Exodus From the Alamo: The Anatomy of the Last Stand Myth (50 page)

Therefore, it was all but inevitable that the flight of the first 62 members from the little sally port of the log palisade would be followed by other escape attempts—except more desperate by this time—especially on the Alamo’s south side, or the low barracks, where Colonel Morales’ attacker’s were invitingly absent and no Mexican cavalry could yet be seen in the distance thanks to the dim light of early morning. Indeed, while the close-quarter combat yet swirled in the claustrophobic darkness of the Long Barracks and the church area, additional fighting outside the Alamo was about to erupt on the open ground.

General Sesma felt some satisfaction now with his assault on the 62 men near the Alameda, until another unexpected challenge suddenly arose. From the vantage point of the Alameda’s relatively high ground, Sesma was astounded to see yet another flight of soldiers streaming from the Alamo. In disbelief, the general described how all of a sudden, yet “Another group of around fifty men then came from the center of the fort . . . .”
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From General Sesma’s elevated viewpoint from the southeast around the Alameda, the right of the fort was the Alamo chapel—or more specifically Fortin de Cós—and the palisade area at the southwest corner, while the center of the fort was the half-moon-shaped earthen lunette that jutted forward from the south wall before the main gate, which it protected. Constructed by General Cós’ engineers, the crescentshaped earthwork adjoined the low barracks near the center of the southern perimeter.

Protecting the main entry point into the Alamo, seemingly the most likely objective of any attackers, this well-constructed lunette, surrounded by a deep ditch for extra security, projected south from the arched main gate. A solid, practical structure created during the fall 1835 defensive enhancement, this lunette of dark prairie sod and sand was known by Cós’ soldados as Porte Cochere. To Sesma, this appeared to be the center of the fort. This finely crafted lunette was buttressed by double rows of cedar logs with dirt packed in between, and contained a sally port for entry and exist.

What made the protruding U-shaped lunette, about 75 feet in length and 65 feet in width, especially formidable was that it contained artillery. The veteran cavalryman Sergeant Loranca also appreciated how “the Fort Alamo had only one entrance . . . and the approach was made winding to impede the entrance of the cavalry.” In an ideal scenario, both cannon-fire and riflemen positioned in the lunette could rake attackers from the flank to both the north and south.

This strong defensive feature, fully realized by Santa Anna and, of course, General Cós, might explain in part why only a relative handful of attackers—Colonel Morales’ diminutive column—had been sent by Santa Anna toward the south wall, and also why Morales’ column had moved farther west to attack the compound’s southwest corner and then the Long Barracks. Conversely, this tactical situation along the Alamo’s southern perimeter now allowed an ideal opportunity to escape by way of the main gate. Also, the belated advance of Morales’ men into the plaza had applied additional pressure to force survivors out the main gate. Unknown to the escapees, this main gate—now a Godsend for an escape attempt—possessed an ominous history. In 1813, when the Anglo-Celt filibusters captured the Alamo, they had placed the severed head of an unfortunate Spanish officer on a pike at the gate as a grim warning for all to see.
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Quite likely, this second escape attempt of around 50 soldiers out of the main gate was also sparked by the sight or knowledge, or both, of so many defenders—62 men—slipping out through the palisade’s sally port. If so, then this second large group of men would have only felt a sense of abandonment, fueling and hastening their own flight for safety. These soldiers could also have believed that the Alamo’s abandonment had been ordered by whichever highest ranking officer remained alive— and perhaps it had been.

Once again as for the men who fled through the palisade’s sally port, the inviting sight of the Alameda’s double rows of cottonwood trees to the southeast and the high ground of the Alameda and Powder House Hill, farther east down the Gonzales Road, was the immediate goal for these escapees, who followed in the same general direction as the first group but further to the west. For all of these reasons, around 50 defenders spilled out of the main gate and through the lunette, scrambling over the earthen parapet or through the cannon embrasures in the half-light.

It is likely that one escapee of this second contingent was Irelandborn Sergeant William B. Ward, age 30. Fond of fun, Irish gigs, and strong drink, this capable Son of Erin, who had adopted New Orleans, distinguished by its large Irish immigrant community since before the War of 1812, as his home, had been assigned to the artillery in the plaza. These two guns were positioned in rear of the main gate, just in case Mexican attackers overran the lunette and burst through the gate, which of course never happened. Almost certainly, the lunette’s 10 gunners joined the flight out of the main gate in an attempt to live and fight another day.

But as before, with the ill-fated band of 62 defenders who had fled from the palisade, General Sesma, from his vantage point around the Alameda, again made immediate tactical decisions to wipe out the second group of escapees. After all, Santa Anna’s orders were that there would be no survivors on this day. Therefore, Sesma “ordered the company of Lancers from the Regiment of Dolores under the orders of Superior Lieutenant Colonel Don Ramon Valera, Lieutenant Don Tomas Castillo, and Second Lieutenants Don Leandro Ramirez and Don Tomas Viveros to charge them.”
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In total by this time, at least 112 garrison members, perhaps more, had taken themselves outside the Alamo walls, with large-scale escape attempts occurring within minutes of each other and both initially shielded by half-darkness.
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These two sizeable escape attempts resulted in two different clashes between foot-soldiers and Mexican cavalry and lancers, which occurred within a relatively short time and not far from the west end of the Alameda. Both of these dual clashes were the most cruel—no small distinction compared to the massacre yet occurring inside the Alamo walls—fought by the majority of the garrison outside the walls, with Mexican cavalry, not infantry, playing the larger role in the morning’s killing.

All the while, Mexican equestrian skill with the saber and the lance rose to the fore in the chasing down of fugitives, when the eastern horizon was now more illuminated with the pale dawn. Few contests were so one-sided or unmerciful as these clashes outside the walls. Nothing now could save those who had fled the Alamo and believed initially that they had escaped a no-quarter policy inside, only to discover to their horror that an even worse fate awaited them on the prairie. Completely exposed out on the open plain and chased down by pursuing lancers, the Long Rifles were now of little use. For a garrison member now caught in the open after firing an initial shot, there simply was no time to reload as galloping horsemen closed in.
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With the sun inching higher, thus eliminating the escapees’ protective cloak of darkness, resistance became more feeble among the survivors of the first group of escapees. An elite lancer, Manuel Loranca, was astounded by the swift destruction of the last of the 62 men. In his own words: “Only one of these made resistance; a very active man, armed with a double-barrel gun and a single-barrel pistol, with which he killed a corporal of the Lancers named Eugenio.”
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Colonel Almonte recorded in his journal how a large number of escapees “were overtaken and put to the sword” in systematic fashion by veteran lancers and cavalrymen, who had refined the art of killing.
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General Sesma, watching his dragoons and lancers, described the “Texians” as offering a “desperate resistance,”
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even as the low casualty rate among the Mexican cavalry indicated, at best, that the escapees were low on ammunition. De la Pena concurred with General Sesma’s assessment of resistance, writing how: “Those of the enemy who tried to escape fell victims to the sabers of the cavalry, which had been drawn up for this purpose, but even as they fled they defended themselves.”
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Clearly, the accounts of Mexican cavalrymen such as Sergeant Locanca of the Dolores Cavalry Regiment and especially General Sesma, were more specific and accurate in regard to exact numbers and placements of escapees and their routes of flight, while infantry officers, like de la Pena, and Almonte, both of whom assaulted the north wall on the Alamo’s other side, would not have seen all three separate flights of men.

No single aspect of the Alamo’s story has been more overlooked or neglected by historians than the duration and amount of fighting outside the walls, largely because that would be an admission of widespread flight—the antithesis of a last stand. However, these dual clashes outside the Alamo comprised more of a slaughter than inside its walls, and resulted in more victims. The horror of what happened on the open ground outside the Alamo’s walls was nightmarishly surreal: spirited resistance and then panic sweeping through the survivors; young men and boys swiftly cut down by saber blows or pistol and carbine shots; lances thrust through victims’ bodies with high impact generated from a horse’s speed; frightened men running in vain for their lives across the open prairie; Mexican lancers making grim sport of demonstrating their horsemanship and killing prowess to comrades and commanding officers; frightened garrison members pleading for mercy or offering signs of submission, after tiring in running and halting to confront their tormentors, only to be slaughtered by the cavalrymen and lancers in methodical fashion; expert riders directing horses to trample men to the ground, where they were quickly dispatched.
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If an escapee was lucky, then death came swiftly but this unfortunately was not the case in many instances for those who had fled the Alamo. Wounds inflicted by saber blows and even glancing lancer thrusts were simply not likely to cause immediate death. Therefore, for those unlucky men caught out in the open, it was hell on earth, dying an agonizing death on the prairie, in the irrigation ditch, or behind slight cover near the Alameda. Here, a good many young men and boys died in the open. The last thing that some of these soldiers saw was the sight of the nearby stately cottonwoods of the Alameda, looking like trees that must have reminded them of home, a more innocent time, and a peaceful existence without war’s horrors.

In the ranks of Sesma’s cavalrymen who saw exactly what was transpiring in this sector beyond the wooden palisade and near the Alameda, Manuel Loranca described the horror when the first group of 62 escapees were “all killed [and] These were all killed by the lance, except one, who ensconced himself under a bush and it was necessary to shoot him.”
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General Sesma also described the slaughter of the garrison members who were swiftly cut down on the open ground near the Alameda “with valiant officers’ short lances/spears, and in this way the troop that they [Lieutenant Colonel Herrera, Captain Montero, Lieutenant Colonel Palacios, and Second Lieutenant Medrano] commanded charged and knifed them in moments, without letting the desperate resistance of [the doomed Anglo-Celts] make them vacillate for a moment.”
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In another translation of his battle report, Sesma emphasized how his “gallant lancer officers charged them, and in the same manner the [Dolores Cavalry Regment] troop that they had commanded also charged and put them to the sword in moments . . . .”
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As written in the rare journal of a member of the Activo San Luís Potosí Battalion, an unidentified Mexican officer described the grisly fate of the first group of escapees, and indicated six more than Sesma’s count of 62: “The Dolores Regiment, presidiales and piquetes of the Tampico and Veracruz Regiments were commanded by General [Sesma] and were deployed . . . to pursue those who were routed, sixty-eight of which they killed.”
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Not long after the final destruction of the first band of more than 60 men, the second group of 50 Alamo garrison members suffered a comparable fate, but only after putting more formidable resistance. Ironically, this less organized band of soldiers fought back with more spirit—perhaps because they had more ammunition—than the larger group of escapees also because they were not caught as much out in the open like the first group, and took shelter for a longer period in the aqueduct after evidently forming a more lengthy defensive line. These men might well have witnessed the slaughter of the 62 escapees, because they had left the Alamo only a short time later, and additional daylight existed to ascertain the Mexican cavalry maneuvers. Unlike the first group, therefore, this second party of escapees possessed more time and more daylight to prepare to meet the Mexican cavalry that descended upon them. This second band of men fired upon the attacking Mexican lancers and cavalry from the shelter of the irrigation ditch, after taking good cover. Here, they possessed a better chance to defend themselves, unlike their more unfortunate comrades who had earlier been caught mostly out in the open.

In the words of General Sesma: “Upon seeing this movement [of Mexican horsemen], the enemy availed themselves of a trench/ditch and made such a vigorous defense that I had to send [a] Lieutenant . . . with twenty Lancers from Tampico and twelve from Veracruz to help this force which, although it never vacillated, I feared would be repulsed, and [therefore I then sent] the Captain of the Rio Grande, Don Manuel Barrigan, and the Lieutenant of the same company, Don Pedro Rodriguez, with fifteen men of the same company, in order to defeat the [men in the cover of the aqueduct]. All of these officers executed the movement with such decision and exactitude that some men truly barricaded in that position and resolved to lose their skins only at great expense, were run over in just a few minutes and knifed” to death.
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But this bloody work of elimination by the gaily uniformed lancers was not easy. With the “possession of a ditch,” these men fought back as best they could before being overwhelmed. At least one Mexican soldier was killed in this struggle that swirled in and around the irrigation ditch, where brush, cottonwood saplings, and scrubby mesquite trees provided some cover. Feeling sympathy for a young cavalryman’s mother who lived in the little adobe village of Santiago Tlaguinterco, Mexico, General Sesma referred to a “corporal of the Regiment of Dolores, Jose Hernández, who was killed in the charge upon those who had availed themselves of the trench.”
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