Exodus From the Alamo: The Anatomy of the Last Stand Myth (31 page)

Regardless of what faith they held, some defenders now contemplated meeting their Maker due to their folly in remaining at the Alamo. They remembered Houston’s inviting words to United States citizens on October 5, 1835, that had never left their minds: “If volunteers from the United States will join their brethren in [Texas], they will receive liberal bounties of land. We have millions of acres of our best lands unchosen, and unappropriated.”
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On March 5, Houston’s words now mocked the ugly reality that the Alamo’s defenders, who were pent-up like animals in an old, crumbling Spanish mission, now came to realize. Instead of opening the door to a seemingly boundless future, Houston’s alluring invitation to partake in all of those choice lands had only opened the door to the worst possible fate: dying at the hands of a merciless enemy, far from home and family in a strange land. For the young men and boys of the Alamo—including 15-year-old William Philip King, the youngest defender, and James Madison Rose, who was the nephew of former President James Madison, Houston’s enticing words were indeed a fatal siren’s song.
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Twenty-three-year-old Asa Walker, born in New York, had migrated to Texas in November 1835, and had then “hurried toward the Alamo with an almost haunting sense of urgency.” Now a private in Captain Robert White’s infantry company, the Bexar Guards, he summarized in a letter the winner-take-all attitude of the garrison, including his cousin, Tennessee-born Private Joseph R. (or Jacob) Walker, age 37, of Captain Carey’s artillery company, ensuring his Tennessee family, who would never seen him again: “If I live to return, I will satisfy you for all. If I die I leave you my clothes to do the best you can with. . . . I will trust to change.”
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Meanwhile, the cold winds of late winter swept over the south central Texas prairies, which were bare, dull, and colored a brownish hue, outside the old mission. The flat terrain was draped in winter’s drabness, and the lack of tall timber—with exception of a few scrubby mesquite and bare cottonwoods—along the surrounding prairie presented a lifeless appearance. The overall bleakness of late winter contradicted the defenders’ memories of the breathtaking beauty, fertility, and promise of this land during the spring and summer, along with their own earlier youthful idealism.

In the words of Alamo defender Daniel William Cloud—who had migrated to the Red River country in part because he so detested winter’s harshness north of the Ohio River—in a December 26, 1835 letter: “If we succeed, the Country is ours. It is immense in extent, and fertile in its soil, and will amply reward all our toil. If we fail, death in the cause of liberty and humanity is not cause for shuddering. Our rifles are by our side, and choice guns they are, we know what awaits us, and are prepared to meet it.”
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Captain Carey, commander of the self-styled Invincibles, penned in a final letter to his brothers and sisters, hoping against hope that “if I live, as soon as the war is over I will endeavor to see you all.”
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Just like the soldiers trapped in the Alamo’s squalor and rubble, the young soldados were also primarily focused on the same two things as the Anglo-Celts: praying for God to spare them in the upcoming battle, so that they may see their loved ones once again, and dreams of the fine Texas lands they had marched through to their rendezvous with destiny at San Antonio. Indeed, like the Alamo garrison members, the mere thought of possessing this fertile land, and thereby providing a better life for themselves and their families, lingered in the thoughts of Santa Anna’s soldados, who saw lands far richer in comparison to arid and mountainous northern Mexico.
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Amid the windswept prairies surrounding the Alamo, a good many Mexican men must have wondered if they would ever return to their warm, sunny homeland. To these soldados of a strong Catholic faith, they must have felt an eerie uneasiness in besieging an old Catholic mission. Some soldados might have felt it was sacrilegious to bombard a fortified position that was dominated by an old Catholic church they could see in the distance. But even stranger for Santa Anna’s troops was this unfamiliar land north of the Rio Grande. Few of Santa Anna’s soldiers had ever been so far north before while, in de la Pena’s words, fighting for the first time “men of a different language and a different religion, men whose character and habits were likewise different from theirs.”

From small, remote villages in Mexico’s isolated interior, some of these men had never even heard of Texas before. Typical soldados of Santa Anna’s Army included young men, of Indian descent, from the Tres Villas Active Battalion. Members of this unit hailed from three villages in the state of Vera Cruz: Orizaba, amid the sugar cane and maize fields of central Mexico, located near the highest mountain peak in Mexico; Jalapa, which Santa Anna called home; and Cordoba, named after the fabled city held so long by the Moors in southern Spain.

What Santa Anna’s soldiers saw around San Antonio was a land quite unlike anything that they had seen before. To these men, this was the far north, where cold weather and extremes in climate was second to none in Mexico. Few soldados from the heart of Mexico, including the semitropical central valley where oranges, limes, and other fruits now lay ripe on the trees, had experienced such a harsh winter before. These men had volunteered for eight years of service or had been conscripted and impressed for ten years.

Not only the weather extremes of Texas, but also the land itself, seemed eerie to these young soldados. This area around San Antonio consisted of a vast prairie region—the southern end of the central plains—that Santa Anna’s troops had not seen before. And what was equally different, if not alarming, was the surprisingly widespread Anglo-Celtic cultural influence and imprint on the social fabric of San Antonio and its people. Even some Tejano men and women—especially those from wealthy families—wore American clothes, and even spoke the language with ease. This was the first time that most Mexican soldiers had encountered Tejanos. To many of Santa Anna’s troops, Texas was very much a foreign land, and especially unforgiving during this late winter: cold, generally flat, and covered with a sea of grass and vegetation not previously seen. Also like the men of the Alamo, some of these young Mexican troops were now about to sacrifice their lives in defense of this strange land that they had never seen before.
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And, ironically, in much the same way, most Alamo men were also newcomers to this region, mere interlopers who now lusted for nature’s richness like the Indians, Spanish, French, and Mexicans before them. This bountiful land was every bit as strange to the young soldiers from Pennsylvania, Kentucky, or North Carolina—and especially those men from Ireland, Germany, or France—as to Mexico’s soldados now north of the Rio Grande for the first time: an unusual situation for men about to die for a land they had never previously seen and over the possession of a place of little strategic or military value.

Meanwhile, inside the Alamo, thoughts among garrison members were gloomy, while the cannon balls—though of small caliber—steadily rained down day after day. The dark, cloudy days and bare, wintry landscape added to the gloom and sense of hopelessness. No longer was Crockett boasting loudly that he would “have Santa Anna’s head and wear it as a watch seal.” All the confidence, braggadocio, and sense of cultural and racial superiority had long evaporated from the once-jaunty men of the Alamo. During the Mexican bombardment, with the prospects of reinforcements diminishing, spirits among the garrison sagged to new lows. During the siege of late February and early March, it became increasingly clear that no relief was coming.

Growing impatient for victory, General Santa Anna, as if emulating Napoleon, now contemplated unleashing a coup de main to overwhelm the Alamo. Displaying the typical aggressiveness upon which his reputation was founded, he knew that he had to overwhelm the pesky Alamo garrison, as it stood as a symbol of defiance that could no longer be tolerated. Santa Anna viewed the Alamo as representing Mexican failures both past and present, in two successive campaigns, including now having been unable to reduce it by a rather puny artillery bombardment during the past week and a half.

Deviating from Napoleon’s usual style of one-man decisions, Santa Anna called a commander’s conference on the chilly, late winter afternoon of Friday, March 4. But this time, the brisk cold winds of early morning had died down like the prospects of survival for the men in the Alamo. Agreeing with Santa Anna’s arguments for launching a frontal assault, four Mexican commanders present at the conference advocated an attack. Not surprisingly and echoing his brother-in-law’s views, one such aggressive leader wanting to strike was General Cós. As could be expected, he still wanted to redeem his reputation that had been stained at this same place only a short time before.

Those officers who opined against Santa Anna’s viewpoint desired to await the arrival of their heavier guns—a couple of 12-pounders that were expected to reach the army on March 7—to blow a breach into the already badly damaged north wall before undertaking an all-out infantry attack. Santa Anna, along with General Joaquin Ramirez y Sesma and Colonel Juan Nepomuceno Almonte, were less prudent. Emboldened by the lack of accurate or sustained return fire from the Alamo, which indicated an ammunition shortage and insufficient artillery training among the gunners, Santa Anna now weighed options. Therefore, he thought about what his commanders had said during the “long conference” in which opinions were freely voiced.

Finally, around noon on March 5, Santa Anna made his final decision: an all-out assault on the Alamo would take place the next morning. His snap decision was based, in large part, on newly received intelligence that Travis and the garrison were planning to either surrender or make an escape attempt on March 6. But it also was the right choice because the past two weeks of artillery bombardment had proved so ineffective. After all, General Jackson had decided much the same at Horseshoe Bend, ordering a frontal assault when the sturdy log breastwork of green pine stood solid after an impotent artillery bombardment.
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With the Sapper Battalion, Lieutenant Colonel De la Pena described the true situation—deteriorating rapidly and near mutinous—inside the Alamo: “Travis’s resistance was on the verge of being overcome; for several days his followers had been urging him to surrender [and] they had pressed him so hard that on the 5th he promised them that if no help arrived on that day they would surrender the next day or try to escape under cover of darkness.”
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Ironically, in view of what we now know of Houston’s inactivity, another factor in Santa Anna’s reasoning for deciding to launch an assault on the Alamo also exists. As revealed in a rare letter, Santa Anna felt that it was “necessary to storm the fortress before it was reinforced by General Houston who was coming to its relief.”
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One of the Sapper Battalion’s most promising officers, Lieutenant Colonel de la Pena, was amazed by the bold decision. Revealing the discontent among many high-ranking officers and enlisted men throughout the army, he believed that the Alamo garrison had been surprised because they “expected us to march on Goliad, the key position that would have opened the door to the principal theater of war [and] we should have attacked the enemy at the heart instead of weakening ourselves by going to Bejar, a garrison without any political or military importance.”
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But by making this abrupt decision, Santa Anna faced a central military quandary that was as timeless for a commander as it was seemingly insoluble: the inevitable consequence of high losses in assaulting a fortified position. But an unbending faith in the wisdom of using the tactical offensive to reap victory had never been higher in military circles on both sides of the Atlantic at this time. After all, Napoleon’s overwhelming battlefield successes had been won primarily by reliance upon the tactical offensive. From the military academy in Mexico City to West Point on the Hudson, it was emphasized as the key to success and preached as the gospel of victory. The most significant military theorist in the 1830s in America was West Point professor, Dennis Hart Mahan. To the young cadets at West Point, he advocated the wisdom of the tactical offensive, especially “the vigorous charge with the bayonet,” influencing an entire generation of Civil War leaders on both sides.
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Contrary to popular misconceptions and negative stereotypes that continue to endure to this day, Santa Anna was in fact not more focused on gorging on fine foods, consuming quality liquors, the excitement of cock-fighting, whoring with peasant women, or making love to his make- believe Tejano “wife,” than in developing a brilliant tactical plan to overwhelm the Alamo.

Santa Anna carefully positioned hundreds of his best troops around the old mission on the night of March 5, in preparation for striking the compound on each side with four columns: the old strategy of divide and conquer because the small garrison could not possibly defend every wall at once. He wisely ordered that “untrained recruits” remain in camp, placing his faith in reliable veterans who knew how to fight. The “First Column” was to be led by General Cós, while Colonel D. Francisco Dúque commanded the “Second Column.” Meanwhile, the “Third Column” would be commanded by Colonel D. Jose Maria Romero. Colonel Don Juan Baptisto Morales would command a force so diminutive that it was not even officially designated as the “Fourth Column” in the March 5 orders issued at 5:00 p.m. His target was the main gate in the center of the south wall, if only to pin down the defenders in that sector.
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For this general attack to reclaim both national and family honor to avenge Cós’ 1835 humiliation of losing San Antonio, Santa Anna possessed a special interest in restoring the image of his yet paroled brother-in-law, General Cós. In the Mexican Army’s ranks, General Cós was popular and admired, even though he did had some critics—such as General Manuel Fernández Castrillón—for having lost San Antonio to a relatively small number of untrained Texians. A fine officer himself, Colonel Pedro Delgado described Cós as a “noble and young Mexican general” of promise.
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