Part 13

The next morning Davy found the Bee-Hunter in the little parlor of the inn, talking with a girl of about eighteen. Davy says she was as lovely as the wild-flowers of the prairie, and when she courtesied to Davy, and looked farewell into her lover’s face, the old scout and hunter turned away with tears in his eyes. A gourd for water, a pocket Bible, and some other little tokens of her thoughtfulness and love, she gave to the handsome recruit and he was ready to go.

In front of the inn, Crockett made a short speech before mounting his little mustang. Standing with head uncovered, he said at last:

“I will die, if I must, with my ‘Betsy’ in my arms. No! I will not die! I’ll grin down the walls of the Alamo, and we’ll lick up the Mexicans like fine salt!”

The Bee-Hunter then came out, followed by the weeping girl. He said good-by to his friends who surrounded him, took Kate, his sweetheart, to his heart, kissed her farewell, and leaped upon his horse. As he rode away he sang in a clear, exultant voice, as if to cheer his listeners:

“Saddled and bridled and booted rode he―― A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee.”

A soft and tremulous strain, like an echo of his song, came to their ears from Kate’s dear lips, as if in prophecy:

“But hame came the saddle, all bluidy to see; And hame came the steed, but hame never came he!”

The three men travelled steadily through great forests of hardwood, with occasional cane-brakes along the many streams. They saw much game, but dared not do any hunting, for fear of losing their way. On the second day the Trinity River was reached, seventy miles southwest, near where the town of Crockett stands. The next night they took shelter from a “norther” in the miserable cabin of a poor white woman, who generously gave them part of her scanty store. Here they found two recruits.

“While we were securing our horses for the night,” the story runs, “we saw two men approaching on foot. They were both armed with rifles and hunting-knives, and I must say they were about the roughest samples I had ever seen. One was a man about fifty years old, tall and raw-boned. He was dressed in a sailor’s round jacket, with a tarpaulin hat on his head. His whiskers nearly covered his face, and there was a deep scar across his forehead. His companion, considerably younger, was bareheaded, and clad in a deer-skin dress made after our fashion. Though he was not much darker than the old man, I perceived that he was an Indian.”

These men were on the way to the front, and they agreed to accompany Davy’s little party. The Indian surprised them by producing a brace of rabbits from his bag, and a good supper was soon prepared, consisting of fried bacon and rabbit, with onions. Thimblerig, for some unaccountable reason, objected to eating with the bewhiskered party, who had been, so the Bee-Hunter said, at one time a pirate. Overhearing some of his talk to this effect, the old salt fixed his eye on Thimblerig, drew his long hunting-knife from its sheath, and placed it by his own plate, saying, “Stranger, I think you had better take a seat and have some supper.” The gambler looked at the Pirate, then at the knife, and his scruples were put aside.

The next day they saw a large drove of buffalo, and the whole party, with the exception of the Pirate, followed them. At the end of two hours Davy found himself alone on the prairies, his tiny mustang nearly dead with exhaustion, and himself little better off. Too tired to think of going on, Davy prepared to camp near a stream where a fallen tree offered shelter from the wind. As he was inspecting the place, he saw a great mountain lion about to spring upon him. A shot from “Betsy” failed to settle the creature, and it was only after a desperate fight that Davy succeeded in killing the savage animal with his hunting-knife. By this time he wanted sleep, and it was just before the first streak of dawn that he awoke, stiff with cold and sore from the clawing he had received from the lion, that now lay near him upon the ground. The night was clear and the stars bright, and over in the east was the magnificent spectacle of Halley’s comet, sweeping the skies for thirty degrees with its luminous train――a grand forerunner of the great events to follow.

As the day came on, Davy shot a wild goose, upon the little river, and made a hearty breakfast. He was now without his mustang, as the cunning creature, after feigning more fatigue than it felt, had left him in the lurch. As he plodded along, hoping that the stream would lead him to some trail, there came all at once in sight a party of about fifty Comanches, with lances that glittered in the sunlight. They came like a whirlwind until almost upon him, and then, dividing to each side as if by magic, surrounded him. Davy knew enough Spanish to rejoice when the chief used the words, “_Mucho amigo, mucho amigo_,” and showed a friendly countenance. When he saw the cougar that Davy had killed with his knife, he was eager to adopt the hunter into the tribe, and when the scout declined the honor, the chief insisted on escorting him as far as the place where the San Antonio trail crossed the Colorado. They reached this the second day, and just before they came to the river a thin spiral of smoke was seen through the trees. Riding ahead with the chief, Davy saw Thimblerig, practising his old game upon the crown of his great white hat. As the whole party swooped down on him with yells enough to scare the bravest, the gambler was only saved from dropping dead by the sight of Davy’s face. By the gift of a Bowie knife, Davy procured fresh horses from the Indians; and after a powwow and a smoke, the Comanches left them, and he again took up the journey to San Antonio with his single companion.

Within twenty-four hours they fell in with the Bee-Hunter, the Pirate, and the Indian, making a party of five. When about twenty miles from San Antonio they were met by a number of mounted Mexicans. Shots were exchanged, whereupon the Mexicans disappeared in a cloud of dust. As the scouts entered San Antonio, they saw with delight the Texan flag upon the Alamo. General Cos, Santa Anna’s brother-in-law, had surrendered the old chapel-fortress, with its four-foot walls, after losing three hundred men. He had signed a parole, and his seventeen hundred Mexican soldiers were prisoners, disarmed, and on their way across the Rio Grande. As Crockett and his companions rode up to the Alamo and made themselves known, the gates were opened, and they entered amid the cheers of the victorious garrison.

For several weeks there was a state of doubt as to the intentions of Santa Anna. Davy was kept busy writing to his friends regarding supplies and future plans. The Bee-Hunter, the Pirate, the Indian, and Thimblerig recognized him as their leader, and kept ready to answer his call.

XXII.

THE ALAMO BESIEGED

The city of San Antonio de Bejar――The crumbling monuments of Spanish supremacy――A place of surpassing interest to travellers――The spirit of revenge――The morning of Washington’s Birthday, 1836――Davy, the scout once more, watches the coming of Santa Anna and four thousand men――The Alamo prepares for the last struggle――The Bee-Hunter salutes the Lone Star flag――The Pirate goes for help to Goliad――But one man deserts the garrison of the Alamo――The beginning of the siege on February 24th――Thimblerig is struck by a bullet, and takes revenge――The Pirate is seen returning, pursued by Mexicans, and the Bee-Hunter leads a party to his relief――The Pirate dies of a bullet wound at the gates of the fort, and the Bee-Hunter is fatally injured――The Bee-Hunter’s death――Farewell to Kate of Nacogdoches!――The Red Flag on the walls of the San Fernando church――Orders to the Mexican Army for the assault.

It is not possible here to repeat the history of San Antonio de Bejar. As the site of crumbling monuments of early American history, it has no rival. The Alamo, last remnant of the Mission that was at one time at San Ildefonso, near Santa Fé, is the restored chapel of its Brotherhood. Its massive walls are the same that have met the many shocks of battle for two hundred years. There the wild Apaches and Comanches found a stronghold to check their ravages, and there the equally savage men of fairer skins slaughtered each other with grim delight. When the Missions of the Concepcion, of San José, of San Juan, of San Francis of the Sword, now crumbling to inevitable decay, shall be only mounds in the midst of stunted trees and matted vines, when the exquisite carvings of their broad façades shall have turned to dust again, the traveller will stand before the Alamo with reverence, and enter, with uncovered head, the dim recesses of this altar-place of liberty.

When Davy Crockett and his recruits first saw its walls, the spirit of revenge was rife. The butchery at Tampico of thirty American adventurers, captured in the schooner _Mary Jane_, in spite of the one hundred thousand dollar ransom offered, and the murder of Governor Salcedo, two other Mexican Governors, and a dozen officers and hidalgos, by Gutierrez and Delgado, Mexican rebels who were allied with a force of Americans camped about the Alamo, had wrought the racial hatred to a frenzy. Every man longed for battle, and the extinction of the last vestige of the power of the enemy. When news came that Santa Anna and four thousand Mexicans were on the way, the cowards faded from sight, knowing that war was to be under the Red Flag, and without quarter.

On the morning of Washington’s Birthday, 1836, Davy and the Bee-Hunter, with a dozen of the roughest riders that ever fought Apaches on the plains, sat their saddles upon a mesquite-covered hill a few miles south of the twin towers of the Mission de La Concepcion, watching a blur of dust that lay upon the hills. Suddenly there flashed upon their sight the glitter of bayonets and of silver eagles perched above waving flags. As they stood intent, the roll of drums came to their ears, and over the winding river rang the bugle calls of the hurrying hosts. Santa Anna was within twenty miles of the Alamo, and the Americans’ horses were put to their utmost speed as they raced towards the town with the long-expected tidings.

As the scouting party clattered through the crooked streets, hundreds of the inhabitants followed to hear the news they brought. At the gates of the fortress were Bowie, Travis, and more than one hundred and fifty others whose names are on the roll of “the Battle Dead.” Every preparation had been made for the struggle, but both ammunition and food were scarce. Their hopes were placed upon the expected relief by the forces under command of Colonel Fannin at Goliad.

In the bright morning light every man stood with uncovered head as the flag bearing one great star with the name “TEXAS” between its points went bravely to the top of the garrison staff. As its colors rippled in beauty overhead, the voice of the Bee-Hunter broke into song, thrilling with new courage the souls of the devoted band:

“Up with your banner, Freedom! Thy champions cling to thee! They follow where you lead them―― To death or victory. Through all the smoke and flame of war Forever shines the Single Star!”

During the afternoon of this day, or perhaps after dark, the Pirate, the Indian Hunter, and two others volunteered to carry an urgent appeal to Fannin, who was supposed to be about one hundred miles away. They had scarcely made their way out of the fort when thirty men from Gonzales came in, tired and dusty, after eluding the rapidly concentrating forces of Santa Anna.

There were now in the garrison one hundred and eighty-seven men and a few women and children, among them the wife of Lieutenant Dickinson. When Davy and his party arrived with the news of Santa Anna’s approach, there was not a man who could not have escaped; yet when Travis asked who would stand by him to the last, only one man turned away. His name is known, but it has been borne by braver men, so let us judge him with what leniency we may. The others awaited the supreme hour of battle with a courage that can only animate the defenders of their faith in a righteous cause.

On the 24th, having invested the fortress, the Mexicans planted a battery near the San Antonio River, three hundred and fifty yards away, and began a cannonade. Occasionally a bit of the parapet would be clipped, but most of the shots were stopped by the thick adobe walls. The riflemen in the fort now began their deadly work, and one by one the gunners fell beside their pieces. At one of the batteries, placed where it commanded the gates of the Alamo, a score of Mexicans lay dead and dying before the position was abandoned. The Americans wasted little powder in working the fourteen small cannon about the fort. The scanty supply could be used to better advantage in their long rifles. The Mexicans fired continually from behind every house and tree, and it was dangerous to be seen above the walls.

During the afternoon of the 24th, Thimblerig was struck by a three-ounce leaden ball, after it had glanced from the parapet. It was a painful but not dangerous wound, and Davy dressed it as best he could. When he advised Thimblerig to keep the missile as a souvenir, the latter said that he hoped to be shot again if he did. He proceeded to cut it up into slugs, wherewith to pay his debts to the enemy.

Before daylight of the 25th two more batteries were planted about the Alamo, and the situation grew serious. In spite of the deadly aim with which the defenders killed or wounded the men who served the pieces, their places were immediately filled by others, for there were thousands at Santa Anna’s command. During the 25th, Thimblerig is said to have paid his debts, with interest, by dropping four Mexicans with the slugs he had made from the bullet which had struck him.

On the 26th Colonel Bowie fell ill with typhoid, and was unable to leave his bed. He is said to have been badly injured from a fall just before this, but even in his delirium he seems to have had no thought but to direct and cheer the smoke-grimed garrison. The Bee-Hunter kept every one in good heart with his jests and songs and his unfailing spirits. If he thought of Kate, so far away, he gave no sign. During the afternoon he led a sortie from the rear stockade about the fort, for the purpose of obtaining wood and water. Before they could return they were seen by some of General Sesma’s men, and a running fight followed. The Bible in the Bee-Hunter’s pocket, which had been Kate’s last gift, was struck by a bullet, but it glanced away without harming him. As he fell asleep, Davy heard the girl’s name upon his lips.

The appeal to the inhabitants of San Antonio for assistance, issued by Travis upon the 24th, had not brought any volunteers, but food and other supplies were promised. To obtain these it was necessary to send out picked men after dark, and considerable forage and grain was brought in during the 28th and 29th. There took place among the enemy about this time certain movements that might have been caused by the approach of Colonel Fannin’s command. For awhile, the slightest hope was enough to raise the spirits of the garrison. Every day gained made the possibility of relief seem more probable. But as night after night fell about the city, with the enemy’s lines drawing ever closer, it was hard to fight with a cheerful faith.

On the 4th of March, when the sun was low, a man was seen to the westward of the fort, running towards the gate of the stockade, and pursued by several Mexicans. He was almost at once recognized as the Pirate, who had been one of the men sent in search of relief from Goliad. Crockett, Thimblerig, and the Indian were the first to rush to his aid. As they opened the gate of the stockade a dozen men followed them, and a fierce hand-to-hand fight took place. Another sortie was made from the stockade, and with the help of the men in this party, they were able at last to repulse the enemy. Eight Mexicans were killed, but the Americans had also fared badly. The Pirate and the Bee-Hunter were mortally wounded, and Davy had a terrible sabre-cut across his forehead.

The old Pirate died without a word, just as they entered the gate. His story was never known. Davy saw the young Bee-Hunter laid carefully in his bed, and helped to dress the wound in his side. Until midnight he lay without signs of the pain he endured, and then he called for Colonel Crockett. Davy asked if there was anything he could do for him. He shook his head with a sigh that was like a sob. “Poor Kate! Poor Kate!” he exclaimed. “Her words were only too true.” For a moment he was silent, and then in a low, clear voice he sang the last words he had heard from her lips:

“But hame cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see, And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.”

He spoke no more, and a few minutes afterwards breathed his last.

In the morning light of the 5th of March the Red Flag fluttered in silence above the old San Fernando church. No quarter was to be expected, and there was little hope of relief, but there was still a chance to escape. Travis again asked if there were any who wished to go, but not a man showed the white feather. Every possible preparation was made for the expected assault. During the afternoon a Comanche arrow was sent into the fort by some friendly person in the city, with a copy of the following proclamation attached. This proclamation had just been issued to the army, and is a matter of record:

OFFICIAL ORDER

The reserves will be composed of the battalions of Sappers and Miners and five companies of the Grenadiers of the Matamoras, Jimenez, and Aldamas battalions of regulars, and of the Toluca and San Luis battalions of volunteers.

The reserve will be commanded by the General-in-Chief (Santa Anna) in person, at the time of making the attack, but these forces will be organized by Colonel Don Agustin Amat, under whose control they will remain from this evening, and who will conduct them to the point which will be designated to him at the proper time.

The first column will be provided with ten scaling-ladders, two crowbars, and two axes; the second will be provided with the same quantity; the third with six, and the fourth with two. The men carrying ladders will sling their guns over their shoulders, so as to leave them entirely free to place their ladders wherever directed.

Grenadier and Cavalry companies will be supplied with six packages of cartridges to the man; the infantry company with four, with two extra flints. The latter will not be encumbered with overcoats, blankets, or anything which will prevent rapidity in their movements. All caps will be provided with chin-straps. Corps commanders will pay particular attention to this provision, and are also required to see that their men are provided with shoes or other covering for their feet. The men of the attacking column will retire to rest at sundown, preparatory to moving at midnight.

Men not well drilled will remain at their quarters.

All arms, particularly bayonets, must be put into the best condition.

At the rising of the moon the riflemen of the San Luis reserve battalion of volunteers will retire to their quarters, leaving the points they cover along the line, and will thereupon put their equipage in readiness.

The cavalry, under command of General Don Ramirez y Sesma, will occupy the Alameda, and saddle up at three o’clock in the morning. Their duty will be to prevent the escape of any of the enemy and to watch the camp.

The honor of the nation and of the army being involved in the contest with the desperate foreigners in our front, His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief expects that each man will perform his duty and contribute his share in securing a day of glory for his country, and of honor to the Federal Government, which will be proud to honor the brave men who shall distinguish themselves by feats of valor.

By command:

JUAN VALENTINE AMADOR.

XXIII.

THE MEXICANS’ CHARGE

The devoted little band makes ready to measure swords with their enemies――The bugle blows as the Sabbath breaks――The Mexicans charge the Alamo with two thousand five hundred men――A terrible slaughter outside the walls――The death of Colonel Travis――The scaling of the parapets, and the death struggles in the fort――Bayonets, bowie-knives, and clubbed rifles――Where Davy Crockett fell fighting to the last――The silver bugle blows again――The end has come――The slaughter of the prisoners――The after scenes――“Thermopylæ had its messenger of defeat; the Alamo had none.”

It was radiant spring-time when Davy leaned upon his rifle and looked across the Texas plains and over the hills that rose to the north and east of the valley. He had read the grim orders for the expected assault as he might have read an unimportant order of the day. No comments had been heard as the proclamation passed from hand to hand. On the walls of the Alamo and the tops of the flanking stockades were fourteen guns loaded with grape and slugs, ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. Every man was supplied with bullets and a full powder-horn.

Some of the garrison were Mexicans, fighting for the common cause. These were armed with rifles carrying bayonets. They were not marksmen or experts in rapid firing, but they knew their fate if defeated, and were relied upon to resist to the last.

A hush fell over all the land as the sun went down, touching with tender beauty the early verdure of the plains. In the cottonwoods finches sung their vesper songs, and the redbirds piped their plaintive calls. The melody of the thrushes came from the willows along the river’s banks, so sweet and far-away that Davy seemed to stand once more by the winding current of the Obion. The odor of cedar was in the air as the people of the city prepared their evening meals over fires of the fragrant wood. The softened tones of the vesper bells came from the Mission towers, full of an infinite peace and calm, and the day merged into night, and the stars came out, and the birds were still. So ended the 5th of March at San Antonio de Bejar.

The fitful sleep of the garrison came to an end when word was passed around that activity had begun in the camp of the Mexicans. The sound of horses’ feet was heard as the men of Sesma’s cavalry command turned out for service at three o’clock, before the first sign of day appeared. By four o’clock the tramp of moving hosts had ceased, and in the bright moonlight the glitter of bayonets showed that the forces that were to make the assault had taken the positions assigned them. Every American took his place upon the walls of fort or stockade, and saw that the priming of his gun or rifle was renewed.