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CHAPTER XIII.
Conclusion.
The Fortress of Alamo.--Colonel Bowie.--Bombardment of the Fort.--Crockett's
Journal.--Sharpshooting.--Fight outside of the Fort.--Death of the Bee
Hunter.--Kate of Nacogdoches.--Assault on the Citadel.--Crockett a
Prisoner.--His Death.
The fortress of Alamo is just outside of the town of Bexar, on the San Antonio
River. The town is about one hundred and forty miles from the coast, and
contained, at that time, about twelve hundred inhabitants. Nearly all were
Mexicans, though there were a few American families. In the year 1718, the
Spanish Government had established a military outpost here; and in the year
1721, a few emigrants from Spain commenced a flourishing settlement at this
spot. Its site is beautiful, the air salubrious, the soil highly fertile, and
the water of crystal purity.
The town of Bexar subsequently received the name of San Antonio. On the tenth of
December, 1835, the Texans captured the town and citadel from the Mexicans.
These Texan Rangers were rude men, who had but little regard for the refinements
or humanities of civilization. When Crockett with his companions arrived,
Colonel Bowie, of Louisiana, one of the most desperate of Western adventurers,
was in the fortress. The celebrated bowie-knife was named after this man. There
was but a feeble garrison, and it was threatened with an attack by an
overwhelming force of Mexicans under Santa Anna. Colonel Travis was in command.
He was very glad to receive even so small a reinforcement. The fame of Colonel
Crockett, as one of the bravest of men, had already reached his ears.
"While we were conversing," writes Crockett, "Colonel Bowie had occasion to draw
his famous knife, and I wish I may be shot if the bare sight of it wasn't enough
to give a man of a squeamish stomach the colic. He saw I was admiring it, and
said he, 'Colonel, you might tickle a fellow's ribs a long time with this little
instrument before you'd make make him laugh.'"
According to Crockett's account, many shameful orgies took place in the little
garrison. They were evidently in considerable trepidation, for a large force was
gathering against them, and they could not look for any considerable
reinforcements from any quarter. Rumors were continually reaching them of the
formidable preparations Santa Anna was making to attack the place. Scouts ere
long brought in the tidings that Santa Anna, President of the Mexican Republic,
at the head of sixteen hundred soldiers, and accompanied by several of his
ablest generals, was within six miles of Bexar. It was said that he was doing
everything in his power to enlist the warlike Comanches in his favor, but that
they remained faithful in their friendship to the United States.
Early in the month of February, 1836, the army of Santa Anna appeared before the
town, with infantry, artillery, and cavalry. With military precision they
approached, their banners waving, and their bugle-notes bearing defiance to the
feeble little garrison. The Texan invaders, seeing that they would soon be
surrounded, abandoned the town to the enemy, and fled to the protection of the
citadel. They were but one hundred and fifty in number. Almost without exception
they were hardy adventurers, and the most fearless and desperate of men. They
had previously stored away in the fortress all the provisions, arms, and
ammunition, of which they could avail themselves. Over the battlements they
unfurled an immense flag of thirteen stripes, and with a large white star of
five points, surrounded by the letters "Texas." As they raised their flag, they
gave three cheers, while with drums and trumpets they hurled back their
challenge to the foe.
The Mexicans raised over the town a blood-red banner. It was their significant
intimation to the garrison that no quarter was be expected. Santa Anna, having
advantageously posted his troops, in the afternoon sent a summons to Colonel
Travis, demanding an unconditional surrender, threatening, in case of refusal,
to put every man to the sword. The only reply Colonel Travis made was to throw a
cannon-shot into the town. The Mexicans then opened fire from their batteries,
but without doing much harm.
In the night, Colonel Travis sent the old pirate on an express to Colonel
Fanning, who, with a small military force, was at Goliad, to entreat him to come
to his aid. Goliad was about four days' march from Bexar. The next morning the
Mexicans renewed their fire from a battery about three hundred and fifty yards
from the fort. A three-ounce ball struck the juggler on the breast, inflicting a
painful but not a dangerous wound.
Day after day this storm of war continued. The walls of the citadel were strong,
and the bombardment inflicted but little injury. The sharpshooters within the
fortress struck down many of the assailants at great distances.
"The bee-hunter," writes Crockett, "is about the quickest on the trigger, and
the best rifle-shot we have in the fort. I have already seen him bring down
eleven of the enemy, and at such a distance that we all thought that it would be
a waste of ammunition to attempt it." Provisions were beginning to become
scarce, and the citadel was so surrounded that it was impossible for the
garrison to cut its way through the lines and escape.
Under date of February 28th, Crockett writes in his Journal:
"Last night our hunters brought in some corn, and had a brush with a scout from
the enemy beyond gunshot of the fort. They put the scout to flight, and got in
without injury. They bring accounts that the settlers are flying in all
quarters, in dismay, leaving their possessions to the mercy of the ruthless
invader, who is literally engaged in a war of extermination more brutal than the
untutored savage of the desert could be guilty of. Slaughter is indiscriminate,
sparing neither sex, age, nor condition. Buildings have been burnt down, farms
laid waste, and Santa Anna appears determined to verify his threat, and convert
the blooming paradise into a howling wilderness. For just one fair crack at that
rascal, even at a hundred yards' distance, I would bargain to break my Betsey,
and never pull trigger again. My name's not Crockett if I wouldn't get glory
enough to appease my stomach for the remainder of my life.
"The scouts report that a settler by the name of Johnson, flying with his wife
and three little children, when they reached the Colorado, left his family on
the shore, and waded into the river to see whether it would be safe to ford with
his wagon. When about the middle of the river he was seized by an alligator, and
after a struggle was dragged under the water, and perished. The helpless woman
and her babes were discovered, gazing in agony on the spot, by other fugitives,
who happily passed that way, and relieved them. Those who fight the battles
experience but a small part of the privation, suffering, and anguish that follow
in the train of ruthless war. The cannonading continued at intervals throughout
the day, and all hands were kept up to their work."
The next day he writes: "I had a little sport this morning before breakfast. The
enemy had planted a piece of ordnance within gunshot of the fort during the
night, and the first thing in the morning they commenced a brisk cannonade,
point blank against the spot where I was snoring. I turned out pretty smart and
mounted the rampart. The gun was charged again; a fellow stepped forth to touch
her off, but before he could apply the match, I let him have it, and he keeled
over. A second stepped up, snatched the match from the hand of the dying man,
but the juggler, who had followed me, handed me his rifle, and the next instant
the Mexican was stretched on the earth beside the first. A third came up to the
cannon. My companion handed me another gun, and I fixed him off in like manner.
A fourth, then a fifth seized the match, who both met with the same fate. Then
the whole party gave it up as a bad job, and hurried off to the camp, leaving
the cannon ready charged where they had planted it. I came down, took my
bitters, and went to breakfast."
In the course of a week the Mexicans lost three hundred men. But still
reinforcements were continually arriving, so that their numbers were on the
rapid increase. The garrison no longer cherished any hope of receiving aid from
abroad.
Under date of March 4th and 5th, 1836, we have the last lines which Crockett
ever penned.
"March 4th. Shells have been falling into the fort like hail during the day, but
without effect. About dusk, in the evening, we observed a man running toward the
fort, pursued by about half a dozen of the Mexican cavalry. The bee-hunter
immediately knew him to be the old pirate, who had gone to Goliad, and, calling
to the two hunters, he sallied out of the fort to the relief of the old man, who
was hard pressed. I followed close after. Before we reached the spot the
Mexicans were close on the heels of the old man, who stopped suddenly, turned
short upon his pursuers, discharged his rifle, and one of the enemy fell from
his horse. The chase was renewed, but finding that he would be overtaken and cut
to pieces, he now turned again, and, to the amazement of the enemy, became the
assailant in his turn. He clubbed his gun, and dashed among them like a wounded
tiger, and they fled like sparrows. By this time we reached the spot, and, in
the ardor of the moment, followed some distance before we saw that our retreat
to the fort was cut off by another detachment of cavalry. Nothing was to be done
but fight our way through. We were all of the same mind. 'Go ahead!' cried I;
and they shouted, 'Go ahead, Colonel!' We dashed among them, and a bloody
conflict ensued. They were about twenty in number, and they stood their ground.
After the fight had continued about five minutes, a detachment was seen issuing
from the fort to our relief, and the Mexicans scampered of, leaving eight of
their comrades dead upon the field. But we did not escape unscathed, for both
the pirate and the bee-hunter were mortally wounded, and I received a sabre-cut
across the forehead. The old man died without speaking, as soon as we entered
the fort. We bore my young friend to his bed, dressed his wounds, and I watched
beside him. He lay, without complaint or manifesting pain, until about midnight,
when he spoke, and I asked him if he wanted anything. 'Nothing,' he replied, but
drew a sigh that seemed to rend his heart, as he added, 'Poor Kate of
Nacogdoches.' His eyes were filled with tears, as he continued, 'Her words were
prophetic, Colonel," and then he sang in a low voice, that resembled the sweet
notes of his own devoted Kate:
'But toom cam' the saddle, all bluidy to see, And hame came the steed, but hame
never came he.'
He spoke no more, and a few minutes after died. Poor Kate, who will tell this to
thee?
The romantic bee-hunter had a sweetheart by the name of Kate in Nacogdoches. She
seems to have been a very affectionate and religious girl. In parting, she had
presented her lover with a Bible, and in anguish of spirit had expressed her
fears that he would never return from his perilous enterprise.
The next day, Crockett simply writes, "March 5th. Pop, pop, pop! Bom, bom, bom!
throughout the day. No time for memorandums now. Go ahead! Liberty and
Independence forever."
Before daybreak on the 6th of March, the citadel of the Alamo was assaulted by
the whole Mexican army, then numbering about three thousand men. Santa Anna in
person commanded. The assailants swarmed over the works and into the fortress.
The battle was fought with the utmost desperation until daylight. Six only of
the Garrison then remained alive. They were surrounded, and they surrendered.
Colonel Crockett was one. He at the time stood alone in an angle of the fort,
like a lion at bay. His eyes flashed fire, his shattered rifle in his right
hand, and in his left a gleaming bowie-knife streaming with blood. His face was
covered with blood flowing from a deep gash across his forehead. About twenty
Mexicans, dead and dying, were lying at his feet. The juggler was also there
dead. With one hand he was clenching the hair of a dead Mexican, while with the
other he had driven his knife to the haft in the bosom of his foe.
The Mexican General Castrillon, to whom the prisoners had surrendered, wished to
spare their lives. He led them to that part of the fort where Santa Anna stood
surrounded by his staff. As Castrillon marched his prisoners into the presence
of the President, he said:
"Sir, here are six prisoners I have taken alive. How shall I dispose of them?"
Santa Anna seemed much annoyed, and said, "Have I not told you before how to
dispose of them? Why do you bring them to me?"
Immediately several Mexicans commenced plunging their swords into the bosoms of
the captives. Crockett, entirely unarmed, sprang, like a tiger, at the throat of
Santa Anna. But before he could reach him, a dozen swords were sheathed in his
heart, and he fell without a word or a groan. But there still remained upon his
brow the frown of indignation, and his lip was curled with a smile of defiance
and scorn.
And thus was terminated the earthly life of this extraordinary man. In this
narrative it has been the object of the writer faithfully to record the
influences under which Colonel Crockett was reared, and the incidents of his
wild and wondrous life, leaving it with the reader to form his own estimate of
the character which these exploits indicate. David Crockett has gone to the
tribunal of his God, there to be judged for all the deeds done in the body.
Beautifully and consolingly the Psalmist has written:
"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.
For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust."
THE END
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