Meanwhile, the provisional government’s legislative council in San Felipe came up with a strange idea to invade the Mexican city of Matamoros. Their reasoning behind this was that most of the city’s population despised Santa Anna and would certainly embrace and support a Texas expeditionary force. Houston thought the scheme a nutty one and refused to have anything to do with it. So the council picked James Fannin to command the force and was named a colonel. Fannin pulled out over two hundred men from the San Antonio area. That left Neil with only about a hundred men to defend the Alamo. Fannin had also stripped the place of most of its supplies, leaving Neil with little food and no medicines.
Governor Henry Smith was furious and a big row now developed between the council and the governor’s office, with cuss words flying back and forth. The governor claimed that he was in charge and the council claimed they were in charge. Chaos reigned when calm should have been the order of the day.
Back east, Jamie Ian MacCallister packed up a few things, kissed Kate and the children, and rode west, soon linking up with a few volunteers who felt as Houston did.
Houston was in charge of the Texas army, but Fannin took his orders from the council and Houston had no authority over him. Colonel Fannin blissfully went about the business of getting his troops ready to invade Matamoros. But Houston was a charmer, and he rode to Goliad and spoke to the men encamped there.
“They’ll be plenty of fighting for all, boys,” he told them. “We don’t need to go off half-cocked and split our forces.”
He convinced enough of the men so that for the moment, the plan to invade Matamoros was tabled.
Fannin was furious but there was nothing he could do about the situation except fume and pout. Which he did, quite well and often.
Jamie had paused in Nacogdoches and had linked up with Davy Crockett and his Tennessee Mounted Volunteers.
A few weeks earlier, Travis had been commissioned by Governor Smith to put together a force and quickly march to the Alamo. Upon arrival, Colonel James Neil left because of illness in his family and Travis and Bowie immediately started arguing about who was in command. When they weren’t arguing, they were in agreement on one point: they had to have reinforcements and they sent out messages to that effect. But Colonel Fannin, still smarting over Houston’s interference with his men and his grand plan, and still dreaming of capturing Matamoros, refused to allow any of the men in his command to go to the Alamo.
But Crockett was on the way, as were the First Company of Volunteers from New Orleans. And from all over Texas, in small groups and alone, men were riding toward the Alamo, to defend the dream of liberty.
* * *
When they camped each night, Jamie was amused by the antics and the stories from Davy Crockett and his Tennessee boys. To Jamie, Crockett seemed an unlikely choice to be elected to the United States Congress, but he certainly had been elected, in 1827, ’29, and ’33. And he came close to being nominated for the vice president’s slot on the Whig ticket.
“Last year,” Crockett told Jamie, “Ol’ Andy Jackson conspired agin me and refused to support me. So I told ’em all to go to hell... among other places. I was goin to Texas. And by God, here I am.”
“Why?” Jamie asked.
Davy chuckled. “To fight, boy. To fight for freedom. Why are you here?”
Jamie smiled, the light from the dancing flames of the campfire highlighting his strong face. “To fight, Mr. Crockett.”
Crockett’s men laughed at that and Jamie looked around at the circled group.
“Just Davy, Jamie,” Crockett said. “My daddy were Mr. Crockett. Tell me about Bowie and Travis.”
“They don’t much like each other, but they’ll fight side by side.”
“I ’spect we’ll all fight side by side, Jamie,” Davy said, becoming serious. “And mightily outnumbered we’ll be, too, I’m thinkin’.”
That was understating it somewhat. The defenders of the Alamo would be outnumbered by over forty to one.
The camp fell silent as the men rolled up in their blankets against the cold of the night. Most of them stared at the stars above for a time, thinking of what they had left behind them, and wondering what lay ahead of them. Finally the fire burned down to dying coals and the men slept.
* * *
Far to the south, General Santa Anna was massing some six thousand men, all highly professional and solidly trained combat soldiers. He had spent millions building his army. Another advance force of more than fifteen hundred men, under the command of General Joaquin Ramirez y Sesma was already in place, bivouacked near Laredo. Santa Anna’s troops were gathering near Saltillo, some two hundred miles south of the Rio Grande.
Santa Anna’s plan was a simple one. He was going to march his troops all the way to the Sabine River, using the old El Camino Real — the Spanish Road — and teach these damn Texans a hard lesson along the way. The route he had chosen would take him through San Antonio, but he did not expect any trouble there, or anywhere else along the way, for that matter. He was that confident.
* * *
With Bowie now at the Alamo, the mood of those defenders in place soared. Bowie had many friends in San Antonio and soon they were bringing welcome food and much needed warm clothing to the men behind the walls. One of Bowie’s men, James Bonham — no relation to Jamie’s friend who had returned south upon receiving orders from his boss, Louis Fontaine — suggested that a resolution be drawn up, in which the defenders of the Alamo would demand the Texas provisional government to send supplies. Everyone present signed it... for all the good it would do them, which, when it came, was damn little and too late.
Crockett sent Jamie on ahead with the news that help was coming and Bowie and Travis put their daily differences aside and warmly greeted the young man.
“How many men, lad?” Travis asked.
“About fifteen, sir.”
Both Travis and Bowie blinked. Bowie spoke first. “Fifteen, Jamie?”
“Yes, sir. All sharpshooters and spoiling for a fight.”
Travis turned, a numb expression on his face. He walked off, muttering, “Fifteen?”
Jamie looked at Bowie. “Are you well, sir?”
“I’m fine, Jamie!” Bowie clasped Jamie’s strong arms. “Just fine.”
But he was not. Bowie was, in reality, a very sick man and probably dying. He coughed often and sometimes brought up blood with the phlegm. He more than likely had tuberculosis and adding to that, might have been in the grips of typhoid and pneumonia, for the winter had been brutally cold and none of the men were adequately dressed. Ever since he’d arrived at the Alamo, he had annoyed Travis by leading drunken and oftentimes rowdy parades up and down the streets and into the cantinas of San Antonio. Travis wrote lengthy reports about Jim Bowie’s drunken behavior. Bowie knew of the reports and laughed them off. But he did agree, much to the surprise of Travis, to share command of the Alamo. Bowie would command the volunteers, and Travis would be in charge of the regulars... who had yet to receive a penny’s worth of pay. They would never be paid, but they would pay, in blood. Their own.
“When will Crockett arrive, Jamie?” Bowie asked.
Jamie smiled. “Before the fight starts, Jim. You may be sure of that.”