Some accounts say one hundred and eighty-three men died at the Alamo, and estimates are that Santa Anna had under his command about five thousand crack, seasoned combat troops, with very few unwilling conscripts. That so few could hold out against so many for so long still, to this day, evokes wild stirrings of passion, and not just in Texas, for the men who fought and died at the Alamo came from all over the young nation and either nineteen or twenty-one were from foreign countries.
Martin gripped Travis’s arm. “Bill, we shall not die in vain. I promise you.”
“No,” Travis said, rising to his height and straightening his uniform. “We most certainly shall not.”
As the first rays of the sun touched the land, Travis assembled the men and raised the new battle flag of the Alamo. The wild cheering caused an aide to run to Santa Anna’s quarters, where he’d been engaged in a bit of early morning dallying with his new bride.
Santa Anna was not happy at being interrupted. He was even less happy to learn that the volunteers from Gonzales had managed to slip through his lines and were now in place inside the walls of the old mission. He was unhappier still when he took his glass and viewed the new flag that now flew over the bastion of freedom and liberty in open defiance toward the Mexican government. The words on the flag made his stomach churn.
COME AND TAKE IT.
Santa Anna went into a wild fit of rage. He hurled the spy glass against the wall of the room and stomped around in his bare feet while his nervous aides tried to steer him away from the broken glass and sharp metal that now littered the floor from the impact against the wall.
He finally calmed down enough to issue some rational orders. “Increase the cannonade. I want a steady bombardment and I want to see some damage done.”
“Yes, General.”
“I want to see some Anglo blood spilled.”
“Yes, General.”
“Then do it!” Santa Anna yelled. He took a step and his bare foot landed on a shard of broken glass. Santa Anna screamed like a panther.
When he stopped jumping around and hollering, Santa Anna found a chair and sat down. He was livid with rage. “I want all patrols increased in size and all roads and trails and paths leading to the Alamo found and guarded. No one leaves and no one enters that accursed place. Is that fully understood by all?”
His aides assured him it was.
“It better be,” the general said menacingly.
* * *
The news had spread like a raging fire among the defenders inside the old walls. There would be no more help from the outside. Fannin was not coming. Houston was not coming. They were alone. They had been abandoned. Written off. Only death awaited them. Earlier that week, they had watched as a courier, Jim Bonham, had ridden out in the darkness with a final plea from Travis to Fannin to change his mind: For God’s sake, man, help us!
All day long the Mexican bombardment slammed the Alamo, some of the batteries less than four hundred yards away; the heavier pieces set back nearly half a mile. If the powder Travis had at his disposal had been worth a damn, the defenders could have played havoc with the Mexican artillery. But as one artilleryman summed up the quality of gunpowder for the cannons, “We might as well be usin’ dust from the road.”
The powder the men from Gonzales brought with them was distributed equally and the defenders of the Alamo settled down to await the charge they knew was coming. What thoughts they must have had as they watched the thousands of Mexican troops that surrounded them. Surely all shared thoughts of home and family that they all knew they would never see again.
Men not on duty along the walls gathered in small groups and spoke, when the booming of cannons would allow it, of friends and family on the outside, of good dogs and fast horses. They spoke of last year’s crops and of the plans they had for this year...
... Before they answered the call to arms.
History does not record any elaborate religious ceremonies being conducted by and for the men inside the walls of the Alamo. What praying there was — and surely there was a considerable amount of that — was done privately.
For several hours on that afternoon of the eighth day, the men of the Alamo were quiet; when they did speak, it was in hushed tones. Then, on the evening of the eighth day, just as afternoon was giving way to dusk, the men seemed to rouse; flagging spirits caught fire.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll sit around here lookin’ like a lost calf,” a man with rags wrapped around his feet said, rising from a squat. “Davy,” he shouted to Crockett, standing on a parapet. “Get your fiddle and bow and do us up a tune. I feel like dancin’.”
It must have been a sight. Davy struck up a slow reel and the man, whose parents had come over from Scotland, did a fling, his rag-covered feet kicking up dust in the plaza of the old mission. John McGregor got his bagpipes and joined in, and soon half a hundred men were dancing. Sam opened the door to Bowie’s quarters so he could see the revelry and the famous knife fighter smiled at the antics of the men.
“They might overwhelm us, Sam,” Bowie said. “But it won’t be due to any lack of courage of the men out yonder.”
The Mexican officers, upon hearing the music and the shouting, signaled for their cannons to stand down.
General Juan Amador galloped up and jumped from his horse. “What is happening?” he shouted.
“They are having a fiesta,” a young lieutenant said.
“A ... fiesta?” the general was astonished. “They are hours away from being dead men and they are having a dance?”
“Sí.”
What must the Mexicans have thought? Surely many must have thought: what manner of men are we facing? They are looking at total annihilation and still have the courage to sing and dance.
“Should General Santa Anna be informed of this development?” the young lieutenant asked.
“Good God, no!” General Amador was quick to say. He knew Santa Anna would fly into a screaming rage if he should learn of this. “No. Absolutely not. The general is... occupied at the moment.”
“Should we resume the shelling, then?”
General Amador was silent for a moment, listening to the fiddle and the pipes. He shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “Not yet.”
“But General! There are quite a number in the plaza of the mission. They are exposed. We could kill many of them.”
“We will kill them all very soon,” the general said, weariness in his voice. “Are we such a barbaric gathering here that you would deny dying men a few moments of pleasure?”
“No, General.”
“Then allow them what simple pleasures they can afford, Lieutenant. Resume the shelling when their festivities are concluded.”
“Yes, sir.”
General Amador turned, then stopped and looked back toward the faint sounds of music. He listened for a moment, sighed, shook his head, then swung into the saddle and rode back to the town.
A sergeant in command of a battery walked over to the lieutenant. “Loco,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the walls of the mission.
The lieutenant shook his head. “No, Sergeant. Just very brave men. Very brave men.”
Thirty-seven
The Ninth Day
March 2, 1836
Although the men of the Alamo never knew it, those delegates meeting at Washington-on-the-Brazos, on this date, officially rejected the Mexican constitution of 1824 and with a rousing cheer, adopted the Declaration of Independence, declaring Texas to be a Republic.
Had they somehow by magic learned of that decision, Davy Crockett would have more than likely spat on the ground and said, “Why, hellfire! We done that a week and a half ago! You boys is suckin’ hind tit!”