CROCKETT'S ALARM GUN.
February 24, 1836, and a splendid winter morning for a parade.
Altogether unmolested as they came, the Mexican army marched into
position around the Alamo fort. Not a shot was fired at them. Not a
man of the garrison was in sight. There was a sullen air about the
whole concern. Upon the church wall, indeed, Colonel Travis with a
field-glass studied and estimated the assailants he was to contend with.
"No heavy guns, Davy," he said to Crockett, standing near him. "Castro
was right about everything else. We shall get a message from Santa
Anna pretty soon. Hullo! There he comes now. Let's go down."
"You've only jest one thing to do," replied Crockett, dryly, at the
head of the stairs they were to go down by.
"What's that?" said Travis, getting ready for a joke. "Out with it."
"Well," chuckled the bear hunter, one stair down, "you know what he's
goin' to ask for. Just you demand the immediate, onconditional
surrender of Santa Anna and all his chickens."
"Crockett!" exclaimed Travis, "I can tell you one thing. I know him.
If we should surrender, no matter what conditions he might give, the
old murderer would have every man of us shot before sunset."
"Not a doubt of it," said Crockett; "and between you and me and the
gate-post, I'd ruther do a small chance of hard fighting first. That's
about the way the men feel, too."
That was the kind of reputation the Mexican general had won for
himself, and he was shortly to add to it by his conduct of his campaign
in Texas.
By the time the two friends came out through the church door-way, the
officer of the guard at the gate was loudly responding to a sonorous
bugle summons. A mounted officer, attended by the bugler only, had
halted outside.
"A cartel from His Excellency General de Santa Anna!" he shouted, in
response to the hail of the sergeant. "I am accredited to Senor
Travis."
"Colonel Travis, you mean!" shouted back the sergeant, angrily; but the
clear, ringing tones of Bowie called out,--
"Let him in, Daly. Never mind his nonsense."
Open swung the gate, and in rode the very airy captain of lancers who
had been sent to demand the surrender of the fort, but who had
insolently neglected to acknowledge the military rank of its commander.
[Illustration: IN RODE THE VERY AIRY CAPTAIN OF LANCERS]
That was the sum and substance of the letter he shortly delivered to
Travis, after dismounting and exchanging formal compliments. Added to
it, however, was the grim assurance that, in case of resistance, the
fort would be stormed at once and no quarter whatever would be shown to
the garrison.
"Good!" said Travis, smilingly. "No use in my writing. Go back to the
general and tell him to come on. We are ready."
"Is that all?" exclaimed the astonished captain. "Are you mad? Do you
really intend to resist us?"
"Travis," whispered Crockett, "tell him to say that if they'll march
right hum and agree to stay thar, we won't hurt a soul of 'em."
The captain heard him, and his astonishment showed itself more plainly,
but the reply of Travis was strictly formal.
"That is all," he said. "He knows me. Tell him I am in command here.
We shall hold the Alamo!"
Low bowed the captain, turning to his horse, and in a moment more he
was spurring beyond the gate, and it closed clangingly behind him.
There was really nothing more for the bugler to do, but he blew his
horn furiously before he galloped away.
"It'll take something better'n bugle music to get the Greasers over
those walls," remarked Crockett; but the long eighteen-pounder was now
at one of the southerly embrasures, and, at a signal from Travis, a
thunder of defiance rang out.
"That's the last blank cartridge we'll fire," said Travis. "Now let's
see what they'll do next. The fools can't really mean to try to storm
the works? I almost wish they would."
"If he'd said he'd do it to-day, he'll put it off till to-morrow,"
replied Crockett, sarcastically. "He never kept his word since he was
born,--except about throat-cutting."
No other voice responded. Quiet, resolute, cheerful, the picked men
who constituted that heroic garrison were at their stations, and not a
quiver of fear showed itself among them. As for the enemy, Crockett
had not been far out of the way. Postponement was second nature to
Santa Anna. Besides, he was really possessed of considerable military
education and ability. He could see that, as the rangers said among
themselves, "he had a pretty hard nut to crack." He would therefore
think about it during the rest of that day. All he was ready to do at
once was to send his heaviest battery into position and order it to
blaze away. It was composed of very handsomely polished brass
nine-pounder guns. It swept into its place with a flourish of brass
music from the bands and a sounding of many drums.
"There will be a breach in the wall before sunset," declared the
general, confidently. "We can charge in to-morrow."
Loudly roared the guns, and they were good ones, but praise did not
await the artillerymen. One shot struck the wall of the church.
Another went over the fort. The remainder fell short and ploughed deep
furrows in the sandy soil.
"Santa Maria!" exclaimed the colonel of artillery. "We must do better
next time."
The six guns of the battery were reloaded. Every piece was aimed with
care, and off they went again.
"How is it, Crockett?" shouted Travis to his friend, for the eccentric
satirist was sitting on the wall, his legs dangling outside, and he was
leaning forward.
"Two on 'em hit the wall," replied Crockett. "Dented it some. Tell
Daly to come around and see the holes."
"Bowie," said Travis, "you and Daly. Don't let another man out. His
next battery is nearly ready to open fire."
It was quite ready, but it was composed of lighter pieces. A minute or
so later, Bowie and the sergeant were out in front talking to Crockett
on the wall.
"They've damaged it a little," said Daly. "I don't like the looks of
it."
"Could they punch a hole through," asked Davy, "if they hammered long
enough?"
"Reckon they could," remarked Bowie. "I think that's our worst danger.
But I want to hear from those other guns."
Two batteries sounded this time, and the three Texans stood still and
watched with deep interest the effect of the shots. It did not seem to
occur to either of them that a cannonball might possibly hurt a man.
"Right over my head," said Crockett, quietly. "Hit the roof of the
convent."
"Hurrah!" shouted Daly. "Them nine-pound balls punch, but the sixes
don't make a mark worth a cent. They can jest thunder away."
"Come on," said Bowie. "Let's go in. If they had heavier guns there'd
be a breach in that wall pretty soon. Anything smaller'n sixes would
be like pelting us with apples."
Santa Anna did not seem to be of that opinion. Or else he may have
calculated that sharp cannonading would dishearten the garrison. His
own troops evidently enjoyed it, but there was a severe shock awaiting
the distinguished Mexican. Again and again his heaviest battery had
spoken thunderously, and he felt sure that it must have accomplished
something, but now before him stood General Castrillon, in command of
all the artillery of the invading army. His face was red, his
moustaches seemed to curl with wrath, and his first utterances were
half choked with furious execrations upon the army commissary at
Monterey.
"What is the matter, general?" sternly demanded the commander-in-chief.
"No more nine-pound shot!" roared General Castrillon. "The miscreant
has loaded the other wagon with twelve-pound balls! They are useless!"
"_Caramba!_" almost screamed his chief. "I will have him shot! Let
the cannonading cease. The fort must be taken by escalade. Have the
ladders ready by nine o'clock to-morrow morning."
The fort was safer, but an admirable example had been given of the
inefficiency, indolence, and general worthlessness of the Mexican
officials. Not even the probability of being shot for their blunders
could induce them to discharge their duties thoroughly.
"That battery's tired out," remarked Crockett, as the pause in the
firing grew longer. "Reckon they're holdin' on while they can take a
game of seven-up. They haven't hurt us any."
"Yes, they have," said Travis, quietly. "Don't you see? Or haven't
you been up the church again? They're swinging their camps around to
make a blockade."
"They can't choke us off that way," responded Crockett. "Thar ain't
enough of 'em. If they'll string out in as long a line as would go'
round, it 'll be thin all the way. I'd go a-gunning anywhar along that
line."
"That isn't the point," said Travis. "He's arranging to cut off
reinforcements. He knows how many men we have, you can bet on that.
He doesn't mean to let any more in."
"The kind of men that are coming," growled Crockett, "are likely to
find a way in or make one. But it's about time they were here."
"I'm going to send a despatch to Houston," said Travis. "Carson has
volunteered to take it."
"Well," returned Crockett, "most likely he'll know without our tellin',
but what if Carson doesn't get through?"
"We must take our chances," said Travis. "One man's all we can spare.
I'm almost afraid Houston can't send any more to us just now."
"Every man in Texas owns a rifle!" exclaimed Crockett, with energy.
"Not a livin' soul ought to stay at home."
"Pay and rations," said Travis, calmly. "I'm afraid Bowie's dollars
didn't come in time. It isn't any fault of his, but all the gold in
Mexico wouldn't save the Alamo."
Bowie was listening, but he turned away without speaking, for he was
questioning himself. Was it any fault of his? Had it been his duty to
return at once with the cash found in the _adobe_ ruin instead of
pushing on with Tetzcatl? It was a serious question, but at last he
put it away.
"Come what may," he told himself, "I could not have done otherwise. I
had no choice. I was driven. I was in one of those places where a man
cannot decide for himself. The Comanches did it."
The movements of the several assignments of the Mexican army went on
deliberately all through the day. The circle that was made was pretty
long, however, and there were gaps between the camps which would
require careful patrolling to make complete what Crockett described as
"the corral of the Gringos."
"Anything like a provision-train, for instance," remarked Bowie,
"couldn't get in without a battle. There isn't any American force yet
gathered in Texas that could undertake to whip an army of five thousand
men."
Night came at last, and with it came a moon instead of the darkness
which Travis had been wishing for. It was not a good night for a
secret messenger, and the mounted patrols of the enemy were going to
and fro almost up to the walls of the fort.
"Their infantry outlooks are well out in advance of their lines,"
remarked Travis, standing in the gate-way. "I doubt if it's possible
for Carson to get through."
"If I thought he couldn't I'd go myself," exclaimed Bowie. "I wish he
were an Indian!"
"That's jest what I am," came from the brave ranger who had
volunteered. "I've crept through a band of Chickasaws. My skelp isn't
wuth as much as Bowie's is, anyhow. It's no use in talkin'. I'm off."
"You bet he is," quietly remarked a voice behind them, "and I'm goin'
with him the first stretch."
There stood Davy Crockett, rifle in hand.
"I'd feel better if you would," said Bowie. "You're an older hand than
he is. See him as far as their lines and take note of everything,--and
come back."
"Come back?" chuckled Davy. "Of course I will. I'll have some fun,
too. Get along, Carson. I'm goin' to take keer of ye. You're young."
Off they went, and Travis laughed aloud as they disappeared.
"You wait now," he said. "Davy's goin' to stir up the Greasers somehow
before he gets done with 'em, but I can't guess what the sell is."
It would have been only a very sombre life-and-death affair to men of
another kind, but these were hardly excited to any unusual feeling.
They were in the daily habit of looking death in the face, and they
could laugh at him. Nevertheless, during many minutes that followed,
they and a changing group of rangers waited in the gate-way, listening
silently to every sound that came to them from the hostile camps. A
troop of horse went trampling by within a hundred yards of them and
they heard the words of command. More minutes passed and the stillness
seemed to increase.
"We'd have heard something if the Greasers had sighted 'em," whispered
one of the men. "They're not took yet----"
"Hear that gun!" shouted Travis, the next instant. "That means
something!"
Another cannon sounded, and another, and then they heard the rapid
reports of musketry from a score of points all along the lines.
"Bad luck!" groaned a ranger.
"They've got 'em!" said another.
"It's good-by, Davy Crockett, I'm afraid," said Bowie, in a voice that
was deep with emotion. "We ought not to have let him go."
The expressions of regret for him and Carson were many and sincere, all
around, but the cunning old bear hunter had been doing a remarkable
piece of what passed with him for fun.
Only about ten minutes before the first alarm gun sounded a pair of
shadows had been gliding along on the ground, midway between the two
camps that were nearest to the fort gate.
"So far, so good," whispered one of them. "What's best to do next?"
"Straight into the corral," was the reply. "I allers feel at hum among
hosses. They're kind o' friendly. Besides, you've got to hev one to
travel on."
A very large number of them, of all sorts, had been picketed there, a
short distance in the rear of the camps. They were guarded, of course,
but they were entirely out of the supposable reach of Gringo thieves
from the fort, and the guards were taking things easily. So were the
quadrupeds, and not one of them was at all disturbed in his mind when
two men who might belong to the same army slipped silently in among
them.
"No Greaser kin see through a hoss," remarked one of the adventurers,
"but I'll tell you what, my boy, your tightest squeeze is goin' to be
in gettin' out on the further side. They're guardin' thar rear more'n
they are toward the fort. They're on the watch for anything Sam
Houston may let loose on 'em."
That was in strict accordance with the military prudences of the
situation, but for that very reason all the guards on duty were looking
out instead of looking in. No patrol, for instance, beyond the camps,
whether mounted or on foot, could at once imagine anything suspicious
concerning a dim shape slowly tramping out from the horse corral. Only
one did come, and he walked along leading with him a saddled and
bridled mustang.
"Here comes the guard!" he suddenly exclaimed, aloud. "Now's my time.
I'll signal to Davy."
He sprang upon the back of the mustang, turned and blew a short, sharp
whistle, and galloped away. Hundreds of men may have heard the
whistle, but only one understood it. Not a solitary Mexican at once
followed the vanishing horseman, and he quickly was beyond successful
following.
Hoarse shouts had gone after him, truly. Orders to halt, with Spanish
inquiries and execrations, had sounded from all directions. It was
understood that something or other had happened, and there were
officers who at once began to investigate the matter.
The proper direction of their first efforts was plainly indicated by an
extraordinary disturbance in the corral. Quite a large number of the
horses were now loose and they were running around excitedly. It did
not arise to the dignity of a stampede, but the guards who first rushed
in came near being trampled down. These were joined at once by the too
zealous sentries of a battery which had been stationed at the right of
the corral, so that its guns were for the moment left to take care of
themselves.
"Don't I wish I had some spikes?" inquired a very low, hoarse chuckle
that was crawling along at the side of one of the guns. "If I had I'd
spile every touch-hole of this 'ere battery. Hullo! Thar they are. I
reckon I kin shew 'em a new p'int in the right way of handlin'
artillery. That is, if ary one of these long fours is primed."
After that there came a clicking of flint and steel, and then a soft
glow of fire close to the ground.
Louder grew the tumult in the corral, angrier and more numerously arose
the shouts and commands of the officers.
"Jim Carson's got clean away from 'em, I reckon," was spoken more
loudly, "but that lot of Greasers have marched to about the right spot.
Wonder what this thing is shotted with. Here she goes!"
A hand went up to the breech of the gun and then the first booming
alarm went out.
"Reckon 'twas a round shot," he said. "It fetched 'em. One more."
A second gun spoke out, and then a third, in quick succession, but to
Mexican ears it seemed the correct thing for any of their own guns to
do in case of a sudden alarm at night. It would show the garrison that
its besiegers were awake.
Nevertheless, the iron missiles had been sent with deadly effect among
the luckless detachment of infantry, and every man of it who was left
unhurt fired off his musket at the space in front of him and the
possible Gringos it might contain. Sentry after sentry, all along, in
camp after camp, followed that example, front and rear. The very
game-cocks in their coops crowed vigorously, and the general himself
came out of his tent to see what was the matter with them and with his
army.
The artillerymen who now came hurrying back to their guns found no one
with them,--nothing but an entirely unexplainable mystery. There were
now no soldiers in front of the battery, however. The coast was clear,
and across the moonlit area from which he had driven his enemies Davy
Crockett strode on to the Alamo.
"Who goes there?" greeted him from the sentry at the gate.
"I ain't a-goin' jest now; I'm comin'," shouted back the very grim old
joker, with a fierce laugh. "Travis, I reckon Jim Carson's all right.
We took him a good mount from thar own corral. But I fired them alarm
guns myself. Wait till I git in and I'll tell jest how I did it, but I
reckon the Greasers 'll think we've made a _sortee_."
Three cheers were given him, and these too were heard by the Mexicans
to increase their perplexity. Something very like a _sortie_ had
really been made, and the entire Mexican army was getting under arms.
One regiment marched a mile before it could be ordered back, but Santa
Anna himself had preserved his military composure.
"_Caramba!_" he exclaimed, in reply to one of his officers. "Houston?
No! He has no force that he can send. We have nothing to deal with
but the desperadoes inside of yonder walls, and we shall slaughter them
to-morrow."