NEARING THE END.
The siege of the Alamo had lasted during eight long, terrible days.
There had been a great deal of severe skirmishing, in which the
Mexicans had suffered losses every time they drew too near the walls.
The blockade, however, had become so close and vigilant that it was no
longer possible for any bearer of despatches to get out or in. Out of
several that had been sent, it was understood that two only had escaped
capture and immediate execution. From those who had reached him
General Houston was informed as to the condition of affairs at the
fort. The deepest sympathy was felt for the beleaguered patriots and
preparations for their relief were going on. Precious cargoes of army
supplies had arrived from New Orleans in spite of Mexican war-vessels
cruising in the Gulf. Troops were getting ready. One train of wagons
accompanied by a force of riflemen was already a number of miles upon
its way, with a vague idea that it might somehow evade the army of
Santa Anna. Men assured one another that if the garrison could only
hold out a few days longer all would be well.
Colonel Travis and his men had held their own remarkably. They even
seemed but little fatigued by their long watching, their readiness to
be called to the shot-holes at any hour of day or night. They were
exceedingly tough and hardy men. They would have been in good spirits
if it had not been for two things. One of these sombre considerations
was the condition of about ten yards of the southerly wall of the
plaza. This was crumbling under the continual pelting of Castrillon's
guns. Most of it was nearly level with the ground, and the gap had
been feebly filled with such pieces of timber and other materials as
could be had. Loose earth had been heaped upon them, but the slight
barrier so constructed was at the mercy of cannon-balls. The other
point was even more important.
"Colonel Travis," reported Sergeant Daly that morning, "thar's only
half a dozen rounds for the cannon. The last ounce of power and the
last bullet have been sarved out to the men. Thar isn't enough for an
hour's shootin' if the next fight turns out a hot one."
"Oh, God! If Houston knew!" groaned the commander. "Why doesn't help
come? Daly, don't say a word to the men. It's possible that the
Greasers may not make another attack----"
"We've killed a heap of 'em," replied the brave artilleryman. "But
what on 'arth are guns good for without ammunition?"
"We won't surrender, if we've nothing left to fight with but our
knives!"
"Colonel!" exclaimed Daly. "The men wanted me to ask you that
question. They know just the fix we're in. You won't surrender?"
"I won't!" said Travis, firmly.
"Thank God!" almost shouted Daly. "We want to die like men, with arms
in our hands. We don't want to be led out and butchered."
"The boys needn't be afraid that I'll go back on 'em," replied the
colonel. "I won't rob them of their last rights. If we've got to die,
we'll go down fighting."
"That's all I wanted to know," said Daly, and away he strode to tell
his comrades that they were in no danger of being betrayed unarmed into
the hands of Santa Anna.
Hardly had he gone before there came a hail and a response at the great
gate, and two men stood before it. One of them wore the uniform of the
Mexican army and the other almost no uniform at all.
"Jim Carson! Castro!" had been loudly announced by the sentry.
"Let 'em in, quick!" shouted Travis. "You don't know who's behind 'em."
"Ugh!" exclaimed the chief as he stepped inside. "Jim heap Mexican.
Where Red Wolf? Chief want him."
"Colonel Smith!" instantly called out his companion, "I played Greaser
to git through their lines. How'd you do it?"
"That young Lipan wolf did it," he said. "He led us 'round to the
west'ard, and we hadn't anything to do but to follow him. They thought
our party was one of their own patrols. We didn't lose a man. Colonel
Bonham got in all alone."
No more explanations could be given then and there, for Carson had made
his daring experiment that he might bring encouraging despatches from
the President and that he might not break his word about returning.
Travis opened the letter handed him and he read it where he stood.
"It's all right, men," he said. "The whole state is rising. If we can
hold the fort a little longer the boys 'll come!"
Hearty cheers responded, and Carson was at once taken possession of by
his fellow-rangers that they might pump him of all the news he had
gathered while away.
"Ugh! Heap boy!" said Castro.
Before him stood Red Wolf, and during two or three minutes they talked
rapidly in their own tongue. As soon as the chief ceased speaking,
Travis approached him and held out a hand.
"Glad Travis no dead," said Castro, heartily. "Where Big Knife? Where
Crockett?"
"Here we are!" responded the latter from a little behind him. "But
what on all the 'arth fetched you into the fort jest now? Did the
Greasers say you might come a-visitin'?"
The Lipan warrior turned on his heel and stalked away to the battered
patch of the wall, followed by his white friends. He stepped up upon
the heap of ruins and studied it for a moment.
"Castro see Mexican," he said. "See Bravo. Heap friend. Lipans no
fight 'em. Tell 'em all Lipans lie down in lodge. Tell Bravo walk
through wall. Come back. Tell Mexican. Bravo say, Castro go see
fort. Now! Ugh! Tell Travis, tell Big Knife, one sleep. Mexican
come take Texan hair."
"Jest so," replied Crockett. "They're goin' to try that hole to-morrow
morning? We'll pile it high with Greasers."
"All right, chief," added Travis, "tell them all they want to know.
It's a fair trade for letting us know they're coming. You can't tell
anything to hurt us."
"Ugh!" said Castro. "Chief take Red Wolf. Go hide in Santa Anna camp.
See fight. Boy go tell Houston how Travis."
"Good!" replied Travis. "Just the thing. Let him set out as soon as
the fight is over. I'd like to have old Sam know just how it turns
out. So far, we've beaten 'em every time."
"Castro heap friend," said the chief, and took from under his blanket a
deerskin-covered parcel closely tied. "Big Knife want powder. Take
present. Shoot heap."
About two pounds of the best rifle powder, therefore, was his last
contribution to the defence of the fort.
"Now if that isn't just what we wanted!" shouted Crockett. "I say,
Bowie, divide fair. I've only five charges myself. Pistols empty."
Some of the others were as badly off, and shortly afterwards it might
have been noted that Bowie's belt fairly bristled with the
short-barrelled but deadly weapons known as "Derringers," from the name
of their manufacturer.
"There is going to be a use for them," he quietly remarked to Travis.
"If I'm not mistaken, every bullet 'll find a mark to-morrow."
"Look out," returned Travis. "Don't you go and get yourself only
wounded."
"No!" almost shouted Bowie. "But what if I am? Could I quit if there
was a breath of life left in me? Travis, they don't intend to take any
prisoners."
"There won't be any to take," he replied, but his friend drew him
aside, farther out of any risk of being heard by others.
"One thing more," said Bowie. "I want to get together all the men that
went down into Mexico with me. Crockett, too. The chief and his son
are going. They don't count just now. They'll never tell anyhow, but
somebody ought to live and keep that treasure-secret. It must be found
for Texas some day."
"We might draw cuts for a man to get away with it," suggested Travis,
"but he'd have no chance. I don't see what we can do. You and I are
sure to go down."
Castro and Red Wolf were standing by their ponies in the plaza. They
were not members of the garrison. They were not white citizens of
Texas. There was no reason why they should remain to meet the last
onset of Santa Anna's army. Each of them had done all that he could
for his personal friendships.
"Ugh!" said Castro. "No want more shake hand. Come. Go talk Bravo.
Tell Mexican heap. Great chief lose friend. Ugh!"
The gate had been opened for them and they mounted at once, but as they
were passing through the portal Red Wolf turned and took a swift,
earnest survey of the interior of the fort. It was all quiet, all
peaceful. The cannon watched silently at their embrasures. The
rangers walked hither and thither unconcernedly. The church front wore
a calm and placid look. The sun was shining brightly. The one dark
spot full of evil omen was the heap of rubbish in the breach of the
wall.
"Ugh!" said Red Wolf, mournfully. "Big Knife fight a heap. Great
chief!"
More than one demand for surrender had been sent in and had been
rejected. During several days, however, any other communication with
the fort had been strictly forbidden. The Mexican general,
nevertheless, had not been unwilling to permit the visit of Castro, and
when the chief returned now, he speedily found himself in front of
Santa Anna's marquee.
"Heap boy in fort," he replied to a question from General Sesma.
"Great chief go get him. Red Wolf no Texan. Good!"
There was no apparent importance in the presence or absence of one
unarmed young Indian, and Santa Anna hardly looked at him while he
questioned his father closely concerning the aspect of affairs in the
fort. There was no use to the garrison to be gained by Castro's
concealment of anything that a telescope in the camp could discover,
but the Mexican commander exhibited a deep interest in the exact
character and dimensions of the hole his artillery had made in the wall.
"_Caramba!_" exclaimed Castrillon. "I'll pitch a few more shot into it
in the morning. How many of the rebels have we killed?"
"Texan feel good!" replied Castro. "Big gun no hurt him."
Many and loud were the execrations uttered when he explained himself
further and positively affirmed that all their cannonading and musketry
had not disabled a solitary Texan.
"We shall do better to-morrow," said Santa Anna, with a cynical grin.
"How are their provisions?"
"Little eat," said Castro. "Texan lie in fort. No make fire. No
kettle."
"Short of rations, eh?" said General Cos. "That's a point, general.
We might starve 'em out. We have lost a great many men----"
"We had better lose twice as many," sharply interrupted his commander,
"than to waste any more time here. Houston is getting his volunteers
in hand. We must have the Alamo to-morrow if it costs us a thousand
men!"
"What Santa Anna say now to great chief?" asked Castro. "What tell
Lipan?"
His inquiry was made somewhat haughtily, but the response came at once
with extreme graciousness and courtesy. The Lipans were to consider
themselves the fast friends of the Mexican republic, their chief was to
call himself the brother of its President, and Castro and Red Wolf were
led away to a camp-fire where plentiful rations awaited them. It was
not a time when the invaders of Texas were willing to make additional
enemies.
It was not altogether a cheerful time for them. Really, the greatest
element of uncertainty of success in the proposed assault of the fort
was the dispirited, defeated feeling that prevailed among the Mexican
troops. It was to obviate that defect in their fighting qualities that
Colonel Campos, of the infantry, received orders that night to issue
liberal rations of _aguardiente_, or Mexican whiskey, as soon as the
several battalions should march into their respective positions.
"Colonel," said Santa Anna, "their feathers are down a little. Make
them so drunk they won't know whether they are killed or not. Who
cares? We have plenty to take their places if we win a victory."
More _peones_ and _rancheros_ could be expended to any extent provided
he could retain his autocratic grip upon the reins of power.
There were one hundred and eighty-seven persons within the walls of the
fort that night. Six of these were non-combatants, including two
American women, a Mexican woman, a negro slave, and two young children.
The keepers of the secret of the cavern of Huitzilopochtli held their
conference. After it was concluded they selected, with careful
deliberation, a number of trustworthy men, to whom, under oath, they
communicated the precious information. If any or all of them should
survive, a full report was to be in like manner made to President
Houston and other Texan patriots who were named.
"That's all we can do," remarked Bowie, after his precautions had been
taken. "I don't want that expedition to die with me. If any of these
fellows are killed early in the fight, we must put in others in their
places."
"All right," replied Crockett. "The Montezumas have stuck to that
stuff long enough. But, 'cordin' to Castro, we've been and gone and
put a death-warrant on every one of those men. I was thinking 'bout
that."
"You'd think!" exclaimed Bowie, "if you'd seen what I did. Do you
know, there was the queerest kind of roar coming up out of that chasm.
I don't wonder the blood-thirsty heathen were superstitious about it."
"I'd like to hear it some day," said Crockett. "But thar's a kind of
ringing in my ears, anyhow. Perhaps it's from hearing so much cannon
music."
In the cavern of Huitzilopochtli that night, the treasure-chamber of
the Montezumas, the voice from the lower deep was calling more loudly
than usual.
"The gods are disturbed," grumbled the old men before the altar. "We
have nothing to give them. They grow angry. What shall we do for the
hunger of the gods?"
Louder, at intervals, then seeming to die away and begin again, arose
the mysterious reverberation, while the old devotees paused from their
chanting to turn and glare into each other's ferocious faces.
It was only a mute inquiry. If no other supply should be provided, to
which of them would belong the next voluntary plunge into the gulf?
They were fewer than they once had been. There might be none to take
their places. It would not do for the altar of Huitzilopochtli to be
left without servitors and the treasure without guardians. Some of
them must remain until the return of the gods, for these were surely to
come again to claim their own.
Why, however, should they at this time feel so strong a hunger and send
up so vehement an outcry? Had they heard that sacrifices were about to
come? If so, where were the expected victims, and whose hand should
bring them?
It was a question to which no answer could be given, but the
sacrificial fire was heaped with fuel until its radiance flickered like
a smile of satisfaction upon the vast, dark face on the wall, and the
priests chanted on with a croaking sound like that of many ravens.
No morning ever came into that cavern, but it dawned brightly upon the
outside world,--the morning of the 6th of March, 1836.
The camp of the Mexican army was astir at an early hour and the
artillery began its practice-work upon the shattered wall. Every gun
was aimed with care, for even Santa Anna was using up the last of his
cannon-shot.
There was apparently nothing doing in the fort. It had a lazy look,
and the rangers hardly spoke to one another as they went about their
routine duties. They all cleaned their rifles carefully, counted their
bullets, measured their charges of powder, and now and then they would
stroll to loop-holes for looks at the Mexican camp.
"They are forming for the attack," was the word that passed from man to
man, while the iron missiles, fairly well directed, fell fast upon the
frail barrier which had been made at the breach.
"There 'll a good many men drap in that thar gap," remarked Crockett.
"But they won't all try to come in by that way."
The Mexican commander had indeed learned something by experience. His
storming columns were four in number, and only one of them advanced
toward the broken wall. Another was evidently to approach by the
front, where the ruins of the gate had been strongly propped up during
the night. The third and fourth formed in front of the convent yard
wall and the church, and their ladders would be quite long enough to
carry them over the former.
"We've got to divide," said Travis. "You hold the convent and church
side, Bowie. They could pick their way in, or blast a hole, if you'd
let 'em. We'll take care of the rest."
Only a few men could be spared to any of the several posts of danger.
The Mexican batteries ceased. The half-drunken infantry came on at a
run. The last cartridges were rapidly and effectively fired from the
Texan cannon. Down went their enemies by scores, and it looked as if
the previous results were to be repeated, but Sergeant Daly now stepped
back from the gun he had been working and held up a hand.
"All gone!" exclaimed Travis. "Come on, men, this four-pounder is
loaded yet. Let's bring it to bear upon the breach and give it to them
as they come through."
The guns on the church, three in number, had also been busy, but they
now ceased their thunder. Down went the gate before the blows of the
Mexican pioneers. Fast fell the foremost assailants in the fatal
breach, but just as Travis had swung around his cannon a musketeer from
the gate was within twenty feet of him. He did not miss. The calm,
courageous smile upon the face of the heroic commander died away, for
the flying lead passed through his brain.
Numbers counted now, for the enemy were within the walls, and the
remaining struggle was hand-to-hand.
Brave enough were the Mexicans, but they were learning terrible lessons
of the superior personal prowess of their victims. Not a man asked for
quarter. To be only wounded and to fall was to be bayoneted upon the
ground. Five who were disabled did indeed take refuge in the
cook-room, barring its door and fighting still.
Half-way between the convent and the church a thick group of swordsmen
and lancers closed around the old bear hunter, but he did not die
alone. Near him lay half a dozen of his foemen, and just beyond them
fell his old friends Smith and Bonham, hastening to die at his side.
The last squad of riflemen stood in front of the main inside entrance
of the fort building, plying their rifles steadily, but the surge of
steel points poured towards them.
"Boys!" exclaimed Bowie at their head, "I'm hurt in the leg. I can't
stand. I must do the rest of it lying down."
His empty rifle fell from his hand as he climbed a stairway near him.
Bleeding and faint, he staggered on to the end of a passage, and he
threw himself upon the couch in the end room, exclaiming,--
"I saw them fall! Not a man is left to tell the secret of the cavern!"
It was but a moment, and then the passageway swarmed with furious
Mexicans. From room to room they went, plying their bayonets alike
upon the living and the dead. As they entered the corner room,
however, a dark, stern, terrible shape half rose from a couch with a
Derringer in its right hand. Swift reports followed each other as
rapidly as the tickings of a clock till Bowie's belt was empty. The
floor was strewn with corpses, and then, as yet more of his enemies
poured in, he gained his feet with a last effort, knife in hand. It
was but for a moment. It was the fierce agony of a dying hero. The
bayonets did their work, and as the stalwart form of the dead borderer
sank heavily upon the floor, a low voice in the door-way exclaimed,--
"Big Knife! Heap brave! Great chief! Red Wolf go."
[Illustration: A DARK, STERN, TERRIBLE SHAPE HALF ROSE FROM A COUCH]
The Alamo had fallen!
The five men in the cook-room surrendered to Castrillon when their last
cartridge was gone on promise of protection, but they were sabred at
once on being taken before Santa Anna, who now stood among his staff in
the middle of the plaza.
"_Caramba_! Kill them!" was all the reply he made to the protests of
Castrillon.
The six non-combatants were spared to tell the story of the defence and
the massacre, but the victory had been a costly one. The army of Santa
Anna had been so shattered that, when he met Sam Houston and his
volunteers, not many days later, at San Jacinto, his eighteen hundred
men were utterly defeated by about a third of their number of Texans,
and he lost not only his army of invasion but his control of Mexican
affairs, and Texas itself.
Dark indeed, that day, was the cavern of Huitzilopochtli, and all
through the early hours the moaning sound came up from the chasm. Then
it grew louder, stronger, and the worshippers fled from its brink to
the altar. They had no victims to offer. Their chant was almost
drowned by the ominous roar, and the hungry anger of the gods seemed to
increase momentarily. Then it began to die away,--away,--until at last
a kind of shout came up, and there was a silence. Excepting Red Wolf
and his father, there were now no living persons, outside of the
votaries of the old faith, who had any clue to the hidden treasure and
the underground temple of the lost gods of Mexico. The daring Texan
who had learned the secret had fallen fighting to the end, the last man
of the garrison of the Alamo.
THE END.
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH