Chapter 15
No Escape
If they overpower us, we fall sacrifice at the shrine of our country, and we hope posterity and our country will do our memory justice.
-William Travis
The Alamo-Early March, 1836
The view from the walls of the Alamo was daunting, the number of enemy campfires glowing in the darkness seemingly matching the number of stars in the sky. The Mexican Army, having underestimated the accuracy of the Texian long rifles, had initially built many of their troop camps within easy shot of the mission, thereby allowing the defenders to pick off dozens of soldiers in the first days of battle.
By the third day of battle the Army of Mexico had removed their forces to a safe distance. Having arrived in Bexar with little warning, they next attempted to use the element of surprise to their advantage. Aware that the Texians must necessarily be short on ammunition, they executed scattered attacks in the mistaken notion that the Texians would surrender in short order, their ammunition having presumably been exhausted.
This was not to be, as the Texians proved their mettle by repulsing these minor attacks, thereby inducing the Mexican Army to reluctantly settle in for a siege. Having begun with great hoopla and excitement among the volunteers within the Alamo, the battle now degenerated into a tedious repetition of skirmishes over the course of the succeeding days.
Long intervals of cold rain, often accompanied by a cold north wind, were punctuated by short but oftentimes sharp engagements. Through it all, the Texians kept at it night and day, steadily improving their fortifications. And each time the enemy launched an attack, the defenders decimated enemy troops wherever they attempted to find a weakness in the perimeter of the Alamo.
The Alamo
Davy Crockett leaned out over the wall and, as if making a social statement regarding his enemies, he spat a wad of tobacco and volunteered, “I ’spect it won’t be long now,” to no one in particular.
“We shouldda got out when we could, Davy,” his comrade Tom replied.
“”Coons die, dogs die, all things livin’ got a time and a place. Reckon this is as good a place as I can think of,” Crockett responded pithily.
“”Bout the only good thing I kin think of is at least I won’t have to live through another summer in the Hell of Texas,” Tom replied in like measure.
“Where I am expectin’ to go in the hereafter it could be even hotter, I’m thinkin’,” replied Crockett humorously. “Reckon I done earned a free pass straight to perdition.”
“Well, if there is a merciful God in heaven, I’d be thinkin’ that this here act of courage and goodness that we’re doin’ would buy some time off for good behavior,” his companion responded sagely.
“Didn’t come here for redemption, I reckon,” Crockett shot back.
“Well, why DID you come here, Crockett?”
“Don’t rightly know, but weren’t nothin’ no ways lofty at all. I suppose I was just lookin’ for some good ol’ excitement.”
“Well, you durn sure found it, didn’t you!”
“You got that right, Tommy,” Crockett put in, “But I tell you what, if somebody writes me an epitaph, and I ain’t sayin’ they will, they sure will say one thing about me – that I went down fightin’ hard. I aim to make the most of this here unfortunate circumstance we find ourselves in. Truth is, it ain’t dyin’ that’s hard, it’s dyin’ right that’s hard. I reckon I only got one chance at it, and I aim to do it as good as can be done.”
A stray shot came whizzing in and put an end to an otherwise strangely prophetic discussion. “Better get some sleep, now Tommy,” Crockett volunteered good-naturedly.
The Alamo-The Following Morning
Colonel Travis called Major Bonham into his office. “James, I want you to go to Goliad and get Colonel Fannin to send reinforcements. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, sir, I would be honored to take on that assignment,” Bonham replied.
“How long do you reckon it will take?” Travis inquired.
“No more than twenty-four hours each way, sir.”
“You’ll have to ride like the wind to accomplish that feat, sir,” said Travis.
“I’ll make do, but as there are Indians about, I’ll need some men to go with me, some good riders. How about those two that rode out to check up on the Mexican Army two days ago - can I take them with me, sir?”
“Banks and MacElrae. You can take MacElrae, but I need Banks here. Take a couple of other men, too. When can you leave, Major?”
“Tonight, sir,” Bonham responded laconically.
“Excellent! Best of luck, James, and bring help soon!” Travis added for emphasis.
Atop the Mission Wall
Nate had to admit that the whole thing was turning out to be a show of exceedingly fine proportions. He’d never seen anything like it. What with the enemy soldiers firing off their muskets from ineffective range, and the Texians enjoying the pickings like a Kentucky turkey shoot, there was plenty of excitement. And in between the sporadic bursts of shooting, music and dancing would surreptitiously break out in the mission courtyard. Either that, or ol’ Davy Crockett could be counted on to tell one of his infinite supply of Tennessee yarns. So there was plenty of goings on to keep a fella occupied. Nate just shook his head, thinking to himself that he’d never in his whole life had such a fine time. Ol’ Davy Crockett had sure enough done him a favor when he’d bullied him into joining up back in Nacogdoches.
But eventually Nate had some time to ponder on the reality of things. It didn’t take a genius to be able to see that the Mexican Army had them by the privates. There didn’t appear to be any means of escape other than going right on up to heaven, he supposed. Now, that thought didn’t bring so much terror to his mind. He reckoned he could get on through them pearly gates when Saint Peter came calling. In his own view, Nate had lived a pious life, and when he had sinned, as he reckoned all men do, he had done the good thing that all good Christians are called to do – he had repented in accordance with the gospel in the good book. So Nate had confidence in his ultimate destination. And if appearances were accurate, he would most likely attain that destination rather sooner than later. Till then, he figured he had some more fun coming his way before departing this world, so best make the most of it.
What did concern Nate mightily was Mephistopheles. It seemed infinitely clear that the friend in his pocket was not destined for the pearly gates. Hoping to be of some significant service to the toad, Nate briefly toyed with the idea of renaming him Saint Paul or something like that, but somehow it just didn’t tally. Nate felt certain deep down inside that names had nothing to do with entry through the portals to heaven, so that Mephistopheles’ shortcoming was most likely unrelated to his given name.
In a sudden burst of insight, Nate experienced a divine revelation – the problem had to do with them damn horns! Accordingly, he considered the most straightforward corrective action - that being to file them down - but if he did so, and it somehow killed his tiny friend, then he, too, would be denied entry to paradise on the basis of one of them ten commandments, although he couldn’t remember exactly which one it was that regulated killing. Having come full circle, Nate was in a pickle of a quandary.
Finally, after contemplating for more than two days, Nate hit on a solution - Mephistopheles had to escape! Once he’d figured that out, it was just a matter of details, meaning exactly how to go about accomplishing his buddy’s getaway.
Nate pondered that problem obsessively, and eventually he hit on a plan. He knew from his surname that Hank was the father of Auggey MacElrae, that boy he’d met on the road to Gonzales. In a stroke of brilliance, he realized that all he needed do was hand over Mephistopheles to Hank before he set off for Goliad with Major Bonham.
That seemed like the perfect solution - Mephistopheles would spend his remaining days with Nate’s friend Auggey, the only other person who had taken a liking to both Mephistopheles and Nate.
So Nate set off to find Hank and give him the rousing news, but he discovered that he had waited too long – Hank had already departed the Alamo.
Along the Road to Goliad
James Bonham pulled up his horse so as not to charge too hard over the crest of the river bank. Men had died charging down river banks as steep as this one. Observing the steep drop and the river below, the men following him slowed as well. Because the San Antonio River wound to and fro between Bexar and Goliad, it was necessary to cross it several times before arriving in Goliad. Luckily, the river had receded and could be crossed easily. As anticipated, the bell tower of the mission chapel came into view on the horizon before day’s end.
The Mission at Goliad
James Fannin had been in favor of the proposed attack on Matamoros. Like so many others, he wanted to take the fight to Mexico. Disagreeing strongly with General Houston, Fannin had put together an army of four hundred men to take the coastal route southward. However, fate having conspired against him, he had not managed to get his army moving.
Instead, Governor Smith had at the last minute ordered him to garrison the mission at Goliad, so here he and his sizable army sat, impatiently awaiting developments that would surely send them south at any moment.
He worried constantly how he would be able to convince his volunteers to stay with him. The planting season pulled irresistibly at the Texians, but with each passing day more “new Texans” arrived in Goliad from the United States. As a result, the army seemed to ebb and flow, neither gaining nor losing much in size.
An enemy force had been rumored to be south of Goliad, and, if true, it would most assuredly be coming up the coastal route before too long. However large the oncoming army, Fannin was well aware that he would have to make do with what men he had. Accordingly, he spent an enormous portion of his time insuring that troop exoduses were minimized.
He wondered how they were making out in San Antonio. Bexar was the only other major garrison on the plains, the forces at the two missions constituting the only means of halting the advance of the Army of Mexico. Because the terrain around San Antonio was tougher for an army to negotiate, Fannin felt certain that the main threat from the south would avoid Bexar. To his trained eye it seemed that the main enemy force would therefore take the less arduous coastal route northward through Goliad.
Breaking his thoughts, a soldier tapped on his door and, entering smartly, he announced with perfect military bearing, “Sir, Brady reports Texian troops heading in from the west.”
“Very well, corporal. Who is leading them, did he say?”
“He says it’s Major Bonham, he can tell by the way he sits his saddle, sir.”
Pondering the meaning of this development, Fannin responded, “Excellent.” Glancing toward the soldier, he commanded, “Prepare for their arrival. I will be there momentarily.”
The troops rode into the mission shortly thereafter, and though they appeared weary, there was obvious relief to be at the end of their ride. Saluting Fannin, Bonham dismounted briskly.
Fannin returned the salute and, grabbing Bonham’s hand, he shook it tightly. “Good to see you, James,” he said loudly. “How goes it at Bexar?”
“Colonel Travis sends his greetings,” Bonham answered with a grin. “We are holding up well, but we are in desperate need of reinforcements.”
“Come inside, my friend,” Fannin offered pleasantly, “You must be tired. Let us have a cool drink and discuss the latest developments.”
The two now taking seats in Fannin’s office, Colonel Fannin ordered a serving of cool water. Offering up a chaser of tequila to his friend, he volunteered, “I apologize for the lack of good drink, James, but such is the nature of war. We must make sacrifices in the name of freedom.”
“This will do nicely, sir. Better than what we were drinkin’ in Bexar, I expect,” Bonham replied tersely.
Getting down to the business at hand, Fannin now inquired, “How do things stand in Bexar?”
“Not good, not good, Colonel,” Bonham responded gravely. “Santa Anna arrived a week ago, sir. He has a force of at least two thousand, with more arriving every day.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am quite certain,” Bonham replied, “It must be the entire Army of Mexico.”
“I doubt that very much,” Fannin retorted, “We have reports of a large force under the leadership of General Urrea in the area of San Patricio. Grant and Johnson are still down there somewhere. I fear they will be overrun any day now.”
“Damn! Two armies!” Bonham exclaimed, “We have accomplished what we feared most of all- we have succeeded in enraging the entire population of Mexico, sir.”
“I fear you may be right,” Fannin agreed, “What is the situation at the Alamo?”
“We are hanging on, sir, but we cannot do so forever with such a small force. Colonel Travis is in sole command. Bowie has come down sick. Some mysterious illness, but we’re all hoping he will recover before the shootin’ gets worse. Colonel Travis sent me to request reinforcements from Goliad. Can you spare any men, sir?”
“I expected that was coming, sir,” Fannin responded thoughtfully, “No, no, I don’t see how it’s possible. With General Urrea advancing northward along the coast, I must be concerned not only for this army at Goliad, but also for the volunteers that headed off to Matamoros, wherever they are at this moment.”
“I’m thinking the only way we can hold out is to combine forces, sir,” Bonham suggested.
“How many to you have, Major?”
“Not even two hundred men, sir.”
“Oh, my…that’s not near enough,” Fannin muttered. He pondered for a moment, obviously considering options, and suggested, “I’d high-tail it out of there if I was Travis. If you ask me, he should bring his whole army here to Goliad.”
“That may be, but Travis has a bee in his bonnet. He ain’t leavin’ Bexar. He can’t be budged on that for sure, I’ll tell you,” Bonham volunteered, “Besides, he’s got an army surrounding him, and you don’t here at Goliad. Under the circumstances, I should think it would be far easier for your forces to advance to his aid than the other way round.”
“Well, we don’t have enough men here either. So I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” Fannin announced with apparent finality.
“Can you spare anyone at all, maybe a dozen men, sir?”
“No sir, I’m afraid not,” Fannin restated, “I have explicit orders from General Houston to hold the line here at Goliad,” thereby putting an end to the discussion.
The Goliad Mission Courtyard
Hank was right pleased to be away from San Antonio. He had been there for more than four months, just waiting things out, and all the while feeling like he should have gone home to Julie and Auggey. Now, what with the planting season coming on, Hank desperately needed to get home and tend to his family. This jaunt to Goliad in search of reinforcements offered a chance for him to make his getaway.
He wished mightily that Hawk could have come, too, but Hawk was desperately needed at the Alamo. Besides, Hank figured if anyone could take care of themselves in a scrape, that fellow was darn sure Hawk Banks.
On arrival within the mission walls Hank had dismounted from his horse with some difficulty. He had never been much of a horseman and, the ride having been tough on him, he had felt a strong urge to kiss the ground. Having thought better of it, he had nonetheless experienced a profound sense of foreboding.
Truth was, nothing at all seemed right at all to him of late. He had no idea how long they would be here in Goliad, but he aimed to do his best to stay behind if and when Bonham headed back to Bexar with the reinforcements.
San Antonio
Francisco awoke the morning after his foray with Antonia, his face still stinging from her forceful blow. The entire left side of his face was swollen and blue. Realizing exactly what he had to do, he set off for General Santa Anna’s headquarters, whereupon he repor
ted that he had discovered a spy. Immediately thereafter, he headed for the nearest cantina. By noon he was dead drunk.
The Alamo-Sunrise the Following Day
Juan Seguin stared in wonder as the sun peeked over the east wall of the mission chapel. He loved standing at this very spot, near the corner of the chapel enclosure. During the battle of Bexar the previous winter, General Cos’ men had built up a dirt berm so as to allow for a cannon emplacement within the chapel. As a result, it was possible to climb up to the highest point within the Alamo and look toward the east - towards Seguin’s ranch.
Although he was a natural born citizen of Mexico, he was no longer in a position to choose which side he would prefer to support. The Mexican high command had seen enough of him to know that he was a Tejano. As such, he was subject to death if he was captured. Fortunately, he was still able to go in and out of the Alamo under a flag of truce, because the rank and file soldiers did not know exactly who he was.
On this day he had a special reason for his sunrise visit to the chapel, for at length he perceived a volley of gunfire off in the distance. Crossing himself, he spoke a silent prayer for the departed, the memories carrying him far away, to another time and place.
As he stood reminiscing, a Texian called up to him, “Captain Seguin, Colonel Travis would like to see you, sir.” Seguin climbed down, emptied the remainder of his cup, and crossed the courtyard toward the commander’s quarters.
“Captain,” Travis began, “We need all of the reinforcements we can get. Do you think you could get through the lines and make for Gonzales to seek help?”
Seguin responded, “Si, colonel, I am at your service!”
“When can you leave, Colonel?” queried Travis.
“Right away - tonight, sir,” responded Seguin. “Because I am a Tejano, the enemy soldiers are still letting me through the lines.”
“Excellent. You may leave tonight, Captain.”
“Colonel,” Seguin said with gravity, “I have some very bad news to report.”
Travis looked concerned, “What is it, Juan?”
“Sir, are you aware that Señor Hawk Banks has a woman here in Bexar?”
“Yes, the whole army knows about her. She is quite a beauty, if the rumors are true.”
“They are true,” Seguin said softly. “Sir, the Mexican’s captured her yesterday, and Santa Anna had her shot just after sunrise this morning.”
“What! For God’s sake, why on earth would they do that, Juan?”
“Sir, we had an informer back in the fall, when we took Bexar from General Cos. She was our informer. Apparently someone found out, and they turned her in to the Mexican high command. General Santa Anna judged her a traitor and had her shot.”
“This is terrible, Juan. Does Banks know yet?”
“No sir, he doesn’t know, but with your permission, I will tell him.”
“By all means, and please give him my condolences. And Captain, take Banks with you. That man can ride a horse, and the night air will do him good. But watch him closely, make sure he doesn’t do anything untoward in his state of anguish. Please try to return within one week. I do not believe that we will be able to hold out much longer than that, sir.”
The Alamo Courtyard
Hawk observed Captain Seguin heading for him, and he couldn’t help but notice that Seguin had a strange look on his face.
As he strode forward, Seguin inquired gravely, “Señor Halcón, my friend, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Juan, what’s on your mind?” Hawk frowned in anticipation.
“Hawk, I have a gift for you. It is a bottle of mescal,” and so saying, he thrust if forward to Hawk.
Concerned by this, Hawk exclaimed fearfully, “A man doesn’t receive such a gift so early in the morning except under dire circumstances, Juan. What’s going on?”
“Señor, I have very bad news for you. General Santa Anna has captured Antonia.”
Hawk stared at Juan for a moment and, the reality of it sinking in, he murmured wretchedly, “I was afraid of that. I told her so. Is she dead?”
“Yes, my friend. I am afraid so. She was shot this morning, just after sunrise.”
Hawk, who was of course by now in such a state of shock that he did not know quite what he was doing, inquired serenely, “The girl, Teresa. I promised Antonia…” but then, awareness rising to the surface, he gurgled, “Oh God, Antonia!” and, pausing breathlessly, he swallowed hard and gasped forlornly, “Is Teresa alright, Juan?”
“Yes, Señor. For the present, she is with friends. You can rest assured that she is safe.”
“Thank you,” Banks muttered, then staggered, dropped to his knees, finally coming to rest in a more or less sitting position. From there, he neither spoke nor moved.
Juan awaited, a few moments, no more, and fetched the bottle of mescal from Hawk, still dangling from his hand. Opening the bottle for his bereaved amigo, Juan instructed compassionately, “My friend, there are times when a man should forget himself. This is one of those times. Please, drink.”
Hawk, still staring into space, accepted the proffered tranquilizer compliantly, carelessly pouring a blessed torrent down his knotted throat. He immediately sensed a comforting pang of sorrow sweeping over him, the pain growing distant, the raw edge mercifully blunted.
Seguin now ordered, “And now, Señor Hawk, I must inform you that you have been detached to me to carry out a mission to Gonzales in search of reinforcements. We leave at dusk. Please prepare your horse, and try to stay sober enough to sit your saddle,” and stepping back from his charge, he inquired, “Hawk, did you hear what I said? Hawk!”
His voice slurred, Hawk responded, “Yes, sir, Gonzales, horse ride, tonight, got it, sir,” and so saying, he listed slowly into blessed oblivion.
The Alamo-Later that Day
When Nate heard that Hawk was leaving for Gonzales with Juan Seguin, he rushed over to the stable, where he found the pair preparing to depart.
Upon his arrival within, Nate announced uncomfortably, “Hey, Hawk.”
“Well, hello there, Nate. What brings you here?” Hawk muttered morosely, “Can’t be just to say goodbye.”
“Naw, naw, I come on important business, Hawk,” Nate replied with pointed solemnity.
Preparing to mount up, Hawk called over his shoulder, “What’s that?”
“Hang on a second there, Hawk. This here is important,” Nate exclaimed forcefully.
Tugging his foot out of the stirrup, Hawk turned to face his visitor and, observing that something was bothering Nate, he inquired with feigned interest, “Yes, sir, what can I do for you, Nate?”
“First off, my condolences,” Nate offered empathetically, “The men have all heard, and they asked me to say how sad we all are for your loss.”
“Why, thank you, Nate. That means a lot to me,” Hawk murmured, “You had something else on your mind?”
“Well, Hawk, I’m wondering if you could do me a favor. I need an item transported out of the Alamo. I am hoping that you might be able to oblige me.”
“Sure, what might that be, Nate?”
Prying the horny toad from his pocket, Nate replied, “Well, it’s my friend here, Mephistopheles.”
Observing the hideous creature, Hawk could only think to say, “What the…?”
Nate had been preparing for just this possibility. His speech had been well rehearsed, and he now commenced quixotically, repeating it aloud to Hawk, “You see, Hawk, this here critter is my best friend on earth. I’m figurin’ I won’t get out of here alive, and I am honor bound to make for sure that he does.”
Hawk interrupted bluntly, “Well, then just let him go, Nate. Just let him go!”
“It’s more complicated than that, Hawk,” Nate put in and, continuing his prepared speech, he announced, “He means a lot to me, and I need to make sure that he survives the Alamo. He’s my only living family, if you know what I mean. You
of all people should understand what I am dealing with here.”
Hawk glared at him for a moment, but then, his visage softening, he replied compassionately, “Why, yes, I do believe that I see what you mean,” but, as he was still confused, he inquired, “Alright, but why me, why not someone else instead?”
“Right, well, that’s complicated, too. I want you to give Mephistopheles here to Auggey, Hank’s son.”
“What?” Hawk squawked at Nate incredulously, “You mean, you know Auggey MacElrae?”
“Yeah,” Nate responded sheepishly, “I met him on the trail comin’ down from Bastrop to Gonzales. He was travelin’ with Misses Julie, Hank’s wife.”
“What the…why didn’t you tell Hank when he left?”
“I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I thought on it for days, but then he left real abrupt-like and I missed my chance. I was afraid Hank would think I was untoward with his wife, maybe. Didn’t want none of that. You know how Hank is about that woman.”
“Well, you got that part right anyways,” Hawk volunteered, “But why carry this here critter to Auggey?”
“I just want Mephistopheles to have a good home. You see, I introduced the two, and Auggey’s a good boy who will take good care of him. So if I do make it out of here, I’ll know where to find Mephistopheles, but if I don’t, he’ll be in real good hands.”
Hawk stroked his chin and observed, “Yes, I see what you mean. Well, I expect I won’t be seeing Auggey. I’m planning on coming straight back here as soon as we find reinforcements, Nate.”
“Well, you’ll just have to improvise, Mr. Hawk, won’t you. Please, I’m begging you, you’re my only hope.”
Aware that there was no way to deny what amounted to a dying man’s wish, Hawk asked, “Well then, what do I feed him?”
At this Nate brightened measurably and rejoined, “Oh, he’ll eat most anything. A medium sized bug a day is plenty to keep him fed. Oh, and he likes to be rubbed on his belly. That makes him feel real good.”
“Well then, give him to me, Nate. I have to get moving. Captain Seguin is riding out.”
Nate gave Mephistopheles a rub on the stomach, kissed him, and handed him over to Hawk. Hawk climbed upon his horse and turned to leave, exclaiming over his shoulder as he departed, “Now, you take good care of yourself, Nate. I’ll be back in a few days.”
Hawk didn’t looking back, but if he had, he’d have seen tears streaming down Nate’s face as he called to Hawk, “And you take good care of Mephistopheles, hear now?”
The following morning Nate awoke with a start. He reached into his pocket to draw out his friend, but Mephistopheles wasn’t there.
Fearing for a moment he that his friend had wandered, he suddenly remembered that he had sent him off with Hawk the day before. He nearly cried, but then he recalled why he had done it. Mephistopheles was safe, and that was what mattered most of all to Nate, all of which made him smile.
Then he thought to himself, “Dang, why couldn’t I have been a horned toad! I couldda got clean outta this here Alamo. Don’t look too good for nothin’ larger than a toad, though.” He thought about Mephistopheles, probably ridin’ up the trail to Gonzales at this very minute, just a sunnin’ hisself and havin’ a gay ol’ time. He wondered if Mephistopheles missed him. At that he broke into a grin and blurted aloud, “Probably.”
“What you grinnin’ at and talkin’ to yourself about?” Davy Crockett called out from ten paces off to his left.
“Oh, nothin’, Mr. Crockett. Just thinkin’ on what a kick in the head life is, I suppose.”
Crockett wandered over to the fire nearest to Nate and requested graciously, “If you would, Nate, please join me for a morning cup of coffee. I have it all made up and warming right here.”
Thinking that was right neighborly, Nate responded, “Why, thank you, sir. I believe I will!” and, brushing the dirt out of his hair, he sauntered over to the fire. As he did so, Crockett handed him a steaming cup.
“It’s a might chilly this morning, even for a Tennessean, I reckon,” Crockett said pleasantly.
Nate marveled that Davy Crockett always seemed to be in good humor. Accordingly, he commented, “Well, at least that darn rain stopped. I felt like a drowned cat yesterday mornin’.”
“Yes sir, but look on the bright side – the rain loosened up the soil, and that’ll make it easier for us to dig those parapets taller and deeper today.”
Nate scratched his head in thought and queried, “What exactly is the bright side of that, sir?”
At this Crockett chuckled agreeably, spat forcefully, and said, “Touché, Nate, touché. I ‘spect we got two things in our immediate future – diggin’, and fightin’. While the former is most unpleasant, it has a distinctly positive outcome. The latter, on the other hand, promises to be far more exciting, but the outcome of it is most assuredly in doubt. And furthermore, the outcome of the second is intrinsically influenced by the success of the former.”
Nate stared inquisitively at Crockett and responded, “Sir, I have no idea what you just said, but I am sure I agree completely. And if I understood anything at all, I took you to say that I should look on another day of digging defenses as somethin’ pleasurable.”
“Nate, my dear good man, you have understood perfectly, I assure you. Shall we share this loaf of bread before we are off to our respective pleasures for the day?”
“I would be honored, Mr. Crockett, absolutely honored,” Nate replied.
Later, as Nate was engaging in his daily task of digging, he thought on the state of things, and what they could expect. The enemy forces had set up two cannons on the other side of the river on the day after they had shown up. Every once in a while they’d start firing them darn things off, but so far they were just a damn nuisance more than anything. Nobody’d been hurt in the week since they’d begun firing them.
What concerned Nate the most was the flurry of activity that kept up nonstop outside the walls. The fellows on the other side were building fortifications. And since there was a lot more of them than Texians, they were making significant progress. The Texians had kept up a steady barrage ever since the Mexicans had arrived, but the success of their shots had dwindled markedly as the Mexicans had improved their defenses.
Nate had thought for the first few days that the Texians might be able to hold them off indefinitely, but now he was beginning to think it didn’t look so good. For one thing, the Mexican Army seemed to be growing by the day. By now, most fellas figured they had at least five thousand soldiers out there. For another thing, the Texians didn’t have sufficient food to withstand a long siege. Their only real hope was reinforcements, and except for the thirty who had shown up from Gonzales, there had been no arrivals. Nate would have liked to have gotten his hands on that fellow Fannin. Where in living hell was he?
Nate was thinking on that when he noticed a commotion at the far end of the fort. The sentry was yelling that a rider was coming in from the east. As one, every man in the Alamo stopped what they were doing and dashed for an advantageous spot. Off on the horizon Nate could see the rider. He was coming on fast, but he was still a good half mile out, and unfortunately, there were at least fifty armed soldiers out there between him and the mission gate.
Suddenly, he heard Colonel Travis boom out an order, “Get the gate ready for Major Bonham! He’s coming in hard and fast.” That Travis was tough as nails. Nate had had his doubts at first – he was awful young to be in charge. But Nate had to admit that Travis was the man to lead this army.
Nate scanned eastward. It was absurd - there wasn’t any way that Bonham was going to make it into that fort alive! Not with all those soldiers out there right under foot. But here he came, and he just kept on riding, whipping his horse’s flanks as he came. And damn if he didn’t take darn near every one of ‘em by surprise. Nate only heard a few shots fired, and in little more than a minute, Bonham was through the gate and into the
fort. Before he could dismount, the entire Texan Army as one let out a great whoop and holler, the likes of which Nate had never heard before.
Colonel Travis gave Bonham an enormous slap on the back, thereby causing Bonham to lunge forward a step. At this Bonham grinned, and the two embraced. The gates swung closed, and Nate breathed a sigh of relief. They’d been under siege now for more than a week, and not a single man lost! The thought crossed his mind briefly – he wondered if a man could pull that mad dash on horseback off in reverse.
“Nah,” he consoled himself, “Too late for that.”
San Antonio
Francisco slouched within the cantina, contemplating his third mescal. He wished for just one more view of the voluptuous Virgin Antonia, but she had insulted him, the puta. What right had she, a mere peasant, to injure a soldier in the Mexican Army? He was glad he’d done it. Now they held her prisoner. He figured his face would be healed before they let her out of that stinking jail. He was proud of himself for finding the courage to report her.
Hernando came wandering in from the street. He could see that Francisco was well lubricated. “Hola, my friend,” he said to Hernando.
“Hola, Francisco. You are looking lousy. What happened to your face?”
“A horse kicked me,” Francisco lied. “I’m taking pain killer, though. Ha!” and so saying, he held up his empty glass.
Unimpressed with Francisco’s weak attempt at humor, Hernando merely smiled contemptuously. He could tell that Francisco was in one of his introverted moods. He only drank when he was miserable, and he seriously doubted that a kick from a horse had caused Fran cisco’s current binge.
Seeking an interesting topic of conversation, Hernando inquired, “Hey, did you hear about the mujer, the one who used to sing in this cantina, back when we were here last fall?”
“No,” Francisco said blandly, signaling his disinterest in the subject.
But Hernando plowed forward, “They arrested her yesterday. She was informing against us with the Texians!”
“You don’t say,” Francisco mumbled disdainfully.
“Si, my friend. And here is the strangest thing of all. El Presidente had her executed this morning – a firing squad.”
“What?” Francisco replied incredulously, “You’re lying! They wouldn’t shoot a mujer!”
“No, my friend. It is true. She was a traitor, and under Mexican law, she was put to death.”
Francisco was stunned in disbelief by this revelation. He grabbed the bottle of mescal and poured down as much as he could. Fearful that his amigo might kill himself, Hernando jumped up and tugged the bottle away from him. Francisco pulled away and, staggering to the door, he stumbled into the night. He managed to make it two blocks before he collapsed in a drunken stupor in an alley. “Noooooo,” he cried out, drawing his knees to his chin. “It was not supposed to be this way! My angel, my Virgin Mary, you have forsaken me!”
Hawk Banks - Founding Texas Page 18
