Eyes of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  As Santa Anna’s troops neared the Alamo, the fate of the men and the few women and children now at the Alamo was sealed.

  * * *

  “Goddamn the man!” Bowie raged, when Jamie returned empty-handed, with no firm commitment from Fannin.

  “I don’t believe Fannin knows what to do,” Jamie said to Travis, Bowie, and several more officers gathered around. “But I know from talking to the men that his supplies are very nearly gone. And he is really quite fearful of being attacked by General Urrea.”

  “General Urrea has about a thousand men and we’re looking at six to seven thousand,” the commander of the Alamo’s cannon, Almeron Dickerson said. He shook his head and walked away. Dickerson and his men had worked like demons for days getting the cannon ready.

  Travis looked at Jim. “Any suggestions, Bowie?”

  “Yeah,” Bowie said, winking at Jamie. “Get drunk!”

  Travis glared daggers at Jim Bowie’s back. He grew even angrier when he turned back to Jamie and he was smiling. “You find this amusing?” he demanded.

  Jamie put a big hand on the commander’s shoulder. “Loosen up, sir. I reckon we all have to deal with this in our own way.”

  Jamie turned and walked away. Travis watched him go, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “I reckon we do, at that.”

  * * *

  Several hundred miles to the north, in what was known as Indian Territory, snow had sprinkled the ground and it was very cold. A Shawnee scout entered the central lodge and faced Tall Bull.

  “You have been gone a long time, Deer Runner. We were worried about you. You look exhausted,” Tall Bull said. “Eat and rest here. Then we’ll talk.”

  Deer Woman brought him a bowl of stew and Deer Runner ate hungrily. When he had filled his belly, he said, “Man Who Is Not Afraid is with the soldiers to the south. They have taken refuge in an old church in the town of San Antonio. They are doomed. Soon thousands of soldiers from the south will be upon them. They will all be killed.”

  Deer Woman said nothing. Her face did not change. Tall Bull grunted. “I despise Man Who Is Not Afraid, but I must respect his courage. However, I was looking toward the day when I would kill him.”

  “Little Wolf and Bad Leg will be disappointed,” Deer Runner said.

  Tall Bull waved that off. “Bad Leg is crazy in his head and Little Wolfs hatred of Man Who Is Not Afraid has clouded his mind, obscuring all else. What about Han-nah — Quiet Woman?”

  “She is living with her husband in the dark swamps to the south and east. The wife of Man Who Is Not Afraid and their many children also live there. But I am told it is a terrible place, Tall Bull.”

  Tall Bull nodded his head. “There are runners in place to bring us news of this great battle?”

  “Oh, yes. As you instructed. Many of them. We will know the outcome within days.”

  But Tall Bull was not happy with his own plan. “I think we shall ride south, Deer Runner. Man Who Is Not Afraid leads a charmed life. He just might escape this death trap you say he is in. If he does, he will not escape me. Not this time. I have sought him too long.”

  “Tall Bull,” Deer Woman said. “Don’t go.”

  “What?” Tall Bull was clearly startled. His wife never questioned his decisions — well, not often.

  “We have all heard of the strength and cunning and bravery of Man Who Is Not Afraid. I fear if you go, I will never see you again.”

  “Bah!” Tall Bull scoffed. “You talk nonsense, woman. Stop your babbling.”

  In the years since whites drove the Shawnee west, Tall Bull’s band had shrunk. No more than a few dozen families now traveled with Tall Bull. But among those families were twenty-five of the bravest men, fierce warriors all.

  “We’ll leave ten men behind to protect our town,” Tall Bull said. “You rest well, Deer Runner. We leave at first light.”

  That night, Deer Woman had a vision: she would never see her husband again.

  * * *

  On Sunday, February 21, Jamie rode back into the Alamo and stabled his horse. He went straight to Travis’s quarters. “Santa Anna and his forward units are camped along the Rio Medina,” he reported.

  The Rio Medina was twenty-five miles from the Alamo.

  Travis nodded his head in acceptance of Jamie’s words. But incredibly, the man still refused to believe that an army of the size that Jamie reported was at hand.

  Jamie left Travis’s quarters and found Bowie. “He doesn’t believe me. He still doesn’t believe me.”

  Bowie coughed and shook his head. “He’ll believe it when the first cannonball comes crashing against the walls.”

  “Any word from Fannin?”

  “No,” Bowie said softly. He stared at Jamie. “Get out of here, Jamie. Ride out and don’t look back. You’re far too young to die for people who don’t appreciate what we’re doing.”

  “They care, Jim. The majority of them don’t even know we’re here.”

  “Perhaps,” Bowie said, taking a sip of whiskey. “Perhaps.”

  Jamie left the barricaded old mission and walked the streets of San Antonio. He could feel the panic that was now gripping the citizens. Many of them had already started packing up to leave. Few of them paid any attention to the tall, buckskin clad young man walking among them. Jamie stopped at a cantina. It was empty save for the bartender. He took a table and ordered food and drink.

  “You are the scout from the Alamo?” the man asked, placing a plate of food before Jamie.

  “Yes. One of them.”

  “You have seen Santa Anna’s army?”

  “Yes. They’re camped along the banks of the Rio Medina.”

  The man crossed himself and whispered a quiet prayer. “When you are finished, senor, I will close the doors until this is over.”

  Jamie took a bite of food. “I don’t blame you,” he said.

  * * *

  At Fort Defiance, Fannin was sending couriers out daily, sometimes several times a day, pleading for orders from the advisory committee. None came. His men were becoming surly and restless. They wanted to help those at the Alamo, but would not do so without orders from their commander. Fannin did not know what to do. So he did nothing. He waited for orders that did not come. He would, finally, act on his own, but it would be too late.

  * * *

  Jamie rode back to the mission on the afternoon of the 22nd of February. He quietly reported that Santa Anna’s advance force was less than ten miles away. For reasons known only to Travis, Travis still refused to believe him.

  Bowie finally let his terrible temper loose, in front of everybody. “You goddamn stiff-necked, little tin soldier son of a bitch!” he cussed a suddenly white-faced and trembling with anger Travis. “What the hell does it take to convince you — a handwritten message from God?”

  “That will be quite enough, Colonel Bowie,” Travis said, checking his own terrible temper, which he rarely unleashed.

  “No it won’t,” Bowie responded. “I’ll not see my men die here for naught. Abandon this place and we’ll fight Santa Anna in a guerrilla fashion, like I’ve said all along we should do.”

  Actually, Bowie had never quite made up his mind just how the small force of Texans should fight the Mexican army.

  “No,” Travis said softly.

  Shaking with fury, Bowie whirled about and stalked away, yelling for his men to form up. They were pulling out. Crockett walked over to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke softly to him for a few moments.

  It was never recorded what Crockett said to Bowie. After a few moments, in a calmer voice, he told his men to relax. They were staying. He looked back once at Travis, then walked away to join his men. As he passed Jamie, the famous knife fighter smiled sadly and winked.

  * * *

  February 23rd, 1836.

  “They’re here, Travis,” Bowie said, shoving open the door to Travis’s quarters. Behind him, the sounds of the lookout in the San Antonio church ringing the
bell reached him.

  Travis slowly stood up from his desk, disbelief on his face.

  “Still don’t believe it?” Bowie taunted the man. “Well, since you won’t believe Jamie MacCallister, send someone that you will believe. Or go yourself.” Bowie turned and walked away.

  Travis sent Dr. John Sutherland and a man named John W. Smith to investigate. They saw the long lines of cavalry, the cold sunlight glinting off of polished lances. They watched as Mexican officers, with swords drawn, rode slowly up and down the assembled battle lines.

  “My God, they’re about to charge,” Sutherland said.

  He was wrong, but both men did say a very short but very fervent prayer to the Almighty, and then raced back to the Alamo. When the lookout spotted them galloping back, he began really ringing the bell.

  In the bell tower, the private rang the bell and stared in horror at what looked like thousands of troops. He also breathed a short and very sincere prayer.

  Sutherland and Smith leaped from their horses and reported to Travis and Bowie. “MacCallister’s been right all the time, Bill,” Sutherland said. “Santa Anna has arrived.”

  Jamie stood up and walked toward his saddled horse. Travis’s voice stopped him.

  “Where do you think you’re going, MacCallister?”

  “Wherever the hell he wants to go, Travis,” Bowie said. “He’s part of my bunch, not yours, remember?”

  “I’m going to start driving those few cattle out yonder in here and put them in the pen,” Jamie said. “We’re running low on supplies.”

  Bowie laughed and Travis flushed. “Go on, Jamie,” Bowie called. “Good thinking.”

  “Yes,” Travis said. “Very good.”

  The rest of that day, those staying behind watched as the town nearly emptied of residents. Wagons creaked on the muddy, rutted road and wheels groaned. For many of the Mexicans in the town, it was not a matter of choice. They knew only too well the savage and ruthless mind of Santa Anna. Most of the residents of San Antonio had helped the Americans, and all knew there were informers who would be quick to point them out. They were running for their lives, taking as many of their personal possessions with them as was possible.

  As the fleeing Mexicans looked toward the sound of the ringing bell in the tower, many wondered why the Americans were so willing to die for this? They could just not understand it.

  After securing the cattle in the pen, Jamie rode out to see the sight, and quite a sight it was. He could truthfully say he had never seen anything like it. Crouched in a mesquite thicket, Jamie watched as hundreds of brilliantly garmented cavalrymen paraded up and down on their fine horses. An officer — Jamie did not know it but the officer was General Ramirez y Sesma — was the most elegantly dressed of them all. He sat his horse and waved his sword, which caught the rays of the sun and reflected back in flashes of silver.

  Jamie watched for the better part of an hour, as more and more troops came riding and marching up from the south. He estimated their numbers at close to three thousand. Taking a terrible chance he mounted up and, skirting wide, rode to the south to see what else he could report. He knew that Travis would not discount his reports now. He had never taken umbrage at Travis’s disbelief in his earlier reports, for he knew that Travis felt that no man in his right mind would attempt to march a huge army across the arid plains in the windswept dead of a bitterly cold winter. But Santa Anna had done it, although at a terrible cost. He had crossed the Rio Grande with six thousand men, nearly two thousand pack mules, about fifty huge wagons, several hundred two-wheeled carts, and twenty-five cannon. The old Spanish road behind him was littered with dead animals and broken wagons and discarded equipment and more than a few dead men, who had dropped from exhaustion during the long forced march. But Santa Anna didn’t care. He had revenge and retribution burning in his mind. He was going to stop this ridiculous independence movement once and for all and teach these goddamn upstart and arrogant Texans a lesson that would forever and ever live in history.

  It did not take Jamie long to spot the huge clouds of dust coming from the south, the dust that seemed to spread for miles, whipped into the air by the cold wind, all coming toward him. That would be more mounted soldiers, the supply wagons, the artillery, and the infantry slogging along

  “Thousands of them,” he muttered. “Maybe more than I first reported back.”

  As Jamie rode back into town, the bell in the tower stopped ringing. The town was eerily silent. The normally busy plaza was deserted.

  Jamie neared the Alamo and noticed that Travis had ordered all his men back behind the walls of the old mission. As he rode toward the still open gates, he whispered to the wind, “Goodbye, Kate. Just remember that I will carry your love in my heart even unto death.”

  The gates of the Alamo closed behind him.

  * * *

  Jamie dismounted and his horse was led away to the pen. He looked around him. While the warning bell was still clanging, Captain Dickerson had galloped into the nearly deserted town to fetch his wife, Sue, and their baby daughter. There were other women inside the walls of the Alamo, but Sue Dickerson was the only American woman. There were several slaves behind the walls, including Bowie’s personal man servant, Sam, and Travis’s servant and cook, Joe.

  Jamie could not find Travis, so he climbed up on a makeshift parapet and reported to Bowie, who was directing the realignment of cannon. Bowie listened to every word, his face growing grimmer. “We retreated once,” Bowie said, his words low. “We shall never retreat again.”

  “Sir?” Jamie questioned.

  “We came in here, from out there,” Bowie explained, pointing. He looked out toward the empty cold landscape. “What you saw were the Dragoons, Jamie. And also Santa Anna’s fighting engineers.”

  Jamie had seen much more than that, but he did not contradict Bowie.

  Both men watched as couriers saddled up and rode out, Dr. Sutherland and Mr. Smith were heading to Gonzales, about seventy-five miles away, with a message from Travis, pleading for help. The second courier rode to Goliad, in yet another appeal to Fannin to send help.

  Davy Crockett walked up, his rifle, Ol’ Betsy, as he called it, in his hand. “I reckon Santy Anny’s here, boys. He’s been wantin’ a fight, so let’s make sure we give him a good one.”

  “Did you take that military commission Travis offered you, Davy?” Bowie asked.

  “Nope,” Crockett replied. “I come here to fight, not to order men about. You colonels just tell me where you want me and my sharpshooters, and there we’ll be.”

  Bowie smiled.

  Davy lifted a telescope to his eye and looked south for a moment, just able to see the long line of mounted soldiers. He lowered the glass. “Right purty, ain’t they? If they can fight as well as they dress, we’re in for a right good scrap.” He handed the glass to Bowie and stepped down to the courtyard.

  “You have any orders for me, Jim?” Jamie asked.

  Bowie coughed and spat up blood. “No, lad. You’ve done more than your share. You just pick you a good spot from which to fight and get ready.” Bowie stared at him for a moment. “You keep a horse saddled, Jamie. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. Jim?”

  Bowie nodded his head.

  “How long can we hold out?”

  “A good question. I would say ten or twelve days. No more than that.”

  Bowie very nearly pegged it on the money. They would hold out for thirteen days. Thirteen days of awful, bloody courage and greatness.

  Standing on the windy parapet beside the legendary knife fighter, Jamie’s thoughts drifted back for a moment to the Big Thicket country . . . and to Kate. He allowed himself a few moments of memories, and then shook them away when he became conscious of Bowie’s eyes on him.

  “Thinking of hearth and home, lad?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll see your loved ones again, lad. I’m going to make certain of that. You’re going to go on and do great things, Jamie. I sensed t
hat in you the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “Why not young Fuqua yonder?” Jamie questioned, cutting his eyes to the boy called Galba. “He couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen years old.”

  Bowie shook his head and evaded any reply. “I’ve been writing something, Jamie. But I’ve not yet finished composing. When I’m done, I’ll give it to you. See that it gets to the Telegraph and Texas Register. I’ll admit, Jamie, that I’ll be cutting it close. But if any man jack here can get out with the dying words from this garrison, that person is you. I’d be obliged if you’d do that thing for me.”

  “I’m in your company, Jim. I’ll obey your orders.”

  Bowie smiled and clasped Jamie’s arm. “Good lad. Now let’s get ready for a fight.”

  Jamie noticed the smile on Bowie’s lips.

  “Tell me the joke, Jim?”

  Bowie laughed and then coughed. “His Lord and Majesty General Santa Anna will ask for our surrender, Jamie. I’ve a bit of a surprise for him, that’s all.”

  “Is this sure to irritate Colonel Travis?”

  Bowie chuckled. “Probably.” And he walked off without adding to that.

  Jamie shook his head, wondering if Travis and Bowie would ever get along, even should they be admitted together through the gates of Heaven?

  The answer was no.

  Hell, either.

  Part Three

  The Siege

  Do not go gently into that good night,

  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

  — Dylan Thomas

  Twenty-nine

  The First Day

  Santa Anna’s first real battle and his first encounter with Americans had been back in 1813, when he was a young man in the army of General Arredondo and sent to this very town to put down a civil insurrection by a bunch of Anglos trying to form a Republic of Texas. What nonsense, Santa Anna thought. His general had put everyone involved into a wild rout. Then came the punishments. Santa Anna enjoyed that immensely. Santa Anna felt nothing but scorn for Americans. Cowards, all of them.