“Charge!” Bowie yelled, and the Texans surged forward, capturing the artillery pieces of the Mexicans. “Load ’em up and turn ’em around!” Bowie shouted. “Give them a taste of their own cannon.”
The Texans began pounding the retreating Mexican army with their own cannon. The Mexicans lost some sixty men, with about that many wounded. The Texans had one man killed and only a few wounded.
Bowie and his men were jubilant, but cautious. Bowie was under no illusions. He argued against attacking San Antonio, which was defended by General Cos’s force of more than fifteen hundred troops.
“Surround the town as best we can and settle in,” one of the commanders of the Texans, Ben Milam, said. “We’ll wait them out.”
It was October 28th.
“If we wait long,” Jamie said, after walking through the camp and listening to the men talk, “the spirit will wane.”
“You’d attack a much larger force, lad?” he was asked.
“I would, Indian style.”
Edward Burleson, an old Indian fighter from way back, agreed with Jamie. He was overruled and the volunteers settled in to wait.
“We’re making a mistake,” Jamie warned.
Bowie nodded his head in agreement but did not argue the command. He had other things on his mind.
“A bad mistake,” Ben Milam said sourly.
Bowie left camp to attend the convention in San Felipe, where he promptly got drunk and insulted one of the attendees, Anson Jones, who would later be governor of the Republic of Texas. One thing about Bowie: he didn’t give a tinker’s damn who he insulted.
The convention ended with Austin ordered to go to the United States to ask for money to pay for the war and to round up volunteers. Houston was appointed supreme commander of all the troops except those now garrisoned around San Antonio, the command of those men now given to Edward Burleson.
Back at San Antonio, conditions among the volunteers were terrible and getting worse. The men were running out of food and most did not have adequate clothing for the winter, which was hard upon them. Many of the men were thinking about the upcoming spring and the planting of their crops. Some left to return to hearth and home.
Burleson wanted to attack General Cos but his field officers overruled him and voted to withdraw the men.
“Hell, no!” Ben Milam said hotly. “I’ll not back up a damn inch!”
Jamie had spoken with several Americans who had just broken out of jail in San Antonio and they had told him that the morale among the Mexican defenders in the town was not good. He went to Ben Milam with the news.
“You’ll follow me, lad?” Ben asked.
“I will,” Jamie told him. “And many of the men still here will, too.”
“You’re a game one, Jamie.” Ben Milam then drew his sword and cut a line in the Texas dust. “Who will follow Ben Milam into San Antonio?” he threw out the challenge. “Those who will, step across this line.”
Several hundred men shouted back that they would and surged over the line to stand by Ben and Jamie. Then Francis Johnson and his men agreed to go with Ben.
Ben now had about three hundred volunteers ready to follow him into San Antonio and, as Ben put it, “Kick the pants off of General Cos.”
It was December 5th, 1835. Jamie had climbed up on a rooftop for a better view before entering the town. The first thing to catch his eye was the Mission of San Antonio de Valero.
What was it that local fellow said it was called? Yes, he remembered.
The Alamo.
Twenty-seven
Jamie, Bonham, and three other men did not enter the town with the two regular columns of about a hundred and fifty men each, commanded by Tom Milam and Francis Johnson. They were not keen on fighting all bunched up with others. Instead, when they got into the town, they smiled at each other and with a nod, parted company to fight the way they liked best: alone.
Jamie crouched just off the mouth of an alley, his bow ready, an arrow notched. He saw a fancy-dressed Mexican officer, a plume on his helmet, come prancing his horse up the alley. Jamie made a silent kill, the arrow driving deep into the man’s chest.
“Teniente?” a man called for his lieutenant.
Jamie waited, another arrow notched, ready to fly. The soldier stepped into view and his eyes widened in shock and horror when he spotted Jamie. The horror did not last long as the arrow from Jamie’s bow took the man in the chest. He fell, his rifle clattering on the stones.
Jamie ran to the mouth of the alley and almost ran into a huge Mexican sergeant. The sargento lifted his rifle, a smile on his lips. Jamie laid the hard bow across the man’s face, the blow knocking him to the ground, blood streaming from a broken nose. Jamie was on him, knife in hand. When the blade rose again, it was dripping crimson.
Jamie dragged the body out of the mouth of the alley and squatted down, assessing his situation. There were sounds of fierce fighting all around him, and the booming of cannon as the Mexicans fought the assault. But the Mexican gunners, for whatever reason, weren’t too proficient with the cannon; the cannonballs tore up more local homes than hurt any attackers.
Jamie made a dozen more kills that day, with arrow, knife, and musket ball. He was catching his breath late that afternoon when he heard his name called.
“Jamie!” Bonham called from behind him. Jamie turned. “Ben Milam wants you, right now.”
“Jamie,” Ben said, handing him a paper. “This is a report on the first day’s fighting. Take this to the provisional government. By the time you reach there, this scrap will be over. You go on home and visit for a time.” He winked at him. “I’ll see you later on, lad.”
Those were the last words he ever spoke to Jamie. Early on the third day of fighting, “Ol’ Ben,” as his volunteers called him, was shot in the head and died instantly. Francis Johnson took over total command. The Texans, enraged at the death of Ben Milam, fought like wild men. Over a hundred and fifty miles away, Jamie was handing the report to a member of the provisional government.
General Cos found many of his troops frightened and demoralized. Almost two hundred men, including some officers, had already deserted him. General Cos, fighting down his own growing panic, retreated to the Alamo mission, but the Texans used the captured cannon and hammered at the trapped troops. Late on the fifth day, Cos had had enough. He surrendered himself and over a thousand men to Burleson.
It was a glorious time for the Texas volunteers. Outnumbered, they had beaten a much larger force.
Burleson accepted General Cos’s surrender and then let the man go after Cos promised he would never again fight Texans. It was a promise he was to break, very soon.
Back in the Big Thicket country, with Kate and his family, Jamie could not believe it when he heard that General Cos and over a thousand of his men had been set free and even provided with guns and powder and shot to protect them against possible Indian attacks.
“We tweaked their noses, Kate,” he said to his wife. “Santa Anna will never forgive or forget that.”
But few agreed with that assessment. Only a handful of people felt the Mexican government would retaliate for the humiliation of General Cos at San Antonio. The provisional government issued a call for a new convention to be held at Washington-on-the-Brazos on March 1, 1836.
Houston pleaded with the Texas provisional government to send out a call for troops. He was ignored.
He was told the war was over. Texas had won. Mexico will give in to our demands for statehood within the Republic. Everybody go home.
* * *
But not everybody went home. A few felt sure that Mexico would send troops into Texas. A small force of Texas volunteers was left behind at the Alamo, with Green Jameson in charge of making the old mission more fortlike. Austin was in Louisiana, seeking loans and volunteers. Houston was trying to rally Texans to make ready for a fight few believed was coming; Houston also wanted to abandon the Alamo and blow it up, believing the place could not be defended. He sent Bowie and a small force to San Antonio to do just that. But Bowie found the men at the Alamo in good spirits and ready for a fight, so the Alamo remained intact, under the command of Colonel James Neil.