Chapter 16
The Fall of the Alamo
It was a small affair.
-Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna
San Antonio-Early March, 1836
General Santa Anna received several reports that Colonel Travis was attempting to either surrender or escape. Because he was in desperate need of a great military victory, he was anxious to insure that neither of these possibilities occurred. The dignity of Mexico, not to mention the family name, must at all costs be restored and safeguarded. With these thoughts in mind, El Presidente called his staff together on March 5, commanding stridently, “Gentlemen, we must attack the Alamo with the full force at our disposal tomorrow morning. Any comments?”
“Sir, would it not be better to await the arrival of the eighteen pound cannons?” Colonel Ugartechea suggested, “They will arrive within two days’ time, and they could blow down the walls of the mission, thereby forcing the Texians to surrender with little loss of life.”
“Your views are noted, Colonel,” Santa Anna responded. “However, we are not in a position to await reinforcements any longer. We must attack immediately. Any other comments?” Hearing no further objections, he exclaimed bluntly, “Excellent! The army will move out at midnight. All forces will be in place by two hours before sunrise. The attack will commence at first light. General Cos, your force will take the west wall, closest to the city. I need not remind you that had it not been for your incompetence we would not now be engaged in this battle to retake the Alamo. The next time that I see you, General, you will either be within the walls of the Alamo, or you will be dead. Do I make myself clear, sir?”
“Yes, sir,” General Cos responded submissively, “perfectly clear.”
“Good,” Santa Anna responded blandly, “The second column will take the north wall. The third column will take the east side. The fourth column will assault the south side, where the main gate is located. The fifth column will be held in reserve, and will be committed to the battle only on my command. Are there any questions?” Once again, the room was silent. “Excellent. Dismissed!” and at this last command, the room cleared with amazing swiftness.
The Alamo-North Wall
Colonel Travis was ready when the shooting commenced. Although he was perplexed that the pickets he had posted outside the walls had not forewarned them of the approaching assault, it was too late to do anything about that. He’d been up all night and, all too aware that this was a major assault, he immediately shouted commands from his vantage point on the north wall, “Everyone up! Wake up! The enemy is coming! Texans, drive them off! Liberty or death!”
The Alamo-West Wall
Hearing Travis’ command, Nate was up like a shot. Having slept nary a wink, he’d been waiting all night for something to happen. The truth was, he was so tired of digging, he just wanted to get on with the damn battle. As he pondered whether this was going to be the final assault, he noticed that the cannons weren’t firing from the opposite river bank. By the time he got to the wall and looked over, he could see why. There must have been more than a thousand attackers out there, every one of them approaching the fort on the east side.
Because it was still almost totally dark, every time a weapon went off it was like lightening on the battlefield. Now certain that the attackers were coming in full force, Nate grinned dourly to himself at the realization that he was going to get his wish – no digging today. Picking out a moving figure, he squeezed the trigger on his long rifle. The target went down and ceased movement.
“Yee ha,” Nate yelled out, “It’s the biggest turkey shoot I ever saw!” To his left and right, men were firing off rounds as quickly as they could reload. The Texian cannons loosed off chains, nails, and whatever they had been able to scrounge. The effect on the approaching enemy could only be described as murderous.
The Alamo-South Wall
Davy Crockett and his Tennessee boys were arrayed where there had at one time been an opening, stakes having been implanted by General Cos’ forces in November. Crockett fired repeatedly, picking off Mexicans as rapidly as he could shoot and reload. Through it all, he kept up a constant rhetoric, exhorting his men to fire every shot effectively. He had never been more pleased to have invested in such a fine weapon. Every time a shot was fired from the enemy lines, there was just enough flash of light for him to pick a certain shot, and time and time again he made the most of it. His Tennessee boys were at their finest in such a position, raining death and destruction on their poorly equipped enemy.
The attack was beaten off in little more than a quarter of an hour and, guns waiving in the air, the Texans emitted a grand hoorah. Apparently undeterred, the attacking army came at them again within mere minutes. The dim light growing rapidly, Crockett could make out several officers exhorting the soldiers forward. He desperately wanted to shoot at those officers, but they wisely hung back, just out of firing range.
The defenders kept up the murderous pace, taking down whoever attacked their position. The cannons continued to roar repeatedly, taking down several of the attackers with each and every shot and, although The Texans were spread out thinly for such an expansive fort, thus far their numbers proved sufficient to withstand the all-out assault. At length, the second waive having been beaten back, the Texans let out yet another hoorah.
Within the Mission
Susannah Dickinson had taken refuge in the chapel. The shooting having inexplicably come to an eerie halt, she took the opportunity to emerge from the chapel and observe how things stood. There was Colonel Travis on the north wall, calling out orders for the men to remain calm and retrench. All about her the walls had held, and the Texans seemed to be unharmed. To her amazement she could not see a single defender who seemed to have been injured.
The Texans appeared to be holding up indescribably well under the attack, so much so that she thought to go and provide water for the soldiers, but then the firing began to surge once again. She so desperately wanted to climb the parapets and peer over the wall to observe how the enemy was faring, but recalling her matronly duty to Angelina, she reluctantly decided to return to her hiding place within the chapel.
Across the San Antonio River from the Alamo
General Santa Anna had thus far been disappointed with the attack. As anticipated, the Texians proved to be excellent shots, but Santa Anna was surprised at their extraordinary prowess with cannon as well, cannon that had at one time belonged to the Army of Mexico. General Cos had been unbelievably derelict, leaving his cannon in working order when he had surrendered in December.
By the end of the second assault it had become clear to El Presidente that the reserves must be committed to the attack. Surely that would turn the tide of battle. Accordingly, he issued the order, the third assault commencing shortly thereafter. As he studied the situation the sun peeked over the horizon, daylight beginning to flood the field of battle.
It was as if it were a sign from God - the attackers were suddenly making progress! For the first time, waves of soldiers were reaching the walls, as the Texian defenders were unable to withstand the overwhelming numbers of the encroaching army. Santa Anna breathed a long sigh of relief. The day would indeed be won, as he had anticipated. Absorbing this glorious moment, he sat proudly on his horse surveying the battlefield before him. The people of Mexico would be vindicated, and he would return home a conquering hero.
The Alamo-West Wall
Nate perceived a great roar welling up from the battlefield and, realizing with dread that there were a lot more soldiers out there, he winced visibly. Santa Anna apparently possessed reserves and, those reserves having been committed, they were now advancing toward the mission walls from all directions. It was light now, and the full horror of the scene was there for all to see on both sides of the conflict.
And now it all began to slow down for him. The gunfire became a continuous roar, indeed, so continuously deafening that it somehow felt silent to Nate. Time
was suspended. Nate had no thoughts. He aimed, fired, and reloaded. He aimed, fired, and reloaded. As he did so, he counted to himself, counting, so as to sense the lapse of time. Each time he reached the number thirty, He fired another round. He was firing way too slow! There were too many of the enemy. There was simply no way to shoot all of them. They were like a great army of ants, coming out of every crack and crevice, every nook and cranny. Aim, fire, reload…aim, fire, reload. Time now ceased to have any meaning at all for him.
A shot behind him caught his attention. They were coming over the wall! There was Travis, brandishing his sword in one hand, exhorting the men. Suddenly, Travis took a hit in the side, staggered and fell. Nate was transfixed. A soldier came over the wall behind Travis and, swinging his sword in an attempt to strike a mortal blow, Travis somehow managed to stab him from his prone position. Both men went down together, mortally wounded, and as they did so another soldier shot the Texian commander from point blank range.
Momentarily stunned, Nate turned and peered in the opposite direction. Everywhere, they were coming over the wall and through the barricaded windows. There were hundreds of them, thousands of them, everywhere! The Texians simply had no time to reload. Having no alternative, they now resorted to swinging their rifles like clubs - everyone, friend and foe, all swinging and dying as one - together.
There was Davy Crockett, swinging and fighting, just like everyone else. It was surrealistic. To Nate, it had become simply incomprehensible. Nate knew he would never forget it as long as he lived. Such visions can never be forgotten.
Having momentarily lost his sense of self, Nate was entirely absorbed with the scene before him. Suddenly, a sword stabbed Nate right through the chest. He had been so transfixed by the scene, he had forgotten himself. He went down and rolled over on his back. He was tired and, feeling a bit sleepy, he just wanted to rest for a minute. Then he would get up and fight some more. But first, he just needed a small nap.
He felt another jab, and yet another, but these caused him no concern at all. He was instead attempting to remember what it was that he had been contemplating. Then suddenly, there she was, lifting him up into her arms, just like he always remembered when he was waking from his sleep, “Maw, is that you Maw? I was sleeping. But I’m alright now. I need to get up and get back to work now, Maw.”
“Now you jest rest there, Nate. There’s time enough for you to do them chores. You just close your eyes and rest a little more.”
“Yes, maw,” and, closing his eyes, Nate did as he was told.
The South Wall
Francisco went over the wall with the final wave. He circumvented the staked wall adjacent to the chapel, unable to bring himself to climb over the very defenses that he had helped to construct during the previous campaign. Instead, he moved further down the wall, entering where the main gate lay. He was accompanied by at least twenty soldiers, all pouring in at the same point on the south wall.
He had no idea what he was doing or why. He was simply swept up in the fervor, the great sense of national pride as he and his fellow soldiers pressed forward to defeat the enemy. As he entered through the wall, he could see that the assault was already nearing its end. By the great chapel where he had prayed, he could see a throng of uniforms surrounding a smaller group of Texans. It would not be long now.
Following three other soldiers towards the room just north of the chapel, Francisco noticed two dead Texians lying outside the doorway. The pair had somehow killed several of his fellow soldiers, the combatants’ bodies horribly intertwined. It had obviously been a fight to the death. Francisco was in no mood to think on the significance of such a scene.
From inside the room he and the other three soldiers could hear shouting in English – a Texian. All four charged the doorway, and by now there were three more soldiers accompanying them. Charging into the room in near unison, the leading pair was struck by musket balls as they entered. Pressing ahead, Francisco heard a shout from within the room, “Long live Texas!” apparently the voice of the defender hiding within.
Brandishing an enormous knife, the Texian attempted to lunge at the encroaching soldiers, but several soldiers bayoneted him, mortally wounding this, the last of the defenders of the Alamo.
It was all over in seconds. The soldiers stood within the room, ghoulishly entranced at the sight of the dead man before them. Francesco realized the man had apparently been ill. He had been confined to bed by his illness, and they had killed him. Suddenly realizing the folly of it all, Francisco reached disconsolately for his medallion.
Stumbling back down the stairs and out into the courtyard, he bent forward and wretched uncontrollably. Regaining his footing, he saw victorious soldiers running in every direction. It was complete pandemonium. Nothing made any sense. Francisco leaned over against the wall and wretched again, and yet another time.
The look on the ill man’s face as his life drained away – it was sintered within his mind like an indelible painting. Unable to place his finger on the emotion on the man’s face, he assumed it to be a mixture of triumph and resignation. Which it was, he could not be certain, but of one thing he was entirely certain- the image in his mind of this dying man would not go away, not within his lifetime. For as long as he lived, the image of this dying man would live on within him.
This was not the way it was supposed to be! First, his beloved Antonia had been taken from him, and now this, his own complicity in an unwarranted killing. Francisco felt certain it was a collective sign from God – he had apparently been singled out – but the purpose of it was yet unknown to him.
Within the Mission
For Susannah Dickinson, the horrifying sounds penetrating the walls had been unmistakable. The shooting having eventually died down, a Texian now came running into the chapel. Within seconds she could hear the shouts of several Mexican soldiers as they pursued him within. Momentarily, she heard the hacking and prodding of sabers as they savagely struck him down.
Assuming that the carnage was at an end, she peered cautiously from the small room and observed several uniformed soldiers hoisting the body of a Texian on their swords. Bent on protecting Angelina, she turned away and crept within the room.
Suddenly, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The shooting stopped. The shouting stopped. All was quiet. She could tell from her hiding place that it was now light outside. Terrified, she awaited silently. Were they all dead? Had some of the Texians been captured alive? Was her husband one of the dead? Would she be raped, or worse? Would they spare Angelina? The only thing she was certain of was that there was no escape.
Moments later a second group of soldiers entered the chapel. She could tell they were searching for survivors. At that moment Angelina wailed, thereby forcing Susannah to show herself. As she came forward, she exclaimed, “I am here.”
A soldier raced toward her, aiming his saber for the kill.
Miraculously, another soldier intervened, exclaiming, “No, señor, no mujeres! No!” and at this the charging soldier dropped his weapon.
The remaining soldiers subsequently treated her with great civility. From another room, they brought out a black man and several Tejano women, and they herded all of them into the morning light.
Susannah staggered into the courtyard and, momentarily blinded by the brilliant sunlight, she slowly began to take in the scene of devastation that surrounded her. Surveying in every direction, she saw mounds of bodies, rivers of blood, soldiers moaning their final breaths. Susannah closed her eyes. She would not - she simply could not - allow herself to comprehend it. Her eyes closed firmly, she cuddled Angelina close to her heart and, singing a soft lullaby, she prayed all the while that her baby would not awaken.
The Alamo-Aftermath
Overcome by a deep sense of self-loathing, Francisco remained behind within the mission walls despite the order for all soldiers to depart forthwith. He hid within
a room along the west wall, somehow feeling closer to his fallen comrades therein. Affording himself a few moments to contemplate the events of the preceding two hours, he felt an overwhelming desire to erase every second of it from his mind forever. He would pray to the Virgin Mary; surely she would bring him strength to accomplish this task. Certain that his very life lay in the balance, he determined that he must at all costs find a way to forget.
He realized that he had made an enormous mistake during the battle - instead of delaying until the last, he should have gone over the wall at the first possible moment. If he had thought to do so, he would now be with his comrades – in heaven. He so desperately wanted to join them, but instead he had sinned, a terrible, unforgivable sin. Pondering, he self-consciously fingered his medal of San Francisco. He thought on his patron saint, who had sinned as well, but he had somehow been forgiven. Francisco resolved to read more about San Francisco. He must find a way to find forgiveness for his sin.
As he sat meditating, he heard a distinctive sound from the courtyard, the unmistakable clank of swords. Discerning the unique voice of General Santa Anna, he peered disconsolately from a tiny window. Perceiving a procession of officers, he observed them as they searched through the mass of bodies.
There was General Santa Anna, leading the procession. He seemed somehow smaller to Francisco than he had remembered. There was also a black man, perhaps a slave, who accompanied the procession in some as yet unknown quest. Here and there, he halted and pointed at a slain Texian, each one surrounded by lifeless uniformed soldiers. Along the north wall the small group halted, the black man gesturing pointedly toward a body. General Santa Anna unsheathed his sword and, apparently enacting some macabre ceremony, he stabbed the corpse.
Pondering such a bizarre scene, Francisco asked himself, “What possible purpose could there be in stabbing a dead man?”
March 7, 1836
Consuela Maria de la Garza
San Patricio de Zacatecas
Mexico
Dear Sister-
I hope with all my heart that this letter finds you in good health. As for me, my health is good, but my spirit is not. I write to you from San Antonio de Bexar, where we have won a battle against the Texians. There is a mission here called the Alamo. The Texians defended this mission, and our army defeated them most gloriously, killing everyone except for a few women and children.
Some soldiers are saying as many as 250 Texians were killed, but at great loss to the Mexican army. Including the wounded, we lost perhaps close to a thousand men. I do not understand the purpose of this war. It all seems senseless to me.
There are rumors that we are coming home now, that the war is over, but I do not believe them. There are other rumors that the Texians still have a large army at Goliad. No one seems to know what will happen next. I will write to you when I know more.
I miss you terribly.
Your beloved brother-
Francisco
San Antonio-The Following Day
Apprised of the enormous number of casualties, General Santa Anna dismissed it as the necessary price of victory. He had read Julius Caesar’s Gallic Wars. Accordingly, he would now practice a little known aspect of war - the art of disguise. In his official transmissions to Mexico City, the outcome would be glorified, the casualties justified as necessary. His army would shortly return home, welcomed as conquering heroes.
Hearing a knock at his door, he responded instinctively, “Enter!” and, observing the officer before him, he inquired, “Ah, General Filisola. How soon can we get underway to proceed back to Mexico?”
Obviously horrified at this prospect, General Filisola responded doubtfully, “Sir?”
Annoyed at the general’s hesitation, Santa Anna snarled at him, “You heard me, general!”
Snapping to attention in evident fear, General Filisola replied, “General Santa Anna, sir, we have many hundreds of injured soldiers. Many of them are very seriously wounded. Perhaps hundreds will die if we attempt to move them too quickly.”
“Then we will leave them here. I must get back to Mexico. This war is clearly over.”
“Sir, with all due respect, there is still a sizable army at Goliad! If we retreat, they may capture our wounded.”
“General Urrea will take care of them,” El Presidente responded brusquely, “The Texans are defeated. We can go home.”
“Sir, I beg of you - do not do this!” Filisola submitted, “We must stay here for the moment. Please, wait a few days to see what happens at Goliad.”
Softening somewhat, Santa Anna responded, “Perhaps you are right,” and, placing his hands together in contemplation, he commanded, “Very well, general. Send out a messenger to General Urrea. Find out how things stand at Goliad. Also, send General Urrea half of General Cos’ regiment. Urrea’s army should be somewhere between Refugio and Goliad. Oh, and General Filisola, bring me the Texian woman, Señora Dickinson. I have decided to set her free.”
“Why, Excellency?”
“I should think that would be obvious, General - we must have a messenger. The Texian rebels must be informed that we have destroyed their army. Señora Dickinson will accomplish that task for us.”
Near Goliad-Two Days Later
Francisco was elated to be on the road to Goliad. Although it had been several months since he had passed through there, his memory of it had been of a quite enchanting place. He remembered especially the small chapel. He was in desperate need of a holy place to pray for forgiveness, and Bexar was in his opinion no longer sanctified.
But now he was on the road and, a pleasant sunny day in the offing, he and his comrades had been assigned to join General Urrea’s army. Francisco had heard from quite a few soldiers that General Urrea was perhaps the best field commander in the entire army. Blessed with so many positive developments, Francisco began to consider the possibility that his dire thoughts had been overwrought.
Southwest of Gonzales
Captain Seguin, Hawk at his side, led the small contingent of horsemen down the road. Their attempts to raise reinforcements in Gonzales had failed miserably. Try as they may, there had been little interest among the locals. The infectious sense of enthusiasm that had permeated the hills of East Texas only three months earlier had evaporated. What little support they had been able to raise came from volunteers still trickling in from the United States of America. Now returning to the Alamo beneath a cloud of dejection, the small party pressed forward in a futile attempt to provide badly needed support for Colonel Travis and his forces.
Pushing his horse as fast as possible, Seguin suddenly squinted and pulled his hand to his brow. A half mile down the road he could see movement. Perceiving it to be a person, he advanced cautiously. As he came nearer, he made out a skirt. It was a woman, and clearly a Texian one at that. Anticipating her to be a refugee from the Alamo, he breathed a sigh of relief and continued forward. If so, perhaps she would have news. Amplifying his pace in anticipation, he quickly realized that that there was a man traveling with her.
Turning in his saddle, Captain Seguin queried, “Hawk, do you see what I see?”
“Yes, Juan, I see them,” Hawk responded and, concern mounting, he disclosed, “That’s Joe, Colonel Bowie’s man. And the woman is Almaron Dickinson’s wife. I don’t know her name.”
Approaching them shortly thereafter, Seguin announced perfunctorily, “Mrs. Dickinson, good morning to you. I am Captain Seguin. What brings you this way, if I may be so bold?”
“Yes, I know you Señor Seguin, and I recognize Mr. Banks there, too,” she responded. Clearly in distress from the effort of carrying her baby on such a fetid day, she halted and, pointing toward the black man, she added, “This here is Joe.”
“What news have you for us. Mrs. Dickinson? How goes the battle?” Seguin queried.
“It’s all over, two days ago, Señor Seguin,” she announced morosely, “I am most distressed to in
form you, sir, that they are all dead.”
“What?” Captain Seguin exclaimed and, his jaw dropping, he stared at her incredulously. “The entire Army of Volunteers? Are you certain?”
Hawk simply stared in speechless disbelief.
At this she responded with sadness, “Sir, I am as certain as any living person could be. Being disposed to protect my daughter Angelina within the walls of the chapel, I did not witness the battle, but me and Joe was forced to view the field of battle after it was all over. I can assure you, sir, they are all dead, and a more horrible sight you will never see, one that I hope shall never be repeated again on this godforsaken earth.”
Enduring her speech in silence, Joe could only nod in affirmation.
Gonzales-The Following Day
General Houston received the news with great consternation. First, messages had been received confirming that Grant’s and Johnson’s forces had been decimated in a series of skirmishes south of Goliad. Now, incomprehensibly, word had come that Travis’ and Bowie’s army had been completely destroyed at the Alamo.
The citizens of Gonzales were utterly devastated. Not three weeks earlier they had sent thirty of their hardiest men to fight with the forces at the Alamo. It simply did not seem possible that every last one of them could have perished so quickly. Literally every person in the city had lost a friend, a loved one, or a relative.
General Houston immediately sent a message to Colonel Fannin at Goliad instructing him to evacuate La Bahia forthwith and join him in Gonzales. There were now barely sufficient forces remaining in Texas to afford a single army, and Houston was determined to make the most of them. Accordingly, Houston set about the process of preparing the city of Gonzales for evacuation.
The news now raced eastward across Texas. As the word spread, the reaction across Texas grew rapidly to one of universal panic.