The sun was now past the zenith, and since the Norther had ceased to blow there was a spring warmth in the air. Ned, conscious now that he was stained with the dirt and dust of flight and haste, bathed his face and hands in the water of the ditch and combed his thick brown hair as well as he could with his fingers.
“Good work, my lad,” said a hearty voice beside him. “It shows that you have a cool brain and an orderly mind.”
Davy Crockett, who was always neat, also bathed his own face and hands in the ditch.
“Now I feel a lot better,” he said, “and I want to tell you, Ned, that it’s lucky the Spanish built so massively. Look at this church. It’s got walls of hewn stone, five feet through, an’ back in Tennessee we build ’em of planks a quarter of an inch thick. Why, these walls would turn the biggest cannon balls.”
“It surely is mighty lucky,” said Ned. “What are you going to do next, Mr. Crockett?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll wait on the Mexicans to open the battle. Thar, do you hear that trumpet blowin’ ag’in? I reckon it means that they’re up to somethin’.”
“I think so, too,” said Ned. “Let’s go back upon the church walls, Mr. Crockett, and see for ourselves just what it means.”
The two climbed upon the great stone wall, which was in reality a parapet. Travis and Bowie, who was second in command, were there already. Ned looked toward San Antonio, and he saw Mexicans everywhere. Mexican flags hoisted by the people were floating from the flat roofs of the houses, signs of their exultation at the coming of Santa Anna and the expulsion of the Texans.
The trumpet sounded again and they saw three officers detach themselves from the Mexican lines and ride forward under a white flag. Ned knew that one of them was the young Urrea.
“Now what in thunder can they want?” growled Davy Crockett. “There can be no talk or truce between us an’ Santa Anna. If all that I’ve heard of him is true I’d never believe a word he says.”
Travis called two of his officers, Major Morris and Captain Martin, and directed them to go out and see what the Mexicans wanted. Then, meeting Ned’s eye, he recalled something.
“Ah, you speak Spanish and Mexican Spanish perfectly,” he said. “Will you go along, too?”
“Gladly,” said Ned.
“An’, Ned,” said Davy Crockett, in his whimsical tone, “if you don’t tell me every word they said when you come back I’ll keep you on bread an’ water for a week. There are to be no secrets here from me.”
“I promise, Mr. Crockett,” said Ned.
The heavy oaken doors were thrown open and the three went out on foot to meet the Mexican officers who were riding slowly forward. The afternoon air was now soft and pleasant, and a light, soothing wind was blowing from the south. The sky was a vast dome of brilliant blue and gold. It was a picture that remained indelibly on Ned’s mind like many others that were to come. They were etched in so deeply that neither the colors nor the order of their occurrence ever changed. An odor, a touch, or anything suggestive would make them return to his mind, unfaded and in proper sequence like the passing of moving pictures.
The Mexicans halted in the middle of the plain and the three Texans met them. The Mexicans did not dismount. Urrea was slightly in advance of the other two, who were older men in brilliant uniforms, generals at least. Ned saw at once that they meant to be haughty and arrogant to the last degree. They showed it in the first instance by not dismounting. It was evident that Urrea would be the chief spokesman, and his manner indicated that it was a part he liked. He, too, was in a fine uniform, irreproachably neat, and his handsome olive face was flushed.
“And so,” he said, in an undertone and in Spanish to Ned, “we are here face to face again. You have chosen your own trap, the Alamo, and it is not in human power for you to escape it now.”
His taunt stung, but Ned merely replied:
“We shall see.”
Then Urrea said aloud, speaking in English, and addressing himself to the two officers:
“We have come by order of General Santa Anna, President of Mexico and Commander-in-Chief of her officers, to make a demand of you.”
“A conference must proceed on the assumption that the two parties to it are on equal terms,” said Major Morris, in civil tones.
“Under ordinary circumstances, yes,” said Urrea, without abating his haughty manner one whit, “but this is a demand by a paramount authority upon rebels and traitors.”
He paused that his words might sink home. All three of the Texans felt anger leap in their hearts, but they put restraint upon their words.
“What is it that you wish to say to us?” continued Major Morris. “If it is anything we should hear we are listening.”
Urrea could not subdue his love of the grandiose and theatrical.
“As you may see for yourselves,” he said, “General Santa Anna has returned to Texas with an overpowering force of brave Mexican troops. San Antonio has fallen into his hands without a struggle. He can take the Alamo in a day. In a month not a man will be left in Texas able to dispute his authority.”
“These are statements most of which can be disputed,” said Major Morris. “What does General Santa Anna demand of us?”
His quiet manner had its effect upon Urrea.
“He demands your unconditional surrender,” he said.
“And does he say nothing about our lives and good treatment?” continued the Major, in the same quiet tones.
“He does not,” replied Urrea emphatically. “If you receive mercy it will be due solely to the clemency of General Santa Anna toward rebels.”
Hot anger again made Ned’s heart leap. The tone of Urrea was almost insufferable, but Major Morris, not he, was spokesman.
“I am not empowered to accept or reject anything,” continued Major Morris. “Colonel Travis is the commander of our force, but I am quite positive in my belief that he will not surrender.”
“We must carry back our answer in either the affirmative or the negative,” said Urrea.
“You can do neither,” said Major Morris, “but I promise you that if the answer is a refusal to surrender—and I know it will be such—a single cannon shot will be fired from the wall of the church.”
“Very well,” said Urrea, “and since that is your arrangement I see nothing more to be said.”
“Nor do I,” said Major Morris.
The Mexicans saluted in a perfunctory manner and rode toward San Antonio. The three Texans went slowly back to the Alamo. Ned walked behind the two men. He hoped that the confidence of Major Morris was justified. He knew Santa Anna too well. He believed that the Texans had more to fear from surrender than from defence.
They entered the Alamo and once more the great door was shut and barred heavily. They climbed upon the wall, and Major Morris and Captain Martin went toward Travis, Bowie and Crockett, who stood together waiting. Ned paused a little distance away. He saw them talking together earnestly, but he could not hear what they said. Far away he saw the three Mexicans riding slowly toward San Antonio.
Ned’s eyes came back to the wall. He saw Bowie detach himself from the other two and advance toward the cannon. A moment later a flash came from its muzzle, a heavy report rolled over the plain, and then came back in faint echoes.
The Alamo had sent its answer. A deep cheer came from the Texans. Ned’s heart thrilled. He had his wish.
The boy looked back toward San Antonio and his eyes were caught by something red on the tower of the Church of San Fernando. It rose, expanded swiftly, and then burst out in great folds. It was a blood-red flag, flying now in the wind, the flag of no quarter. No Texan would be spared, and Ned knew it. Nevertheless his heart thrilled again.
CHAPTER IX
THE FLAG OF NO QUARTER
Ned gazed long at the great red flag as its folds waved in the wind. A chill ran down his spine, a strange, throbbing sensation, but not of fear. They were a tiny islet there amid a Mexican sea which threatened to roll over them. But the
signal of the flag, he realized, merely told him that which he had expected all the time. He knew Santa Anna. He would show no quarter to those who had humbled Cos and his forces at San Antonio.
The boy was not assigned to the watch that night, but he could not sleep for a long time. Among these borderers there was discipline, but it was discipline of their own kind, not that of the military martinet. Ned was free to go about as he chose, and he went to the great plaza into which they had driven the cattle. Some supplies of hay had been gathered for them, and having eaten they were now all at rest in a herd, packed close against the western side of the wall.
Ned passed near them, but they paid no attention to him, and going on he climbed upon the portion of the wall which ran close to the river. Some distance to his right and an equal distance to his left were sentinels. But there was nothing to keep him from leaping down from the wall or the outside and disappearing. The Mexican investment was not yet complete. Yet no such thought ever entered Ned’s head. His best friends, Will Allen, the Panther and Obed White, were out there somewhere, if they were still alive, but his heart was now here in the Alamo with the Texans.
He listened intently, but he heard no sound of any Mexican advance. It occurred to him that a formidable attack might be made here, particularly under the cover of darkness. A dashing leader like the younger Urrea might attempt a surprise.
He dropped back inside and went to one of the sentinels who was standing on an abutment with his head just showing above the wall. He was a young man, not more than two or three years older than Ned, and he was glad to have company.
“Have you heard or seen anything?” asked Ned.
“No,” replied the sentinel, “but I’ve been looking for ’em down this way.”
They waited a little longer and then Ned was quite sure that he saw a dim form in the darkness. He pointed toward it, but the sentinel could not see it at all, as Ned’s eyes were much the keener: But the shape grew clearer and Ned’s heart throbbed.
The figure was that of a great horse, and Ned recognized Old Jack. Nothing could have persuaded him that the faithful beast was not seeking his master, and he emitted a low soft whistle. The horse raised his head, listened and then trotted forward.
“He is mine,” said Ned, “and he knows me.”
“He won’t be yours much longer,” said the sentinel. “Look, there’s a Mexican creeping along the ground after him.”
Ned followed the pointing finger, and he now noticed the Mexican, a vaquero, who had been crouching so low that his figure blurred with the earth. Ned saw the coiled lariat hanging over his arm, and he knew that the man intended to capture Old Jack, a prize worth any effort.
“Do you think I ought to shoot him?” asked the sentinel.
“Not yet, at least,” replied Ned. “I brought my horse into this danger, but I think that he’ll take himself out of it.”
Old Jack had paused, as if uncertain which way to go. But Ned felt sure that he was watching the Mexican out of the tail of his eye. The vaquero, emboldened by the prospect of such a splendid prize, crept closer and closer, and then suddenly threw the lasso. The horse’s head ducked down swiftly, the coil of rope slipped back over his head, and he dashed at the Mexican.
The vaquero was barely in time to escape those terrible hoofs. But howling with terror he sprang clear and raced away in the darkness. The horse whinnied once or twice gently, waited, and, when no answer came to his calls, trotted off in the dusk.
“No Mexican will take your horse,” said the sentinel.
“You’re right when you say that,” said Ned. “I don’t think another will ever get so near him, but if he should you see that my horse knows how to take care of himself.”
Ned wandered back toward the convent yard. It was now late, but a clear moon was shining. He saw the figures of the sentinels clearly on the walls, but he was confident that no attack would be made by the Mexicans that night. His great tension and excitement began to relax and he felt that he could sleep.
He decided that the old hospital would be a good place, and, taking his blankets, he entered the long room of that building. Only the moonlight shone there, but a friendly voice hailed him at once.
“It’s time you were hunting rest, Ned,” said Davy Crockett. “I saw you wanderin’ ’roun’ as if you was carryin’ the world on your shoulders, but I didn’t say anything. I knew that you would come to if left to yourself. There’s a place over there by the wall where the floor seems to be a little softer than it is most everywhere else. Take it an’ enjoy it.”
Ned laughed and took the place to which Crockett was pointing. The hardness of a floor was nothing to him, and with one blanket under him and another over him he went to sleep quickly, sleeping the night through without a dream. He awoke early, took a breakfast of fresh beef with the men in the convent yard, and then, rifle in hand, he mounted the church wall.
All his intensity of feeling returned with the morning. He was eager to see what was passing beyond the Alamo, and the first object that caught his eye was the blood-red flag of no quarter hanging from the tower of the Church of San Fernando. No wind was blowing and it drooped in heavy scarlet folds like a pall.
Looking from the flag to the earth, he saw great activity in the Mexican lines. Three or four batteries were being placed in position, and Mexican officers, evidently messengers, were galloping about. The flat roofs of the houses in San Antonio were covered with people. Ned knew that they were there to see Santa Anna win a quick victory and take immediate vengeance upon the Texans. He recognized Santa Anna himself riding in his crouched attitude upon a great white horse, passing from battery to battery and hurrying the work. There was proof that his presence was effective, as the men always worked faster when he came.
Ned saw all the Texan leaders, Travis, Bowie, Crockett and Bonham, watching the batteries. The whole Texan force was now manning the walls and the heavy cedar palisade at many points, but Ned saw that for the present all their dealings would be with the cannon.
Earthworks had been thrown up to protect the Mexican batteries, and the Texan cannon were posted for reply, but Ned noticed that his comrades seemed to think little of the artillery. In this desperate crisis they fondled their rifles lovingly.
He was still watching the batteries, when a gush of smoke and flame came from one of the cannon. There was a great shout in the Mexican lines, but the round shot spent itself against the massive stone walls of the mission.
“They’ll have to send out a stronger call than that,” said Davy Crockett contemptuously, “before this ’coon comes down.”
Travis went along the walls, saw that the Texans were sheltering themselves, and waited. There was another heavy report and a second round shot struck harmlessly upon the stone. Then the full bombardment began. A half dozen batteries rained shot and shell upon the Alamo. The roar was continuous like the steady roll of thunder, and it beat upon the drums of Ned’s ears until he thought he would become deaf.
He was crouched behind the stone parapet, but he looked up often enough to see what was going on. He saw a vast cloud of smoke gathering over river and town, rent continually by flashes of fire from the muzzles of the cannon. The air was full of hissing metal, shot and shell poured in a storm upon the Alamo. Now and then the Texan cannon replied, but not often.
The cannon fire was so great that for a time it shook Ned’s nerves. It seemed as if nothing could live under such a rain of missiles, but when he looked along the parapet and saw all the Texans unharmed his courage came back.
Many of the balls were falling inside the church, in the convent yard and in the plazas, but the Texans there were protected also, and as far as Ned could see not a single man had been wounded.
The cannonade continued for a full hour and then ceased abruptly. The great cloud of smoke began to lift, and the Alamo, river and town came again into the brilliant sunlight. The word passed swiftly among the defenders that their fortress was uninjured and not a man hurt.
> As the smoke rose higher Ned saw Mexican officers with glasses examining the Alamo to see what damage their cannon had done. He hoped they would feel mortification when they found it was so little. Davy Crockett knelt near him on the parapet, and ran his hand lovingly along the barrel of Betsy, as one strokes the head of a child.
“Do you want some more rifles, Davy?” asked Bowie.
“Jest about a half dozen,” replied Crockett. “I think I can use that many before they clear out.”
Six of the long-barreled Texan rifles were laid at Crockett’s feet. Ned watched with absorbed interest. Crockett’s eye was on the nearest battery and he was slowly raising Betsy.
“Which is to be first, Davy?” asked Bowie.
“The one with the rammer in his hand.”
Crockett took a single brief look down the sights and pulled the trigger. The man with the rammer dropped to the earth and the rammer fell beside him. He lay quite still. Crockett seized a second rifle and fired. A loader fell and he also lay still. A third rifle shot, almost as quick as a flash, and a gunner went down, a fourth and a man at a wheel fell, a fifth and the unerring bullet claimed a sponger, a sixth and a Mexican just springing to cover was wounded in the shoulder. Then Crockett remained with the seventh rifle still loaded in his hands, as there was nothing to shoot at, all the Mexicans now being hidden.
But Crockett, kneeling on the parapet, the rifle cocked and his finger on the trigger, watched in case any of the Mexicans should expose himself again. He presented to Ned the simile of some powerful animal about to spring. The lean, muscular figure was poised for instant action, and all the whimsicality and humor were gone from the eyes of the sharpshooter.
A mighty shout of triumph burst from the Texans. Many a good marksman was there, but never before had they seen such shooting. The great reputation of Davy Crockett, universal in the southwest, was justified fully. The crew of the gun had been annihilated in less than a minute.
For a while there was silence. Then the Mexicans, protected by the earthwork that they had thrown up, drew the battery back a hundred yards. Even in the farther batteries the men were very careful about exposing themselves. The Texans, seeing no sure target, held their fire. The Mexicans opened a new cannonade and for another half hour the roar of the great guns drowned all other sounds. But when it ceased and the smoke drifted away the Texans were still unharmed.
The Second Western Megapack Page 66
