Having been in and around San Antonio at the time of the struggle for the Alamo, at least one of these men had learned of Travis’ fate from a Mexican soldado, or civilian survivors, who had witnessed his suicide, and from viewing Travis’ body which was later identified by Joe. Everyone, including Houston, fully believed without question, or even surprise for that matter, the report of Travis’ suicide. Clearly, they evidently knew him and his general disposition and temperament well enough so that there existed relatively little surprise or skepticism when they learned of his suicide. 67 This final coup-de-grace was very likely a neat, clean shot, administered by a small-caliber pistol that Travis carried in his leather belt. No doubt like other doomed defenders, Travis had prepared for such a tragic eventuality, and had made his plans accordingly.
More romantic accounts of Travis’ death, in the heroic last stand tradition, have maintained that he was shot in the head while firing his double-barreled shotgun over the north wall at Mexicans clustered at the wall’s base, and that a volley erupting from below ended his life. This is not implausible, since despite the darkness and the poor marksmanship of the average Mexican soldado, there were certainly a lot of bullets flying around and one by chance could have caught Travis in the head. However, the type of wound caused by a Brown Bess musket at close range would have caused massive damage and been far more disfiguring than a pistol shot, and this sort of wound was not described by those who viewed Travis’ body.
The first contemporary account that placed Travis at Fortin Terán was from Joe, who very likely had remained hidden in some building. After seeing Travis’ body at the north wall, he and others merely assumed that Travis was killed by the enemy in combat. But Joe’s testimony was embellished as he wanted to praise his former master and win favor from white interviewers. After all, he was a slave. For instance, barely a month after the battle, Joe even concocted a story of how after having been shot, Travis killed a Mexican general who was attempting to “behead him” with his saber. However, no general was killed at the Alamo. But most important, Joe indicated that Travis had been wounded, which adds plausibility to the scenario that the Alamo’s commander, at the very end, lost all hope and decided to end his own life.
No single suggestion more disputes the Alamo’s core mythology than that of suicides among the garrison, despite the fact that considerable primary evidence indicates that suicide was the fate of a number of defenders, including their commander. On March 11, 1836 less than a week after the Alamo’s fall, and based upon the firsthand reports from Bergaras and Barcenas, Sam Houston wrote a letter from Gonzáles to his friend, Henry Raguet, which revealed a truth that seemed to surprise no one: “Our friend Bowie, as is now understood, unable to get out of bed, shot himself, as the soldiers approached [and 24-year old, Louisiana-born Charles] Despal[l]ier, [Christopher Adams] Parker [age 22], and others, when all hope was lossed [sic] followed his example,” while “Travis, tis said, rather than fall into the hands of the enemy, stabbed himself.” 68
Then, on March 15, 1836, Benjamin B. Goodrich, a member of the Washington-on-the-Brazos Convention, wrote to his brother John Camp Goodrich from Washington-on-the-Brazos, reporting how, “Col. Travis, the commander of the fortress, sooner than fall into the hands of the enemy, stabbed himself to the heart and instantly died.” 69 Another early testament of Travis’ suicide appeared in an April 16, 1836 issue of The New Yorker with the publication of a letter by Andrew Briscoe: “The brave and gallant Travis, to prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy, shot himself.” 70 And the Louisiana Advertiser also told its readers of Travis’ suicide, after he, and for good reason, decided that he would not suffer the dismal fate of “falling into the hands” of Santa Anna. 71
On March 28, 1836, the New Orleans Post and Union likewise ran the story of the suicide of the Alamo’s young commander, who, from all contemporary evidence, went down like a sea captain with his ship in a long-revered tradition, especially among military commanders. 72
In addition, the April 16, 1836 issue of the Western Courier and Piqua Enquirer of Piqua, Ohio, reported the news that was far more believable to Americans at the time than today: “We stop the Press to announce the fall of Béxar, and the slaughter of 187 brave fellows, principally Americans . . . The gallant commander, Col. Travis, before he would suffer himself to be taken alive, drew a pistol from his belt and put an end to his existence by lodging its contents in his own head.” 73
What is especially interesting about this account and others is that they reveal none of today’s negative social stigma, but a matter-of-fact acceptance, if not appreciation, of the concept of suicide under no-win circumstances that did nothing to damage the heroic reputation of the doomed yet gallant Alamo commander.
BREAKDOWN
With Colonel Travis dead, what little cohesion that remained among the confused, dazed, and half-asleep band of defenders, especially among the volunteers, now evaporated completely in the noise, panic, and darkness. After all, the garrison was never really a command in any sense of the word, with in-fighting as much among themselves as among Texas’ notoriously quarrelsome politicians in San Felipe de Austin. Even more, the garrison—a truly multi-ethnic and multi-racial command in which barely half a dozen men were native Texians and even less were from San Antonio—was even not united by nationality, or state or community ties. Especially in such a disastrous situation, collapse of cohesion, and therefore organized resistance, was all but inevitable.
When Joe was horrified to see his Alabama-born master, who had purchased him almost two years earlier to the day, killed, he possessed the good sense to immediately take off on the run. At age 23, this African American now proceeded to do what most white soldiers at the north wall were now doing. The idea that Joe served as a soldier—after all he was a slave with no military experience—to defend the Alamo against those who would liberate him and bestow freedom upon him makes little sense. Instead, he headed back across the plaza on the double. Seeking survival, he found refuge in one of the buildings along the southern perimeter.
Young Captain Baugh, only an adjutant, now became “the de facto” commander of the Alamo after Travis’ death. But like Travis, the captain could accomplish little, if anything. By this time, Baugh very likely realized that he would never see his Virginia family again. Without either the time or inclination to spring from the Long Barracks and other sleeping quarters to dash across the plaza’s lengthy stretch to defend the walls, an unknown number of soldiers remained behind in the temporary shelter of the Long Barracks or other buildings out of fear and shock. Therefore, some garrison members failed to make the dash to assigned defensive posts, because with the surprise so complete, they seemed to instinctively know that resistance would make little difference in the end. 74
Such factors also explain why the vast majority of the Alamo’s cannon remained silent so long. Knowing the end was now near, a shocked 26-year-old Captain Dickinson, who commanded the cannon at the church’s rear, had only been awake for a few minutes when he revealed to his horrified bride Susanna, who was in the ill-lit sacristy, the truth of the situation: “Great God, Sue, the Mexicans are inside our walls!” 75 The shock could not have been more complete. In the artillery barracks with his father, Enrique Esparza never forgot the moment when “We could hear the Mexican officers shouting to the men to jump over.” 76
Incredibly, the foremost Mexican troops were inside the Alamo before most garrison members were fully awake, aroused, and on their way to defensive positions. Indeed, overrunning the north wall had been so relatively easy—ironically thanks in part to the artillery damage inflicted in this sector by Neill’s artillery during the 1835 siege of Santa Antonio—that Lieutenant Colonel José Juan Sánchez-Navarro described with some astonishment how, “Our jefes, officers, and troops, at the same time as if by magic, reached the top of the north wall [and] jumped within.” 77Revealing some relief that the task had not been more difficult, he said, “The four columns and the reserves as if by
a charm at the same time climbed the enemy’s wall and threw themselves inside his enclosure.” 78
Ironically, the attackers’ own numbers proved to be a greater impediment than defenders’ fire. After all, the soldados “had their ladders against the wall before the Garrison were aroused,” and had been scaling the north wall without encountering serious opposition. Young Lieutenant José María Torres of the Zapadores Battalion had already planted the Mexican tricolor on the north wall, proclaiming victory. 79
All the while, larger numbers of Mexicans continued to pour over the walls and through the gate like a raging tide of humanity. Such a tactical achievement was one of Santa Anna’s proudest moments as a military commander. Even long after the Alamo’s capture, and as revealed in a previously unpublished letter, Santa Anna still glowed at the memory of when so many “Mexican soldiers scaled those stone walls climbing them with courage.” 80 And it had all happened so quickly, less than fifteen minutes since the attack’s opening, giving garrison members a very narrow window of opportunity to wake up, strap on gear, and dash to assigned positions to mount a defense.
At this time, the plaza’s north end was filled with swarming soldados. Mexican targets, dark-skinned enlisted men of Indian and mixed heritage, and lighter-colored Creole officers, both wearing dark-blue colored uniforms, could not yet be seen clearly by the defenders in the night. Therefore, targets were not yet clear for Travis’s men, adding to the confusion and overall lack of resistance. What little, if any, hope of galvanizing a solid defense only continued to evaporate further in the confusion, the blackness, and the noise. As if this situation was insufficiently unnerving for the numbed garrison, soldiers yet emerging groggily from sleeping quarters to enter the plaza’s expanse now heard the spontaneous chant of the onrushing soldados, “Muerte a los Americanos,” or “Death to the Americans!” 81
Even if the men of the Alamo did not speak Spanish, they could guess the meaning of the war-cry, while Tejano defenders could already understand the frantic commands of shouting Mexican officers. Most of all, no defender could forget the sight of that red flag waving over the church, and what it signified. Like so many garrison members, romantic-minded Micajah Autry, a crusty War of 1812 veteran compared to the beardless youths around him, who was yet an idealistic dreamer at over forty, was about to fulfill his promise, or death wish at the Alamo. In one of his final letters to his wife, Martha, he wrote, “I am determined to provide for you a home or perish.” 82
From beginning to end, relatively feeble resistance in the face of the overpowering onslaught was all but inevitable. The lack of effective leadership, careful coordination of the defense, and command incohesiveness that had been evident for so long now rose to the fore. Inexperienced novices in the ways of war, Alamo garrison members were also divided by race (Tejano verus Anglo-Celts); nationality (Americans verus Europeans); regional difference (North versus South); the direction of Texas’ future, (pro-Constitution of 1824 verus pro-independence); regulars and volunteers; native Texians versus United States volunteers; leadership (Travis versus Bowie); and even along political party lines (Whigs verus Jacksonian Democrats). These considerable differences helped to ensure that the garrison would act anything like a cohesive force—after all they were citizen-soldiers and volunteers—rather than as disciplined soldiers.
Along with Santa Anna’s hard-hitting, stealthy tactics, a host of factors, including Travis’ death, plagued the garrison to prevent a unified defense, paving the way for panic and a complete rout. As in any such divided military organization, especially one caught unprepared during a nocturnal surprise attack, such internal differences and divisions were only magnified under the stress of battle, rising to the fore at the moment of crisis. One of the great Alamo myths was that the garrison— which never previously faced a combat situation—fought and died as one in a well-coordinated, tenacious defensive effort.
Instead, what relatively little resistance offered to the Mexican attackers easily broke down under the shock of an onrushing enemy who so quickly descended upon them in overwhelming numbers. What few tentative, belated defensive efforts that existed, therefore, fragmented even further in the noise, fear and panic—a natural, if not inevitable, development under the circumstances. In fact, a majority of the Alamo garrison offered little, if any, resistance—the antithesis of the fabled last stand.
This undeniable reality of a lack of a unified and organized defensive effort was explained in the first official account of the Alamo’s fall. Significantly, in his report written for the Mexican Minister of War and Navy, Santa Anna himself explained how “there was a large number [of defenders] that still had not been able to engage” the attackers, because they had not gone to the north wall, but fled toward the compound’s south side, now free of attackers. 83
Like other officers, Captain Baugh, could not organize effective resistance now that he was the acting senior commander. 84 In desperation, this former New Orleans Grey continued to attempt to rally riflemen beyond the relative handful of soldiers who had attempted to take defensive positions. But in the dark and confusion, like his predecessor, there was little that he could do.
Nevertheless, Captain Baugh and others continued frantic efforts to arouse and organize the riflemen from their isolated sleeping quarters in various buildings of the Alamo compound, after Baugh had already alerted those in the two-story Long Barracks. Indeed, for too long this morning when time was of the essence, the captain had urgently attempted to arouse some “of the defenders out of their sleep immediately, but others, in their fatigue-induced slumber, awoke slowly and were confused” under the shock of the surprise attack. 85
By this time additional dazed soldiers had emerged from the darkness of their warm barracks and sleeping rooms only to encounter the chaos, tumult, and confusion that was swirling around the Alamo’s plaza like a tornado. Enrique Esparza later recalled, “I ran out to the [church] courtyard from a deep sleep.” 86
Indeed, there simply was no time to rally the men, so complete was the Mexican success in overrunning the north wall before the garrison could be aroused. 87 It had now become a desperate situation of every man for himself. In the midst of the Mexicans surging over the wall in the darkness, a wave of panic naturally swept through the defenders, who deserted firing positions along the perimeter and fled back into the plaza. 88
After Travis died, the few defenders, mostly artillerymen who had been so easily overpowered at the north wall, fled through the plaza and toward the Long Barracks to escape the onslaught. As if the convergence of three attack columns before the north wall was not enough to overpower the resistance there, the few defenders there had also been flanked on their left when Cós’ troops overran the Alamo’s northwest corner. This position had been bolstered by an artillery platform and two cannon—dubbed Fortin de Condelle—but had been easily overwhelmed. 89
Therefore, what few men who continued to race from the Long Barracks and other sleeping quarters to go to the north wall, if that was the case, were now met in the Alamo plaza by onrushing Mexicans, who had already scaled the wall or entered its postern gate. Ironically, more actual fighting now took place not on the wall but in the open plaza, where even less chance for the garrison’s survival existed. Amid wreaths of sulphurous smoke that hung heavy over the plaza, further obscuring visibility, these close-range encounters were nightmarish, with Mexican troops using their bayonets with brutal effectiveness. 90
Stunned garrison members who continued to emerge from their sleeping quarters were shocked to suddenly see a good many swarthy men—in general smaller than the Anglo-Celts—in dark blue uniforms. To the startled defenders now caught in the plaza, these fighting men from Mexico emerged like phantoms out of the blackness, charging across the plaza toward the south wall. Equally unnerving was the fact that the onrushing Mexicans were yelling like banshees and flashing bayonets, while officers shouted orders in a language they could not understand. Sensing a victory had already been won, these soldad
os now fought far more aggressively than the overconfident garrison members had ever believed possible.
Therefore, besides that of the surprise attack and the Mexicans already swarming through the plaza, yet another shock further stunned the Alamo defenders by this time: the warrior-like qualities and the courage exhibited by the attacking soldados. Now inside the plaza, these fighting men from Mexico defied so many ugly racial stereotypes about their lack of combat prowess and courage. Consequently, the sense of terror among the Alamo defenders only rose to new heights. These developments were indicated by the words of de la Pena, who wrote how thoroughly the dazed defenders were “terrified,” when swiftly overpowered by the Mexican onslaught in the plaza. As among the relatively few defenders who had initially rallied in time to attempt to fight back, this ever-escalating shock and panic was contagious to the newly-aroused troops yet spilling forth and into the plaza’s dark expanse, after emerging from buildings along the perimeter. 91
Besides the surprise, the absolute swiftness of the Mexican advance in getting over the north wall stunned the Alamo men, sending them reeling. Indeed, as explained by Johnson who had learned the truth firsthand of the Mexican’s rapid success from the victors not long after the fighting, “This all passed within a few minutes after the garrison [was] driven from the thin manned outer defences, whose early loss was inevitable.” 92
Indeed, thanks to having set up ladders along the north wall “before the Garrison were aroused to resistance” and with the Alamo’s walls virtually defenseless, the vigorous rush of the Mexican troops up and over the barrier and then through the plaza was most of all distinguished by its swiftness. Survivor Susanna Dickinson, reinforcing the prevalent racial image of an onrushing tide of barbarians, later spoke of “the Aztec horde [which] came on like the swoop of a whirlwind.” 93
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