The Blood of Heroes: The 13-Day Struggle for the Alamo--and the Sacrifice That Forged a Nation (23 page)

Among the arrivals were three brothers named Taylor, all in their early twenties, who showed up ready to fight; they had been picking cotton on a farm more than two hundred miles east near the coast when the cry for volunteers reached them. They finished the job, then marched to Béxar. Captain Albert Martin returned from Gonzales, where he operated a store. Martin had been one of the first to join the Army of the People. A native of Providence, Rhode Island, he was a graduate of a respected military academy that emphasized a rigorous physical regimen. He had followed his father and brothers to Texas in early 1835. There Martin lost no time in aligning himself with the independence movement party, and organized a local militia, the Gonzales Ranging Company of Mounted Volunteers. During the siege of Béxar he had somehow cut his foot with an ax and had been forced to return home to heal. Now he was back.

Travis continued to dispatch couriers almost daily with requests for men, ammunition, and provisions. On February 17 he sent James Bonham to Goliad, beseeching James Fannin once more to move all or most of his command to Béxar. Bonham also carried Jameson’s latest report on the Alamo’s condition, which he would deliver to Governor Smith in San Felipe.

Colonel Fannin, though, would be of no help. Soon after reaching Goliad with his four hundred men on February 12, he began to experience a crisis of confidence. The old Spanish presidio there sat on a rocky hill on the south side of the San Antonio River, overlooking a strategic ford. Its grounds encompassed about three acres, and its ten-foot-high wall was much better fortified than the Alamo; it had been designed as a stronghold from the beginning. But while his men worked to strengthen the old fort, Fannin began to dither. On February 15, he finally received official word from the General Council to abandon the Matamoros plan and “occupy such points as you may in your opinion deem most advantageous,” along with a few additional vaguely worded suggestions. “Fortify & defend Goliad and Bexar if any opportunity fairly offers,” he was advised. “Now obey any orders you may deem Expedient.” Robinson and the council gave him free rein to command—indeed, the acting governor decreed that “all former orders given by my predecessor, Gen. Houston, or myself, are so far countermanded,” and even went further: he co-opted Houston’s authority by signing the letter “Acting Governor and Commander in Chief of the Army of Texas.” Just a few days before, Fannin had been chomping at the bit to assume such power. Now he had second thoughts. He immediately dashed off a reply to Robinson. “I do not desire any command, and particularly that of chief,” he wrote.

I feel, I
know,
if you and the council do not, that I am incompetent. Fortune, and brave soldiers, may favour me and save the State, and establish for me a reputation far beyond my deserts. I do not covet, and I do earnestly ask of you, and any real friend, to relieve me, and make a selection of one possessing all the requisites of a Commander…. I would feel truly happy to be in the bosom of my family, and rid of the burden imposed on me.

Two days later Fannin requested approval to make his headquarters at Béxar per Travis’s suggestion. But Robinson and his two-man advisory board did not approve his plan, and Fannin had no choice but to remain at Goliad and redouble his fortification efforts.

While Fannin’s self-confidence—and the confidence of his men in their commander—dwindled, Travis continued to send riders out of Béxar in search of aid. On February 19, he dispatched Captain James L. Vaughan, a veteran of the battle of Béxar, on a risky recruiting trip to the Rio Grande area. Vaughan’s mission was to visit several towns south of the river from Guerrero all the way down to Matamoros, which he hoped would be in rebel hands by then. James Grant and others had spread stories of unrest in the region, and Vaughan was directed to sign up as many recruits as possible and send them to Béxar. Travis also sent two Gonzales men, Byrd Lockhart and Andrew Sowell, to their hometown for provisions.

Late in the evening of Saturday, February 20, a young Tejano named Blas Herrera rode into town from the southwest and reported to his cousin, Juan Seguín. Herrera had left the Rio Grande two and a half days before, riding steadily through 145 miles of semidesert. Seguín went straight to Travis when he heard Herrera’s report. Assured of the young man’s reliability, Travis immediately called a council of war in his room. Before the garrison’s officer corps and a few others, Herrera told them what he had seen: a large army, including many mounted men, crossing the Rio Grande. As far as he could tell, the cavalry planned to force-march to Béxar to take the garrison by surprise.

Herrera’s report led to much discussion. Some thought it the most authentic intelligence yet received. And it was clear that Seguín believed him. But the opinion of the men was divided. Most labeled this just another wild rumor, like those that reached Béxar almost every day—just one more Tejano false alarm. The meeting broke up before a clear decision could be made. But Travis sent out riders to gather up men on furlough in the area, such as David Cummings, a young surveyor who, with several others, was encamped on Cibolo Creek, staking out a land claim. And though some of the Americans were not convinced by Herrera’s story, his relatives were; the Seguín family left town the next morning. Other
bexareños
followed.

The work continued through a wet and overcast Monday, February 22—a day special to the American-born rebels. The date marked the birth of George Washington, the patron saint of the republic to the north, who was just as popular and inspiring to these “sons of ’76” in view of their current enterprise. Despite intermittent thunderstorms throughout the day, the men would be attending a fandango in town that evening, and planned to celebrate the occasion properly—and so did the three dozen or so volunteers originally from the British Isles, who had no intention of letting history get in the way of a good time. If the reports of Santa Anna’s army were true, it might be the last chance they would have to let loose for a long time.

ELEVEN

Circunvalado

Béxar was held by the enemy, and it was necessary to open the door to our future operations by taking it.

G
ENERAL
S
ANTA
A
NNA

T
he men of the garrison celebrated George Washington’s birthday until very late, eating, drinking, smoking the locals’ cornshuck cigarettes, dancing, and romancing the black-eyed beauties of Béxar. Most of the artillerymen bunking in the Alamo eventually made their way down Potrero Street and across the narrow footbridge and up into the old mission. The rest of the rebels returned to their quarters in town or found some shelter to sleep off the effects of tequila, mescal, and corn liquor. Some of them had barely flopped into their blankets at dawn on Tuesday when they were awakened by a frenzy of noise and activity unusual for that early hour. The townspeople were “in quite an unusual stir,” remembered John Sutherland:

The citizens of every class were hurrying to and fro through the streets, with obvious signs of excitement. Houses were being emptied, and other contents put into carts, and hauled off. Such of the poorer class, who had no better mode of conveyance, were shouldering their effects, and leaving on foot.

When several
bexareños
were detained for questioning, they claimed to be going out to the country to prepare their fields for the summer’s crop. Travis issued orders that no further citizens be allowed to leave, hoping to discourage the steady exodus with threats of more drastic measures, to no effect.

At last, near noon, came an explanation for the commotion. A friendly Mexican secretly informed Travis that on the previous night, while the fandango was in full swing, the Mexican cavalry had reached a point just a few hours’ ride west of town.

Despite this seeming corroboration of the story told by Blas Herrera just a few days before, Travis was still skeptical. They had been hearing similar stories for weeks. As a precaution he borrowed a mount from Sutherland, who had two with him, and sent a man to drive the main horse herd, grazing a few miles east of town on the Salado River, back to town. He also posted a sentinel in the bell tower of the San Fernando church, the highest spot in town. Travis and Sutherland clambered up there with the soldier, but seeing nothing suspicious, climbed back down. Travis ordered the man to ring the bell at any sign of enemy activity.

Thirty minutes later the church bell rang out, and the lookout shouted, “The enemy is in view!” Sutherland ran across the plaza from his friend Nat Lewis’s store to where a crowd was gathering next to the church. Several men scrambled up the scaffold and looked to the west. They saw nothing, and dismissed it as a false alarm. The sentinel insisted he had seen soldiers. “They were hid by the mesquite bushes,” he said.

Sutherland proposed to ride west to the Alazán Hills, about a mile and a half away, if someone who knew the country would accompany him. Garrison storekeeper John W. Smith, “El Colorado,” volunteered. He was 6 feet 1 inch and a former county sheriff in Missouri—a good man to have by your side. And he knew the area well, having lived in Béxar for a decade. Sutherland told Travis that if they returned at any gait but a walk, it would be a sure sign that they had seen the enemy.

They splashed across the fifteen-feet-wide San Pedro Creek and trotted past barren cornfields and the Campo Santo burial ground and out of town along muddy Calle Real, the street that became El Camino Real.

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON
of the twenty-second, the weather had again conspired against Santa Anna’s Army of Operations. A wave of heavy rain hit the area and transformed the gentle Medina River into a raging torrent. Part of the battalion had already crossed the water, but the ammunition train was left on the opposite bank. At five p.m., despite His Excellency’s fury at the decision, Ramírez y Sesma gave the order to stand down. The downpour continued until midnight, when it finally eased up. Ramírez y Sesma led his 160 lancers out of camp soon after.

The rest of the brigade marched out early the next morning, with Santa Anna in the vanguard. They reached a trickle of water called Alazán Creek just after noon. Beyond the stream rose low hills covered with chaparral and mesquite trees. A mile and a half further lay the center of town.

To the surprise of everyone, they found Ramírez y Sesma and his lancers waiting. He had reached the creek at seven a.m., but received conflicting reports from sympathetic
bexareños
and a captured spy. Some gave him directions on where to fall upon the rebels, most of whom had remained in town. But the spy told him the Texians knew of his presence and were planning an attack at that very moment. Ramírez y Sesma, uncharacteristically paralyzed, decided to remain in place until the rest of the brigade arrived.

Santa Anna knew that half the rebels were living in the old mission compound on the east side of town, but that many others were staying in the barracks on Military Plaza and in houses in the area. If he moved fast, there was still a chance he could seize some of them. His Excellency issued orders to march. He dispatched General Ventura Mora to lead his Dolores Cavalry Regiment and some infantrymen and swing down below Béxar to Mission Concepción, the strongest in the chain, to make sure no Texians were there—it was better fortified than the Alamo, and the rebels might have moved down there. To Colonel José Vicente Miñón, he awarded the honor of leading a group of sixty
cazadores
from the Matamoros Battalion into town ahead of the brigade, to take the church. Tall and lean, the Spanish-born Miñón, a twenty-year veteran of the army, was a good choice: as a young second lieutenant during the revolution against Spain, he had led thirty men against four hundred at Querétaro and had taken the town after an all-day battle. His exploits made him a national hero. He had also distinguished himself at Zacatecas the previous May.

While his
soldados
checked their muskets and rifles and prepared for battle, El Presidente donned his finest uniform, belted on his fanciest sword, grasped his gold-plated saddle, and swung onto his horse. It was time to lead his army.

S
UTHERLAND AND
S
MITH GUIDED THEIR
horses up the low hill, eventually reaching the crest and peering down on Alazán Creek. Less than 150 yards below them were more than a thousand Mexican soldiers. The sun flashed off the brass buckles of their uniforms and arms. Hundreds of mounted men gripped the long, sturdy lances that were so effective in open-field combat.

The two men wheeled and galloped back down the slope. Rain had fallen the night before, and the horses began to slip on the trail. Sutherland’s was smoothly shod, and before they had gone fifty yards tumbled to the ground, throwing its rider ahead and then rolling across his knees. Smith reined in and jumped down. Fortunately Sutherland was not a large man, and Smith managed to pull him out from under his horse. They remounted and loped into town.

Their pace sent the desired message. The church bell was clanging and rebels and townspeople alike were hurrying through the streets when they galloped through Military Plaza and past the church into Main Plaza, where they ran into David Crockett on horseback, heading their way to reconnoiter himself. He told them that Travis was moving his headquarters and the entire garrison to the Alamo. Smith left for his house. Crockett and Sutherland rode over to the mission and made their way to Travis’s new quarters in the Trevino family house, along the west wall. As Sutherland dismounted, his right knee gave way and he fell to the ground. His left arm and neck were also injured. Crockett helped him inside, where they found Travis dashing off a brief message to Andrew Ponton, the
alcalde
of Gonzales. He wasted not a word.