by Walter Lord
My friend Jess McNeel also contributed an immense amount of time. Forgetting the operation of his ranch for a day, we bounced cross-country in a jeep, trying to follow Santa Anna’s line of march. I can’t imagine a better way to grasp the country or the hardships of the advancing Mexicans.
Everett DeGolyer, Jr. was another shepherd who herded me along … only in his case it was not over the prairies but through the magnificent library collected by his late father in Dallas. Needless to say, the material was marvelous. Other valued guides included Gerald Ashford and Kay Hart in San Antonio, Doris Connerly and Frank Wardlaw in Austin.
Finally, nothing could have been done without the all-out co-operation of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, who are the custodians of the Alamo and handle their responsibility with immense care and taste. Mrs. R. G. Halter and Miss Marg-Riette Montgomery, the Alamo librarian, have been of invaluable assistance.
Apart from all these sources, there are those close to the actual production of the book. In moments of self-pity, it is not unknown for a writer to feel that he struggles through this vale of tears alone. When that happens around here, a host of apparitions arise to confront the author with the truth: James V. Reese, who at the last moment checked a handful of names for me in Austin … Jack Crooks, who helped so much on the index … Barbara Thacher, who turned a thousand scraps of paper into an orderly bibliography … Evan Thomas, who edited as skillfully as ever … and Florence Cassedy, who once again worked through reams of penciled foolscap, to turn out a superbly typed manuscript.
This violent scene, copyrighted in 1837, is almost certainly the first picture ever published of the Battle of the Alamo. Having no idea what the Alamo looked like, the artist solved his problem with smoke and a fleeting glimpse of a castle right out of Sir Walter Scott.
Lieutenant Colonel William Barret Travis, commander of the Alamo, as drawn by his friend Wiley Martin two months before the siege. This sketch was found on the flyleaf of an old Tennessee gazetteer and is the only contemporary picture of Travis said to exist. Even so, the likeness is questionable; Martin may well have been a better friend than an artist.
Jim Bowie, most famous fighter in the West, shared command with Travis until stricken with illness the first full day of the siege. From this point on, Bowie lay immobilized in bed and Travis took charge of the defense.
Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, President of Mexico and General-in-Chief of the Army of Operations, who personally directed the siege. The General’s equipage included monogrammed china, crystal decanters, striped marquee and a silver chamber pot.
San Fernando Church—heart of San Antonio—looking east toward the Alamo, about 800 yards away. From the church’s squat tower, Santa Anna hung a blood-red flag, the traditional Mexican symbol of no quarter.
The San Fernando tower, as seen from atop the roofless Alamo church. The artillerymen handling the three 12- pounders here had a good view of Santa Anna’s red flag, if they needed any reminder to strengthen their will to resist. This sketch was made ten years later in the course of a U.S. Army survey during the Mexican War.
Message sent by James Bowie to the Mexicans as the siege began on February 23. He was trying to find out if a parley had been called—and soon found that this wasn’t so. Bowie’s fast-failing health shows up in his shaky signature, but his determination is clear from the salutation. After writing “Dios y Federation Mexicano” to indicate his loyalty to the old Constitution of 1824, he then crossed it out and wrote instead “Dios y Texas” (“God and Texas”).
David Crockett, a late arrival in the Alamo, manned the weak southeast palisade with his Tennessee “boys.” As the siege dragged on day after day, Crockett told his friend Mrs. Dickinson, “I think we had better march out and die in the open; I don’t like to be hemmed up.” The remark seems in keeping with his favorite motto, scrawled under this old engraving.
Sam Houston, Commander-in-Chief of the Texas Army, was strangely inactive during most of the siege. Bitter at being constantly circumvented, he was off dealing with the Indians when the battle began. Later he turned up at Washington-on-the-Brazos for the Convention called to set up a new government. Only after the Declaration of Independence did he move into action with his usual vigor and begin organizing his troops at Gonzales.
ARMY ORDERS.
CONVENTION HALL, WASHINGTON, MARCH 2, 1830.
War is raging on the frontiers. Bejar is besieged by two thousand of the enemy, under the command of general Siezma Reinforcements arc on their march, to unite with the besieging army. By the last report, our force in Bejar was only one hundred and fifty men strong. The citizens of Texas must rally to the aid of our army, or it will perish. Let the citizens of the East march to the combat. The enemy must be driven from our soil, or desolation will accompany their march upon us. Independence is declared, it must be maintained. Immediate action, united with valor, alone can achieve the great work. The services of all are forthwith required in the field.
SAM. HOUSTON,
Commander-in-Chief of the Army.
P. S. It. is rumored that the enemy are on their march to Gonzales, and that they have entered the colonies. The fate of Bejar is unknown. The country must and shall be defended. The patriots of Texas are appealed to, in behalf of their bleeding country.
S. H.
Houston issued this broadside the day independence was declared. Calling the citizens to arms, he then left for Gonzales to organize his army. Despite this appeal, the turn-out was at first disappointing.
Dawn, March 6, 1836, the massed bands of Santa Anna played these stirring notes. Called the Degüello, the music was a hymn of hate and merciless death, played to spur the Mexican troops forward in their final assault on the Alamo.
This flag of the New Orleans Greys was ripped down by Lieutenant Jose Maria Torres. The Mexican colors were raised instead, but Lieutenant Torres was shot and killed in the process. Santa Anna later sent the flag back to Mexico City, where it lies today—crumbling to pieces in brown wrapping paper.
First word of the Alamo’s fall was brought to Gonzales on March 11 by Andres Barcena and Anselmo Borgara, two Mexican refugees. Above is an extract from the interview with Barcena conducted by Houston’s aide Major Hockley. Below, Hockley confers with the General during the retreat that followed.
News of the massacre was a sensation throughout the United States. At a time when any headline was a novelty, this choice item—taken from the Columbia, Tennessee, Observer of April 14, 1836—was bound to stir immense excitement, propelling a flood of aid and volunteers to Texas.
Exactly a week after news of the Alamo’s fall reached New Orleans, this recruiting poster appeared on the city’s streets. Appeals to idealism were all very well, but the broadside wisely included specific details on the free land that awaited the volunteers.
Six weeks after the massacre, Houston’s little army pounced on the Mexicans at San Jacinto. The Texans’ battle cry was “Remember the Alamo!” and the enemy thoroughly understood what was meant. As indicated in this taunting cartoon published in New York, many of Santa Anna’s men surrendered, desperately pleading, “Me no Alamo.”
In 1846 a U.S. Army survey included this print of the ruined Alamo church (above). It was soon picked up by Gleason’s Pictorial, embellished with romantic trappings, and passed on to an eager public (below). The epoch of the Alamo had already caught America’s imagination, and the end is not yet in sight.
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copyright © 1961 by Walter L
ord
cover design by Connie Gabbert
978-1-4532-3844-8
This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media
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