over the top, the lack of firing platforms and catwalks hampered any chance of successful defense: reasons why Santa Anna had targeted the north wall with his heaviest attack. Fueling both fright and panic by this time, the escalating roar of hundreds of cheering and yelling Mexican troops only a short distance away was unnerving even for the most experienced soldiers, signaling to one and all that Santa Anna’s surprise had been complete.
In addition, many soldiers may have either failed or refused to follow Travis to the north wall because he was simply not their leader. Naturally, Crockett’s Volunteer State men stayed with the popular Tennessean, while Bowie’s volunteers felt little loyalty to the upstart regular officer; the New Orleans Greys and even the Gonzáles volunteers almost certainly remained with their own leaders. Such a development further ensured a further division of command at the most critical moment was only natural in the confusion of a nocturnal surprise attack.
Drawing upon inaccurate sources, most historians have long believed that all the garrison’s riflemen had spilled out of sleeping quarters and then rushed forth in time to calmly take firing positions along the north wall, from where they able to pick out targets and cut down great throngs of attackers with well-aimed shots, thanks to the illumination from cannon flashes. But this scenario is part of the mythical Alamo. 36
This time-honored tactical scenario of the north wall’s alleged tenacious defense was simply impossible for other reasons. First, and contrary to what imaginative writers and historians have speculated for so long, the north wall’s main artillery bastion was largely negated, because gunners could not reach their three 9-pounders in time before the Mexicans gained the wall. Like the Alamo’s infantry, the artillerymen had slept in their quarters for warm shelter instead of remaining at their posts on the perimeter.
After finally pouring forth from their sleeping quarters, therefore, it took some time for most cannoneers to dash across the wide plaza and to reach their guns. By the time gunners along the north wall reached their 9-pounders, it was already too late for any effective defense of an already weak position that had been completely compromised. And again, without embrasures along the north wall, cannon barrels could not be depressed sufficiently to fire upon the crowded throng of Mexican soldiers at the wall’s base.
The ineffectiveness of the Alamo’s artillery this early morning would not only be revealed by the relatively low Mexican casualties, but also by the words of the Kentucky-born colonel in Santa Anna’s Army, Bradburn. He spoke exquisite Spanish and learned firsthand about what had actually happened—without romance or exaggeration—from Mexican soldiers, after reaching the Alamo only a few days after the struggle. What he learned from immediate Mexican oral sources was translated from Spanish to English by Colonel Francis White Johnson. One of the leading Texas officers in this war, Johnson had served as Colonel Edward Burleson’s adjutant and inspector general. An old Indian fighter and War of 1812 veteran, he took charge of Texas forces in San Antonio, after Austin relinquished command during the siege of Béxar. Johnson had then commanded the Alamo, before turning over command to Neill. Colonel Johnson subsequently described the tactical situation that revealed the extent of the surprise that sealed the Alamo garrison’s fate: “But a few and not very effective discharges of cannon from the works [on the east and south] could be made before the enemy were under them.” 37
Colonel Johnson’s analysis of what had actually happened has been overlooked and discounted by historians, because it so directly countered the traditional romanticized, popularized versions of events, especially the heroic last stand of the mythical Alamo. A Kentuckian who had faithfully served Mexico during its bloody struggle for independence, Colonel Bradburn described to Johnson Santa Anna’s easy victory—a rare oral communication about tactical events at the Alamo in English without translations from Spanish with its almost inevitable accompanying errors. 38
And a reliable Mexican soldier’s account by Sergeant Manuel Locanca supported Bradburn’s view. Amazed by the attack’s swiftness and the overall lack of resistance, he wrote how the assault “was so sudden that the fort had only time to discharge four of the eighteen cannon it had” mounted. And, of course, these guns could not have been fired effectively in the dark and swirling dust, without targets being ascertained and especially with the attackers having already gained the north wall’s base. 39
These Mexican views coincided with those inside the Alamo. For instance, Enrique Esparza recalled how: “We also had two cannon [evidently manned by Tejanos including his father, Gregorio], one at the main entrance and one at the northwest corner of the fort [but] the cannon were seldom fired.” 40
Providing solid collaborating evidence, a number of reliable American accounts also verify the truth of Johnson’s words, and hence Bradburn’s fact-finding mission about what really happened at the Alamo. Travis’ slave, Joe, emphasized how the attackers gained the north wall before any artillery fire and safely got under the guns. In addition, E.M. Pease revealed in a January 8, 1837 letter how Mexican troops gained the walls before the garrison was rallied and before resistance. What was significant about all three accounts was that they were given and published in newspapers within a relatively short time after the Alamo’s fall. 41
Ironically, the first cannon shots from the Alamo—from the church’s rear and at the main gate lunette—had a dramatic impact and unintended consequence on the overall course of the battle, explaining why the bulk of Santa Anna’s attackers concentrated at the north wall, not by design but quite by accident. At least one, perhaps two, of Captain Dickinson’s artillery pieces at the back of the church had blasted the left flank of Romero’s column, causing it to veer away from the fire toward the compound’s northeast corner. The other first-fired cannon, opening up on Morales’ column, was located either at the palisade or the lunette—most likely the latter, protecting the main gate, which was Morales’ target. At least one of the cannon at the main gate lunette fired at Morales’ attackers, who then eased farther west along the southern perimeter to avoid additional fire from the lunette, which had no artillery piece facing west, because the long 18-pounder on the elevated platform at the compound’s southwest corner fulfilled that role.
At the church’s rear, Captain Dickinson’s gun crews, who slept in the church rather than in the artillery barracks next to the Long Barracks, were able to get into place more quickly, long before artillerymen reached the north wall, which was a longer distance away. And initial cannon fire from the lunette was possible because gunners slept in the earthen stronghold before the main gate, which needed protection both day and night. These two initial artillery salvos—from the church’s rear and from the front gate lunette before the firings of the north wall’s 9-pounders—had a lasting, and ironically, a completely unexpected impact that altered the course of tactical developments.
One, perhaps, two guns at the church’s rear that had raked the left flank of Romero’s column forced it to veer away to the north to link with Dúque’s troops in a concentrated tide. An accidental development likewise altered the attack on the west. The lack of an entry point along the west wall had forced Cós’ column, without encountering much resistance, to shift north toward the compound’s northwest corner. Ironically, in a case of more fratricide, Cós’ soldados suffered more from an enfilade fire of Dúque’s men on the right, who raked his left, than from defenders. Here, along the north wall, this accidental massing of strength—Dúque’s, Romero’s, and Cós’ columns—also benefited from unforeseen tactical consequences that were transpiring along the south wall.
A longstanding myth of the Alamo’s defense was that combined rifle-fire from Captain Harrison’s Tennessee boys along the wooden palisade and a single cannon blast from the palisade’s center caused Colonel Morales’ column to veer past the palisade. But in fact, in the darkness, the defenders were very likely not yet aroused in
time to take to their assigned positions along the palisade; after all, nothing could be seen in the cold blackness, even if they had been ready and in proper defensive placement. Instead, Morales led his men in an attack on the south wall, drawing defenders there and ensuring a weaker defense of the north wall.
But these initial bursts of combined artillery and infantry fire—the fort’s first organized defiance—indicated that cannoneers and protecting riflemen slept in and were ready at the main gate lunette. Their fire caused Morales and his small column to veer southwest to take position around a stone house about 30 or 40 feet south of the Alamo’s southwest corner. Here, Colonel Morales’ soldados remained in a stationary position, biding their time and not taking losses, mustering strength and wind for their next move. All in all, this was a significant tactical development, drawing the attention of what relatively few defenders—especially those in the lunette—along the south wall to focus on Santa Anna’s weakest attack rather than the surging tide against the north wall. The situation evidently led these defenders, in a a fatal miscalculation, to believe that the main Mexican attack was occurring at the south wall instead of the north one, where cannon had yet to be fired. 42
Overall, however, there were simply too few defenders, with such a high percentage of sick or injured, to adequately defend a perimeter that needed to be manned by at least 500 men, as E.M. Pease wrote in a January 1837 letter, and more likely as many as 1,000. Even if every garrison member was fully awake and in position in time to face the attack, there was still not enough soldiers to adequately man both the extensive walls and the artillery. Quite simply, it was impossible for so few garrison members to adequately defend the entire perimeter—480 yards—especially when caught asleep and by surprise in the darkness.
In consequence, many newly aroused defenders very likely remained on the Alamo’s south side, either choosing not to rush forward to defend the north wall or taking positions along the south wall as planned, in a natural response to protect the main gate from the attack by Colonel Morales’ column. Without hearing Colonel Travis’ order, or any other, many defenders may not have realized in the chaotic tumult that the main attack was occurring on the north wall.
According to the commonly accepted (and most likely) scenario, among the relatively few defenders who reached the north wall was Travis and his slave, Joe, who allegedly was armed and serving as a garrison member. Carrying his shotgun, the Alabamian raced up the earthen embankment that led to the firing platform for the three guns. As if in disbelief that a major attack had been launched at night, Travis peered over the wall to ascertain what exactly was happening below him. What he saw must have taken his breath away. Dúque’s troops already had their ladders in place against the wall, and were in the process of scaling it by both ladder and by hand. Most ominous of all, the darkened movements of the jumbled mass below indicated an immense attacking force. For the first time, Travis now realized that this was an all-out assault. 43
Colonel Travis stood at the principal artillery position along the north wall, even though Mexicans were already scaling it, perhaps on both sides of him by this time, and very likely some of Santa Anna’s foremost soldados might have gained the interior. This strongpoint, manned by three 9-pounders at the north wall’s center, had been erected by General Cós’ expert engineers. Fortin de Terán had been named after Don Manuel Mier y Terán; in fact, all of the Mexican-built firing platforms, or forts, were named after distinguished military men or politicians. Ironically, Terán had warned the Mexican president that Texas would be lost to the republic because of the ever-growing AngloCeltic influence, helping to set in motion the chain of events, including the clash at the Alamo, that made war inevitable.
In the darkness, Travis attempted to do the best he could in a tactical situation that indicated not only defeat but utter annihilation. In the noisy confusion, he joined the three gun battery of 9-pounders—very likely under the command of Captain Carey, because this weak defensive point needed to be manned by “Invincibles,” who were considered the garrison’s most reliable artillerymen. 44
However, and even if manned in time, these guns were not only too few and too small to be effective, but their volunteer cannoneers were “unskilled in their use,” a lack of ability that only further diminished during the surreal chaos of this night attack. In addition, because no embrasures existed for the three field pieces to fire through, the artillerymen who reached this position would be unprotected and exposed to musket-fire while serving their pieces. 45
Unlike the riflemen yet stumbling out of the Long Barracks like drunken men, a handful of artillerymen had reached Fortin de Condelle (named in honor of Colonel Nicholas Condelle, who played a leading role in San Antonio’s defense in December 1835 and served as commander of the Morelos Battalion), at the compound’s northwest corner about the time of Travis’ arrival. Here, unlike the Fort Terán artillerymen who manned the 9-pounders, the cannoneers at least possessed the benefit of embrasures so that barrels could be depressed to target attackers at the wall’s base.
But yet some more precious time was wasted for the desperate artillerymen, who after having been abruptly aroused from their sleep in the artillery barracks and dashing across the plaza and up the earthen ramp to the Alamo’s northwest corner, now labored in hurried desperation to load their guns as rapidly as possible in the noisy confusion. And this feat had to be accomplished in the dark and at a time when these gunners were in semi-shock from the attack’s overpowering weight. With Dúque’s, Cós’, and Romero’s soldiers scaling the north wall, they loaded their artillery pieces in frantic haste as best they could. At the two little forts along the wall, these artillerymen hoped at least to get off a single shot before they were completely overwhelmed by the raging tide of attackers, so close were the Mexicans by this time. 46
In the early morning coldness and during the panic of the surprise attack, the largely untrained cannoneers along the north wall clumsily attempted to load their guns upon reaching them. This development resulted in more loss of time, while hundreds of Mexicans continued to charge closer across the blackened prairie, solidified their gains at the wall’s base, and moved up their ladders. Amazed by the feeble resistance, General Filisola later told how the utter lack of “good artillerymen” and “trained men” to man the Alamo’s guns made the job of reaching and going over the top of the walls relatively easy for the attackers. 47
In addition, even the late-winter weather played a role in ensuring a feeble artillery defense. Just like muskets, shotguns, and Long Rifles, the powder charges of cannon were vulnerable to the winter elements, especially dampness, dew, and condensation, if the pieces had been kept fully loaded. Therefore, the 9-pounders at the main north wall battery had remained unloaded and unable to fire for some time, since they were not fully manned because the cannoneers were not fully aroused, or were yet racing across the plaza to reach the north wall. Santa Anna’s surprise attack had largely neutralized the garrison’s most lethal weapon—the artillery arm—which had caused Neill and Bowie to make the fateful decision to defend the Alamo in the first place.
As Colonel Johnson explained in part from his own analysis but also from Colonel Bradburn’s views taken from Mexican soldiers after the attack: “Thus the works were mounted with fourteen guns [actually around twenty] . . . The number, however, has little bearing on the merits of the final defense, with which cannon had very little to do. These guns were in the hands of men unskilled in their use, and owing to the construction of the works most of them had little width of range.” 48
Finally, the initial blast from a little 9-pounder from Fort Terán was belatedly unleashed. But in the words of Sergeant Nunez, born in 1802, who rushed forward in Dúque’s ranks: “The first fire from a cannon of the Alamo passed over our heads and did no harm.” 49
Like other attackers, Nunez almost mocked the Alamo’s initial blast from a cannon along the north wall. After the first shot sailed harmlessly over the heads of Dúque
’s rearward attackers, they continued onward unimpeded. Therefore, the only effective cannon fire from the north wall that morning finally erupted when the second gun, another 9-pounder, likewise opened up. This single blast of homemade canister struck the rear of the activo Toluca Battalion of Dúque’s column, riddling a group of onrushing infantrymen. 50
In attempting to magnify the folly of attacking the Alamo and the waste of Mexican lives to disparage Santa Anna’s generalship, the everpolitical de la Pena wrote that “a single cannon volley did away with half the company of chasseurs from Toluca,” which was almost certainly an exaggeration. If de la Pena meant that these men were killed, then this would have represented a large percentage of the total Mexican dead at the Alamo. What he very likely meant to say was that these men were struck by the blast of improvised canister, as small as nails, that inflicted relatively minor wounds. This distinct possibility was verified by the words of an unidentified Mexican soldier, who described how this cannon blast “felled” forty attackers. He even mocked the ineffectiveness of the Alamo cannon, revealing in the April 5, 1836 issue of El Mosquito Mexicano: “It seemed that the bullets and grapeshot from the cannons and rifles were spent, bouncing harmlessly off the breasts of our soldiers.” 51 These words also indicated that the garrison’s limited powder supply was either damp or of poor quality, probably black powder left by General Cós, ensuring a lack of effective firepower, except of course at close range.
But what was not harmless was when Colonel Amat, unaware that Romero’s and Cós’ troops were now in front of him, ordered his reserves to halt and fire volleys, which cut down many soldados massed and milling together in a crowd at the north wall. If fired high, these volleys would have shot soldados off ladders and while scaling the wall by hand. In the darkness, Santa Anna, who also had no idea that Cós and Romero’s columns had swung from their designated attack points to hit the north wall, had made a mistake in throwing in his reserves and at the wrong wall to make widespread fratricide all but inevitable.