Exodus From the Alamo: The Anatomy of the Last Stand Myth (19 page)

No single military event dominated the thinking of the generation of Americans in Texas and at the Alamo than Jackson’s overwhelming victory on the open plains of Chalmette. There, a ragtag force of Americans had defeated battle-hardened English regulars, who had recently vanquished Napoleon’s finest troops in Spain. Jackson’s defensive stand along an earthen work (not a cotton-bale breastwork as so commonly believed) resulted in the slaughter of Major General Sir Edward Pakenham’s attacking British columns in systematic fashion. But the ends of Jackson’s lengthy defensive line were protected on the right by the Mississippi and on the left by a waterlogged cypress swamp, while the Alamo could be hit from all sides simultaneously, making the analogy inappropriate.

Nevertheless, the influence of the New Orleans victory and the hero of that success, General Jackson, upon this generation can partly be seen in the name of Alamo defender Andrew Jackson Sowell, a native of Tennessee from Gonzales. Also destined to meet his maker at the Alamo was Tennessee-born Private Andrew Jackson Harrison, age twentyseven, yet another young man who had been named after the ScotchIrish general.

On the other hand, Horseshoe Bend had demonstrated how even carefully prepared works could easily be surmounted by a superior army, in this case Jackson’s force overcoming the Red Stick Creeks. Houston, as a young Virginia-born regular officer of the 39th United States Infantry, had been severely wounded during Jackson’s headlong attack against the fortified Indian position in a bend of the Tallapoosa River. The strong breastwork at Horseshoe Bend had been stormed in typical Andy Jackson style: a hard-hitting frontal assault. Nearly 1,000 Creek warriors were slaughtered against a cost of 51 Americans, resulting in a decisive American victory over the pro-British Red Stick faction and sending the Creek Nation on the road to oblivion.
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In regard to his ill-fated decision to defend the Alamo, Colonel Neill should have known better; after all, he was a veteran of Horseshoe Bend. There he had manned one of General Jackson’s two artillery pieces, a little 3-pounder and a 6-pounder. Facing an opponent who could not respond in kind, these guns had opened the battle, but had no effect on the formidable, log defensive work, thanks in part to green timber. Ironically, even though Neill had made his decision to hold the Alamo largely because of its ample armament of guns, the old artilleryman overlooked the folly of defending a static position against a superior, better-trained conventional opponent.
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But it was the influence of Jackson’s defensive victory over the British, not the Indian battle, that most influenced—if not inspired—the defense of the Alamo. In fact, twenty-one years after the battle, two veterans of New Orleans were present in the fort. One was Isaac Millsaps, who had served in the east Tennessee militia as a teenager. He was now the proud owner of a league of land in Jackson County, Texas.
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A zealous volunteer named Sampson Connell, from the little community of Bastrop, was also a New Orleans veteran.

Also from Bastrop, northeast of San Antonio, was the second oldest man of the Alamo garrison, Corporal Gordon C. Jennings. He had been born in Windham, Connecticut as the son of a Revolutionary War veteran. This roaming New Englander possessed a restless spirit, seemingly always moving on toward the setting sun. He first migrated across the Mississippi to find a home in Troy, Missouri. But in 1833, he and his brother packed up and headed for the southwest frontier. The Jennings boys then settled in Bastrop, Texas.

Gordon enlisted in a volunteer company in late July 1835. Then he joined the small regular Texas cavalry command led by Travis, venturing into the Alamo from which there was no return. Here, the mature Corporal Jennings held responsibility befitting his age, serving as the wagon master. He would never see his daughter, Catherine, again, while another Jennings family member was destined to be executed by Mexican troops at Goliad not long thereafter.
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Unfortunately, for the Alamo defenders, they had brought to Texas not only their idealistic concepts of republican government, and their families and slaves to work the land, but also an obsolete means of waging war in a land that was utterly strange to them. Defeating the Creeks in the tangled woodlands of Alabama and whipping the British on the narrow plain of the plantation, named Chalmette south of New Orleans, brought a host of tactical lessons that were useless for the Alamo garrison.
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In the end, what was most seductive about the Alamo was not its rectangle of limestone and masonry walls and adobe buildings, but its considerable arsenal of artillery and, ironically, the recently constructed defensive improvements, including artillery platforms, made by Cós’ troops. As early as December 7, 1835, even Santa Anna was concerned about the artillery situation, issuing orders “to ascertain” the “number of cannon” in San Antonio and the Alamo.

As a former artilleryman of the Alabama militia, this fact was appreciated most thoroughly by Colonel Neill. He simply could not bring himself to abandon the artillery at the Alamo—there were not enough horses or oxen to haul off the guns—and retire east. Quite simply and on his own, he had decided “to stay with his guns,” thereby dooming the garrison in the process. He believed that only the combination of a fortified defensive position, bolstered by large numbers of artillery, could negate the vast superiority of the Mexican cavalry, not to mention infantry. A fatal lure, “the Alamo’s twenty fine guns [were] probably the strongest collection [of artillery] between Mexico City and New Orleans,” and north of the Rio Grande.
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Therefore, after Colonel Johnson had ordered that all artillery was to be removed from San Antonio and placed in the Alamo, Colonel Neill, despite lamenting in mid-January 1836 that the garrison was “easy prey” if not reinforced, then “determined that the defense—if it became necessary—would have to be made from the Alamo.”
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Yet in truth, this sizeable arsenal was not an asset but in fact the Alamo’s greatest liability. Quite simply, not enough soldiers were available to both serve as gun crews for the cannon and to defend the place as riflemen. Even worse, most of the artillery pieces were situated to fire over the top of the walls instead of through embrasures. This serious liability ensured that the cannon could not be sufficiently depressed if the attackers reached the walls. And the so-called artillerymen assigned to the cannon seriously lacked in skill, experience, and training. A better defense would have come from the entire Alamo garrison defending the walls with rifles and muskets—if only firing platforms had been constructed—rather than dispersing so many men in isolated pockets at spread-out artillery pieces along the perimeter, ensuring neither a concentrated fire nor solid defense, even if everyone was ready and awaiting an attack.
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A great source of pride, the largest gun at the Alamo was the 18– pounder from New Orleans. It is not known, but this cannon might have been present at the Battle of New Orleans—one 18- pounder was situated to bolster Jackson’s weak left flank along the cypress swamp at Battery Number 5, and another was in Battery Number 7. In fact, the first American cannon to fire a shot at the Battle of New Orleans was the latter gun. Quite likely this cannon, known simply as the “long eighteen,” was especially lengthy like the Alamo’s piece. They may well have been the same gun. The man who fired the first shot on January 8, 1815 was New Orleans-born Major Samuel Spotts, one of the few Americans in Jackson’s army killed that day. But even more interesting, a good chance exists that General Pakenham was killed by grapeshot from the same 18-pounder that stood at the southwest corner of the Alamo.

Much like the defenders themselves, this large-caliber gun was at the Alamo quite by accident. The cannon had been brought to Texas by steamboat, the
Columbus
, in mid-October 1835 by the New Orleans Greys. But lacking cannonballs, the 18-pounder had been left behind at the port of Velasco, never having played a role in the 1835 campaign. In fact, the cannon had been nearly lost in a shipwreck, falling into the turbid waters of Matagorda Bay, but had been salvaged. Quite by chance, the narrowest of margins, and as if by a strange fate, the Alamo’s largest gun that played a large role in Neill’s and then Bowie’s ill-fated decision to defend the fort almost never reached San Antonio in the first place, despite “every exertion to get her to Béxar.”
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Once the gun finally arrived there was still the problem of ammunition, and a supply was not inherited from the surrender of General Cós, who had decided not to mount many pieces because of the lack of cannonballs. While Neill had some additional guns mounted for the first time, he yet lacked cannonballs; ironically, the decision to defend the Alamo had been based upon the large amount of artillery without considering the small amount of ammunition. The 18-pounder was placed by Jameson at the Alamo’s southwest corner, facing San Antonio to command the town, where they knew an arriving Mexican army would come—a mock display of strength and largely an impotent symbol, because of the failure of logistics and planning by the Alamo’s leadership.
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The Alamo’s total of twenty-one cannon—all but two (possibly three) guns were mounted in time—were in reality not a great defensive asset as envisioned by the Alamo’s garrison, and certainly not a sound military reason for the impromptu decision to defend the place. The fact that artillery pieces required six-man crews ensured that a large percentage of the Alamo garrison—nearly half—would not be using their rifles, shotguns, and muskets when an attack came. A relatively small band of defenders was left to serve as riflemen to defend the walls or to provide support fire for the gun crews. As prescribed by regulation, some 114 soldiers would be assigned to manning the nineteen guns. In reality, pieces could be served by fewer men if properly trained, but then the big 18-pounder was required by regulation to have a crew of up to 16, making a total of 124 required artillerymen. What seemed to be the Alamo’s strongest asset—the large amount of artillery—actually comprised a Faustian bargain of sorts, because due to the high number of artillerymen, the advantage of small arms was taken out of the hands of garrison members who would be needed along the compound’s 440– yard perimeter.
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Instead of holding the Alamo to the bitter end when no hope for a successful defense existed, the diminutive garrison should have defended—if San Antonio had to be held at all—a nearby compound that was far better for defensive purposes: the Mission Nuestra Senora De La Purisima Concepcion. With an architectural beauty all its own, this Spanish mission, with its elegant Moorish arches, located below the Alamo was simply known as Mission Concepcion. Of the five old Spanish missions established along the San Antonio River, the Alamo was the northernmost, while Mission Concepcion was next, located just to the south, the second in line of the row of missions that had converted so many Indians to Catholicism over the years. Below Mission Concepcion stood the other three old Spanish missions, reminders of the Spanish imperial-missionary zeal that had won vast empires for Spain in the New World.
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One Texan who well understood the Alamo’s unsuitability for defense was Reuben M. Potter, who wrote the first popular account of the battle,
The Fall of the Alamo, A Reminiscence of the Revolution of Texas
, published in San Antonio in 1860 just before the Civil War. Potter’s account was especially important, because, in his own words: “As I was a resident of Matamoros [Mexico] when the event happened, and for several months after the invading army returned thither, I had opportunities for obtaining the kind of information referred to which few persons, if any, still living in Texas have possessed.”
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The Spanish-speaking Potter ascertained from talking to Mexican officers and men how: “Santa Anna, when he marched for Texas had counted on finding a fortified position in the neighborhood of San Antonio, but not at the Alamo, for he supposed, with good reason, that the Mission of Concepcion would be selected [because] the small area of that strong building, which had room enough for Travis’ force and not too much, and its compactness, which would have given better range to his cannon, would have made it a far better fortress than the Alamo.”
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Potter’s conclusion was right on the mark. As appeared in his December 7, 1835 orders to General Sesma, Santa Anna believed that the San Antonio garrison would naturally “entrench themselves at Missions Espade and Concepcion, the first a league from Bejar [sic] and the latter four” leagues away. Significantly, he made no mention of the Alamo, which had been Cós’ fatal lure.
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But a possible decision to defend Mission Concepcion instead of the Alamo was not really important in the end. After all, in strategic terms, Goliad was a position of far more importance than remote San Antonio. Defending the east Texas settlements required a defensive stand at Goliad, which had been established as part of the defensive chain of presidios to protect New Spain’s northern frontier. Goliad had been the easternmost, or coastal, presidio, located on the coastal plain of the Gulf of Mexico, blocking the strategic Atascosito Road that ran up the coast from Matamoros and straight into the heart of the Austin Colony.

Most important, Goliad’s Presidio La Bahía, Fort Defiance, situated on high ground, was far more defensible than the Alamo, which even then was widely realized. Early in the Texas Revolution, a knowledgeable writer for the
New Orleans Bulletin
emphasized how “the fort of Goliad . . . with a garrison of three hundred and fifty patriots in the war of 1812–13, withstood a [lengthy] siege of an army of more than two thousand Spanish troops and forced them to retire [and] Goliad is of vastly more importance in a military point of view than Béxar,” or San Antonio.
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