Thirty-five
The Seventh Day
February 29th, 1836
“Joe,” Jamie said to Travis’s slave just after dawn. “Get him awake and to the walls. He’ll want to see this.”
Travis was at the door in jig-time. “What is it, Jamie?”
“Santa Anna’s reinforcements have arrived. Or are arriving. Several thousand of them. With more cannon.”
Travis paled just for an instant. Then he caught himself. Joe pressed a cup of coffee into his master’s hand.
“And like the ones here,” Jamie said, “they’ve brought their women with them.”
Travis strode quickly to the walls and climbed up to the parapet. The sight before him was anything but heartening. The town of San Antonio de Bexar was filled with thousands of people. Several bands started playing, each one seeming to be competing against the other.
All Travis could say was, “My God!”
Crockett said, “Yep. I reckon it’s time we all was callin’ on Him. For a fact.”
All that day the men of the Alamo crowded the walls, watching as more troops rode or marched in, with their colorful uniforms, flags and pennants waving, and the bands playing. The smell of cooking meat came to the men along the walls, the spices the Mexicans were using causing many a mouth to salivate. Since the Mexican army permitted their soldiers to bring their wives and kids and girlfriends and various female camp-followers along, the scene before the men of the Alamo was particularly unnerving... both above and below the belt.
Travis seemed to sense that the end was near. He retired to his quarters to write yet another plea for help. He wrote passionately but rationally to Governor Smith and to Sam Houston, telling about the hundreds of shells that had fallen in, around, and on the mission. He wrote that the morale of his men was still high, even though there now appeared to be no hope left for any of them. He implored Smith and Houston for help, particularly for shot and powder.
Travis closed with this: God and Texas — Victory or Death.
In Bexar, Santa Anna had forgotten all about the news of reinforcements coming in from Gonzales. He wanted all his men to enjoy the feast and the bands and the parades. He pulled in most of his patrols, giving the small band of men coming from the east a much better chance of making it, at least to the outskirts of town. Getting through the enemy lines to the Alamo was quite another matter.
Only a few cannons from the Mexican side roared that day, and the cannons of the Alamo were silent; Travis was pitifully low on powder, and what powder he had for his artillery was not much good. He knew he had to save his powder for the final assault.
“God help us all,” he muttered.
* * *
By late afternoon of the seventh day, the volunteers from Gonzales had come to within a few miles of San Antonio. They took to whatever cover they could find and stayed out of sight, shivering on the cold ground until full nightfall. Then they abandoned their horses and struggled out on foot, each man carrying a heavy load of supplies.
Their plan was to reach the Alamo a short time after midnight; when the Mexican camp would be sleeping and most of the fires low. Of course they also had another worry: not to get shot by the men along the walls of the Alamo.
The men from Gonzales carried with them a homemade flag of silk. It was to be the battle flag of the Alamo. It had a hand-sewn picture of a cannon in the center and above and below the cannon, the words: COME AND TAKE IT. They had no way of knowing how prophetic those words would turn out to be.
The men from Gonzales crept along slowly, by some miracle making their way through the Mexican lines. Then they reached the ditch that surrounded the compound and stayed in it until they were at the walls.
A nervous sentry heard a noise and fired. The men from Gonzales went belly down in the muddy ditch.
“Goddamnit!” one said.
“Hold your fire,” the captain of the guard yelled. “Them boys is ours!”