6

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The Predawn Assault

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In the hours before dawn on March 6, 1836, Santa Anna’s men had little time for thinking about the future welfare of their lovers, wives, and children who remained with the army. Instead, shivering in the cold and contemplating their own fates, they had enough to worry about what would happen to them in the next hour or so. Since they had been ordered to rely upon “principally the bayonet,” these soldados, especially the veterans, knew what lay in store. Tormented by their thoughts, Santa Anna’s men more heavily weighed the legendary marksmanship of the Anglo-Celts, whose reputation in handling the Long Rifle had preceded them.

In the crack Zapadores Battalion, for instance, an uneasy Lieutenant Colonel de la Pena decided not to wear a white hat which might identify him as an officer, making him a target in the upcoming attack. An increasingly nervous de la Pena advised his friend, Lieutenant María Heredia, to do the same, because he believed “he and I would die” in the attack if such precautions were not taken. But the young lieutenant merely “laughed good-naturedly” and ignored the advice. In a fine dress uniform with shiny eagle buttons, the young lieutenant continued to wear his white hat: a decision he would soon come to regret. ¹

Eager to reaffirm his reputation as the “Napoleon of the West,” and like the manic French emperor whose instincts had served him well until the brutal guerrilla war in Spain and the disastrous Russian invasion, Santa Anna’s impatience and aggressive instincts had in fact gotten the better of him. Savvy veterans in the ranks, including leading officers, believed that an assault was unnecessary. For example, de la Pena lamented how “In fact, it was only necessary to wait the artillery’s arrival at Béxar for these [Alamo men] to surrender.” ²

Sensing that his own “Sun of Austerliz” was about to rise, Santa Anna now prepared to give the long-awaited order to attack at around 5:30 a.m., thereby avenging General Cós’ December loss of San Antonio and redeeming the republic’s honor in its first major blow to regain Texas. ³

At the Mexicans’ north battery, which stood “within musket range” of the Alamo’s north wall, Santa Anna ordered a five-foot-long Congreve rocket to be fired into the black sky for all to see, except, of course, the sleeping Alamo garrison. The red and yellow rocket soared high into the black sky as a quiet signal to begin the assault. The black powder had been removed from the rocket so that the exploding charge would not alert the garrison. ⁴

All the while, Alamo garrison members like Captain Carey and his “Invincibles” continued to sleep deeply on this cold night, unaware that all hell was about to break loose. In a lengthy letter written to his brother and sister, and as if possessing a portent of his own death, Carey had promised “that if I live, as soon as the war is over I will endeavor to see you all” once again. ⁵

Perhaps no one in Santa Anna’s army was now more motivated to redeem his reputation and honor today than young General Cós. And as Santa Anna’s brother-in-law who was defeated in this same place only a few months before, he had much to prove both to himself and others. In his own February 1, 1836, words, he was “ready to vindicate myself [and restore] my vacillating reputation” for having lost San Antonio and the Alamo in the first place. To wash away that humiliation, Cós had been ordered to target the west wall as his column’s objective. As a bachelor and unlike so many others in his assault column, General Cós had no concern about leaving a wife as a widow or children as orphans if killed this early morning. Amid the prone formation of Cós’ troops, consisting of the three companies of the San Luís Potosí Activo Battalion and the 280-man Aldama Permanente Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Gregorio Uruñuela, one soldado wrote of the dramatic moment when around 5:30 a.m. a rocket shot up through the air and suddenly “Cós yelled—on your feet! And placing himself at the head of the forces, we ran to the assault[;] the distance [to the Alamo] was short.” ⁶

In all four assault columns, scores of promising young officers in resplendent uniforms and from leading Creole families repeated the order to attack. In the early morning darkness, the Mexican ranks surged forward over the grassy prairie, covered in a low-lying mist, with discipline and determination. Composed of around 300 troops of the Matamoros Permanente and Jiménez Battalions, under Colonel Mariano Salas, Romero’s column closed in on the east wall, while Dúque’s column, consisting of around 400 soldados of the three “rifle” companies of the San Luís Potosí Battalion and all of the “Active” and the Toluca Battalions, advanced toward the north wall. Meanwhile, Morales’ column, the little more than 100 cazadores of the Jimenez, Matamoros, and San Luís Potosí Activo Battalions, headed toward the low, wooden palisade along the south wall and their ultimate objective, the main gate. Every side of the Alamo was being attacked at once.

As they hurled themselves toward the undisturbed Alamo that lay silhouetted against the distant black skyline, the onrushing soldados felt confidence in the righteousness of their cause and numerical superiority. Providing solace and a certain peace of mind at this moment, the omnipresent spiritual presence of Lady of Guadalupe inspired the Mexican troops onward, providing inspiration to both officers of Castillian descent and pure-blood Indians to drive the interlopers from Mexico’s sacred soil.

In the predawn darkness, the handful of Travis’ soldiers posted outside the Alamo as pickets and sentries to give first warning of an attack never knew what hit them. Like a “blue norther,” the sudden descent of the foremost Mexican light troops, or skirmishers, came swiftly out of the darkness. Death would come as quickly as unexpectedly for the pickets. Alamo garrison members were about to learn the hard way how Santa Anna’s surprise attack that annihilated the Zacatacas militia had been launched in the night to catch opposing pickets asleep.Wrapped in thin blankets for warmth against the cold ground and winds sweeping over the prairie from west to east, the pickets remained perfectly still in the narrow confines of their trenches. Discipline at the Alamo had always been loose and these men simply lacked the training, experience, and discipline to obey orders to stay vigilant. Consequently, they continued to doze in a sleep from which they never awoke.

Death came quickly. With skirmishers descending upon them like ghosts in the night, they were easily overwhelmed and quickly dispatched by the first wave of fast-moving Mexicans skirmishers, who knew how to silently eliminate advanced sentries, especially when asleep, before they gave warning. No one knows if these pickets attempted to sound an alarm before they met their Maker in the blackness that surrounded them. In part employing racial stereotypes that so often demeaned the Mexican character, one popular author speculated how a swift end came for those men stationed outside the Alamo’s walls: “One by one, it is known as certainly as if it was recorded, they were dealt with by Mexican scouts crawling up on them in the dark. A knife in the right spot and a hand on the throat to deny the sleeper even the bark of death, and it was all over. None of them lived to give a peep of warning.” ⁷

This popular version of the first Alamo deaths was almost certainly not the case, however. After so carefully orchestrating the attack to exploit the element of surprise, Santa Anna would not have risked that coveted tactical advantage by overwhelming the pickets with only a few scouts, needlessly running the risk that someone might fire a weapon to alert the sleeping Alamo garrison.

But these pickets and sentries, their number unknown, were most likely either bayoneted by enlisted men or sabered by officers from a heavy line of skirmishers, who were especially proficient at bayonet work. Clearly, these most advanced Mexican soldiers maintained excellent discipline in not only holding their fire but also in so quickly dispatching these advanced pickets, as directed by their officers. No one knows the names of those first few men who died outside of the Alamo, but they were probably all asleep and huddled together for body warmth when their lives had ended so suddenly.

In a letter written not long after the Alamo’s fall, E.M. Pease described the ominous tactical development resulting from the complete failure of the Alamo’s advance warning: “It was supposed that our sentinels worn out with fatigue had fallen asleep & were killed at their posts. [Before the sounding of] the first alarm within the fort, they were on and within the Walls in large numbers . . . “ ⁸

Indeed, the lack of discipline of the Alamo’s defenders outside the walls now came to haunt the garrison, which remained unaware of developments outside the walls at the most inopportune time. More conscientious officers, who possessed ample experience with night duty, were now fast asleep in the cozy warmth behind the closed doors of the various rooms of the compound—especially the Long Barracks for the enlisted men, a separate building for officers, and an artillery barracks—along the eastern perimeter. Clearly, from Travis, who was fast asleep in his own quarters, to the pickets outside the Alamo, no one had expected Santa Anna to attack at night. ⁹

So far, Santa Anna’s plan to catch the garrison by surprise was working to perfection. According to the traditional version of the Alamo’s story, everything up to this point was going exactly as designed until some over-enthusiastic Mexican soldiers began shouting, or so claimed Santa Anna, who was a master at shifting blame. But the notoriously self-serving general had only employed this long-accepted explanation as a convenient excuse for what was considered an unnecessary assault when under increasing criticism from his countrymen for his San Jacinto defeat. Writing a largely fictional battle-report, Santa Anna explained how the Mexican troops “moved forward in the best order and with the greatest silence, but the imprudent huzzas of one of them awakened the sleeping vilgilance [sic] of the defenders of the fort [resulting in a] loss that was also later judged to be avoidable and charged, after the disaster of San Jacinto, to my incompetence and precipitation.” ¹⁰

However, if some ill-timed outbursts of shouts among the Mexican troops occurred, it was not widespread—and hence not sufficient to alert the sleeping garrison—and only occurred later after the first soldados reached the walls. Experienced Mexican officers made sure that silence was maintained while their troops rushed forward. With an antiSanta Anna agenda, the ever-biased de la Pena described that a combination of wild shouting, the blaring of music from regimental bands, and the sounding of trumpets, and even premature volleys—allegedly fired at targets unseen—erupted simultaneously to alert the garrison, but this simply could not have been the case: Santa Anna would not have issued such orders to defeat his own plan for achieving complete surprise and to ensure that his troops would reach the walls before resistance was organized. De la Pena only used these examples to attempt to demonstrate Santa Anna’s incompetence.

In truth, virtually all garrison members were still asleep when the first Mexicans reached the walls. This development meant that the foremost attackers, who were leading the way for Colonel Dúque’s column pushing toward the north wall from the northwest, the skirmishers of the activo Toluca Battalion, initially met with no return fire during most of their dash to the wall. Moving rapidly forward in two lengthy lines, these skirmishers easily gained the north wall’s base before any fire opened upon them. One dependable company commander of the light infantry skirmishers was young Captain José M. Herrera. He led his cazadores (the Spanish word for chassuers) to the north wall, reaching a position under the silent guns of the north battery draped in darkness and silence.

Behind these swiftly advancing twin lines of skirmishers that had gained the wall’s base, the remainder of Dúque’s troops continued to push forward. Through the darkness, these attackers headed toward the north wall’s center, moving forward in column as fast as they could. The north wall, with its crumbling stone and abode bolstered by a timber and earth outwork, was the weakest link in the defensive perimeter, after the palisade. Consisting mostly of the activo Toluca Battalion, of around 365 men at top strength, Dúque’s column was not yet encountering any fire from the north wall during its sprint forward. The unmanned cannons at the wall remained perfectly silent. Pushing forward from the east, Romero’s column likewise met no initial fire in surging toward the Alamo from the rear, or east, revealing the extent of the total surprise. To the onrushing Mexican troops, the absence of defenders’ fire seemed like a miracle, a special gift from a soldado-loving God and a special protective favor from the Lady of Guadalupe. ¹¹

After moving quickly over the open ground, unencumbered by knapsacks or accouterments, the skirmishers of the activo Toluca Battalion sighed breaths of relief after gaining the north wall in the pitch-blackness. Clearly, they had been fortunate in achieving a remarkable tactical success in gaining the north wall’s base so quickly, reaping the benefits of Santa Anna’s tactical plan. Catching their breath, these skirmishers now waited at the base of the wall for the arrival of Dúque’s attack column that would shortly emerge out of the darkness. Meanwhile, selected soldiers of Dúque’s column carried ten ladders forward for the scaling of the wall.

Joining its skirmishers, Dúque’s column also reached the wall without taking fire. Here, they hurriedly began to set up their wooden ladders to scale the earth and timber outer work. Not only the dash across the open prairie but the placement of ladders against the north wall was a race against time, and Santa Anna’s men won it. As planned, the Alamo’s most vulnerable wall was now on the verge of being breached without the attackers having yet encountered any resistance.

With the advanced pickets wiped out so noiselessly, only one member of the entire garrison was now capable of performing the Alamo’s most important mission at this critical moment. Thirty-five-year-old Captain John Joseph Baugh, the commander of the remaining handful of New Orleans Greys, had stayed in San Antonio after the departure of Captain William Gordon Cooke, the Fredericksburg druggist. Having arrived in Texas with the Greys as a lieutenant, he now served not only as the Alamo’s dependable adjutant, but also second in command—both jobs in which he excelled. Although, like his commander, an aspiring gentleman planter of lofty ambitions, the capable Virginian did not get along with Travis. Like other volunteers, especially those feisty, independent-minded types from the crack New Orleans Greys, Captain Baugh had early clashed with Travis largely because the Alamo’s commander was a regular officer. The young Virginian Baugh was now the sole representative of the late morning watch, after the relief of the late night and early morning watch. This earlier shift of bone-weary men had gone off duty sometime just before 3:00 a.m. when Travis, after he made his usual rounds, retired for the night, exhausted from supervising more shoring-up of the battered north wall.

Evidently stationed in an observatory position atop the roof of the high, two-storied Long Barracks, where some light, make-shift defenses had been constructed, Baugh was not at a good vantage point—too far from the north wall where the main attack would be directed—to serve as the Alamo’s main lookout at this time. And on this night that was as dark as it was cold, therefore, he could see nothing out in the prairies to the east because Colonel Romero’s attack column on the east had yet to strike. No sound of clattering accouterments, which were not worn by the attackers, could be heard in that direction.

At this time, of course, Baugh had no way of knowing that the pickets, who perhaps he himself had stationed outside the Alamo, were already dead. Baugh never knew that these blood-splattered soldiers, upon whom the garrison had placed so much faith to give early warning, were now lying lifeless at the bottom of cold, muddy ditches. Symbolically, the opening phase of the struggle had opened with a slaughter of garrison members outside the fort and would eventually end with a much greater slaughter on the same open plain. ¹²

William Barret Travis, weighed down by command responsibilities, had retired more than two hours earlier to his headquarters, located in the building near the west wall’s center, seeking relief from exhaustion and the winter weather. Captain Baugh, if not asleep by 5:30 a.m. when the assault began, after more than two hours on watch, was not sufficiently vigilant—like everyone else—to ascertain that a general assault was underway until it was already too late.

Clearly, indicating their inexperience, both Travis and Baugh had placed far too much confidence in the pickets and sentries–without officer supervision—outside the Alamo’s walls. But with the noise emitting from pounding feet, ladders slapped up against the north wall, and Mexican officers now shouting orders to their men, Captain Baugh, very likely just awakened, at last finally recognized the onslaught against the north wall. He now heard the tumult of Mexican soldiers pouring forward by the hundreds. By this time, after reaching the north wall, Dúque’s soldados were yelling and shouting, as if celebrating so easily gaining their objective.

Now alert to the threat’s magnitude, a desperate Captain Baugh made a belated attempt to arouse the sleeping garrison in the practically sound-proof rooms of the Long Barracks. He very likely also tried to awake soldiers in the other sleeping quarters, especially the artillerymen who slept in the adobe building just to the north, and adjacent to, the Long Barracks. However, it was already too late to organize a solid defense along the Alamo’s expansive perimeter, which spanned nearly a quarter of a mile, especially after the Mexicans had already gained the north wall. Not panicking but keeping his head, and in accordance to military protocol as he was the fort’s executive officer, the Virginia captain dashed for Travis’ sleeping quarters, located next to the artillery command headquarters situated near the center of the west wall. The assault was so stealthy and swift that the thoroughly exhausted Travis was still asleep at the decisive moment, since no attack had yet been directed at the nearby lunette. ¹³

Unfortunately for the Alamo garrison, both artillerymen and infantrymen had been literally caught napping, while the Mexicans had already made significant tactical gains—especially in gaining the north wall without meeting serious resistance. By this time, dark, swirling masses of Dúque’s troops “had their ladders against the [north] wall before the Garrison were aroused.” ¹⁴

An account taken from Joe, Travis’ slave from Monroe County, Alabama, summarized on April 11, 1836 the totality of the success of Santa Anna’s stealthy tactics that had gained a permanent tactical advantage that would never be relinquished: “It was dark, and the enemy were undiscovered until they were close to the walls, and before the sentinels had aroused the garrison, the enemy had gained possession of a part of the ramparts.” ¹⁵
In another account that appeared in the Commonwealth of Frankfort, Kentucky, on May 25, 1836, Joe revealed how the attackers were already “under the guns, and had their ladders against the wall before the Garrison were aroused to resistance.” ¹⁶

The slave’s view was accurate, because it later became widely known that the garrison was only “roused from their sleep by the cry that, ‘the enemy [is] on the walls’.” Consequently, the son of Gregorio Esparza, who was a member of Captain Benavides’ Tejano company of hardy rancheros, Enrique Esparza, a noncombatant because of his young age, explained how thoroughly Santa Anna’s tactical surprise had gained irreversible dividends to seal the defender’s fate: “The end came suddenly and almost unexpectedly and with a rush [and] It came at night and when all was dark . . . .” ¹⁷

Consequently, the garrison members were suddenly “awakened to a nightmare” of almost unimaginable, surreal proportions in the blackness. ¹⁸ The Mexican plan based on stealth and surprise had worked to perfection. In the process, Santa Anna had overcome the major dilemma faced by military commanders assaulting a fortified position, solving a vexing tactical challenge that had existed for centuries: how to catch an opponent by surprise and overwhelm a defensive strongpoint and a garrison with a minimum loss of life. Santa Anna had already negated the Alamo’s two principal defensive strengths in only a matter of minutes: its large number of artillery and the deadly Long Rifles.

The Alamo garrison had completely fallen for Santa Anna’s trap, lulled not only into complacency, but also a deep sleep. Day after day during the siege, Santa Anna had simply worn the Alamo garrison out both physically and mentally by the nearly two-week siege, sapping their spirit and fighting resolve in the process. Therefore, they had been asleep at the exact moment when they should have been ready for action. And the deadly Long Rifles, now stacked or lying useless beside their owners, were silent as the Mexicans set up their ladders and began to scale the north wall.

To negate such an assault, Colonel Travis or Bowie should have developed a sensible defensive plan in which half of the garrison slept while the other half manned the defenses. The failure to develop such a rotating defensive plan to counter a surprise attack, especially at night, doomed any chance for effective resistance. Or they could have emulated Napoleonic troops who were not allowed to take off equipment or even clothes to sleep when in the enemy’s presence and expecting an attack. But Travis was inexperienced in the art of war, and Bowie lacked knowledge in conventional warfare.

Clearly, such negligence was a fatal mistake that would ensure weak, almost token, resistance in defending the Alamo’s lengthy perimeter. Based on racial and cultural stereotypes, this situation had in part resulted from the average psychology of the Alamo defenders, who underestimated the intelligence and military skill of their opponents, from Santa Anna down to the lowest soldado private. Indeed, as late as February 12 and barely ten days before Santa Anna’s arrival outside San Antonio, Travis had assured Governor Smith “that with 200 men I believe this place can be maintained.” From beginning to end, garrison members never believed that the Mexicans would be so shrewd or tactically innovative as to do anything so enterprising as to attack in the darkness and catch them by surprise. After all, not even Indian warriors attacked Anglo-Celtic settlers at night or fought in blackness. Negative racial stereotypes about the Mexican character lulled the defenders, especially the leadership, into a state of lax complacency.

Even worse, the Mexican cannonade during the siege had conditioned the men to enjoy the comforting shelter of the Long Barracks and other buildings to escape the shelling.When the bombardment ceased on the previous afternoon, Travis had failed to make the necessary tactical adjustments to adapt to the changed situation. Perhaps the more experienced Bowie, had he not been sick, might have been sufficiently savvy to take such defensive precautions. Santa Anna, thanks to Tejano collaborators who had seemed to know almost everything about what was transpiring inside the Alamo, was aware that the garrison’s riflemen slept in the Long Barracks and other insulated—and hence quiet—quarters, with thick abode and limestone walls that made them nearly soundproof. And he knew that these quarters were located a good distance from the principal tactical target, the weakened north wall.

And few, if any, Alamo artillerymen rested at night beside their guns, while the riflemen slept in the barracks and other abode buildings, once so effective in stopping Apache and Comanche arrows. Therefore, when the Mexicans reached the north wall, began climbing their ladders, and even going over the top in the dark, they were not initially met by any massed or concentrated volleys of rifle-fire, because of the absence of both aroused defenders and the lack of firing positions— parapets, catwalks, portholes, or firing platforms—along the walls. For instance, even though a relatively short makeshift firing platform existed along the north wall, the lack of firing embrasures for riflemen meant that they would be exposed when rising up to fire. For the defenders, even if they reached their assigned places in time, the best firing positions were almost exclusively on building rooftops, a good distance from the north wall, at various points along the perimeter.

Almost before anyone among the comatose garrison realized it, the quickness of the Mexicans reaching the walls meant that almost all of the Alamo’s artillery remained unmanned and silent for some time, because the gunners, if roused at all, had no time to race north from the artillery barracks and across the plaza. In addition, even if manned, the pieces could not be sufficiently depressed once the Mexicans had reached the north wall. After all, these guns had been mounted to meet daytime attacks with long-range fire. This disadvantageous situation made the majority of the Alamo’s cannon almost useless when they were needed the most. Some historians have at least acknowledged that the Long Rifle had been largely negated, but not the majority of the Alamo’s cannon at the attack’s beginning.

Although the real battle had not yet actually begun, already it was too late for the diminutive band of garrison members to do anything but die. Travis’ slave Joe described how the fight was already over once hundreds of Santa Anna’s finest troops already gained the north wall, “before the Garrison [offered] resistance.” ¹⁹

Meanwhile, the 33-year-old Captain Baugh raced westward across the wide expanse of the pitch-black plaza—in what must have seemed like an eternity for the Virginian—to reach Travis’ small room in a building near the center of the west wall. In desperation, an out-ofbreath Baugh opened the wooden door of the Alamo commander’s room and yelled, “Colonel Travis! The Mexicans are coming!” ²⁰

This startling pronouncement by the former New Orleans Greys’ member, who had helped capture the Alamo only last December, might well have been one of the greatest understatements in Texas history. ²¹ Of course, the captain’s frantic words gave no hint of the no-win tactical situation. Indeed, by this time, the Mexicans were not only “coming” in force, they had already arrived at the north wall in overpowering numbers. When Captain Baugh reached Travis’ room, the foremost troops of Dúque’s column might well have already been over the wall and inside the fort. ²²

Even Kentucky-born Drum Major Joseph G. Washington, age 28, did not have time to beat his drum in a belated attempt to awake and rally the yet comatose garrison. ²³ Captain Baugh’s frantic words that awoke Travis were yelled before a single blast from one of the Alamo’s cannon that would have roused the Alamo’s commander and his men. But worst of all in the confused chaos that was fast descending on the old Spanish mission compound, neither Captain Baugh nor anyone else in the Alamo realized that the greatest Mexican effort to scale the walls was concentrated on the north wall. Therefore, in part because his headquarters room was located in an abode building at the center of the west wall and the Long Barracks was on the other side of the cavernous plaza yet draped in blackness, Travis would be unable to galvanize a solid defense at the most critical point, the north wall, because it was already too late to do so. Indeed, very likely few garrison members, including Travis, expected an attack on the north wall, which had been endlessly strengthened before Santa Anna’s eyes, because the weakest sector—the palisade and the main gate—were located on the compound’s opposite side, the south.

Long accepted by historians, traditional accounts of the battle have Travis gallantly rallying the Alamo garrison, with almost everyone rushing forth to defend the north wall to meet the attackers with fierce resistence, even repulsing not one but two attacks in that sector. But with the garrison fast asleep and with a high percentage of it either sick or injured in the hospital, this scenario of the mythical Alamo—where the garrison possessed plenty of time to rally and mount an organized defense along every wall—was simply not the case. Such a situation would have been impossible under the disadvantageous circumstance of being caught so completely by surprise. However, the mythology of the tenacious defense of the north wall provided the dramatic stage for the heroic death of Travis in defying the odds, while providing “evidence” of defenders inflicting a large number of casualties. But this traditional version is mere fantasy, as no Mexican attacks were repulsed because of defender fire, either from artillery or musketry that morning. General Filisola described, in regard to any defenders who might have reached the north wall, that they could not “use their rifles, thus because the parapet did not have a banquette on the inner-side.” ²⁴

Joe’s account was the first to have Travis meeting his death at the north wall, and this has been relied upon by many historians. Indicative of the attackers having penetrated farther than generally recognized, another version has it that “Travis fell on a stairway he was holding against a surging mob of Mexicans, shot through the head . . .” This well might have been the case, given the complete surprise of the attack and the Mexicans’ rapid advance that had them penetrating the Alamo before the garrison was aroused. And Mexican Sergeant Francisco Becerra reported having found Travis inside a room of a building either at the low barracks or near the south wall. In another account, as a sharp rebuttal to what he considered the defamation of his Alamo heroes, Reuben M. Potter was perhaps the first, in 1860, to emphasize in his The Fall of the Alamo pamphlet—considered definitive by historians for generations—that Travis and Crockett were killed “early on the outworks,” or north wall, expressly to dispel the circulating story and mounting evidence of Crockett’s surrender and execution after the fight. ²⁵

In truth, it was not the defenders’ tenacity along the north wall which held the Mexicans at bay according to the mythical Alamo, but ironically the attackers themselves. The first cannon shot of the day erupted from the alerted cannoneers at the elevated gun platform at the back of the church, sending Romero’s column veering away toward the north wall, where no cannon roared. During the confused darkness in surging toward the Alamo’s northwest corner, Cós’ left flank had been hit by the fire of Toluca Battalion soldados of Dúque’s column. Considerable disorder resulted when three separate assault formations suddenly collided in the darkness at the Alamo’s northern perimeter. This accidental uniting of Dúque’s, Cós’, and Romero’s columns formed a solid mass of hundreds of Mexican troops at the north wall’s base. And additional Mexican troops in the rear crowded those in front, cramming and jamming the ranks together in a milling throng. At this point, separate unit organization was lost and the attacking columns became a mob in the dark.

Santa Anna had ordered too few ladders. This confused situation caused a delay among the attackers, though not from defenders’ fire. Return fire was virtually non-existent, so swift had been the advance. Initially, the north wall cannon remained quiet, and would have been ineffective even if gunners had reached them, because the three cannon could not be depressed sufficiently to hit the Mexicans since they were at the wall’s base.

All the while, hundreds of Dúque’s, Romero’s, and Cós’ troops clamored under the walls, in relative safety, not only because most of the garrison was not yet aroused but because the cannon could not be depressed. Officers, like José Mariano Salas, born in 1797 and second in command of Romero’s column, attempted to sort out the confusion and restore order, but in vain amid the tumult and darkness. And by now, though defenders’ resistance remained disastrously weak, isolated shots fired into the throng by the first few Anglo-Celtic riflemen to reach the north wall couldn’t help but find flesh. ²⁶

Disorder among the Mexican ranks resulted in a “confused mass,” wrote de la Pena, from the merger of three columns of attackers smashing together from multiple directions. Making up for the lack of ladders, the outer work’s ad hoc construction, unevenness, and incompleteness allowed for some soldados, using their own initiative, to climb up the wall. With muskets slung over shoulders, newly arriving Mexicans scaled the wall by grabbing holes in the outer-work or the end of protruding wooden beams that had not been sawed off.

“Misled by the difficulties encountered in the climbing of the walls” and the mashing together of multiple columns and from losses incurred by more friendly fire than defender fire, in de la Pena’s words, Santa Anna, in the pitch darkness, could not ascertain what was really going on. ²⁷

Therefore, Santa Anna prepared to order in his crack reserves, the Sapper, or Zapadores, Battalion, which was attached to his personal headquarters. Today known as combat engineers who were among the army’s most specialized, versatile troops, these were the army’s crack reserves. And Santa Anna now utilized them as Napoleon employed his famed Old Guard, or the Imperial Guard, which served as a “shock reserve” to administer a coup-de-grace at the critical moment. But these troops were not as much engineers in the true sense as elite light infantrymen. With Napoleon’s legacy in mind, Santa Anna had omitted nothing in his meticulous planning of the assault. Therefore, he had placed his reserves, both the Zapadores Battalion and nearly half a dozen companies of light troops, behind Dúque’s column, facing the north wall. However, he was premature in now unleashing his reserve, under the command of Colonel Agustín Amat, before the battle had hardly begun. ²⁸

Nevertheless, these reliable sappers were among the army’s best troops, earning Santa Anna’s praise and confidence. They were men of character, who would later refuse to execute Alamo captives despite Santa Anna’s personal command. One reliable young Creole officer of this hard-hitting force was Lieutenant Colonel de la Pena, who had been assigned to the Sapper Battalion on February 13. However, he now served in Dúque’s column, having rushed forth with the first wave of attackers.

Indicating its high quality, another fine Sapper Battalion officer was Don José María Heredia. A “well-beloved” and “amiable youth,” Lieutenant Heredia was haunted by the portent that he would meet his Maker in Texas, “never seeing his family again.” He was correct in his apprehensions. Nevertheless, this young officer would lead his platoon during the assault. Ironically, Lieutenant Heredia was destined to receive a military funeral on his birthday, after suffering a mortal wound at the Alamo.

Like a gambler playing his highest hand, Santa Anna also had held five grenadier companies from the Matamoros, Toluca, Jimenez, San Luís Potosí, and Aldama Battalions in reserve with the Sapper Battalion, which was the real strategic reserve at the Alamo: a combined reserve force of around 400 soldiers, or more than one-fourth the size of the original attack force. The 200 men and officers of the Zapadores Battalion and the other 200 grenadiers prepared to attack. Both grenadiers and sappers of the reserves were determined to prove themselves this morning.

Born in 1790 in Spain and shielded by the darkness, Colonel Romulo Diaz de la Vega rode to the Sapper Battalion with Santa Anna’s orders. Along with the five companies of Grenadiers, he then ordered it toward the north wall as directed by the commander-in-chief. Sapper Battalion buglers María Gonzáles and Tamayo blew their brass instruments, and the finely uniformed sappers snapped to attention. Then, on the double, these crack Zapadores rushed forward with high spirits and fixed bayonets.

Some inexperienced men, most likely untrained youths, faltered, but officers, like Lieutenant Heredia rose to the fore. “Urging on the platoon he commanded at times scolding with sword in hand the soldier who showed little courage as the Sapper Battalion advanced” upon the north wall. Soon thereafter, Santa Anna also dispatched his final reserve: his own 50-man general staff, which included well-educated, debonair officers like aide-de-camp Manuel Fernández Castrillón, who was fated to die not at the Alamo but at San Jacinto, Ricardo Dromundo as Purveyor, and José Reyes y Lopez as CommissaryGeneral. Contrary to traditional accounts, these attacking reserves, high-spirited and overeager, made the most noise this morning, with bugle calls and shouts and cheering, as opposed to Dúque’s attackers. ²⁹

But despite confusion and fratricide among the Mexicans at the north wall, it was already much too late for the Alamo garrison to mount any kind of organized, or solid defense of that sector. Large numbers of Mexican troops continued to reach the wall and surge up ladders or scale it by hand like a raging flood in the darkness, before the riflemen in the Long Barracks close to the southern perimeter could rally and rush forth to defend it with muskets and shotguns. ³⁰

Reacting on instinct, Colonel Travis grabbed his double-barreled shotgun, loaded with buckshot, and raced from his room into the plaza’s darkness. This traditional hunting weapon, especially for winged game like quail or prairie chickens on the grassy prairie of Texas, could prove far more effective than the legendary, small-caliber Long Rifle. In the noisy confusion, it was impossible for Travis—half-asleep and very likely stunned beyond belief by how developments had so quickly swirled out of control—to gauge the exact tactical situation, or to get any real sense of what was occurring, especially on the far perimeter.

Numbed by the noise and the shock of having been caught so thoroughly by surprise, Travis sprinted across the wide, lonely expanse of the plaza, yet bathed in blackness, to reach the north battery. He attempted to rally some men who were nearby with a shout to encourage them, “Come on, Boys, the Mexicans are upon us and we’ll give them hell.” ³¹ But Travis’ belated effort to rally a defense was largely ineffective except for a handful of solders—simply a case of too little, too late. Relatively few men followed Travis into the chaos swirling around the north wall. After all, while Travis raced toward the breakthrough, most men were yet arousing themselves from sleep and attempting to find gear and accouterments to strap on in the pitch-darkness of the Long Barracks and other nearly soundproof buildings. ³²

Some evidence has indicated that a number of soldiers, and evidently a larger group than previously thought—heresy to the mythical Alamo—deliberately remained in the Long Barracks and other buildings either out of fear or because of never receiving orders of any kind. Doing something that was entirely understandable under the circumstances, they apparently decided not to follow the lead of Travis’ or other officers like Baugh, if they could at all be heard in the confusion, to defend the walls, as if they already knew it was too late to mount a successful defense.

Understandably shocked by the surprise attack, some defenders remained in bed or hid in a place of concealment, knowing an ugly ending for them was now inevitable. An exception was Gregorio Esparza, a Tejano artilleryman from San Antonio, who rushed from his sleeping quarters in the artillery barracks—indicating that cannoneers were not positioned beside their guns—and into the plaza’s darkness never to return. But other garrison members resisted orders to go forward, as if knowing that they would soon meet a gruesome fate. Indeed, Travis’ men were horrified to hear the panicked cry that the Mexican “soldiers [had already] jumped the wall.” Two Alamo defenders near Esparza’s young son, Enrique, were Brigidio Guerrero and an “American boy [who remained] wrapped in a blanket in one corner” of the room, simply refused to budge and participate in the Alamo’s defense. Clearly, the shock of the surprise attack caused paralysis, which was entirely justified under such chaotic conditions. ³³

Just awakened to a surreal nightmare so far from his native Tennessee, Captain Dickinson also realized the end had come for the garrison even before it had a chance to fight back. Shell-shocked by the Mexican onslaught, he informed Susanna of the situation: “My dear wife, they are coming over the wall, we are all lost!” ³⁴

Of course, no one knows the exact number of soldiers who rushed forth into the darkened plaza with Travis. But almost certainly, relatively few garrison members, either artillerymen or riflemen, awoke from their deep sleep in time to rush forward to defend the north wall. Therefore, Travis very likely thought he was leading more men forward to defend the position than was actually the case. So belated was his attempt to rally a defense that Travis might have even unknowingly passed by the foremost Mexican soldiers, who had already surmounted the wall to penetrate into the sprawling plaza.

To many men it very likely made little sense to rush the lengthy distance of more than half the plaza’s length in a futile attempt to reach the north wall. After all, by this time, nothing could stop the raging Mexican tide, and it was too late to rally the garrison into an organized defense, especially after word was passed that some of Santa Anna’s troops had already come over the wall. ³⁵

And even if an adequate number of Travis’ riflemen had reached the north wall before the Mexicans came over the top, the lack of firing platforms and catwalks hampered any chance of successful defense: reasons why Santa Anna had targeted the north wall with his heaviest attack. Fueling both fright and panic by this time, the escalating roar of hundreds of cheering and yelling Mexican troops only a short distance away was unnerving even for the most experienced soldiers, signaling to one and all that Santa Anna’s surprise had been complete.

In addition, many soldiers may have either failed or refused to follow Travis to the north wall because he was simply not their leader. Naturally, Crockett’s Volunteer State men stayed with the popular Tennessean, while Bowie’s volunteers felt little loyalty to the upstart regular officer; the New Orleans Greys and even the Gonzáles volunteers almost certainly remained with their own leaders. Such a development further ensured a further division of command at the most critical moment was only natural in the confusion of a nocturnal surprise attack.

Drawing upon inaccurate sources, most historians have long believed that all the garrison’s riflemen had spilled out of sleeping quarters and then rushed forth in time to calmly take firing positions along the north wall, from where they able to pick out targets and cut down great throngs of attackers with well-aimed shots, thanks to the illumination from cannon flashes. But this scenario is part of the mythical Alamo. ³⁶

This time-honored tactical scenario of the north wall’s alleged tenacious defense was simply impossible for other reasons. First, and contrary to what imaginative writers and historians have speculated for so long, the north wall’s main artillery bastion was largely negated, because gunners could not reach their three 9-pounders in time before the Mexicans gained the wall. Like the Alamo’s infantry, the artillerymen had slept in their quarters for warm shelter instead of remaining at their posts on the perimeter.

After finally pouring forth from their sleeping quarters, therefore, it took some time for most cannoneers to dash across the wide plaza and to reach their guns. By the time gunners along the north wall reached their 9-pounders, it was already too late for any effective defense of an already weak position that had been completely compromised. And again, without embrasures along the north wall, cannon barrels could not be depressed sufficiently to fire upon the crowded throng of Mexican soldiers at the wall’s base.

The ineffectiveness of the Alamo’s artillery this early morning would not only be revealed by the relatively low Mexican casualties, but also by the words of the Kentucky-born colonel in Santa Anna’s Army, Bradburn. He spoke exquisite Spanish and learned firsthand about what had actually happened—without romance or exaggeration—from Mexican soldiers, after reaching the Alamo only a few days after the struggle. What he learned from immediate Mexican oral sources was translated from Spanish to English by Colonel Francis White Johnson. One of the leading Texas officers in this war, Johnson had served as Colonel Edward Burleson’s adjutant and inspector general. An old Indian fighter and War of 1812 veteran, he took charge of Texas forces in San Antonio, after Austin relinquished command during the siege of Béxar. Johnson had then commanded the Alamo, before turning over command to Neill. Colonel Johnson subsequently described the tactical situation that revealed the extent of the surprise that sealed the Alamo garrison’s fate: “But a few and not very effective discharges of cannon from the works [on the east and south] could be made before the enemy were under them.” ³⁷

Colonel Johnson’s analysis of what had actually happened has been overlooked and discounted by historians, because it so directly countered the traditional romanticized, popularized versions of events, especially the heroic last stand of the mythical Alamo. A Kentuckian who had faithfully served Mexico during its bloody struggle for independence, Colonel Bradburn described to Johnson Santa Anna’s easy victory—a rare oral communication about tactical events at the Alamo in English without translations from Spanish with its almost inevitable accompanying errors. ³⁸

And a reliable Mexican soldier’s account by Sergeant Manuel Locanca supported Bradburn’s view. Amazed by the attack’s swiftness and the overall lack of resistance, he wrote how the assault “was so sudden that the fort had only time to discharge four of the eighteen cannon it had” mounted. And, of course, these guns could not have been fired effectively in the dark and swirling dust, without targets being ascertained and especially with the attackers having already gained the north wall’s base. ³⁹

These Mexican views coincided with those inside the Alamo. For instance, Enrique Esparza recalled how: “We also had two cannon [evidently manned by Tejanos including his father, Gregorio], one at the main entrance and one at the northwest corner of the fort [but] the cannon were seldom fired.” ⁴⁰

Providing solid collaborating evidence, a number of reliable American accounts also verify the truth of Johnson’s words, and hence Bradburn’s fact-finding mission about what really happened at the Alamo. Travis’ slave, Joe, emphasized how the attackers gained the north wall before any artillery fire and safely got under the guns. In addition, E.M. Pease revealed in a January 8, 1837 letter how Mexican troops gained the walls before the garrison was rallied and before resistance. What was significant about all three accounts was that they were given and published in newspapers within a relatively short time after the Alamo’s fall. ⁴¹

Ironically, the first cannon shots from the Alamo—from the church’s rear and at the main gate lunette—had a dramatic impact and unintended consequence on the overall course of the battle, explaining why the bulk of Santa Anna’s attackers concentrated at the north wall, not by design but quite by accident. At least one, perhaps two, of Captain Dickinson’s artillery pieces at the back of the church had blasted the left flank of Romero’s column, causing it to veer away from the fire toward the compound’s northeast corner. The other first-fired cannon, opening up on Morales’ column, was located either at the palisade or the lunette—most likely the latter, protecting the main gate, which was Morales’ target. At least one of the cannon at the main gate lunette fired at Morales’ attackers, who then eased farther west along the southern perimeter to avoid additional fire from the lunette, which had no artillery piece facing west, because the long 18-pounder on the elevated platform at the compound’s southwest corner fulfilled that role.

At the church’s rear, Captain Dickinson’s gun crews, who slept in the church rather than in the artillery barracks next to the Long Barracks, were able to get into place more quickly, long before artillerymen reached the north wall, which was a longer distance away. And initial cannon fire from the lunette was possible because gunners slept in the earthen stronghold before the main gate, which needed protection both day and night. These two initial artillery salvos—from the church’s rear and from the front gate lunette before the firings of the north wall’s 9-pounders—had a lasting, and ironically, a completely unexpected impact that altered the course of tactical developments.

One, perhaps, two guns at the church’s rear that had raked the left flank of Romero’s column forced it to veer away to the north to link with Dúque’s troops in a concentrated tide. An accidental development likewise altered the attack on the west. The lack of an entry point along the west wall had forced Cós’ column, without encountering much resistance, to shift north toward the compound’s northwest corner. Ironically, in a case of more fratricide, Cós’ soldados suffered more from an enfilade fire of Dúque’s men on the right, who raked his left, than from defenders. Here, along the north wall, this accidental massing of strength—Dúque’s, Romero’s, and Cós’ columns—also benefited from unforeseen tactical consequences that were transpiring along the south wall.

A longstanding myth of the Alamo’s defense was that combined rifle-fire from Captain Harrison’s Tennessee boys along the wooden palisade and a single cannon blast from the palisade’s center caused Colonel Morales’ column to veer past the palisade. But in fact, in the darkness, the defenders were very likely not yet aroused in time to take to their assigned positions along the palisade; after all, nothing could be seen in the cold blackness, even if they had been ready and in proper defensive placement. Instead, Morales led his men in an attack on the south wall, drawing defenders there and ensuring a weaker defense of the north wall.

But these initial bursts of combined artillery and infantry fire—the fort’s first organized defiance—indicated that cannoneers and protecting riflemen slept in and were ready at the main gate lunette. Their fire caused Morales and his small column to veer southwest to take position around a stone house about 30 or 40 feet south of the Alamo’s southwest corner. Here, Colonel Morales’ soldados remained in a stationary position, biding their time and not taking losses, mustering strength and wind for their next move. All in all, this was a significant tactical development, drawing the attention of what relatively few defenders—especially those in the lunette—along the south wall to focus on Santa Anna’s weakest attack rather than the surging tide against the north wall. The situation evidently led these defenders, in a a fatal miscalculation, to believe that the main Mexican attack was occurring at the south wall instead of the north one, where cannon had yet to be fired. ⁴²

Overall, however, there were simply too few defenders, with such a high percentage of sick or injured, to adequately defend a perimeter that needed to be manned by at least 500 men, as E.M. Pease wrote in a January 1837 letter, and more likely as many as 1,000. Even if every garrison member was fully awake and in position in time to face the attack, there was still not enough soldiers to adequately man both the extensive walls and the artillery. Quite simply, it was impossible for so few garrison members to adequately defend the entire perimeter—480 yards—especially when caught asleep and by surprise in the darkness.

In consequence, many newly aroused defenders very likely remained on the Alamo’s south side, either choosing not to rush forward to defend the north wall or taking positions along the south wall as planned, in a natural response to protect the main gate from the attack by Colonel Morales’ column. Without hearing Colonel Travis’ order, or any other, many defenders may not have realized in the chaotic tumult that the main attack was occurring on the north wall.

According to the commonly accepted (and most likely) scenario, among the relatively few defenders who reached the north wall was Travis and his slave, Joe, who allegedly was armed and serving as a garrison member. Carrying his shotgun, the Alabamian raced up the earthen embankment that led to the firing platform for the three guns. As if in disbelief that a major attack had been launched at night, Travis peered over the wall to ascertain what exactly was happening below him. What he saw must have taken his breath away. Dúque’s troops already had their ladders in place against the wall, and were in the process of scaling it by both ladder and by hand. Most ominous of all, the darkened movements of the jumbled mass below indicated an immense attacking force. For the first time, Travis now realized that this was an all-out assault. ⁴³

Colonel Travis stood at the principal artillery position along the north wall, even though Mexicans were already scaling it, perhaps on both sides of him by this time, and very likely some of Santa Anna’s foremost soldados might have gained the interior. This strongpoint, manned by three 9-pounders at the north wall’s center, had been erected by General Cós’ expert engineers. Fortin de Terán had been named after Don Manuel Mier y Terán; in fact, all of the Mexican-built firing platforms, or forts, were named after distinguished military men or politicians. Ironically, Terán had warned the Mexican president that Texas would be lost to the republic because of the ever-growing AngloCeltic influence, helping to set in motion the chain of events, including the clash at the Alamo, that made war inevitable.

In the darkness, Travis attempted to do the best he could in a tactical situation that indicated not only defeat but utter annihilation. In the noisy confusion, he joined the three gun battery of 9-pounders—very likely under the command of Captain Carey, because this weak defensive point needed to be manned by “Invincibles,” who were considered the garrison’s most reliable artillerymen. ⁴⁴

However, and even if manned in time, these guns were not only too few and too small to be effective, but their volunteer cannoneers were “unskilled in their use,” a lack of ability that only further diminished during the surreal chaos of this night attack. In addition, because no embrasures existed for the three field pieces to fire through, the artillerymen who reached this position would be unprotected and exposed to musket-fire while serving their pieces. ⁴⁵

Unlike the riflemen yet stumbling out of the Long Barracks like drunken men, a handful of artillerymen had reached Fortin de Condelle (named in honor of Colonel Nicholas Condelle, who played a leading role in San Antonio’s defense in December 1835 and served as commander of the Morelos Battalion), at the compound’s northwest corner about the time of Travis’ arrival. Here, unlike the Fort Terán artillerymen who manned the 9-pounders, the cannoneers at least possessed the benefit of embrasures so that barrels could be depressed to target attackers at the wall’s base.

But yet some more precious time was wasted for the desperate artillerymen, who after having been abruptly aroused from their sleep in the artillery barracks and dashing across the plaza and up the earthen ramp to the Alamo’s northwest corner, now labored in hurried desperation to load their guns as rapidly as possible in the noisy confusion. And this feat had to be accomplished in the dark and at a time when these gunners were in semi-shock from the attack’s overpowering weight. With Dúque’s, Cós’, and Romero’s soldiers scaling the north wall, they loaded their artillery pieces in frantic haste as best they could. At the two little forts along the wall, these artillerymen hoped at least to get off a single shot before they were completely overwhelmed by the raging tide of attackers, so close were the Mexicans by this time. ⁴⁶

In the early morning coldness and during the panic of the surprise attack, the largely untrained cannoneers along the north wall clumsily attempted to load their guns upon reaching them. This development resulted in more loss of time, while hundreds of Mexicans continued to charge closer across the blackened prairie, solidified their gains at the wall’s base, and moved up their ladders. Amazed by the feeble resistance, General Filisola later told how the utter lack of “good artillerymen” and “trained men” to man the Alamo’s guns made the job of reaching and going over the top of the walls relatively easy for the attackers. ⁴⁷

In addition, even the late-winter weather played a role in ensuring a feeble artillery defense. Just like muskets, shotguns, and Long Rifles, the powder charges of cannon were vulnerable to the winter elements, especially dampness, dew, and condensation, if the pieces had been kept fully loaded. Therefore, the 9-pounders at the main north wall battery had remained unloaded and unable to fire for some time, since they were not fully manned because the cannoneers were not fully aroused, or were yet racing across the plaza to reach the north wall. Santa Anna’s surprise attack had largely neutralized the garrison’s most lethal weapon—the artillery arm—which had caused Neill and Bowie to make the fateful decision to defend the Alamo in the first place.

As Colonel Johnson explained in part from his own analysis but also from Colonel Bradburn’s views taken from Mexican soldiers after the attack: “Thus the works were mounted with fourteen guns [actually around twenty] . . . The number, however, has little bearing on the merits of the final defense, with which cannon had very little to do. These guns were in the hands of men unskilled in their use, and owing to the construction of the works most of them had little width of range.” ⁴⁸

Finally, the initial blast from a little 9-pounder from Fort Terán was belatedly unleashed. But in the words of Sergeant Nunez, born in 1802, who rushed forward in Dúque’s ranks: “The first fire from a cannon of the Alamo passed over our heads and did no harm.” ⁴⁹

Like other attackers, Nunez almost mocked the Alamo’s initial blast from a cannon along the north wall. After the first shot sailed harmlessly over the heads of Dúque’s rearward attackers, they continued onward unimpeded. Therefore, the only effective cannon fire from the north wall that morning finally erupted when the second gun, another 9-pounder, likewise opened up. This single blast of homemade canister struck the rear of the activo Toluca Battalion of Dúque’s column, riddling a group of onrushing infantrymen. ⁵⁰

In attempting to magnify the folly of attacking the Alamo and the waste of Mexican lives to disparage Santa Anna’s generalship, the everpolitical de la Pena wrote that “a single cannon volley did away with half the company of chasseurs from Toluca,” which was almost certainly an exaggeration. If de la Pena meant that these men were killed, then this would have represented a large percentage of the total Mexican dead at the Alamo. What he very likely meant to say was that these men were struck by the blast of improvised canister, as small as nails, that inflicted relatively minor wounds. This distinct possibility was verified by the words of an unidentified Mexican soldier, who described how this cannon blast “felled” forty attackers. He even mocked the ineffectiveness of the Alamo cannon, revealing in the April 5, 1836 issue of El Mosquito Mexicano: “It seemed that the bullets and grapeshot from the cannons and rifles were spent, bouncing harmlessly off the breasts of our soldiers.” ⁵¹ These words also indicated that the garrison’s limited powder supply was either damp or of poor quality, probably black powder left by General Cós, ensuring a lack of effective firepower, except of course at close range.

But what was not harmless was when Colonel Amat, unaware that Romero’s and Cós’ troops were now in front of him, ordered his reserves to halt and fire volleys, which cut down many soldados massed and milling together in a crowd at the north wall. If fired high, these volleys would have shot soldados off ladders and while scaling the wall by hand. In the darkness, Santa Anna, who also had no idea that Cós and Romero’s columns had swung from their designated attack points to hit the north wall, had made a mistake in throwing in his reserves and at the wrong wall to make widespread fratricide all but inevitable.

The vast majority of Mexican attackers fell to friendly fire in the dark and confusion, and not fire from the Alamo’s defenders. Indeed, in total less than half a dozen artillery pieces—perhaps only two from the church guns, one protecting the lunette at the main gate, and two at the north wall—were likely the only cannon fired in defense of the sprawling perimeter that surrounded the nearly three acres of the Alamo’s vast interior space—a most feeble result from the garrison’s greatest advantage and strength, its artillery arsenal. Indeed, Sergeant Nunez, of Dúque’s column, was surprised how, “the cannonading from the Alamo was heard no more” and hardly before it had begun.

Along the southern perimeter, the cannon at the palisade and in the lunette only unleashed perhaps as few as two shots because it was yet dark and no targets existed to fire at, after Colonel Morales column veered away to the west to escape the wrath of the lunette’s artillery pieces. This left the entire southern perimeter free of attackers in its immediate front. At the stone house located just outside the southwest corner of the Alamo, Morales’ relative handful of men continued to remain behind cover to maintain a steady fire for some time, ensuring that the defenders’ attention on the south remained on them, while Santa Anna’s knock-out blow was delivered along the north wall. ⁵²

One of the strangest developments during the assault, unforeseen by either side, was that the Alamo’s presumably strongest asset—its artillery—had an unintended detrimental effect on the defensive effort by causing two unplanned maneuvers: first, by driving Romero’s column to the northeast corner of the weak north wall, which was the decisive point; and second, by forcing Colonel Morales’ column to a new position, the stone house, from which it eventually assaulted and overran the Alamo’s southwest corner. ⁵³

By focusing the defenders’ attention on the south wall entrance, thanks to Morales’ attack, prospects for the attackers’ success were now only heightened at the north wall. Perhaps from the moment that he was awakened, therefore, Travis, like those soldiers who failed, either deliberately or because they weren’t ready, to rush to the walls, realized that all was lost. In fact, Travis had accepted the Alamo’s fall for some time, and now it was happening ever so swiftly right before his eyes.

Even in the darkness, he might have seen how relatively few of his men had followed him in making the long, lonely sprint to the north wall. After having been caught by surprise, most of the Alamo garrison was yet consumed by a swirl of confusion, if not panic, after having awakened to a nightmare. Simply no time existed for officers to either rally the garrison or get them into their assigned defensive position to offer a solid resistance along the northern perimeter. More soldados gained the north wall’s top with relative ease and without encountering serious resistance, rendering moot the limited artillery fire and Colonel Travis’ best efforts. What relatively few riflemen reached the north wall could not sustain effective fire, and they were vulnerable targets to the massed throng below them, in having to expose themselves when firing over the wall. ⁵⁴ The confusion among the newly awakened garrison members could not have been greater by this time. De la Pena recalled how all was pandemonium, “with desperate, terrible cries of alarm in a language we did not understand.” ⁵⁵

With north wall resistance relatively light, meanwhile, Cuba-born General Juan Valentín Almador, a sprightly age 55, led his cheering soldados of the Toluca Battalion of Dúque’s column over the top of the north wall, where the three light cannon of Fortin Terán were manned by only a few gunners. Most significant, he and his triumphant men then opened a “postern gate” to allow a flood of attackers to pour into the darkened plaza. Because of the weak defense and the relatively short duration of the fighting inside the compound this morning—perhaps as little as twenty minutes—this gate was opened much sooner than has been described or acknowledged by historians, who have embraced the traditional concepts of the mythical Alamo without question. The early opening of the gate allowed for a much quicker entry into the plaza for hundreds of Santa Anna’s men, negating the disadvantage of the relatively few number of ladders. Therefore, more soldados gained entry into the Alamo through this gate rather than scaling the wall. Prior intelligence of the Alamo’s interior would have bestowed knowledge of this gate and its exact location—almost certainly another reason why the north wall was the principal objective this morning.

Other key officers who played leading roles in overrunning the north wall were General Pedro Ampudia, Colonel Esteban Mora, and Lieutenant Colonel Marcial Aguirre. Surging forward with Almador’s troops in overrunning the battery and the north wall, Colonel Romulo Diaz de la Vega led his Zapadores into the plaza. In part because fratricide had been so high and due to their discipline, these reserves of Sappers and Grenadiers, or granaderos, also led the way over the north wall and through the gate. Quite literally, the floodgates to the Alamo were opened for more than 1,000 troops of three columns. Now, according to Joe, the Mexicans came over the north wall and through the gate in a perfect herd “like sheep.” ⁵⁶

For all practical purposes, the struggle for possession of the Alamo was over hardly before it had begun, primarily because the surprise had been so complete. For instance, the undeniable reality of this no-win situation was revealed by the words of Enrique Esparza, whose father, Gregorio, was one of the few Tejano defenders from San Antonio. The thorough surprise of the Alamo garrison was evident when Enrique’s mother, who was awakened by shouting outside—she evidently had been sleeping in a building close to the north wall or near a window, and had to yell to her sleeping husband in the artillery barracks—that the Mexicans were already pouring over the walls: “Gregorio, the soldiers have jumped the wall. The fight’s begun.” ⁵⁷

A short time later, Enrique Esparza related the confused horror that faced the newly awoken garrison: “We could hear the Mexican officers shouting to the men to jump over [the north wall and] It was so dark that we couldn’t see anything.” ⁵⁸ Thereafter, as Enrique continued, the bitter “end came suddenly and almost unexpectedly and with a rush. It came at night and when all was dark [and] Our men [had no chance because] Their ammunition was very low. That of many was entirely spent. Santa Anna must have known this, for his men had been able . . . to make several breeches in the walls [while] Many slept. Few there were who were awake. Even those on guard besides the breeches in the walls dozed.” ⁵⁹

No disciplined volleys were forthcoming from the Alamo defenders, because they had been unable to wake up, organize in time, and reach assigned defensive positions to mass their already limited firepower. There was no real organized or united resistance of any duration along the north wall during the initial phase of the steamrolling Mexican attack. This development can explain why the reserves of the Sapper Battalion lost the lowest number of both officers and men—only 1 officer killed and 3 wounded—of any attacking unit despite leading the breakthrough over the wall. Since the Sappers helped to lead the way over the top and even into the plaza, fratricide might well have claimed these officers. This very likely was also the fate of many of Dúque’s officers, such as Captain Don José María Macotela, who fell mortally wounded not long after he took over for Colonel Dúque who also was felled. Both Macotela and Dúque were wounded “in the vicinity of the enemy parapets” along the north wall, while Mexicans below them were firing upward and around them blindly in the night, resulting in what de la Pena lamented as the “destruction among ourselves” in the blackness. ⁶⁰

A man of considerable pride, vanity, and a strong sense of honor, Colonel Travis evidently already felt the shame of having failed as the Alamo’s commander in terms of rallying the defenders and galvanizing a solid defense, which was now clearly doomed. In fact, he had been long consumed by a “certain fatalism,” while possessing a strange sense of being about to be ”sacrificed,” as if having a portent of his own death. ⁶¹

Not only was the Alamo already all but overrun, but relatively little resistance had been offered to the Mexican tide. For a man like the Byronic-minded Travis, who considered himself an honorable Southern soldier-gentleman, this prospect of an inglorious defeat was the ultimate humiliation, and quite unlike what he had ever read in Walter Scott’s romantic novels. What was now happening at the Alamo had nothing to do with romance or the heroic. Santa Anna had brought a merciless reality to the young Alamo commander in the pitch-blackness. Now there were no knights on horseback, chivalric gestures between gentlemanly opponents, beautiful ladies in waiting, and heroism for the ages.

Instead, in the blinding darkness and gut-wrenching panic, there were now only hundreds of vengeful Mexicans swarming forward to exterminate every American and Texan soldier they could find. Like his dazed men who were overwhelmed as much as he was, Travis had realized for some time that his fondest images of a by-gone age had been mere illusionary fantasies. Instead, as revealed in his March 3, letter, Travis had all but accepted that he and his men were about to be “sacrificed to the vengeance of a Gothic enemy” bent on the garrison’s total annihilation.

Travis sensed that his good name and reputation—things that he cherished above all else—would now be stained forever, because he had failed to save his men or the Alamo, forever to be blamed for the failures of prior leadership. In the future, the Travis name would be linked to defeat, humiliation, and disaster. Most galling for him personally was that all of his frantic pleas for assistance had been ignored. Both the government and people of Texas, for which he was about to sacrifice himself, had let him down, abandoning him and his handful of soldiers to their tragic fates. Colonel Travis had earlier despaired of this thorough abandonment, understanding how he and his command were about to be killed for no strategic gain or reason. Therefore, at this time, he was angry, frustrated, and disillusioned by a garrison of mostly volunteers who had long wanted to surrender, the apathy of Fannin and Houston who had not come to their aid, the equally uncaring Tejanos of San Antonio, and the selfish people of Texas who failed to assist him in his darkest hour.

He also had to grapple with his own failure to come to terms—in fact, insulting Santa Anna—when there was still the possibility of an honorable capitulation. Travis was very likely haunted by his own leadership failings that doomed himself and the garrison. And he doubtless also felt abandoned by those men who failed to rush to the north wall with him. He had long been concerned that the disgruntled garrison would surrender instead of fighting to the end like heroes of yore, and now that bitter suspicion appeared evident.

In his mind’s eye, Travis had most likely envisioned the climactic battle for the Alamo taking place in broad daylight, the Mexican army ponderously assembling in all its colorful splendor under the calm gazes of a garrison armed and ready at their posts along the walls. Then the fort’s artillery would blast huge gaps in the approaching enemy’s ranks while the garrison’s Long Rifles would deal steady execution. He had probably never imagined a sneak attack in the dark that would breach the walls before the garrison hardly had a chance to fight. And now he found himself practically alone, with no one to command, and no one to witness his heroism save hundreds of swarming Mexican soldados bent on his destruction.

Therefore, by this time, with the searing notes of the Deguello floating across the plain, and with the red no-quarter flag waving high on this night in hell, Travis evidently felt that he had only one recourse— suicide. As he stated in his March 3 letter, he was only too aware how Santa Anna’s attackers were “fighting under a blood-red flag, threatening to murder all prisoners,” eliminating any possibility of his survival.

In keeping with Travis’ Byronic temperament, he almost naturally would have considered suicide, with Mexicans closing in and perhaps even surrounding him by this time, especially if he had fallen wounded and become helpless. It would have been a rational act under the circumstances. The last thing that Travis now desired was to experience the ultimate disgrace and humiliation, if he was taken alive by the Mexicans, who were now all around him. Capture, torture, and death were now all but inevitable for Travis, and he knew it, if taken alive. And like no other garrison member, Travis was a marked man to Santa Anna. Because of his early defiance to Mexican authority and with his reputation as one of the most militant “War Hawks” in Texas since the early 1830s—a fact known even in Mexico City—Travis was one of the most wanted men north of the Rio Grande. As revealed in his letter, a revengeful Santa Anna was yet enraged over Travis “insulting” replies to him and refusal to come to terms.

At the age of only 26 and despite his short military career, Travis was perhaps the most infamous man at the Alamo, and as a strange fate would have it, also its commander. Since the siege’s beginning, in what became a duel of wills between two opposing leaders, Santa Anna was especially eager to do away with the troublesome young man from Alabama as much for personal as for political and military reasons. He had become “furious” with Travis’s failure to surrender. Therefore, a stern example had to be made and an unforgettable message sent to other Texas revolutionaries in the form of Travis’s death. As part of his overall plan to subjugate Texas, Santa Anna planned to execute all rebel leaders, and Travis would provide the initial example. An ugly death for young Travis would remind every rebel in Texas of the high price paid for those who stood in Santa Anna’s way. Therefore, Travis quite correctly expected that “at the very least, he and Bowie would be executed if they surrendered” or were captured by this merciless “Gothic” foe from the heart of Mexico. And by now, it had become painfully clear to one and all that the Alamo was in the process of being completely overwhelmed before an adequate defense could even be attempted. ⁶²

Knowing that his fate was sealed as much by his own actions and decisions as anything else, Travis had already made his peace with God well before the Alamo’s fall. He had already completed his will the previous year. And at the Alamo, as if obeying a dark portent and seemingly knowing his final fate was near, Travis had also taken off his beautiful black cat’s eye ring, placed it on a string, and tied it in a loop to place around the neck of 15-month-old Angelina Arabella, the daughter of Pennsylvania-born Captain Dickinson and Susanna WilkinsonDickinson, both of whom had migrated to Texas in 1831. Travis seemed to know that he was about to meet his Maker. ⁶³

What could no longer be denied at the north wall was that nothing could now stop the raging tide of Mexican soldiers, nor now save the garrison or the Alamo. Consequently Travis very likely became convinced that only one option was left for him by this time, especially if surrounded and trapped on the gun platform of Fort Terán with most defenders either dead, wounded, or having abandoned the exposed position. With suicide, he would at least achieve a partial personal victory— like the defiant Jewish rebels at ancient Masada—in denying the victorious enemy his capture, with its consequent humiliation, torture, and inevitable execution. When about to be overwhelmed, and knowing that the Alamo was already doomed, Colonel Travis, ever-impulsive and melodramatic to the end, instead very likely committed suicide by pulling a flintlock pistol out of his belt and shooting himself in the head, “to escape the cruelties of the enemy,” as shortly reported in the Commercial Bulletin.

This suicide scenario was affirmed by numerous contemporary accounts that Travis killed himself either with a shot to the head or by stabbing himself. However, according to the best evidence, Travis most likely shot himself in the manner of most firearm suicides of the 19th century, with a pistol shot to the forehead. Indeed, Francisco Antonio Ruiz, the alcade of San Antonio, would later personally view Travis’ body, and wrote how he had been “shot only in the forehead.” An account in the March 28, 1836 New Orleans Post and Union—one of the earliest primary documents to describe Travis’ suicide—by Andrew Briscoe, a 24-year-old Mississippian and member of the War Party who owned a store in Anáhuac, Texas, held that “Travis, to prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy, shot himself.” ⁶⁴

The most likely scenario that prompted Travis’ suicide was that he fell wounded, lay virtually helpless in or around Fortin de Terán, and knew capture was inevitable with soldados now all around him. Additionally, if wounded, Travis might well have believed the common rumor that the copper balls used by Mexican troops were poisonous, leading to a slow, agonizing death. In this scenario, Travis would have unknowingly followed the example of a respected German captain of Napoleon’s Grande Armée, when a small rearguard force was making a stand against the pursuing Russian tide in a redoubt outside Vilna during the retreat from Moscow. When a Russian cannonball cut off both his legs, this capable young officer then calmly took out a pistol in front of his men and “blew his brains out.” Other Napoleonic-era commanders likewise committed suicide by flintlock pistol shots in the head to avoid capture and to deny the enemy the triumph of killing them. ⁶⁵

What has been overlooked is the fact that Travis’ suicide—if it indeed occurred—was completely understandable under the circumstances and fully accepted at the time. E.N. Grey wrote from Gonzáles on March 11, 1836 how “Travis killed himself.” ⁶⁶ Even General Houston more than once emphasized that Travis committed suicide. He had first learned as much from two Tejano rancheros—Anselmo Bergara and Andrés Barcenas—from present-day Floresville, Texas, who reached Gonzáles from San Antonio not long after the Alamo’s fall. They had gathered as much intelligence in San Antonio as they possibly could from Mexican soldiers and civilians. At Goliad on March 11, as learned by Grey, Houston and others, what these two Tejanos presented was a “surprisingly accurate report” to Houston, in the words of historian Richard G. Santos. However, modern historians have casually dismissed this initial report of Travis’ suicide, and all of those that followed, regardless of the source.

Having been in and around San Antonio at the time of the struggle for the Alamo, at least one of these men had learned of Travis’ fate from a Mexican soldado, or civilian survivors, who had witnessed his suicide, and from viewing Travis’ body which was later identified by Joe. Everyone, including Houston, fully believed without question, or even surprise for that matter, the report of Travis’ suicide. Clearly, they evidently knew him and his general disposition and temperament well enough so that there existed relatively little surprise or skepticism when they learned of his suicide. ⁶⁷ This final coup-de-grace was very likely a neat, clean shot, administered by a small-caliber pistol that Travis carried in his leather belt. No doubt like other doomed defenders, Travis had prepared for such a tragic eventuality, and had made his plans accordingly.

More romantic accounts of Travis’ death, in the heroic last stand tradition, have maintained that he was shot in the head while firing his double-barreled shotgun over the north wall at Mexicans clustered at the wall’s base, and that a volley erupting from below ended his life. This is not implausible, since despite the darkness and the poor marksmanship of the average Mexican soldado, there were certainly a lot of bullets flying around and one by chance could have caught Travis in the head. However, the type of wound caused by a Brown Bess musket at close range would have caused massive damage and been far more disfiguring than a pistol shot, and this sort of wound was not described by those who viewed Travis’ body.

The first contemporary account that placed Travis at Fortin Terán was from Joe, who very likely had remained hidden in some building. After seeing Travis’ body at the north wall, he and others merely assumed that Travis was killed by the enemy in combat. But Joe’s testimony was embellished as he wanted to praise his former master and win favor from white interviewers. After all, he was a slave. For instance, barely a month after the battle, Joe even concocted a story of how after having been shot, Travis killed a Mexican general who was attempting to “behead him” with his saber. However, no general was killed at the Alamo. But most important, Joe indicated that Travis had been wounded, which adds plausibility to the scenario that the Alamo’s commander, at the very end, lost all hope and decided to end his own life.

No single suggestion more disputes the Alamo’s core mythology than that of suicides among the garrison, despite the fact that considerable primary evidence indicates that suicide was the fate of a number of defenders, including their commander. On March 11, 1836 less than a week after the Alamo’s fall, and based upon the firsthand reports from Bergaras and Barcenas, Sam Houston wrote a letter from Gonzáles to his friend, Henry Raguet, which revealed a truth that seemed to surprise no one: “Our friend Bowie, as is now understood, unable to get out of bed, shot himself, as the soldiers approached [and 24-year old, Louisiana-born Charles] Despal[l]ier, [Christopher Adams] Parker [age 22], and others, when all hope was lossed [sic] followed his example,” while “Travis, tis said, rather than fall into the hands of the enemy, stabbed himself.” ⁶⁸

Then, on March 15, 1836, Benjamin B. Goodrich, a member of the Washington-on-the-Brazos Convention, wrote to his brother John Camp Goodrich from Washington-on-the-Brazos, reporting how, “Col. Travis, the commander of the fortress, sooner than fall into the hands of the enemy, stabbed himself to the heart and instantly died.” ⁶⁹ Another early testament of Travis’ suicide appeared in an April 16, 1836 issue of The New Yorker with the publication of a letter by Andrew Briscoe: “The brave and gallant Travis, to prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy, shot himself.” ⁷⁰ And the Louisiana Advertiser also told its readers of Travis’ suicide, after he, and for good reason, decided that he would not suffer the dismal fate of “falling into the hands” of Santa Anna. ⁷¹

On March 28, 1836, the New Orleans Post and Union likewise ran the story of the suicide of the Alamo’s young commander, who, from all contemporary evidence, went down like a sea captain with his ship in a long-revered tradition, especially among military commanders. ⁷²

In addition, the April 16, 1836 issue of the Western Courier and Piqua Enquirer of Piqua, Ohio, reported the news that was far more believable to Americans at the time than today: “We stop the Press to announce the fall of Béxar, and the slaughter of 187 brave fellows, principally Americans . . . The gallant commander, Col. Travis, before he would suffer himself to be taken alive, drew a pistol from his belt and put an end to his existence by lodging its contents in his own head.” ⁷³

What is especially interesting about this account and others is that they reveal none of today’s negative social stigma, but a matter-of-fact acceptance, if not appreciation, of the concept of suicide under no-win circumstances that did nothing to damage the heroic reputation of the doomed yet gallant Alamo commander.

BREAKDOWN

With Colonel Travis dead, what little cohesion that remained among the confused, dazed, and half-asleep band of defenders, especially among the volunteers, now evaporated completely in the noise, panic, and darkness. After all, the garrison was never really a command in any sense of the word, with in-fighting as much among themselves as among Texas’ notoriously quarrelsome politicians in San Felipe de Austin. Even more, the garrison—a truly multi-ethnic and multi-racial command in which barely half a dozen men were native Texians and even less were from San Antonio—was even not united by nationality, or state or community ties. Especially in such a disastrous situation, collapse of cohesion, and therefore organized resistance, was all but inevitable.

When Joe was horrified to see his Alabama-born master, who had purchased him almost two years earlier to the day, killed, he possessed the good sense to immediately take off on the run. At age 23, this African American now proceeded to do what most white soldiers at the north wall were now doing. The idea that Joe served as a soldier—after all he was a slave with no military experience—to defend the Alamo against those who would liberate him and bestow freedom upon him makes little sense. Instead, he headed back across the plaza on the double. Seeking survival, he found refuge in one of the buildings along the southern perimeter.

Young Captain Baugh, only an adjutant, now became “the de facto” commander of the Alamo after Travis’ death. But like Travis, the captain could accomplish little, if anything. By this time, Baugh very likely realized that he would never see his Virginia family again. Without either the time or inclination to spring from the Long Barracks and other sleeping quarters to dash across the plaza’s lengthy stretch to defend the walls, an unknown number of soldiers remained behind in the temporary shelter of the Long Barracks or other buildings out of fear and shock. Therefore, some garrison members failed to make the dash to assigned defensive posts, because with the surprise so complete, they seemed to instinctively know that resistance would make little difference in the end. ⁷⁴

Such factors also explain why the vast majority of the Alamo’s cannon remained silent so long. Knowing the end was now near, a shocked 26-year-old Captain Dickinson, who commanded the cannon at the church’s rear, had only been awake for a few minutes when he revealed to his horrified bride Susanna, who was in the ill-lit sacristy, the truth of the situation: “Great God, Sue, the Mexicans are inside our walls!” ⁷⁵ The shock could not have been more complete. In the artillery barracks with his father, Enrique Esparza never forgot the moment when “We could hear the Mexican officers shouting to the men to jump over.” ⁷⁶

Incredibly, the foremost Mexican troops were inside the Alamo before most garrison members were fully awake, aroused, and on their way to defensive positions. Indeed, overrunning the north wall had been so relatively easy—ironically thanks in part to the artillery damage inflicted in this sector by Neill’s artillery during the 1835 siege of Santa Antonio—that Lieutenant Colonel José Juan Sánchez-Navarro described with some astonishment how, “Our jefes, officers, and troops, at the same time as if by magic, reached the top of the north wall [and] jumped within.” ⁷⁷Revealing some relief that the task had not been more difficult, he said, “The four columns and the reserves as if by a charm at the same time climbed the enemy’s wall and threw themselves inside his enclosure.” ⁷⁸

Ironically, the attackers’ own numbers proved to be a greater impediment than defenders’ fire. After all, the soldados “had their ladders against the wall before the Garrison were aroused,” and had been scaling the north wall without encountering serious opposition. Young Lieutenant José María Torres of the Zapadores Battalion had already planted the Mexican tricolor on the north wall, proclaiming victory. ⁷⁹

All the while, larger numbers of Mexicans continued to pour over the walls and through the gate like a raging tide of humanity. Such a tactical achievement was one of Santa Anna’s proudest moments as a military commander. Even long after the Alamo’s capture, and as revealed in a previously unpublished letter, Santa Anna still glowed at the memory of when so many “Mexican soldiers scaled those stone walls climbing them with courage.” ⁸⁰ And it had all happened so quickly, less than fifteen minutes since the attack’s opening, giving garrison members a very narrow window of opportunity to wake up, strap on gear, and dash to assigned positions to mount a defense.

At this time, the plaza’s north end was filled with swarming soldados. Mexican targets, dark-skinned enlisted men of Indian and mixed heritage, and lighter-colored Creole officers, both wearing dark-blue colored uniforms, could not yet be seen clearly by the defenders in the night. Therefore, targets were not yet clear for Travis’s men, adding to the confusion and overall lack of resistance. What little, if any, hope of galvanizing a solid defense only continued to evaporate further in the confusion, the blackness, and the noise. As if this situation was insufficiently unnerving for the numbed garrison, soldiers yet emerging groggily from sleeping quarters to enter the plaza’s expanse now heard the spontaneous chant of the onrushing soldados, “Muerte a los Americanos,” or “Death to the Americans!” ⁸¹

Even if the men of the Alamo did not speak Spanish, they could guess the meaning of the war-cry, while Tejano defenders could already understand the frantic commands of shouting Mexican officers. Most of all, no defender could forget the sight of that red flag waving over the church, and what it signified. Like so many garrison members, romantic-minded Micajah Autry, a crusty War of 1812 veteran compared to the beardless youths around him, who was yet an idealistic dreamer at over forty, was about to fulfill his promise, or death wish at the Alamo. In one of his final letters to his wife, Martha, he wrote, “I am determined to provide for you a home or perish.” ⁸²

From beginning to end, relatively feeble resistance in the face of the overpowering onslaught was all but inevitable. The lack of effective leadership, careful coordination of the defense, and command incohesiveness that had been evident for so long now rose to the fore. Inexperienced novices in the ways of war, Alamo garrison members were also divided by race (Tejano verus Anglo-Celts); nationality (Americans verus Europeans); regional difference (North versus South); the direction of Texas’ future, (pro-Constitution of 1824 verus pro-independence); regulars and volunteers; native Texians versus United States volunteers; leadership (Travis versus Bowie); and even along political party lines (Whigs verus Jacksonian Democrats). These considerable differences helped to ensure that the garrison would act anything like a cohesive force—after all they were citizen-soldiers and volunteers—rather than as disciplined soldiers.

Along with Santa Anna’s hard-hitting, stealthy tactics, a host of factors, including Travis’ death, plagued the garrison to prevent a unified defense, paving the way for panic and a complete rout. As in any such divided military organization, especially one caught unprepared during a nocturnal surprise attack, such internal differences and divisions were only magnified under the stress of battle, rising to the fore at the moment of crisis. One of the great Alamo myths was that the garrison— which never previously faced a combat situation—fought and died as one in a well-coordinated, tenacious defensive effort.

Instead, what relatively little resistance offered to the Mexican attackers easily broke down under the shock of an onrushing enemy who so quickly descended upon them in overwhelming numbers. What few tentative, belated defensive efforts that existed, therefore, fragmented even further in the noise, fear and panic—a natural, if not inevitable, development under the circumstances. In fact, a majority of the Alamo garrison offered little, if any, resistance—the antithesis of the fabled last stand.

This undeniable reality of a lack of a unified and organized defensive effort was explained in the first official account of the Alamo’s fall. Significantly, in his report written for the Mexican Minister of War and Navy, Santa Anna himself explained how “there was a large number [of defenders] that still had not been able to engage” the attackers, because they had not gone to the north wall, but fled toward the compound’s south side, now free of attackers. ⁸³

Like other officers, Captain Baugh, could not organize effective resistance now that he was the acting senior commander. ⁸⁴ In desperation, this former New Orleans Grey continued to attempt to rally riflemen beyond the relative handful of soldiers who had attempted to take defensive positions. But in the dark and confusion, like his predecessor, there was little that he could do.

Nevertheless, Captain Baugh and others continued frantic efforts to arouse and organize the riflemen from their isolated sleeping quarters in various buildings of the Alamo compound, after Baugh had already alerted those in the two-story Long Barracks. Indeed, for too long this morning when time was of the essence, the captain had urgently attempted to arouse some “of the defenders out of their sleep immediately, but others, in their fatigue-induced slumber, awoke slowly and were confused” under the shock of the surprise attack. ⁸⁵

By this time additional dazed soldiers had emerged from the darkness of their warm barracks and sleeping rooms only to encounter the chaos, tumult, and confusion that was swirling around the Alamo’s plaza like a tornado. Enrique Esparza later recalled, “I ran out to the [church] courtyard from a deep sleep.” ⁸⁶

Indeed, there simply was no time to rally the men, so complete was the Mexican success in overrunning the north wall before the garrison could be aroused. ⁸⁷ It had now become a desperate situation of every man for himself. In the midst of the Mexicans surging over the wall in the darkness, a wave of panic naturally swept through the defenders, who deserted firing positions along the perimeter and fled back into the plaza. ⁸⁸

After Travis died, the few defenders, mostly artillerymen who had been so easily overpowered at the north wall, fled through the plaza and toward the Long Barracks to escape the onslaught. As if the convergence of three attack columns before the north wall was not enough to overpower the resistance there, the few defenders there had also been flanked on their left when Cós’ troops overran the Alamo’s northwest corner. This position had been bolstered by an artillery platform and two cannon—dubbed Fortin de Condelle—but had been easily overwhelmed. ⁸⁹

Therefore, what few men who continued to race from the Long Barracks and other sleeping quarters to go to the north wall, if that was the case, were now met in the Alamo plaza by onrushing Mexicans, who had already scaled the wall or entered its postern gate. Ironically, more actual fighting now took place not on the wall but in the open plaza, where even less chance for the garrison’s survival existed. Amid wreaths of sulphurous smoke that hung heavy over the plaza, further obscuring visibility, these close-range encounters were nightmarish, with Mexican troops using their bayonets with brutal effectiveness. ⁹⁰

Stunned garrison members who continued to emerge from their sleeping quarters were shocked to suddenly see a good many swarthy men—in general smaller than the Anglo-Celts—in dark blue uniforms. To the startled defenders now caught in the plaza, these fighting men from Mexico emerged like phantoms out of the blackness, charging across the plaza toward the south wall. Equally unnerving was the fact that the onrushing Mexicans were yelling like banshees and flashing bayonets, while officers shouted orders in a language they could not understand. Sensing a victory had already been won, these soldados now fought far more aggressively than the overconfident garrison members had ever believed possible.

Therefore, besides that of the surprise attack and the Mexicans already swarming through the plaza, yet another shock further stunned the Alamo defenders by this time: the warrior-like qualities and the courage exhibited by the attacking soldados. Now inside the plaza, these fighting men from Mexico defied so many ugly racial stereotypes about their lack of combat prowess and courage. Consequently, the sense of terror among the Alamo defenders only rose to new heights. These developments were indicated by the words of de la Pena, who wrote how thoroughly the dazed defenders were “terrified,” when swiftly overpowered by the Mexican onslaught in the plaza. As among the relatively few defenders who had initially rallied in time to attempt to fight back, this ever-escalating shock and panic was contagious to the newly-aroused troops yet spilling forth and into the plaza’s dark expanse, after emerging from buildings along the perimeter. ⁹¹

Besides the surprise, the absolute swiftness of the Mexican advance in getting over the north wall stunned the Alamo men, sending them reeling. Indeed, as explained by Johnson who had learned the truth firsthand of the Mexican’s rapid success from the victors not long after the fighting, “This all passed within a few minutes after the garrison [was] driven from the thin manned outer defences, whose early loss was inevitable.” ⁹²

Indeed, thanks to having set up ladders along the north wall “before the Garrison were aroused to resistance” and with the Alamo’s walls virtually defenseless, the vigorous rush of the Mexican troops up and over the barrier and then through the plaza was most of all distinguished by its swiftness. Survivor Susanna Dickinson, reinforcing the prevalent racial image of an onrushing tide of barbarians, later spoke of “the Aztec horde [which] came on like the swoop of a whirlwind.” ⁹³

The fact that some Americans were armed with Kentucky Long Rifles now worked to their disadvantage during the clash in the plaza. Historians have long assumed that these legendary rifles were the defenders’ best assets. But in the confused darkness of the open plaza, these feared weapons of the western frontier were all but useless at the critical moment. Especially, now in the dark-shrouded plaza, the Long Rifle—the range of which Santa Anna had already thoroughly negated by his surprise attack at night—proved largely ineffective because of its small caliber. Feared since the American Revolution, this frontier weapon was more ideally suited for hunting game no larger than a white-tailed deer, while proving totally unsuitable to resist swarming attackers practically atop the defenders in the darkness. Travis and some other garrison members knew as much, carrying double-barrel shotguns.

With the Mexicans rushing upon the startled garrison members in the open plaza, what was now needed for any chance of hurling back this initial wave of attackers was a close-range volley from shotguns loaded with deadly “buck and ball.” Shotguns were the only weapon that would have been effective at close range. A deliberately aimed shot from a Kentucky or Pennsylvania Long Rifle at an attacking Mexican, especially in the blackness when visibility was yet almost zero, was of little value.

Worst of all, these weapons could not be enhanced with what the defenders now needed most—bayonets—to fend off the foremost attackers pouring through the plaza. In addition, and unlike the much sturdier British Brown Bess muskets carried by Santa Anna’s men, the Kentucky Long Rifle was even unworthy as a club in close quarter fighting. Indeed, compared to the heavier Napoleonic muskets, this slight hunters’ rifle “was more fragile and [therefore] it could not be used as effectively in extremity as a club.” ⁹⁴

When defenders met attackers headlong in the plaza’s blackness, the Long Rifle only helped to ensure an additional lack of firm resistance, because it took so long to reload, especially during the heat of battle. After the first shot from a Long Rifle, Travis’ men would have to spend nearly a minute loading the weapon, elegant in its craftsmanship and design, even under ideal conditions. In the darkness, panic, and clamor of the steamrolling Mexican attack, nervous fingers took even longer to reload their weapons. Dazed garrison members caught in the open plaza were quickly dispatched, either bayoneted, shot, or knocked down by a musket-butt by the fast-moving Mexican soldados racing from north to south toward the Long Barracks and church. Some of Travis’ soldiers died grisly deaths from jabbing bayonets, while attempting to defend themselves with the day’s finest long-range weapon, when it was most likely empty, either never having been fired in the first place or after getting off only one shot. ⁹⁵

In contrast to the Long Rifle, the durable, smooth-bore musket of the Mexican soldier, was a heavy weapon of large caliber and much more reliable in close combat. The large .75 caliber round shot of this musket, that the British government obtained from the East India Company to confront Napoleon’s then seemingly invincible legions, could inflict terrible damage on its victims, unlike the Long Rifle’s small caliber ball. ⁹⁶

So in regard to the close-quarter fighting inside the Alamo’s walls, it was not those Americans armed with the Long Rifle but the Mexicans who possessed a distinct advantage, because of their use of “buck and ball” cartridges in muskets. The buckshot-plus-bullet ammunition made the discharge from the Brown Bess almost like a mini-shotgun. Along with the well accepted fact of the general inaccuracy of the Napoleonic musket, this shotgun effect negated the lack of marksmanship training of the Mexican fighting men in Santa Anna’s ranks. ⁹⁷

Besides shortages of ammunition, one previously unexplored issue in regard to explaining why it took so long for Travis’ men to get ready for action and why the defenders’ resistance was so weak was because of the time that it took to get their firearms ready for action. If garrison members—mostly rookies without military experience—had kept their weapons loaded during the night in case of a surprise attack, their powder charges would have been of little use by early morning. For instance, when General Houston’s army learned of Santa Anna’s approach toward San Jacinto in April 1836, hundreds of soldiers would be forced out of necessity, even on a warm day, to fire their weapons in the air “to clear their barrels by blowing away the wetness,” so that they could reload their weapons with fresh powder charges. ⁹⁸

However, under immediate attack and surprised from a deep sleep, the Alamo men possessed little, if any, time this morning to fire off their old rounds in order to reload. Consequently, a good many defenders’ weapons, if they had kept them loaded through the cold night, could not be fired by the time of the attack. In addition, the firing mechanisms of flintlock muskets—unlike new model British muskets with waterproof flash pans—were not moisture-proof, preventing the flints causing sparks to ignite the firing pan and thus the powder charge in the barrel. In contrast, Santa Anna’s troops had possessed ample time to make sure their weapons were in proper working order before the attack was ordered. Naturally, a host of misfired weapons would have created even more panic among the defenders.

In the dark still shrouding the Alamo like a funeral pall, many garrison members were likely caught without loaded weapons and were defenseless when the swiftly advancing Mexicans descended upon them. These unfortunate men were either shot down, sabered, or bayoneted while either racing across the parade ground toward the north wall or in retiring south in an attempt to find shelter or a semblance of organized resistance. One account has claimed that Crockett was killed when “he crossed the fort’s parade ground.” ⁹⁹Indeed, Andrea Castanon de Vallanueva described how Crockett “advanced from the Church building towards the wall or rampart running from the end of the stockade . . . when suddenly a volley was fired by the Mexicans [who had scaled the north wall] causing him to fall forward on his face, dead.” ¹⁰⁰

In addition, the overall lack of resistance very likely could also be attributed to not only damp ammunition from winter conditions, but also because the defenders used the vastly inferior Mexican reserves of powder left behind by Cós’ troops, who took the best Mexican powder with them, thanks to Cós’ covert directive to circumvent the capitulation agreement. As if that was not bad enough, Matamoros Expedition members, acting on Johnson’s and Grant’s “arbitrary measures,” had later taken most of the best powder for themselves, the fine-grained, double DuPont Powder from the Brandywine Powder Mills, which was far superior to the coarse Mexican power. After all, on March 3, Travis had requested black powder from the government, citing only ten kegs remaining. If the defenders attempted to use the powder from the paper cartridges of the thousands of rounds left behind by Cós, they then very likely discovered that it was “damaged” and “useless” at this critical moment. Poor quality Mexican powder was so impotent that Texians had earlier in the revolution discovered that they were entirely safe “from any injury by their guns.” Therefore, the Alamo’s defenders had been left with the worst powder, after the best had been taken not only by paroled Mexican troops but also Matamoros Expedition members, leaving them ill-prepared to meet the attackers. ¹⁰¹

Ironically, after the north wall was overrun by the tide of Dúque’s, Cós, and Romero’s attackers, the second penetration of Mexican troops surging into the compound came at what was considered one of its strongest points, the southwest corner. Traditional historians have overlooked the importance of the role of the well-trained cazadores of Colonel Morales’ column, viewing this attack as merely a feint because it struck the Alamo’s south side and failed in its central objective of overrunning the main gate. In fact, this was not a diversion or feint, because Morales and his soldados had been given a key assignment—to capture the very entrance to the Alamo. And Colonel Morales’ column consisted of elite troops. Indeed, in a rare compliment from a seasoned cavalryman, Sergeant Loranca, bestowed an honorary name upon the men of the San Luís Potosí Battalion. He described them as the “Firmas,” because of their reliability and combat prowess, almost a crack Grenadier Guard.

In the end, Santa Anna’s faith in these troops was rewarded not at the main gate, as he had planned, but at one of the Alamo’s strongest defensive points. This position at the compound’s southwest corner was guarded by the garrison’s largest cannon, the 18-pounder. It had been set in place to fire over the wall because no embrasures existed at this wood and earthen firing platform accessed by a lengthy ramp. Morales understood the advantages of overrunning the Alamo’s southwest corner and the garrison’s largest artillery piece: a guarantee to further unhinge the belated, floundering defensive effort.

Here, at the Alamo’s southwest corner, resistance was almost nonexistent because of tactical developments elsewhere, especially the overrunning of the north wall. By this time, most of the artillerymen and defending infantry in this sector had evidently retired back toward the Long Barracks and the church area, after ascertaining that the north wall had been overwhelmed and Mexicans were now charging through the plaza to gain their rear. Even if the gunners had remained in position, the 18-pounder was faced in the wrong direction, west toward San Antonio and not toward Morales’ attackers.

Morales’ men had earlier eased within short striking distance of the southwest corner, after having moved west along the protective cover of the irrigation ditch to take cover behind the stone house, out-flanking this elevated defensive position and the Alamo’s largest cannon from the south. And in the darkness, the mere handful of artillerymen at the 18– pounder, if yet manned, very likely never saw Morales’ small column shifting west and moving along the irrigation ditch, taking cover behind the house, and eventually targeting the southwest corner’s flank until it was too late. Such a stealthy approach in the dark doomed this artillery position. To justify the epic resistance effort of the mythical Alamo, some historians have speculated that defenders at the south and west walls left their positions to bolster the north wall’s defense, but this was almost certainly not the case, because that sector, known for lack of good firing positions for riflemen, had already been overrun in short order. Being too little and too late, any reinforcements rushing to the north wall would have been subsumed into the oncoming mass of soldados. Instead, these defenders headed toward the Long Barracks and church rather than waste their lives defending another wall that could not be held. ¹⁰²

Taking the initiative on their own, like so many other attackers this early morning and in a “daring move,” in General Filisola’s words, Colonel Morales’ men emerged from around the stone house, only a short distance from the fort’s southwest corner. They then advanced straight north against the Alamo. Encouraged by the lack of resistance along the south wall, Colonel Morales capitalized on his bold move. These light troops scaled the wall from both the south and west, overrunning the elevated artillery position with a cheer that could be heard above the crackling gunfire.

Leading the way and inspiring his troops onward, Colonel Miñon, second in command of Morales’ column, was the first man to jump inside this elevated strongpoint, after climbing the shaky ladder planted against the stone wall. Resplendent in a fine uniform like Santa Anna’s other high-ranking officers, Miñon was not hit by a bullet, musket-butt, or Bowie knife, because resistance was almost totally lacking by this time. Incredibly, this key bastion was all but undefended at the critical moment.

Surprised by the absence of defenders, Miñon, a veteran officer who knew how to lead men in combat, described with pride—as he could not see what was transpiring at the north wall—how “I managed to achieve, along with his force, that it was the first one that was successful in victory inside of the enemy perimeter.” The example of a full ranking colonel having been the first inside the compound in this key sector indicated one secret of Santa Anna’s success on this day: reliable, hardened high-ranking officers who led the way rather than commanding from the rear. The same was true in the performance of high-ranking officers in the attack on the north wall.

As directed by Morales and Miñon, these victors of the San Luis Potosi Battalion at the compound’s southwest corner took firing positions at high points along the perimeter. Perhaps they planted the Mexican tricolor, with its majestic golden eagle perched atop a cactus with a snake in its beak, beside the captured 18-pounder, symbolizing their success. Then, well-trained for this close-range business of killing even in the dark, these reliable light troops, or chasseurs, blasted away from elevated perches atop the walls and the cannon’s firing platform. What relatively few surviving defenders who had been at or near the compound’s southwest corner now headed east across the plaza and toward the Long Barracks and church. ¹⁰³

New Englander Colonel R.L. Crompton was the only Anglo who witnessed what had happened at the Alamo’s southwest corner. He was surprised to see how easily “the Mexicans effected a lodgment on an undefended part of the wall.” ¹⁰⁴

He viewed the action, illuminated by flashes of gunfire, from the vantage point of the window of a mud-and-thatch jacale (Tejano house) in Pueblo de Valero, which was located south of the Alamo, just outside the main gate and along the Gonzáles Road just west of the Alameda. From here, this young man from Massachusetts could easily view events swirling around the Alamo’s southwest corner. Crompton was a solitary volunteer reinforcement who had never reached the Alamo. In riding down the Gonzáles Road in pitch blackness previous to March 5, he had been hit by gunfire from Sesma’s cavalrymen, who guarded the road to keep reinforcements from entering the fort. Fortunately, as a veteran of San Antonio’s capture in December 1835, he knew of a Tejano friend who gave him shelter at his home in Pueblo de Valero. ¹⁰⁵

Such evidence has revealed that resistance might have been nonexistent because the 18-pounder gunners might have never even reached their positions. Quite likely, with the artillery barracks on the compound’s opposite side, these artillerymen might have not been awakened in time, or had been cut-off from reaching the southwest corner artillery platform by Mexican troops swarming from the north wall. Now, after seizing the 18-pounder and the compound’s southwest corner, Colonel Morales’ men, from good firing positions atop the walls and rooftops, poured a hot fire from their elevated perches, blasting down into the dark plaza at the whiteness—face and necks—of Travis’ men. Some time later, San Luís Potosí Battalion soldados would advance to take possession of the main gate and the lunette from the rear. ¹⁰⁶

In overall tactical terms, the relatively easy overrunning of the compound’s southwest corner also partly explains why the Mexican advance once inside the walls was so swift and overpowering, meeting light resistance. Nothing could now stop the attacker’s momentum, especially when facing only a relative handful of dazed, half-asleep defenders, who hardly knew what had hit them. But with large numbers of Mexicans inside the Alamo’s walls and descending into the plaza from the north, some dazed Anglo-Celts elected not to flee into the Long Barracks, but instead retired back toward the main gate, which was free from attack by Colonel Morales’ soldiers, who had concentrated at the Alamo’s southwest corner. In the darkened tumult, neither Captain Baugh nor any other officer could stop or fully comprehend the fastmoving tactical events now swirling out of control around them. ¹⁰⁷

Even worse, the defenders’ position along the southern perimeter— at the lunette guarding the main gate, along the palisade, and along the rooftops—was destined to be compromised from behind, after Colonel Morales’ chasseur troops overran the Alamo’s southwest corner. Ironically, the most formidable weapon in the Alamo’s artillery arsenal, already facing the wrong direction and far too heavy to turn, might well have not fired a single shot. As a partial testament to the overall feeble defensive effort was the fact that Santa Anna’s smallest attack column— the San Luís Potosí Battalion chasseurs—had made a significant tactical gain.

Consequently, when Morales’ troops overwhelmed the Alamo’s vulnerable southwest corner, they also flanked the defenders along the west wall on the left. This tactical development resulted in some of the remaining west wall defenders fleeing back into the plaza, heading north for the Long Barracks’ relative safety, or south toward the palisade’s sally port, hoping to escape the deathtrap. Some of these retiring soldiers were almost certainly wiped out in the plaza by Mexicans, who had poured over the north wall on the left. Overall, and especially only with a relative handful of men, Colonel Morales’ success was impressive, and small wonder that he later described this struggle as “the glorious battle of the Alamo.” ¹⁰⁸

Overwhelmed by debilitating “combat shock,” no organized lines of defense, concentrated volleys, or standing fire took place among the stunned Anglo-Celts, who had been so thoroughly worn down both physically, emotionally, and psychologically by the nearly two-week siege, the lack of sleep, and their hopeless plight. Especially with the Mexicans pouring over the walls, the flight or fight impulse had been triggered among the remaining survivors. And now flight was not only instantaneous but also automatic—an unthinking, natural response to survive—under dire circumstances. A panic triggered by the surprise attack in darkness became more widespread, enhanced by the sights and sounds of vengeful soldados giving no quarter. All the while, the “screams of the crazy, exultant Mexicans increased every moment [with] the yell [compared to] the yell of a mountain panther or lynx.”

By this time, almost every surviving defender had bolted away from the north wall, west wall, and southwest corner, heading either toward the south wall and church or the Long Barracks. De la Pena described the rout of the stunned band of Anglo-Celts, caught in the open in the pitch-blackness of the nearly three acres of the open plaza, writing how the “terrified defenders withdrew at once into quarters placed to the right and to the left of the small area that constituted their second line of defense. . . . Not all of them took refuge, for some remained in the open, looking at us before firing, as if dumbfounded at our daring.” ¹⁰⁹

What was transpiring in the plaza and buildings little resembled a battle. With so many Mexicans now swarming through the plaza with wild shouts of victory and revenge, the Anglo-Celtic defenders were so easily overwhelmed that the contest now began to resemble more of a massacre than anything else. Quite naturally among the survivors, escape from such a no-win situation became paramount. Relatively few defenders, therefore, now retired into the relative safety of the Long Barracks, as traditional accounts have claimed. One of the great Alamo myths was that after the north wall was overrun, the survivors acted upon prearranged plans that if the Mexicans came over the walls, they would retire to make a last stand in the Long Barracks.

Some historians have even described the Long Barracks, or the old convent building, as the Alamo’s previously designated “second” defensive line; but almost certainly neither Travis nor any other officer gave such a command in the confusion. After all, such a decision to retire into the Long Barracks’ confines was not a tactical solution but suicide. At best, shelter in the two-story building could provide a few more moments of life; meantime, entire sectors of the perimeter remained attack-free at this time, offering inviting avenues of escape. The Alamo’s south side—especially the palisade and the main gate—had been clear since Morales’ men had veered toward the compound’s southwest corner. Therefore, both the main gate and the low palisade of wooden stakes, just a short distance from the Long Barracks, now became ideal escape routes.

Consequently, only a relatively handful of men took refuge in the Long Barracks—including those who never left it that morning in the first place. In part because of the confusion, smoke of battle, and darkness, those who entered the Long Barracks, never to leave it, evidently failed to see so many of the surviving garrison members now making for the Alamo’s opposite side, the south, to escape from the heavier Mexican attack pouring across the plaza from the north wall. Very likely these soldiers did not know that so many comrades were now fleeing past them in the blackness, heading toward the palisade.

But in truth, the stiffest resistance this morning came not from a previously designated “second” line of defense in the Long Barracks but from the large number of sick and wounded confined to the hospital on the building’s second story. These defenders included not only the sick and injured—or walking wounded—but also those men who served as nurses and attendants. Meanwhile, healthy and able men fired from the Long Barracks’ rooftop, blasting away from this 18-foot-high perch.

More wounded and sick garrison members were located in the second story of the Long Barracks than previously recognized by historians. The siege had resulted in a number of relatively minor casualties, despite the ineffective bombardment. Consequently, soldiers who had only been slightly injured during the siege helped to defend the hospital. Also men who had been wounded during San Antonio’s capture in December 1835 remained in recuperation on the second floor. Quite likely, one of these convalescents was Ireland-born Private James Magee, a former member of the New Orleans Greys who now served in Captain Blazeby’s infantry company. The Irishman had been severely wounded in the attack on Béxar. Magee should have learned from the tragic death of fellow Irish revolutionary, Augustus Magee of an earlier generation, who succumbed in San Antonio far from his native Ireland for an earlier, premature vision of Texas independence.

By the time of Santa Anna’s attack on the Alamo—three months after the Texans had captured San Antonio—recuperating wounded and sick men were able to defend themselves to some degree. On the other hand, the number of diseased garrison members—like Bowie— increased as the siege lengthened, with rations, sanitation, and overall health and living conditions deteriorating to new lows. Altogether, perhaps as many as 75 sick and wounded men were now located in the hospital. For instance, Susanna Dickinson estimated that “50 or 60” wounded men, who had fallen in the December attack, were there. Such soldiers wounded during the siege of Béxar included England-born Private James Nowlan, age 27, and quite likely 31-year-old Sergeant William Daniel Hersee, who had also been born in Great Britain and was one of Captain Carey’s “Invincibles.”

A fairly high number of wounded and sick men was also verified by the fact that a number of Tejano and Indian women attended them. A low figure of only 60 wounded and sick at the infirmary represented more than a third of the entire Alamo garrison at the time of the siege’s beginning. Such a high overall percentage also ensured that any adequate defensive effort was all but impossible.

Meticulous with such details, engineer Jameson had counted only 34 men—out of a total of 114, including officers—in the Alamo’s hospital on January 18, 1836, but the garrison’s health quickly worsened. More than two months later, ravages of disease and sickness had stricken a much larger number of men, like Bowie, and the lengthy siege had only made the situation worse, with additional garrison members falling ill. Even without those inflicted by a serious disease and illnesses, the rigors of the siege, the cold weather, ragged clothing to ward off the elements, no medical supplies, and lack of wood for fires guaranteed that a good many garrison members were sick by the time of the attack, and more than previously realized. Indeed, just before the Alamo’s fall, Dr. Sutherland wrote how “when I left the Alamo [as a courier on February 23] there was 143 men, 110 of which was on the sick list.” How many of these attempted to rouse themselves and go outside to either fight or escape is not known.

What is clear is that quite possibly more men—albeit mainly sick or injured ones—defended the hospital than had attempted to defend the northern and western perimeters, and even the lower floor of the Long Barracks. But the struggle at the second-story hospital was more intense than that of the better-publicized defense of the lower floor of the Long Barracks, the armory. These soldiers occupied the Long Barracks not because of a previously agreed upon tactical plan for a second line of defense, but because so many sick, wounded, and attendants had been caught at this location and were unable to escape. In contrast, most able-bodied men had fled toward the southern perimeter, which was not under attack, seeking to escape the slaughter.

The second story hospital atop the armory of the old convent building was the scene of the hardest-fought struggle inside the Alamo. Thanks to Mexican soldier accounts, Johnson revealed as much when he described how “it was not until then, when they became more concentrated and covered within, that the main struggle began. They were more concentrated as to space, not as to unity of command . . . “ ¹¹⁰

Ironically, the principal “battle”—the real last stand—within the Alamo compound’s confines was not fought along the walls and perimeter, but in and around the hospital. It was there that a large percentage of the garrison was concentrated, and even if infirm, now fought for its last chance of survival. This new view of a higher percentage of defenders who were unable to defend the walls corresponds with the words of Susanna Dickinson, who said that on March 6 “about seventy-five men who had been wounded in the fight with Cós” were present with the garrison, ironically after receiving treatment from paroled Mexican surgeons. ¹¹¹

According to this number, the percentage of sick and wounded Alamo soldiers at the infirmary was higher than 40 percent. This estimation coincided in part with the opinion of a Mexican soldier born in Guanajuato, Mexico, in 1810 during the dramatic year of Hidalgo’s revolution, who described particularly stiff resistance. Sergeant Francisco Becerra described the hardest fighting he faced on his day: “There was a long room [and]—it was darkened. Here the fight was bloody. It proved to be the hospital. The sick and the wounded fired from their beds and pallets.” ¹¹²

But any defense of the Long Barracks, the hospital, and other buildings was a guaranteed death sentence. Those men who entered these abode and stone structures in the hope of survival would never leave them alive. Other quick-thinking, or more fortunate soldiers realized as much, and had wisely forsaken the shelter of the Long Barracks and other structures. A large number of Alamo defenders now headed toward the palisade under the veil of darkness, unseen by the attackers. In the context of the exodus from the Alamo about to take place, it is all but certain that an unknown number of able-bodied men and walking wounded slipped out of the hospital to join them, rather than join the hopeless, confused fight at the north wall and in the plaza. Instead they rushed in the opposite direction, toward the palisade. ¹¹³