Eyes of Eagles (27 page)

Courage was one thing. Foolishness was quite another matter.

A thousand men would be hard-pressed to defend this place, Jamie felt, strolling along, speaking politely to men he scarcely knew, and tallying the number of defenders as he walked. When he finished, he was depressed, and leaned against the outer wall of the long barracks, near what would soon be the hospital entrance.

“Grim, isn't it, lad?” Travis asked.

Travis sometimes irritated Jamie if for no other reason than to have a man several years away from being thirty years old call him “lad.” But he concealed his slight irritation. “Yes, sir. It is.”

“We'll soon have reinforcements,” Travis said confidently. “Our supporters won't let us down. You'll see.”

Jamie nodded his head and Travis said, “I want you to ride south, Jamie. After you've rested a bit,” he quickly added. He showed Jamie a map. “Down here,” he pointed. “Toward the Rio Grande. Bowie seems to think Santa Anna will march his men across the barren area. I tend to doubt it. But I want you to check it out and report back to me.”

“Only if he wishes to do that,” Bowie said, walking up. “Jamie is a volunteer, not one of your regulars, William. What say you, Jamie?”

“I'm here to help in any way I can,” Jamie replied quickly, noticing the flush that reddened Travis's face upon Bowie's interference.

“There is little water for miles in some stretches,” Bowie told him. “And damn little forage for your horse. Ride with care, Jamie.”

But before Jamie could give any reply, a shout came from a sentry in the bell tower. “Riders coming in!” he called.

Davy Crockett and his Tennessee volunteers had arrived much sooner than Jamie had expected. He turned and walked to the cattle pen and saddled a fresh mount. With a packet of food and two canteens, Jamie rode south. It was bitterly cold on the afternoon of the 9th of February, 1836.

Jamie rode back into the Alamo days later. His horse had been shot out from under him by a war party of Kiowa and he had been afoot for several days. Jamie finally killed a scout from Santa Anna's forward unit and took his horse. It was the 20th of February. He dismounted stiffly, slapping the cold dust from his buckskins. Travis, Bowie, and Crockett rushed to meet him.

Their mouths dropped open when Jamie said, “They'll be here in three days. They're camped along the Rio Hondo.” He told them why he'd been gone so long.

“The Rio Hondo!” Travis exclaimed. “That's only fifty miles away.”

“How many?” Crockett asked, putting a cooler tongue into the situation.

“Between five and seven thousand.”

Travis and Crockett said nothing, letting their expressions mutely state their inner feelings. Jamie could sense that Travis did not believe him. Bowie said, “May God have mercy on our souls.” Then he took a drink of whiskey from a small flask and bent over double in a fit of coughing. He spat blood onto the ground.

Crockett and Travis appeared not to notice. “Get some food into you, Jamie” Bowie said. “And rest for a time. I'm sending you out again in a few hours with a message for Fannin. If this won't move him into action, then nothing else will — except perhaps a direct command from God.”

* * *

Fannin, some ninety-five miles away, had renamed the Goliad mission Fort Defiance. He had received several earlier messages from Travis and Bowie, each of them urging him to mount his men and come at once. He had ignored them. He would later claim that he had sent messages back to the Alamo. No one knows for sure.

But Fannin felt he had more pressing matters to attend to than to concern himself with rumors and myths about a huge Mexican army about to attack the Alamo. On February 13th, acting governor Robinson had instructed Fannin to fortify and defend Goliad and do battle with enemy forces should they appear. Robinson had also taken over Sam Houston's title and now declared himself acting governor and commander-in-chief of the Army of Texas. He furthermore wrote Fannin and told him to ignore any orders he may have previously received from Houston.

In the days past, Fannin had received many commu-niqués from Travis and Bowie. Sometimes, when they were penned by Bowie's hand, they were quite blunt and to the point. These were not ignored, they just weren't acted on. But Fannin wasn't sure what to do. He would receive a message from the Alamo. He would write a letter to the advisory committee asking for orders. They would issue none.

As Santa Anna's troops neared the Alamo, the fate of the men and the few women and children now at the Alamo was sealed.

* * *

“Goddamn the man!” Bowie raged, when Jamie returned empty-handed, with no firm commitment from Fannin.

“I don't believe Fannin knows what to do,” Jamie said to Travis, Bowie, and several more officers gathered around. “But I know from talking to the men that his supplies are very nearly gone. And he is really quite fearful of being attacked by General Urrea.”

“General Urrea has about a thousand men and we're looking at six to seven thousand,” the commander of the Alamo's cannon, Almeron Dickerson said. He shook his head and walked away. Dickerson and his men had worked like demons for days getting the cannon ready.

Travis looked at Jim. “Any suggestions, Bowie?”

“Yeah,” Bowie said, winking at Jamie. “Get drunk!”

Travis glared daggers at Jim Bowie's back. He grew even angrier when he turned back to Jamie and he was smiling. “You find this amusing?” he demanded.

Jamie put a big hand on the commander's shoulder. “Loosen up, sir. I reckon we all have to deal with this in our own way.”

Jamie turned and walked away. Travis watched him go, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “I reckon we do, at that.”

* * *

Several hundred miles to the north, in what was known as Indian Territory, snow had sprinkled the ground and it was very cold. A Shawnee scout entered the central lodge and faced Tall Bull.

“You have been gone a long time, Deer Runner. We were worried about you. You look exhausted,” Tall Bull said. “Eat and rest here. Then we'll talk.”

Deer Woman brought him a bowl of stew and Deer Runner ate hungrily. When he had filled his belly, he said, “Man Who Is Not Afraid is with the soldiers to the south. They have taken refuge in an old church in the town of San Antonio. They are doomed. Soon thousands of soldiers from the south will be upon them. They will all be killed.”

Deer Woman said nothing. Her face did not change. Tall Bull grunted. “I despise Man Who Is Not Afraid, but I must respect his courage. However, I was looking toward the day when I would kill him.”

“Little Wolf and Bad Leg will be disappointed,” Deer Runner said.

Tall Bull waved that off. “Bad Leg is crazy in his head and Little Wolfs hatred of Man Who Is Not Afraid has clouded his mind, obscuring all else. What about Han-nah — Quiet Woman?”

“She is living with her husband in the dark swamps to the south and east. The wife of Man Who Is Not Afraid and their many children also live there. But I am told it is a terrible place, Tall Bull.”

Tall Bull nodded his head. “There are runners in place to bring us news of this great battle?”

“Oh, yes. As you instructed. Many of them. We will know the outcome within days.”

But Tall Bull was not happy with his own plan. “I think we shall ride south, Deer Runner. Man Who Is Not Afraid leads a charmed life. He just might escape this death trap you say he is in. If he does, he will not escape me. Not this time. I have sought him too long.”

“Tall Bull,” Deer Woman said. “Don't go.”

“
What?
” Tall Bull was clearly startled. His wife never questioned his decisions — well, not often.

“We have all heard of the strength and cunning and bravery of Man Who Is Not Afraid. I fear if you go, I will never see you again.”

“Bah!” Tall Bull scoffed. “You talk nonsense, woman. Stop your babbling.”

In the years since whites drove the Shawnee west, Tall Bull's band had shrunk. No more than a few dozen families now traveled with Tall Bull. But among those families were twenty-five of the bravest men, fierce warriors all.

“We'll leave ten men behind to protect our town,” Tall Bull said. “You rest well, Deer Runner. We leave at first light.”

That night, Deer Woman had a vision: she would never see her husband again.

* * *

On Sunday, February 21, Jamie rode back into the Alamo and stabled his horse. He went straight to Travis's quarters. “Santa Anna and his forward units are camped along the Rio Medina,” he reported.

The Rio Medina was twenty-five miles from the Alamo.

Travis nodded his head in acceptance of Jamie's words. But incredibly, the man still refused to believe that an army of the size that Jamie reported was at hand.

Jamie left Travis's quarters and found Bowie. “He doesn't believe me. He still doesn't believe me.”

Bowie coughed and shook his head. “He'll believe it when the first cannonball comes crashing against the walls.”

“Any word from Fannin?”

“No,” Bowie said softly. He stared at Jamie. “Get out of here, Jamie. Ride out and don't look back. You're far too young to die for people who don't appreciate what we're doing.”

“They care, Jim. The majority of them don't even know we're here.”

“Perhaps,” Bowie said, taking a sip of whiskey. “Perhaps.”

Jamie left the barricaded old mission and walked the streets of San Antonio. He could feel the panic that was now gripping the citizens. Many of them had already started packing up to leave. Few of them paid any attention to the tall, buckskin clad young man walking among them. Jamie stopped at a cantina. It was empty save for the bartender. He took a table and ordered food and drink.

“You are the scout from the Alamo?” the man asked, placing a plate of food before Jamie.

“Yes. One of them.”

“You have seen Santa Anna's army?”

“Yes. They're camped along the banks of the Rio Medina.”

The man crossed himself and whispered a quiet prayer. “When you are finished, senor, I will close the doors until this is over.”

Jamie took a bite of food. “I don't blame you,” he said.

* * *

At Fort Defiance, Fannin was sending couriers out daily, sometimes several times a day, pleading for orders from the advisory committee. None came. His men were becoming surly and restless. They wanted to help those at the Alamo, but would not do so without orders from their commander. Fannin did not know what to do. So he did nothing. He waited for orders that did not come. He would, finally, act on his own, but it would be too late.

* * *

Jamie rode back to the mission on the afternoon of the 22nd of February. He quietly reported that Santa Anna's advance force was less than ten miles away. For reasons known only to Travis, Travis still refused to believe him.

Bowie finally let his terrible temper loose, in front of everybody. “You goddamn stiff-necked, little tin soldier son of a bitch!” he cussed a suddenly white-faced and trembling with anger Travis. “What the hell does it take to convince you — a handwritten message from God?”

“That will be quite enough, Colonel Bowie,” Travis said, checking his own terrible temper, which he rarely unleashed.

“No it won't,” Bowie responded. “I'll not see my men die here for naught. Abandon this place and we'll fight Santa Anna in a guerrilla fashion, like I've said all along we should do.”

Actually, Bowie had never quite made up his mind just how the small force of Texans should fight the Mexican army.

“No,” Travis said softly.

Shaking with fury, Bowie whirled about and stalked away, yelling for his men to form up. They were pulling out. Crockett walked over to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke softly to him for a few moments.

It was never recorded what Crockett said to Bowie. After a few moments, in a calmer voice, he told his men to relax. They were staying. He looked back once at Travis, then walked away to join his men. As he passed Jamie, the famous knife fighter smiled sadly and winked.

* * *

February 23rd, 1836
.

“They're here, Travis,” Bowie said, shoving open the door to Travis's quarters. Behind him, the sounds of the lookout in the San Antonio church ringing the bell reached him.

Travis slowly stood up from his desk, disbelief on his face.

“Still don't believe it?” Bowie taunted the man. “Well, since you won't believe Jamie MacCallister, send someone that you will believe. Or go yourself.” Bowie turned and walked away.

Travis sent Dr. John Sutherland and a man named John W. Smith to investigate. They saw the long lines of cavalry, the cold sunlight glinting off of polished lances. They watched as Mexican officers, with swords drawn, rode slowly up and down the assembled battle lines.

“My God, they're about to charge,” Sutherland said.

He was wrong, but both men did say a very short but very fervent prayer to the Almighty, and then raced back to the Alamo. When the lookout spotted them galloping back, he began really ringing the bell.

In the bell tower, the private rang the bell and stared in horror at what looked like thousands of troops. He also breathed a short and very sincere prayer.

Sutherland and Smith leaped from their horses and reported to Travis and Bowie. “MacCallister's been right all the time, Bill,” Sutherland said. “Santa Anna has arrived.”

Jamie stood up and walked toward his saddled horse. Travis's voice stopped him.

“Where do you think you're going, MacCallister?”

“Wherever the hell he wants to go, Travis,” Bowie said. “He's part of my bunch, not yours, remember?”

“I'm going to start driving those few cattle out yonder in here and put them in the pen,” Jamie said. “We're running low on supplies.”

Bowie laughed and Travis flushed. “Go on, Jamie,” Bowie called. “Good thinking.”

“Yes,” Travis said. “Very good.”

The rest of that day, those staying behind watched as the town nearly emptied of residents. Wagons creaked on the muddy, rutted road and wheels groaned. For many of the Mexicans in the town, it was not a matter of choice. They knew only too well the savage and ruthless mind of Santa Anna. Most of the residents of San Antonio had helped the Americans, and all knew there were informers who would be quick to point them out. They were running for their lives, taking as many of their personal possessions with them as was possible.

As the fleeing Mexicans looked toward the sound of the ringing bell in the tower, many wondered why the Americans were so willing to die for this? They could just not understand it.

After securing the cattle in the pen, Jamie rode out to see the sight, and quite a sight it was. He could truthfully say he had never seen anything like it. Crouched in a mesquite thicket, Jamie watched as hundreds of brilliantly garmented cavalrymen paraded up and down on their fine horses. An officer — Jamie did not know it but the officer was General Ramirez y Sesma — was the most elegantly dressed of them all. He sat his horse and waved his sword, which caught the rays of the sun and reflected back in flashes of silver.

Jamie watched for the better part of an hour, as more and more troops came riding and marching up from the south. He estimated their numbers at close to three thousand. Taking a terrible chance he mounted up and, skirting wide, rode to the south to see what else he could report. He knew that Travis would not discount his reports now. He had never taken umbrage at Travis's disbelief in his earlier reports, for he knew that Travis felt that no man in his right mind would attempt to march a huge army across the arid plains in the windswept dead of a bitterly cold winter. But Santa Anna had done it, although at a terrible cost. He had crossed the Rio Grande with six thousand men, nearly two thousand pack mules, about fifty huge wagons, several hundred two-wheeled carts, and twenty-five cannon. The old Spanish road behind him was littered with dead animals and broken wagons and discarded equipment and more than a few dead men, who had dropped from exhaustion during the long forced march. But Santa Anna didn't care. He had revenge and retribution burning in his mind. He was going to stop this ridiculous independence movement once and for all and teach these goddamn upstart and arrogant Texans a lesson that would forever and ever live in history.