over, and the result is known. Contrary to all expectations, I am
beaten two hundred and thirty votes, from the best information I can
get; and in this instance, I may say, bad is the best.... I have
been told by good men that some of the managers of the Union Bank
[at Jackson] were heard to say, on the day of election, that they
would give twenty-five dollars a vote for enough votes to elect Mr.
Huntsman. This is a pretty good price for a vote, and in ordinary times
a round dozen might be got for the money.
“As my country no longer requires my services, I have made up my mind
to go to Texas. My life has been one of danger, toil, and privation,
but these difficulties I had to encounter at a time when I considered
it nothing more than right good sport to surmount them. Now I start
anew upon my own hook, and God only grant that it may be strong enough
to support the weight hung upon it. I have a new row to hoe, a long and
rough one, but, come what will, I’ll _go ahead_!”
At a general meeting in his district Davy spoke for the last time to
the voters of western Tennessee. Recounting his services, and the
unfair methods by which he thought himself to have been beaten, he made
a pretty strong talk, and concluded by saying that he could not think
it a fair fight; but that he was done with politics for the present,
and that he was going to Texas.
In all stories of Davy’s life, the poem said to have been written by
himself, on the eve of his departure for Texas, is given a prominent
place. In his own story he says that it was as “zigzag as a worm fence”
when first written, but was overhauled by one Peleg Longfellow, who
could hardly have been a relative of H. W. Longfellow. After this and
much lopping of some lines and stretching out of others, Davy says
he wished he might be shot if wasn’t worse than ever. This is the
concluding verse of the poem:
“Farewell to my country! I fought for thee well,
When the savage rushed forth like the demons of hell.
In peace or in war I have stood by thy side.
My country, for thee I have lived――would have died!
But I am cast off, my career is now run,
And I wander abroad like a prodigal son.
Where the wild savage roves, and the broad prairies spread,
The fallen――despised――will again――Go Ahead!”
Having now determined to “cut out and quit the States until honest men
should have a chance to work their way to the head of the heap,” Davy
said good-by to his friends and his family, and started for Mills’
Point, to take a boat down the river.
“The thermometer stood somewhat below freezing point,” he says, “as
I left my wife and children; still there was some thawing about the
eyelids, a thing that had not happened since I ran away from my
father’s house when a thoughtless, vagabond boy. I dressed myself in a
clean hunting-shirt, put on a new fox-skin cap with the tail hanging
behind, took hold of my rifle ‘Betsy,’ which all the world knows was
presented to me by the patriots of Philadelphia, and, thus equipped,
started off to go ahead in a new world.”
It appears that up to this time Davy’s account of his life had been
taken down by the editor of his book or an assistant. From time to
time more was added, evidently from notes or messages sent from the
frontier. Manifestos signed by Davy Crockett bear no trace of his
style, nor do the concluding chapters of his book, which he never saw
completed. Whoever helped the rounding out of his narrative could
easily have followed Davy in his wanderings, and it must be taken for
granted that this was done. All through the book there is a random way
of telling the story, but in no case, after careful study, does there
appear any discrepancy.
When Davy boarded the steamer _Mediterranean_ at the Point, he was
welcomed by many prominent men on the way to Arkansas and Texas.
The steamboat was one of the finest on the river, and before her
gangway was aboard, and the slowly turning paddle-wheels had sent the
surging waves against the muddy banks, Davy was the centre of a group
of bankers, soldiers, Indian-fighters, gamblers, speculators, and
all that then made the river their highway. They were interested in
the future of Texas, and were determined to make it free of Mexican
rule. In the spectacular figure of the famous scout, bear-hunter, and
Congressman, they saw a new ideal. Such a history as his was rare to
their experiences. They knew he might be relied upon for courage and
honesty. When the _Mediterranean_ tied up at Helena, in a storm, a
subscription of eighty thousand dollars for the Texan cause was made up
on board. Davy Crockett, James Bowie, Colonel Hawkins, Captain Travis,
and Captain Fannin were made trustees of this fund. Every one of these
names is blazoned upon the Texan scroll of fame. The money was paid in,
put in charge of John Slidell, Governor White, and S. S. Prentiss, and
was all used in freeing Texas from Mexico.
Davy is said to have gone to New Orleans, and is known to have visited
Natchez, stirring up the more peaceable to active interest in the
affairs of the Americans threatened by the new attitude of the Mexican
Government. For three years all Mexican troops had been kept out
of Texas; the latest news told of the coming of General Cos with a
strong force, and the garrisoning of San Antonio by several hundred
Mexican soldiers, selected, by orders from Santa Anna, from the lowest
classes, men who were ever ready to cut throats, plunder, or insult the
colonists. With the money subscribed, the gathering of supplies for
the “inevitable conflict” went rapidly forward. The return of Stephen
F. Austin, after eight months’ captivity in Mexican prisons, brought a
new force into the field. The Americans cast bullets, looked to their
priming, and built adobe forts under pretense of building homes. The
slow ferment of racial hatred, the antipathies of men who worshipped
God in different ways or not at all, the cherishing of the memories of
murderous deeds on both sides, grew slowly into a flood of passion, fed
by every heart-throb day and night.
After various journeys along and about the Red River, Davy started for
the front, where the old city of San Antonio de Bejar stood forever the
centre of bloody tragedies and bitter strife. After being entertained
in true Western style at Little Rock, he set forth for Fulton, one
hundred and twenty miles across country. The citizens had given him
a horse and saddle, and the company of four or five men, bound for
Washita River, gave the party the appearance of a band of scouts. After
a ride of fifty miles they drew near the river, when sounds of music
were heard. “Hail Columbia” rolled across the fringe of alders along
the banks, but when they raised their voices in a cheer the playing
stopped, to again break into that old sad song of vanished hopes, “Over
the Water to Charlie.” Putting spurs to their tired horses, they came
to the river’s edge, to look upon the spectacle of a travelling parson
whom they had seen at Little Rock, sitting in a sulky in the middle
of the swirling stream. His horse could barely keep his feet, and yet
the parson played with a composure that told of his faith in a higher
power. He had fiddled for more than an hour, not daring to turn or
venture on, and when he was rescued by Davy’s company he was about used
up.
From this point Davy went on towards Fulton with the preacher, as far
as Greenville. As they rode along, the old parson spoke so warmly of
the bountiful works of Providence that his faith was imparted to his
companion. “We were alone in the wilderness,” wrote Davy, “but all
things told me that God was there. The thought renewed my strength and
courage. I had left my country; felt somewhat like an outcast; but now
I was conscious that there was One still watching over me. My soul
leaped with joy at the thought: I never felt so grateful in all my
life; I never before loved God so sincerely. I felt that I still had a
friend.”
There are some that will sneer at Davy’s confession of his faith and
love, forgetting that the wandering outcast, even the worst of men,
looks out sometimes from the darkest depths to the long-remembered
sweetness of a mother’s smile. “How sharp the point of this remembrance
is!” The careless or the hardened shrink from tender memories, but
sometimes, in the moment of evil impulse or of passion’s sway, their
hands by these are stayed from wickedness. In such a heart as Davy
Crockett’s there will always burn the reverential fires that keep the
soul alight.
At Fulton Davy took passage on a steamboat for Natchitoches, in
Louisiana. As the boat puffed its way down the writhing channel of
the Red River, he noticed a small cluster of passengers intent upon
something that seemed to be very amusing. “I drew nigh to the cluster,”
he says, “and, seated on a chest, was a tall, lank sea-sarpent-looking
blackleg, who was interesting the passengers by his skill at
thimble-rig [the shell game]; at the same time he was picking up their
shillings just as fast as a hungry gobbler would a pint of corn.”
Noticing Davy’s interest in his actions, the gambler finally urged him
to make a bet; whereupon Davy, knowing the trick, named the thimble
under which the pea was resting, but insisted upon lifting it himself.
The pea was there, and the gambler was obliged to treat the crowd
about him. After the laugh was over, “poor Thimblerig,” as Davy calls
him, had to forego his game, and soon came and started a conversation
with the man who had outwitted him. He seemed to be a good-natured,
intelligent sort of fellow, “with a keen eye to the main chance.” “He
belonged to that numerous class,” says Davy, “that you can trust as
far as you can sling a bull by the tail, and no farther. All the time
he was talking to me he was seated on a chest, playing mechanically
with his pea and thimbles, as if he was afraid he would lose his
sleight-of-hand.”
At Natchitoches, the gambler, deploring his past and the hopelessness
of his leading an honest life, was told by Davy that if he could not
really lead the life of an honest man, the next best thing was to die
like a brave one.
“Most men are remembered as they died,” said Davy “and not as they
lived.”
“You are right; but how is this to be done?”
“Come with me to Texas; cut aloof from your degrading habits and
associates, and in fighting for freedom, regain your own.”
The gambler started from the table at which he was sitting, seized
Davy’s hand, and exclaimed, with kindling eyes, “I will be a man again,
and live honestly or die bravely. I will go with you to Texas.” In this
way was Thimblerig enlisted. His real name is not known.
XXI.
THE BEE-HUNTER
At Natchitoches: forty bushels of frogs to the acre――The Bee-Hunter
casts his lot with Colonel Crockett and Thimblerig――The welcome at
Nacogdoches――Davy’s parting speech――The Bee-Hunter says farewell to
Kate――The journey to the Rio Trinidad――Encounter with the Pirate
and the Indian Hunter――They also enlist with the Colonel――Chasing
the buffalo, and separation of the party――Davy and the mountain
lion――The spectacle of Halley’s comet――A party of Comanches surround
Thimblerig――The party reunited――Encounter with Mexicans――In sight of
the Alamo――The welcome at San Antonio.
The next morning, after an early walk along the lowlands of the river,
which were said to produce each year forty bushels of frogs to the
acre, with alligators enough for fences, Davy was standing in front of
the village inn, when he heard a clear and musical voice break into
song. Drawing near to the singer, he saw him to be a young man of about
twenty-two, of light and graceful figure, indicating strength and
activity. He was dressed in a hunting-shirt, tastily ornamented with
fringe. A highly-finished rifle was in his hand, and a hunting-pouch,
covered with Indian ornaments, was slung across his shoulders. His
clean shirt-collar was open, secured only by a black riband around his
neck. The young man’s face was a handsome, bright, and manly one. From
his eyes to his breast he was sunburnt as dark as mahogany, while the
upper part of his high forehead was as white and as polished as marble.
Thick clusters of curly hair showed under his cap.
When the young man saw Davy, he called him by name, and said that he
had come to meet him, for the purpose of going with him to Texas. He
was a bee-hunter, and knew the trails that the Spanish had dignified
with the name of roads. As soon as they could get a horse for
Thimblerig, the three men started for Nacogdoches, in Texas, where the
first troubles had begun. The Bee-Hunter proved a cheerful companion
and an experienced guide, and after a journey of one hundred and twenty
miles they came in sight of Nacogdoches, then a straggling settlement
of one thousand people. From afar they saw the tri-color, two-starred
flag of Texas and Coahuila, at the top of a high pole, and when nearer
heard the sound of fife and drum, in honor of Crockett’s arrival. The
day was spent in hearing the news, procuring supplies, and writing
letters, and at a late hour they were ready for an early start for San
Antonio, two hundred miles distant.
What they had heard was enough to stir their blood. The capture of
General Cos and his Mexicans by General Burleson, the surrender of the
Alamo, and the clearing from Texas soil of the last Mexican soldier,
presaged an easy road to Texan freedom. But the danger of an invasion
by another and larger Mexican army was not unlikely.
Before going to bed, Crockett surprised Thimblerig, busy with his
thimbles and the elusive pea, in the midst of a dozen men. At the sight
of his new friend, the crestfallen gambler hustled his apparatus out of
sight.
The next morning Davy found the Bee-Hunter in the little parlor of
the inn, talking with a girl of about eighteen. Davy says she was as
lovely as the wild-flowers of the prairie, and when she courtesied to
Davy, and looked farewell into her lover’s face, the old scout and
hunter turned away with tears in his eyes. A gourd for water, a pocket
Bible, and some other little tokens of her thoughtfulness and love, she
gave to the handsome recruit and he was ready to go.
In front of the inn, Crockett made a short speech before mounting his
little mustang. Standing with head uncovered, he said at last:
“I will die, if I must, with my ‘Betsy’ in my arms. No! I will not die!
I’ll grin down the walls of the Alamo, and we’ll lick up the Mexicans
like fine salt!”
The Bee-Hunter then came out, followed by the weeping girl. He said
good-by to his friends who surrounded him, took Kate, his sweetheart,
to his heart, kissed her farewell, and leaped upon his horse. As he
rode away he sang in a clear, exultant voice, as if to cheer his
listeners:
“Saddled and bridled and booted rode he――
A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee.”
A soft and tremulous strain, like an echo of his song, came to their
ears from Kate’s dear lips, as if in prophecy:
“But hame came the saddle, all bluidy to see;
And hame came the steed, but hame never came he!”
The three men travelled steadily through great forests of hardwood,
with occasional cane-brakes along the many streams. They saw much game,
but dared not do any hunting, for fear of losing their way. On the
second day the Trinity River was reached, seventy miles southwest, near
where the town of Crockett stands. The next night they took shelter
from a “norther” in the miserable cabin of a poor white woman, who
generously gave them part of her scanty store. Here they found two
recruits.
“While we were securing our horses for the night,” the story runs, “we
saw two men approaching on foot. They were both armed with rifles and
hunting-knives, and I must say they were about the roughest samples I
had ever seen. One was a man about fifty years old, tall and raw-boned.
He was dressed in a sailor’s round jacket, with a tarpaulin hat on
his head. His whiskers nearly covered his face, and there was a deep
scar across his forehead. His companion, considerably younger, was
bareheaded, and clad in a deer-skin dress made after our fashion.
Though he was not much darker than the old man, I perceived that he was
an Indian.”
These men were on the way to the front, and they agreed to accompany
Davy’s little party. The Indian surprised them by producing a brace
of rabbits from his bag, and a good supper was soon prepared,
consisting of fried bacon and rabbit, with onions. Thimblerig, for
some unaccountable reason, objected to eating with the bewhiskered
party, who had been, so the Bee-Hunter said, at one time a pirate.
Overhearing some of his talk to this effect, the old salt fixed his eye
on Thimblerig, drew his long hunting-knife from its sheath, and placed
it by his own plate, saying, “Stranger, I think you had better take a
seat and have some supper.” The gambler looked at the Pirate, then at
the knife, and his scruples were put aside.
The next day they saw a large drove of buffalo, and the whole party,
with the exception of the Pirate, followed them. At the end of two
hours Davy found himself alone on the prairies, his tiny mustang nearly
dead with exhaustion, and himself little better off. Too tired to think
of going on, Davy prepared to camp near a stream where a fallen tree
offered shelter from the wind. As he was inspecting the place, he saw
a great mountain lion about to spring upon him. A shot from “Betsy”
failed to settle the creature, and it was only after a desperate
fight that Davy succeeded in killing the savage animal with his
hunting-knife. By this time he wanted sleep, and it was just before the
first streak of dawn that he awoke, stiff with cold and sore from the
clawing he had received from the lion, that now lay near him upon the
ground. The night was clear and the stars bright, and over in the east
was the magnificent spectacle of Halley’s comet, sweeping the skies for
thirty degrees with its luminous train――a grand forerunner of the great
events to follow.
As the day came on, Davy shot a wild goose, upon the little river,
and made a hearty breakfast. He was now without his mustang, as the
cunning creature, after feigning more fatigue than it felt, had left
him in the lurch. As he plodded along, hoping that the stream would
lead him to some trail, there came all at once in sight a party of
about fifty Comanches, with lances that glittered in the sunlight. They
came like a whirlwind until almost upon him, and then, dividing to
each side as if by magic, surrounded him. Davy knew enough Spanish to
rejoice when the chief used the words, “_Mucho amigo, mucho amigo_,”
and showed a friendly countenance. When he saw the cougar that Davy had
killed with his knife, he was eager to adopt the hunter into the tribe,
and when the scout declined the honor, the chief insisted on escorting
him as far as the place where the San Antonio trail crossed the
Colorado. They reached this the second day, and just before they came
to the river a thin spiral of smoke was seen through the trees. Riding
ahead with the chief, Davy saw Thimblerig, practising his old game upon
the crown of his great white hat. As the whole party swooped down on
him with yells enough to scare the bravest, the gambler was only saved
from dropping dead by the sight of Davy’s face. By the gift of a Bowie
knife, Davy procured fresh horses from the Indians; and after a powwow
and a smoke, the Comanches left them, and he again took up the journey
to San Antonio with his single companion.
Within twenty-four hours they fell in with the Bee-Hunter, the Pirate,
and the Indian, making a party of five. When about twenty miles from
San Antonio they were met by a number of mounted Mexicans. Shots were
exchanged, whereupon the Mexicans disappeared in a cloud of dust.
As the scouts entered San Antonio, they saw with delight the Texan
flag upon the Alamo. General Cos, Santa Anna’s brother-in-law, had
surrendered the old chapel-fortress, with its four-foot walls, after
losing three hundred men. He had signed a parole, and his seventeen
hundred Mexican soldiers were prisoners, disarmed, and on their way
across the Rio Grande. As Crockett and his companions rode up to the
Alamo and made themselves known, the gates were opened, and they
entered amid the cheers of the victorious garrison.
For several weeks there was a state of doubt as to the intentions
of Santa Anna. Davy was kept busy writing to his friends regarding
supplies and future plans. The Bee-Hunter, the Pirate, the Indian, and
Thimblerig recognized him as their leader, and kept ready to answer his
call.
XXII.
THE ALAMO BESIEGED
The city of San Antonio de Bejar――The crumbling monuments of Spanish
supremacy――A place of surpassing interest to travellers――The spirit of
revenge――The morning of Washington’s Birthday, 1836――Davy, the scout
once more, watches the coming of Santa Anna and four thousand men――The
Alamo prepares for the last struggle――The Bee-Hunter salutes the Lone
Star flag――The Pirate goes for help to Goliad――But one man deserts
the garrison of the Alamo――The beginning of the siege on February
24th――Thimblerig is struck by a bullet, and takes revenge――The Pirate
is seen returning, pursued by Mexicans, and the Bee-Hunter leads a
party to his relief――The Pirate dies of a bullet wound at the gates
of the fort, and the Bee-Hunter is fatally injured――The Bee-Hunter’s
death――Farewell to Kate of Nacogdoches!――The Red Flag on the walls of
the San Fernando church――Orders to the Mexican Army for the assault.
It is not possible here to repeat the history of San Antonio de Bejar.
As the site of crumbling monuments of early American history, it has
no rival. The Alamo, last remnant of the Mission that was at one
time at San Ildefonso, near Santa Fé, is the restored chapel of its
Brotherhood. Its massive walls are the same that have met the many
shocks of battle for two hundred years. There the wild Apaches and
Comanches found a stronghold to check their ravages, and there the
equally savage men of fairer skins slaughtered each other with grim
delight. When the Missions of the Concepcion, of San José, of San Juan,
of San Francis of the Sword, now crumbling to inevitable decay, shall
be only mounds in the midst of stunted trees and matted vines, when the
exquisite carvings of their broad façades shall have turned to dust
again, the traveller will stand before the Alamo with reverence, and
enter, with uncovered head, the dim recesses of this altar-place of
liberty.
When Davy Crockett and his recruits first saw its walls, the spirit
of revenge was rife. The butchery at Tampico of thirty American
adventurers, captured in the schooner _Mary Jane_, in spite of the one
hundred thousand dollar ransom offered, and the murder of Governor
Salcedo, two other Mexican Governors, and a dozen officers and
hidalgos, by Gutierrez and Delgado, Mexican rebels who were allied with
a force of Americans camped about the Alamo, had wrought the racial
hatred to a frenzy. Every man longed for battle, and the extinction of
the last vestige of the power of the enemy. When news came that Santa
Anna and four thousand Mexicans were on the way, the cowards faded
from sight, knowing that war was to be under the Red Flag, and without
quarter.
On the morning of Washington’s Birthday, 1836, Davy and the Bee-Hunter,
with a dozen of the roughest riders that ever fought Apaches on the
plains, sat their saddles upon a mesquite-covered hill a few miles
south of the twin towers of the Mission de La Concepcion, watching a
blur of dust that lay upon the hills. Suddenly there flashed upon their
sight the glitter of bayonets and of silver eagles perched above waving
flags. As they stood intent, the roll of drums came to their ears, and
over the winding river rang the bugle calls of the hurrying hosts.
Santa Anna was within twenty miles of the Alamo, and the Americans’
horses were put to their utmost speed as they raced towards the town
with the long-expected tidings.
As the scouting party clattered through the crooked streets, hundreds
of the inhabitants followed to hear the news they brought. At the gates
of the fortress were Bowie, Travis, and more than one hundred and
fifty others whose names are on the roll of “the Battle Dead.” Every
preparation had been made for the struggle, but both ammunition and
food were scarce. Their hopes were placed upon the expected relief by
the forces under command of Colonel Fannin at Goliad.
In the bright morning light every man stood with uncovered head as the
flag bearing one great star with the name “TEXAS” between its points
went bravely to the top of the garrison staff. As its colors rippled in
beauty overhead, the voice of the Bee-Hunter broke into song, thrilling
with new courage the souls of the devoted band: