Chapter 18

 

There was not a second to spare. Twisting around as far as I could, I managed to grab both sleeves on the Mexican’s tunic. I pulled hard and his jacket came away with ease. I tore my own garment off and laid it over the soldier before I pulled on the uniform coat. I had barely got it over my shoulders before I heard running footsteps. Taking a deep breath, I took my chance.

“Viva Santa Anna!” I shouted as the first of them vaulted over the lowest part of the wall, bayonet already raised for someone to kill. “They are all beaten!” I shouted again in Spanish. More men were climbing over the rubble now and one stabbed down on Martin’s leg, which did not move. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man I had stabbed struggle to move again. He was raising an arm and I did not doubt that he was about to denounce me. Well, I was one step ahead of him. “There is one,” I shouted, pointing at the man lying beside me. He had barely started to croak a word when two blades plunged through his back. “Viva Santa Anna, that is the last of them, I think. Could you lift that beam off my foot?”

They helped without question. I was covered in blood, mud and dust and I doubt Louisa could have recognised me at that moment. Unlike nearly all the Texians, I spoke their language and wore their uniform. What else could I be especially as I had just helped them kill one of the enemy? I was freed and they even pulled me to my feet. Mind you, I could not afford to have them asking awkward questions. I pointed to what was left of the door that led to the next building in the row. “I think I heard someone moving in there,” I lied and watched as some streamed off in that direction, while the officer, still outside, called for his men to regroup and move on.

I sat back down on a pile of rubble for a moment; the shock of being so close to death and then being reprieved at the very last minute, not to mention the earlier fight and blow to the head was catching up on me. My hands started to shake and I felt sick, even though I had not eaten since the night before. I was still dangerously exposed and so stood up to strengthen my disguise. I recovered the musket but could not find either the cartridge box or bayonet amongst the rubble. Yet there was light in the room now and near the door I had entered, I found the corpses of two Mexican soldiers who must have been killed as they rushed us the first time. I relieved one of his cross belt, bayonet and cartridge box and found a battered shako hat that fitted me on the other. Now I looked more like the soldier I pretended to be, but I was not finished yet. I remembered an old soldier I had known in Spain who had been wounded in the jaw and was unable to talk clearly. That was the kind of wound that would help me stay out of trouble. I rummaged around until I found another sheet and tore a strip from it. It was not hard to find some blood to stain it. I took my hat off and then wrapped the gore-stained cloth around my jaw and tied it over the top of my head. I pulled the cloth forward to cover as many of my features as possible. Then, replacing the shako, I took a deep breath and finally stepped out of the room that I had been so sure I would die in.

I half expected to be greeted by some grinning Mexican officer, who would lead me to a firing squad while laughing that I had hoped to get away with such a ridiculous deception. Instead, no one took any notice of me at all. I stared around at the ground, littered with the bodies of the dead and some still dying. There was the corpse of the man I had shot with the pistol just a few yards away and beyond him, the bodies of the two men shot by Martin and his companion. Looking to my right, the rooftops that made up the northern wall were piled high with bodies, while to my left at least a dozen defenders were sprawled in the mud, killed trying to make it to the southwestern corner.

I turned to go in that direction myself. The chapel and sacristy were there and I wondered if Bowie’s cousins had been taken to join the other women. I had lost sight of Juana and Trudy and I hoped they were safe. As I turned the corner I stopped in shock, for if there had been bodies before, this area was carpeted in them. There were no women and children outside, but I was relieved to see that some prisoners had been taken. Six of them were sitting with their hands tied behind their backs against the bottom of the embankment. There was a big tall Tennessean in his buckskins and five others, one looking little more than a boy. At least two were sporting wounds, but they were being well treated. They were guarded by a dozen soldiers, keeping back the curious who gazed at them like exhibits in a zoo. Well, I thought, if they have spared some of us, then surely they would have protected the women.

The Tennessean was not Crockett – the man had a beard and Crockett shaved every other day. I found my friend’s body amongst those who had died fighting in front of the chapel. Even after everything that had happened, it was still a shock to see him dead. Having listened to many of his stories of survival in the wilderness, he had seemed indestructible. There was a crowd of men about him staring down, but it was not the former congressman that they were looking at, it was his gun. Plain Betsy was probably the first percussion rifle they had ever seen and several were discussing how it might work. Its muzzle was no more than a foot from Crockett’s hand and I noticed that the rifle’s butt was covered in a grisly coating of blood and hair, proving it had been used as a club at the last. Its owner was ignored – I doubt many of the Mexicans had heard of the famous frontiersman. He lay on his side, a grim expression on his features. His half-open mouth would tell no more tales. Judging from the bloodstains across his chest, he had been shot at least twice.

There was a crackle of gunfire from the other side of the embankment and I wondered if any of the defenders had managed to escape. I walked slowly in that direction, keeping away from the prisoners just in case any showed a sign of recognition. On top of the bank, I could now finally see the sun coming up over the eastern horizon. Its light turned the underside of nearby clouds a blood red, which seemed to match the day. I paused to give a silent prayer of thanks for my deliverance and then I turned to look south at those less fortunate. I could see the bodies of at least a dozen of the defenders scattered amongst the scrub, but there could have been many more out there in the bushes. It was clear how they died as some two hundred lancers were still wheeling around looking for prey. A volley of fire to my right drew my attention to six Mexican horsemen circling a large thorn bush and firing into it with their carbines, where I guessed some poor devil had been hiding.

I was distracted from the scene by shouting in the courtyard behind me. “Viva Santa Anna!” the men chorused. Then through the gateway came the man himself on a white horse, followed by a retinue of staff officers. They were all bedecked with braid and decorations unlike the ragged soldiers that ran dutifully to welcome their general. Santa Anna gave the briefest wave of acknowledgement before riding into the centre of the courtyard to survey his prize. Other commanders who had led the actual assault now also came forward to brief their president on his victory. As Santa Anna and his men dismounted, I saw one colonel pointing to the north wall and then at the northeast corner, he must have been explaining where the first breaches were made. Then he gestured at the central barrack block and even at the big eighteen-pounder cannon. It was not hard to guess what he was saying. Another older general came forward and pointed to the corner I was watching from, where the fiercest fighting had taken place. But instead of congratulating him on his victory, Santa Anna grew angry. Even without several strips of cloth wrapped around my ears, I would not have heard him clearly, but there was no doubt he was annoyed. The grey-haired commander had stiffened to attention and was clearly trying to explain something, but his younger presidente did not give him the chance. Santa Anna jabbed the man in the chest with a finger as he harangued him and then pointed at the embankment. The older officer reluctantly turned away and gave an order to a nearby soldier.

I watched with a feeling of foreboding as the soldier ran in my direction. He stopped below the embankment and spoke to one of the officers, pointing back to Santa Anna’s party. Immediately orders were yelled and other men rushed forward to get the prisoners to their feet. Their hands were still bound behind their backs, but at least two were so badly wounded I doubted that they could have got up without help. Another was injured in the leg and a soldier walked alongside him, holding his arm to help him keep his weight off it.

The small party of six prisoners and their escort of a dozen soldiers slowly made their way across the courtyard, while Santa Anna paced up and down impatiently. At last the Texians were lined up in front of him. I watched as Santa Anna ranted at them as well, although I doubt many of his words were understood. Some may have guessed what was coming, but none reacted or begged for their lives. They just stood stoically, staring at the raving man before them and waiting for whatever happened next. Even now the old general tried to intervene, but Santa Anna ignored him and contemptuously screeched an order at the surrounding soldiers. I could guess what it was, but the soldiers hesitated, unsure what to do as their general still argued against the decision.

Impatiently, Santa Anna turned to his retinue of staff officers and these glittering peacocks did not falter in obeying. They drew their swords and seconds later were running the defenceless men through shouting, “Viva Santa Anna!” I don’t recall the defenders making any noise, but perhaps it was drowned out by the yelling and then the laughter as the murderous bastards began hacking down on their victims’ unprotected heads and necks. I watched one with a scar on his face grinning with delight as he swung a blade so wildly that the old general and supporting soldier both had to move sharply back to avoid being slashed at themselves.

I turned away in disgust. I had always insisted that this was not my fight, and it wasn’t, but I swore then that if I ever had the chance, I would avenge those men. It was a feeling that was to grow ever stronger in the days ahead. I looked back round to see more prisoners being brought forward. One was Guerrero, who was rubbing his wrists as though they had been recently bound. On seeing Santa Anna, he threw himself down in supplication. That won’t do you any good, I thought, but to my astonishment el Presidente helped him to his feet and was congratulating him. He allowed my old comrade to join some other soldiers and commanded the next man brought forward, who was Joe the slave. He too was spared. Santa Anna appeared to be asking him where Travis had died and soon Joe was leading him up the ramp onto the north wall to look down on the corpse of his former master. For the next half an hour the Napoleon of the West roamed around the Alamo like a traveller on a grand tour, taking in the sights. He had Bowie’s body carried out of his room just so that he could gawk at it. I saw that my friend had either been shot or bayonetted in the chest. Then he was led to Crockett’s body, although he gave that barely a glance.

Finally, he had the women and children brought out of the sacristy. They came weeping and wailing. One woman was particularly distraught. From her shouting, I gathered that her two young sons had been killed. The boys had been around twelve. Another mother with a child of a similar age tried to shield him from the sight of carnage all around them, but the lad twisted away to look.

Juana and Trudy were not among them, but as the party was led out under guard to the town, I saw the sisters appear with Alejo again in the door of their old quarters. More soldiers guarded them, one chatting animatedly to Juana, who stared in horror and bewilderment at the scene around them as she tried to comfort her sister. Trudy was weeping hysterically, sure that her first lover was dead. I felt a pang of guilt that I could not let her know I was alive, but I knew that to attempt to do so would leave me among the poor devils whose blood was now soaking into the muddy centre of the courtyard.

“Which company are you with?” I turned in surprise to find a Mexican sergeant looking at me. Concern rather than suspicion was etched on his features.

I held both hands to my jaw and pretended to wince in pain as I mumbled incoherently.

“Ah, bad is it? Well there are few surgeons and those that are here will be looking after the officers. You had better get yourself into town. Perhaps there will be someone there that can help you.”

I nodded in agreement. I needed to find a place to hide up. Then under cover of night I would try to make my escape. Until now few people had left the fort and a lone soldier wandering off by himself would have looked suspicious. But a steady stream of people began pouring out of the gate. Once the women, children and their escort had left, orders were passed for the bodies in the fort to be removed. I looked over the wall to see that dismounted lancers were gathering up their victims and putting them into two piles. Inside the Alamo pairs of soldiers were carrying its former garrison by the arms and legs outside to join them. The Mexican dead were also being carried out in a similar manner, but their porters were taking them in the direction of the town. With the Mexican dead went a slowly moving column of their wounded, who must have had the same idea about getting treated as the sergeant.