A Time to Stand (24 page)

It’s just possible that he did. A surprising number of contemporary sources suggest that Crockett was one of the six Americans who gave up at the end, only to be executed on Santa Anna’s orders.

Colonel Peña flatly said so in his
Diario,
first published in September, 1836. Colonel Almonte told a similar story, according to a letter from Sergeant George M. Dolson in the Detroit
Democratic Free Press
of September 7, 1836. So did an unidentified Mexican officer (who sounds suspiciously like Ramón Caro), according to a letter appearing in the Frankfort,
Kentucky,
Commonwealth
of July 27, 1836. A similar account also came from Captain Fernando Urizza after San Jacinto, according to Dr. N. D. Labadie. Urizza said the prisoner’s name was “Cocket,” but Labadie had no doubts whom he meant.

Nor are all the sources Mexican. Passengers on the schooner
Comanche,
arriving in New Orleans on March 27 with first details of the massacre, also reported how Crockett and others had tried to surrender “but were told there was no mercy for them.” The New Orleans
Post-Union
picked up the story, and it quickly spread to the
Arkansas Gazette
and elsewhere. Even Mary Austin Holley, that most loyal of Texans, finally included it in her 1836 guidebook.

But it must be stressed that most early Texan accounts declared that Crockett fell in battle. “Fighting like a tiger,” to use Andrew Briscoe’s words. Both Joe and Mrs. Dickinson also believed he was killed in action, although neither saw him till after he was dead.

So there’s a good chance Crockett lived up to his legend, and in some circles it remains dangerous even to question the matter. A few years ago when
The Columbia Encyclopedia
ventured the opinion that Crockett surrendered, an angry retort in the
Southwestern Historical Quarterly
declared that Texas would need better authority than “a New York publication.” Next edition, the New York editors meekly changed their copy.

At least fourteen people in the Alamo lived through the siege. Three were Americans: Mrs. Dickinson, her daughter Angelina, and Travis’ slave Joe. Some early sources also listed a slave belonging to Bowie (variously called “Sam” and
“Ben”), but this was actually Almonte’s cook Ben, detailed to escort the others to Gonzales. Mrs. Dickinson, Joe and Houston are all firm that only three Americans came out alive.

A minimum of ten Mexican women and children also survived: Mrs. Alsbury and her baby, her sister Gertrudis Navarro, Mrs. Gregorio Esparza and her four children, Trinidad Saucedo, and Petra Gonzales. There were probably others, but the evidence is conflicting. On the other hand, Madam Candelaria—one of the better-known claimants—definitely was not in the Alamo.

One member of the garrison almost certainly survived—Brigido Guerrero, who talked himself free by claiming to have been a prisoner of the Texans. Both Almonte and Gregorio Esparza mention him, and he later made a good enough case to get a pension from Bexar County in 1878.

There is also evidence that Henry Warnell lived through the assault but soon died from his wounds. A sworn statement in a land claim filed in 1858 declares Warnell “at the massacre of the Alamo … that he was wounded at the said massacre but made his escape to Port Lavacca, where he died in less than three months from the effects of said wound.” (General Land Office, Court of Claims Application No. 1579, File W to Z, July 30, 1858.) This document seems stronger than an unsupported story that Warnell was fatally wounded while serving as a courier to Houston.

Finally, there is the bare possibility of two other survivors. The
Arkansas Gazette
of March 29, 1836—when it was still generally believed that the Alamo was safe—carried an intriguing item about two men (one badly wounded) turning up in Nacogdoches, “who said San Antonio had been retaken by the Mexicans, the garrison put to the sword—that if any others escaped the general massacre besides themselves, they were not aware of it.” The item appeared a week before the
Gazette
carried Houston’s “express” reporting the defeat. In
the thirty-one other newspapers examined, the General’s announcement was invariably the first word received.

None of these possibilities seem strong enough to detract from the Alamo as a genuine example of a group of men who knowingly sacrificed their lives rather than yield to their enemy.

Figures range from 180 to Santa Anna’s ludicrous 600. Best estimate seems to be 183. This is the final figure given by Ramón Caro, the Mexican general’s secretary. Also by Jesse Badgett, one of the first Texans to supply details to the U.S. press
(Arkansas Gazette,
April 12, 1836). Francisco Ruiz, in charge of burning the bodies, listed 182—but he missed Gregorio Esparza, the only defender Santa Anna allowed to be buried.

Nineteen different sources give nineteen different answers—ranging from 65 killed and 223 wounded (Colonel Almonte) to 2,000 killed and 300 wounded (Sergeant Francisco Becerra). Most Texan sources claimed a thousand Mexicans killed and wounded, while General Andrade’s official report acknowledged 311 casualties. Both probably reflect wishful thinking, and the problem is complicated by the Mexicans’ tendency after San Jacinto to say absolutely anything that might please a Texan—until they got back south of the border.

Best estimate seems about 600 killed and wounded. This is in line with figures worked out by Captain Reuben M. Potter, a contemporary Texan authority with firsthand knowledge of
Santa Anna’s army; also with a Mexican study made in 1849, when enough time had passed for a little perspective. In addition, it fits figures reported by Dr. Joseph H. Barnard, a Texan physician captured by the Mexicans and sent to San Antonio to tend their injured. He was told that 400 men were wounded in the assault; an additional 200 killed would be about right, or 600 casualties altogether.

The estimate goes with what is known of the Mexican Army. Judging from Filisola’s battle order figures and Santa Anna’s attack order of March 5, there were no more than 2,400 Mexicans in San Antonio, or 1,800 in the actual assault. A casualty rate of 33 per cent is a stiff price, even if 600 seems a modest figure. No Texan need feel cheated.

Traditionally the Alamo flew a modified Mexican flag, but the best evidence indicates that this was not the case.

The early Texan sources mention no specific flag, but in 1860 Captain R. M. Potter remedied the omission. In the first of several accounts he did on the subject, Captain Potter declared that the Alamo flag was the regular Mexican tricolor, but with the date 1824 substituted for the usual golden eagle. This was based on no evidence but on Potter’s theory that the Texans were fighting for the Mexican Constitution of 1824, until the Declaration of Independence was formally passed on March 2, 1836. Since the Alamo defenders knew nothing of this event, the theory ran, they went down still fighting for a liberal Mexico. The irony of Potter’s theory was appealing; others backed it up and it lingers on.

But the theory does not jibe with the facts. Actually, Texas had stopped fighting for the Constitution of 1824 long before
the Alamo. The old Constitution had been a good enough goal for many during the fall and December, but early in 1836 popular opinion swung violently and overwhelmingly for independence. In the elections to the Convention, the independence candidate won a smashing victory in every Texas municipality.

As loyalty to Mexico ceased, so did the trappings. Down came the old 1824 flags; up went new, strange banners—each designed according to the maker’s whim, but all proclaiming the idea of independence. There was the flag with the azure blue star raised at Velasco … another based on the stars and stripes at Victoria … a hodgepodge of red, white, blue and green at San Felipe. There was no time to wait—events had outstripped such formalities as conventions, declarations and official flags.

The men in the Alamo were no different. By February only Seguin’s handful of local Mexicans seemed hesitant; the rest wanted no part of 1824. “All in favor of independence,” Colonel Neill assured Governor Smith on January 23. The men’s letters bore him out. “Every man here is for independence,” wrote Private M. Hawkins. “God grant that we may create an independent government,” prayed Amos Pollard.

These men, like the rest of Texas, had their improvised flags. The New Orleans Greys carried their azure blue. Travis’ regulars had the five-dollar flag he bought en route to San Antonio (no description remains). Seguin’s nine men might well have carried a Mexican tricolor with two stars standing for Coahuila and Texas as separate states—one was seen in Bexar as the Mexicans approached—but the Anglo-Americans remained all for independence.

Santa Anna’s arrival only strengthened the men’s resolve. Writing Jesse Grimes on March 3, Travis stated, “If independence is not declared, I shall lay down my arms and so
will the men under my command. But under the flag of independence we are ready to peril our lives a hundred times a day… .”

Such a man was not likely to be flying any kind of Mexican flag three days later. Judging from Colonel Almonte’s diary, only one Texan banner was taken on March 6; and judging from the Mexican archives, this was the azure emblem of the New Orleans Greys. Full details on its capture were uncovered in 1934 by Dr. Luis Castrillo Ledon, Director of the Mexican National Museum of Archaeology, and there’s no reason to doubt his findings. So the Greys’ flag was the one Santa Anna sent home, complete with its boast of New Orleans help. As he pointed out, it clearly showed the designs of “abettors, who came from the ports of the United States of the North.”

The flag remains in Mexico City today, still with Santa Anna’s faded victory message attached to it. Kept at Chapultepec, it is not on exhibit but buried in the files … crumbling to pieces in brown wrapping paper. Thanks to the courtesy of the Mexican government, it was recently brought out once again, and enough of it pieced together to identify it beyond any doubt.

A
S THE YEARS PASS
, new light is constantly thrown on the Alamo defenders. Descendants write in, correcting ages, home towns and spelling of names. A yellowed land grant shows that some new man should be added to the list; a long-forgotten file shows that some other “hero” wasn’t there at all.

It is now clear, for instance, that Sherod Dover was never in the Alamo. His murder in December, 1835—and the hanging of his killer—is fully described in the land application filed by his heirs. (General Land Office, Court of Claims Application 211, File C to D.)

It appears that several other names should be removed from the list. José María Guerrero, known as “Brigido,” survived by claiming he was a prisoner of the Texans. Toribio Domingo Losoya was in Seguin’s company at the storming of Bexar, but not in the Alamo. He was honorably discharged October 25, 1836. (General Land Office, Court of Claims Voucher 271, File H-L; Bounty Warrant 196.)

John G. King of Gonzales was probably another absentee. There were both a father and son of that name in Gonzales, but the father lived until 1856 and the son was married in 1848, according to the family Bible. Finally, John Gaston and
John Davis of Gonzales are probably the same person. Gaston’s widowed mother married G. W. Davis, and the boy was often known by his stepfather’s name. The point is stressed in the application for land ultimately awarded Davis’ heirs. (General Land Office, Bounty Warrant No. 886.)

At the same time, M. B. Clark should be added to the list. The land application filed by his heirs was one of six supported by Louis Rose’s testimony and accepted by the Nacogdoches County Land Office. (Application 203, granted February 6, 1838.)

This process of addition and subtraction will go on. Meanwhile, it seems time to take stock. Here, then, is a revised list of the men who fell at the Alamo, together with their birthplaces and homes before coming to Texas (in that order). In the case of some early colonists, origin is unknown, and home in Texas is given instead.

Juan Abamillo—San Antonio

R. Allen

Miles DeForest Andross—San Patricio, Texas

Micajah Autry—North Carolina, Tennessee

Juan A. Badillo—San Antonio

Peter James Bailey—Kentucky, Arkansas

Isaac G. Baker—Gonzales, Texas

William Charles M. Baker—Missouri, Mississippi

John J. Ballentine—Bastrop, Texas

Richard W. Ballentine—Alabama

John J. Baugh—Virginia

Joseph Bayliss—Tennessee

John Blair—Tennessee

Samuel B. Blair—Tennessee

William Blazeby—England, New York

James Butler Bonham—South Carolina, Alabama

Daniel Bourne—England

James Bowie—Tennessee, Louisiana

Jesse B. Bowman—Red River, Texas

George Brown—England

James Brown—Pennsylvania

Robert Brown

James Buchanan—Alabama

Samuel E. Burns—Ireland, Louisiana

George D. Butler—Missouri

Robert Campbell—Tennessee

John Cane—Pennsylvania

William R. Carey—Maryland

Charles Henry Clark—Missouri

M. B. Clark—Nacogdoches, Texas

Daniel William Cloud—Kentucky, Arkansas

Robert E. Cochran—New Jersey

George Washington Cottle—Missouri

Henry Courtman—Germany

Lemuel Crawford—South Carolina

David Crockett—Tennessee

Robert Crossman—Massachusetts, Louisiana

David P. Cummings—Pennsylvania

Robert Cunningham—New York, Indiana

Jacob C. Darst—Kentucky, Missouri

Freeman H. K. Day—Gonzales, Texas

Jerry C. Day—Missouri

Squire Daymon—Tennessee

William Dearduff—Tennessee

Stephen Denison—Ireland, Kentucky

Charles Despallier—Louisiana

Almeron Dickinson—Pennsylvania, Tennessee

John H. Dillard—Tennessee

James R. Dimpkins—England