Lone Star Nation (47 page)

In multiplying their grievances, the Texans actually weakened their case, which rested most firmly on Santa Anna's usurpation and the failure of federalists in Mexico to resist him. Or, rather, the Texans would have weakened their case if their primary audience had been the generalized “candid world” of which their declaration spoke. In fact, the primary audience was more specific: American citizens and the American government. The Texas declaration was partly a statement of principles but equally an appeal for American help. The more Texas looked like the United States—starting with a declaration modeled on Jefferson's—the more appealing it would be to Americans.

This is not to say that the Texans who drafted the declaration (chiefly George Childress, who seems to have arrived at Washington with a draft in his pocket) or those who signed it (including Sam Houston, returned from his peace-piping with the Cherokees; Lorenzo de Zavala, having despaired of reforming Mexico from within; Sterling Robertson, the old empresario; Samuel Maverick, the refugee from Béxar; and José Antonio Navarro, a former federal congressman from San Antonio) were disingenuous. They were in the middle of a war, which they were currently losing. Their property and quite possibly their lives depended on receiving help from across the Sabine. They were in no position to split hairs on Mexican malfeasance.

The convention had business besides declaring independence; it had to create the instruments by which its declaration might be realized. All the rebels agreed, in the wisdom of hindsight regarding the cost of their past disagreements on the subject, that the army must answer to a single head. If a unified command had existed from the start of the revolution, the garrison at the Alamo might never have found itself in such a fix. At this point there was no credible alternative to Sam Houston, and on the second day after endorsing independence, the convention unanimously confirmed Houston as major general and “commander in chief of the land forces of the Texian Army, both Regulars, Volunteers, and Militia while in actual service.” No less to the point, the convention made all able-bodied males between seventeen and fifty liable for military service, subject to punishment for failure to serve but also subject to reward (in land) for compliance.

The convention went on to write a constitution for the Republic of Texas. The new Texas government would have a legislature of two houses and an executive headed by a president and a vice president. Texas law would be based on the common law. Local government would be provided by counties, with boundaries to be determined in due course. As the constitution would not take effect until ratified by the people, the convention created an interim executive to manage the war. David Burnet was elected interim president, Lorenzo de Zavala vice president, Thomas Rusk secretary of war.

The leisurely pace of communications in the 1830s, an era before the telegraph and largely before railroads, was typically a hindrance to the conduct of public affairs. But it benefited the Texans in the aftermath of the Alamo, for as the news of the disaster was making its way east, many volunteers from the United States headed west under the mistaken belief the Texans were winning their war.

J. H. Barnard left Chicago in the flush of the Texans' first victories. “Goliad had been taken in a gallant manner, and the Texan forces were collecting to capture San Antonio,” Barnard wrote. He read the recruiting appeals and felt an instant kinship to the Texans. “They were in arms for a cause that I had always been taught to consider sacred, viz.: republican principles and popular institutions. They had entered into the contest with spirit, and were carrying it out with vigor.” Chicago in late 1835 was nothing like the metropolis it would become, and the village on the swampy shore of Lake Michigan, with winter winds that rattled the rafters of its houses and the bones of its residents, couldn't hold Barnard, a medical doctor with few patients, against the warm promise of Texas. “I was instantly possessed of a desire to render my personal services, however insignificant they might be, in their behalf. Accordingly, I hastily closed my business and left Chicago on December 14, 1835, in company with two young men bound for Texas.”

The trio descended the Mississippi to New Orleans, where they bought weapons and provisions and, with a handful of emigrants and almost a score of volunteers, boarded a schooner for the Texas coast. The captain kept a sharp eye for Mexican cruisers, fearful of losing his craft and having all aboard imprisoned or worse as pirates. But the only vessel they raised was another charter, carrying a similar complement of volunteers, from Alabama. “We ran alongside and were saluted with three cheers, which were heartily returned,” Barnard wrote.

The enthusiasm diminished on landing at Matagorda, near the mouth of the Colorado. Barnard had come to Texas to join the rebel army. “But now there seemed to be no army, at least no regular troops. There were, to be sure, some parties in the west. Colonel Fannin had a company at Goliad, and Colonel Travis one at San Antonio.” But most of the Texans who had taken part in the assault on San Antonio had gone home, and most of the volunteers from the States were involved in the campaign against Matamoros—“which seemed to me wild and visionary, and I felt no inclination to join.” Stephen Austin had told Barnard at New Orleans to report to General Houston. “This course I would have been glad to pursue, but no one could inform me where he was or where his headquarters were established.” The only fighting Barnard could detect was “the disgraceful row between Governor Smith and the council.”

Barnard decided to explore the area while waiting for things to sort out. With two other young men he embarked on a tour of the estuary of the Colorado. “We cruised around here several days, and amused ourselves by hunting and fishing and examining the bay.” They reencountered the Alabama volunteers and became better acquainted. The “Red Rovers” were captained by Jack Shackelford, like Barnard a physician but farther along in life. “Of mature age, surrounded by an amiable family and possessing a lucrative practice, the first call [from Texas] for sympathy and aid struck a responsive chord in his breast. He immediately collected a company from his neighborhood, and left home and business to take part in the struggle for freedom.” Barnard happened to be with Shackelford when the Alabama captain received instructions from the provisional council to take his company to Goliad and put them at the disposal of Colonel Fannin. Shortly thereafter a letter from Fannin himself arrived, asking for volunteers. “I no longer felt any hesitancy as to what I should do,” Barnard wrote, “but immediately joined Captain Shackelford's company and prepared to march with them to Goliad.”

About seventy volunteers—sixty Rovers and ten others, including Barnard—began the march up the Lavaca River. All were in high spirits, enjoying the adventure of travel and the excitement of prospective danger. But some of the men got drunk and then quarrelsome. “Knives were drawn, pistols presented, and I fully expected to witness a scene of tumult and death,” Barnard wrote. Shackelford was compelled to intervene, and by force of character and threat of blows he persuaded the belligerents to retreat.

On February 12 the column reached Goliad. Barnard was a novice in military affairs, but he sized up the town with an eye toward its defense.

It is built upon a rocky elevation and is a good military position. A square of about three and one-half acres is enclosed by a stone wall of eight or ten feet in height, the sides facing nearly to the cardinal points. The entrance or gate-way is about the middle of the south wall. . . . The walls are built of stone and are about three feet in thickness; they are carried up about twenty feet, when they are turned over in an arch for the roof, which has a parapet around it about four feet in height. The whole structure impresses one strongly with the idea of solidity and durability.

At the time of Barnard's arrival, the Goliad garrison included around three hundred officers and men. The Shackelford group, with some others who arrived about the same time, increased the garrison's strength to more than four hundred. “We were abundantly supplied with provisions, and with arms and ammunition,” Barnard wrote. “Almost every man had his rifle and brace of pistols, besides there were a good number of English muskets captured from the Mexicans, and we had five or six pieces of artillery.” The men improved the fort's defenses, strengthening walls and building a covered passageway to the river to protect their water supply. This accomplished, the garrison confidently awaited the approach of the enemy. “Prepared as we were, we fully believed ourselves able to stand against many times our number, not doubting that on being attacked the citizens would at once come to our support.”

The first slight breach in this wall of confidence occurred with the arrival of Frank Johnson and a few others who had narrowly escaped the debacle at San Patricio and now brought word that General Urrea was marching north with a large army. Not much later came the news that Santa Anna was at Béxar with another large force. The approach of the Mexicans had provoked an exodus by settlers from the vicinity of Refugio; many passed through Goliad in their flight, raising the level of concern among the garrison still more.

Barnard was one of the party Fannin organized to relieve Travis and the Alamo defenders at the end of February. With the others Barnard crossed the San Antonio; with the others he crossed back after Fannin and the officers decided to abandon the relief expedition. This reversal additionally eroded morale among the Goliad garrison, and the erosion started to feed on itself. “The signs of coming danger began to produce a feeling of anxiety, which was further increased by many vague and groundless rumors that circulated among the men. The confinement in the garrison became irksome; our provisions, of which we had at first an abundance, were becoming short; the restraints of discipline, now more necessary than ever in their enforcement, produced discontent and murmurs and a loss of confidence in their commander.”

Had Fannin known either more or less than he did about military affairs, his command might not have met the fate it did. An utter novice might have pushed on to the Alamo and perhaps, by tripling the size of the garrison there, helped it hold out until relieved by Houston, who likely would have been compelled by the raised stakes to go to its assistance. A thorough veteran would have realized that with Santa Anna at Béxar and Urrea on the Nueces, Goliad had become both superfluous and untenable. Already outflanked, Goliad could neither hinder the Mexican advance nor defend itself from a pincer assault.

But Fannin stayed where he was, unable to decide what to do. At times he breathed defiance. “I have about 420 men here, and if I can get provisions in tomorrow or next day, can maintain myself against any force,” he wrote on February 28. “I will never give up the ship, while there is a pea in the ditch. If I am whipped, it will be
well done
.” But at other moments—sometimes in the same letter—he complained at being badly used by the people and leaders of Texas. He especially resented the failure of the colonists to come to their own defense, which they had left to the foreign volunteers. “I have but three citizens in the ranks,” he said. “Though I have called on them for six weeks, not one yet arrived, and no assistance in bringing me provisions. . . . I feel too indignant to say more about them. If I was honorably out of their service, I would never re-enter it. . . . If I am lost, be the censure on the right head, and my wife and children and children's children curse the sluggards forever.”