Authors: James Donovan
Tags: #History / Military - General, #History / United States - 19th Century
Neill arrived in Gonzales a couple of days after the March 1 departure of James Bonham and immediately began purchasing supplies, including much-needed medicines, for his command. Major Robert Williamson had just left to organize his rangers in Bastrop, leaving Neill as the ranking officer in charge. When John Smith made it into town at three p.m. on March 4 with Travis’s latest communiqué and reported the size of the Mexican army after the arrival of three more battalions, it was clear that they would need a sizable number of troops to ride to the rescue of the Alamo garrison. Smith, wrote Dr. John Sutherland, “announced that if one hundred men could be raised, that they would be sufficient to sustain the fort, at least until others could reach it, and that he would start with them, as guide, as soon as they could get ready.” But one hundred men could not be convinced to ride to Béxar. Fifty would be ready soon, Smith was told, but by the next day the number had dwindled to twenty-five, who would be ready the next day. By Sunday, March 6, they had still not left, though the town was full of men.
Alerted by express riders sent out from Gonzales and San Felipe, companies of colonists within a few days’ ride were finally mobilizing and making their way to the small village on the Guadalupe. About two hundred had gathered in Gonzales by the time Neill arrived, but none of them continued on to Béxar. Reports of the size of the Mexican army there went up to six thousand
soldados,
including plenty of the feared lancers. Texians generally derided the bulk of the Mexican army as little more than unwilling, untrained conscripts who marched in chains with whips at their backs, but the cavalry was accorded respect. It would be suicide to attempt to break through the lines with only a couple hundred volunteers.
S
OME MEN,
however, had left for Béxar since Albert Martin led George Kimble’s and Thomas Jackson’s companies out of Gonzales on February 27. Not long after Martin’s departure, a courier rode into town with a message from James Fannin at Goliad. He had sent an advance party to Seguín’s hacienda on the San Antonio River to gather provisions and beef. Fannin and three hundred men would be right behind them, marching to reinforce the Alamo. They would rendezvous with any troops from Gonzales at the Cibolo crossing.
Despite his injuries, Sutherland rode out the next morning, February 28, with Horace Alsbury, who had just returned from the east, and ten other men. They crossed the Guadalupe and waited on Juan Seguín and two dozen of his Tejanos—after his escape from the Alamo on the night of February 25, Seguín had obtained a horse at a nearby ranch and headed south toward Goliad. But he only made it less than halfway there before running into Fannin’s foraging company; they had just left Seguín’s ranch, where they had collected beeves and corn. Seguín sent an express rider with Travis’s oral message to Fannin—beseeching him to march immediately to the Alamo’s rescue—and then rode east to Gonzales after gathering some of his men.
They met Sutherland and Alsbury a few days later, and with a force of about sixty men proceeded toward Béxar, to the Cibolo crossing. When Fannin arrived, they would join up with his battalion and ride to the Alamo. Perhaps they could even overtake Captain Martin and the Gonzales men. They reached the Cibolo shortly after dark on Monday, February 29—and just missed Martin’s group of thirty-two, who had left a short while ago, at sunset. Sutherland’s men bivouacked and waited for Fannin.
But Fannin never came. Sutherland and Seguín waited two days, until the turn of midnight on Wednesday, March 2, then headed back toward Gonzales. They rode into town to find another letter from Fannin, written soon after his previous one, with devastating news. After a council of war, he and his officers had decided to remain in Goliad. There were good reasons for the decision, but it meant almost certain death for the men in the Alamo.
F
RIDAY
, M
ARCH
4, dawned windy and cold, in the low forties, in Béxar. The Mexican batteries began their bombardment early. The rebels remained out of sight, not returning fire for several hours, and then delivering only one or two shots. “It is only known that there are men in the Alamo by the cannon and rifle shots that they fire,” wrote Captain Sánchez in his diary, “and because no more is heard than the blows of hammers and various obscenities.”
In the afternoon, Santa Anna’s council of war convened in his quarters at the Yturri house on Main Plaza. Virtually every officer of the rank of lieutenant colonel and above was present: Generals Ramírez y Sesma, Castrillón, and Cós, and Colonels Almonte, Duque, Amat, Uruñuela, José María Romero, Mariano de Salas, and a few others.
As the high command gathered around the detailed map of Béxar and the Alamo prepared by Lieutenant Colonel Ygnacio de Labastida, chief engineer, His Excellency “expounded on the necessity of making the assault,” remembered José Enrique de la Peña, who was not present but heard about it later. Everyone agreed on that point—but the question of
how
to make the assault invited more discussion and evolved into one of timing and methods. A few of the officers, including Castrillón, Uruñuela, and Romero, argued for waiting until Gaona and his twelve-pounders arrived—they were expected on Monday, the seventh—and blasting the Alamo walls until a significant breach was made, probably in eight or ten hours. Others agreed with Santa Anna that the assault should be made immediately; after all, the likelihood of rebel reinforcements arriving increased every day.
When someone brought up the subject of prisoners, the discussion became heated. Santa Anna reminded them that there would be no prisoners. Someone cited the example of General Arredondo’s conduct in 1813. “He had hanged eight hundred or more colonists after having triumphed,” recalled de la Peña, “and this conduct was taken as a model. General Castrillón and Colonel Almonte then voiced principles regarding the rights of men, philosophical and humane principles which did them honor.” But their appeals failed to sway Santa Anna. As announced in secretary of war Tornel’s December decree, captured rebels were to be considered pirates, and treated as such. They would be executed.
The meeting lasted into the night. When His Excellency finally called it to an end, and his commanders returned to their quarters, no official decision had been made. As was his habit, Santa Anna would make up his own mind, but anyone who had heard him speak knew what that decision would likely be. Earlier that day he had dispatched a courier with a reply to General Urrea concerning the twenty-one prisoners taken at San Patricio. He had reminded the general of Tornel’s decree, and added, “An example is necessary, in order that those adventurers may be duly warned, and the nation be delivered from the ills she is daily doomed to suffer.” His Excellency wanted to set his own example by punishing the rebels in Béxar, and he wanted to do it now. One of the maxims of his hero, Napoleon, stated that a general’s first duty was to maintain his honor and glory; the safety and preservation of his troops was a secondary consideration. If Mexican soldiers were to die in the taking of the Alamo, so be it.
Outside, once darkness settled on the area, a company of sappers advanced a battery along the
acequia
north of the Alamo. By the next morning, a few of the heavier artillery pieces had been moved there—just two hundred yards from the battered north wall, close enough to inflict serious damage and perhaps effect a breach. The rebels responded with
balas rojas
—hot shot—cannonballs heated to red-hot temperature before firing in order to ignite flammable targets, such as powder magazines. Though no serious damage was sustained, Colonel Ampudia, for one, was outraged: the hot shot, he wrote, was “in violation of the rights of man and of war.”
The next day, Saturday, March 5, was warmer, and the skies clear. By midday it had reached sixty-eight degrees. Santa Anna summoned his staff and commanders again and to no one’s surprise announced his decision: he would not wait for the siege artillery, but would attack before dawn the next morning. The artillery barrage would stop early in the afternoon, and that night there would be no musical serenades or attacks, feigned or otherwise. With any luck, the exhausted rebel garrison would be caught by surprise and the troops could reach the wall before the formidable cannon of the Alamo responded. His staff proceeded to hash out the details of the assault, and at two p.m. His Excellency’s orders, prepared by his secretary, Ramón Caro, and signed by General Juan Valentín Amador, were issued.
Almost every one of Santa Anna’s top officers would participate. “The time has come to strike a decisive blow upon the enemy occupying the Fortress of the Alamo,” began the orders. “Consequently, His Excellency, the General-in-Chief, has decided that tomorrow, at 4 o’clock a.m., the columns of attack shall be stationed at musket-shot distance from the first entrenchments, ready for the charge, which shall commence at a signal to be given with the bugle from the Northern Battery.” The assault would consist of four columns, which would attack from four directions. The greatest force, however, would be concentrated against the further-weakened north wall, which had suffered severe damage that day from the newly advanced battery.
General Cós, with General Amador as his second, would lead the first column, from the northwest, comprising 350 men—all but one company of the Aldama battalion and three line companies of the San Luis Potosí battalion. For Cós, it would be a chance to redeem and repair his badly damaged reputation after his surrender to a smaller rebel force in December.
From the north, Colonel Duque, with General Castrillón his second, would lead the second column: seven companies of the Toluca battalion, and three line companies of the San Luis Potosí battalion, a total of four hundred men. They would compose the critical mass aimed at the ravaged north wall.
The third column, comprising the twelve
fusilero
companies of the Matamoros and Jiménez battalions—about 430 men—would attack from the east, against the formidable battery atop the Alamo church and the vulnerable horse and cattle pens. Colonel Romero would lead them, with Colonel Salas ready to take over if necessary.
The fourth column, from the south, would be the smallest, comprising 125
cazadores
. Colonel Juan Morales, with Colonel Miñón his second, would lead these elite riflemen against the fort’s entrance. “The brave Colonel Morales,” as General Urrea described him, was a popular and active commander who had proven himself most recently at Zacatecas. He had specifically requested Miñón, who had also gained glory there.
The four-hundred-man reserve, stationed near the northern battery, would be led by His Excellency himself if called into action, but until then would operate under the direct command of Colonel Amat. These troops would be some of the best—Amat’s Zapadores, and the veteran
granadero
companies of the five other battalions.
General Ramírez y Sesma would direct the 375 horsemen of the cavalry regiment, stationed on the east side of the Alamo and charged with preventing the escape of any rebels. If any fled from the fort, his lancers would be ready for them. The cavalry was already commanded by the able General Ventura Mora. His Excellency may have been punishing the general for his tentative actions of February 23—or at least making sure he would not direct any of the assault columns in the same manner.
The only battalion commander not to take part would be Colonel Uruñuela, who was sick. Santa Anna was not happy with Uruñuela’s claim of illness, but he would deal with it after the battle. In the meantime, there was much work to be done.
As the orders filtered down through the ranks, the troops readied themselves for battle. Characteristically, His Excellency’s directives had covered every detail, down to the proper wearing of chin straps, shoes, and sandals. There were also scaling ladders to be constructed, for the lead units of each column would hurl them up against the fortress walls. Over the following few hours, bayonets were sharpened and straightened, muskets and rifles were readied, cartridges and balls and flints and powder were prepared. While the
soldados
and their line officers busied themselves with these basic practicalities, the principal commanders examined the points of attack.
That afternoon, Francisca, the wife of Ramón Músquiz, left her house and walked a few doors down to call on Santa Anna at his quarters on Main Plaza. Her husband, the former political chief of Béxar, was an avowed centralist, but the Dickinsons had boarded at her house before the siege, and she and Susanna had become warm friends. Doña Músquiz knelt before His Excellency and begged him to spare Mrs. Dickinson and her child, Angelina. After some hesitation, he promised her that no women in the Alamo would be harmed intentionally.
B
Y TWILIGHT ON
M
ARCH
5, most of the Mexican preparations had been made, and the troops turned in as ordered. They would rest until midnight. Some would sleep. Others would be kept awake by a rumor spreading through camp that the rebels had mined both the exterior and interior of the fort, so that attackers and defenders would blow up together. Even if there was no truth to it, men were bound to die. “Each one individually confronted and prepared his soul for the terrible moment, expressed his last wishes, and silently and coolly took those steps which precede an encounter,” remembered de la Peña. With the other Zapadores, he had originally been assigned to the reserve column, which might or might not see action. But over the previous week Colonel Duque had taken a liking to the young officer and his enthusiasm, and he had asked Santa Anna personally for de la Peña to be reassigned to his command. The request had been granted. The excited subaltern would get no sleep that night.
Captain Sánchez would accompany General Cós, who directed him to march at the head of the column. Sánchez received the news with mixed feelings—he was not convinced that the assault was necessary. “Why is it that Señor Santa Anna always wants his triumphs and defeats to be marked by blood and tears?” he wrote in his diary that night, and ended with: “God help all of us!”