Lone Star Nation (48 page)

As the noose tightened around the Alamo, Fannin and the garrison at Goliad anticipated finding themselves similarly besieged. “We are in hourly expectation of an attack,” John Brooks wrote on March 4. “But, from the want of horses, we are unable to obtain any accurate information on the strength or movements of the enemy.” The waiting and the not knowing elicited reflection in the men. “My life has indeed been a wayward and useless one,” Brooks told his sister, who apparently had chided him on the subject, “and you can not be more sensible of it, or more sincerely deplore it, than myself.” Of late, however, he had discovered his calling, such as it was. “
I am a soldier of fortune
. . . . My profession, perhaps for life, be it short or long, will be that of
arms
. It is the only pursuit in which I could feel a throb of interest.” Yet it wasn't an ignoble calling, at least not when devoted to a worthy cause, as it was now. “It is the cause of liberty, of the oppressed against the tyrant, of the free man against the bigoted slave, and, what recommends it more strongly to me, of the weak against the strong. If I fall, let me fall—it is one of the chances of the game I play—a casualty to which every soldier is liable. My prayer has been, since my earliest recollection, to die on the field of battle, with the shout of victory in my ears; and if it is the will of high Heaven that that fate should meet me now, I will not murmur.”

While hoping for relief, Fannin tried to assist the refugees from Refugio. He sent Amon King and a company of men to aid in the evacuation. But King decided to punish some Tejanos in the area who sympathized with Santa Anna, and in the process he tangled with an advance guard of Urrea's army. The latter forced King's company to take refuge in the mission at Refugio, where they were surrounded. King managed to get a message out to Fannin, who thereupon dispatched a company of Georgians under William Ward. The Georgians lifted the siege, but then Ward and King, rather than returning at once to Goliad, as prudence dictated, lingered in the area. King insisted on completing his punishment of the local Mexican loyalists, while Ward stayed at Refugio. In King's absence Ward was surrounded by the main force of Urrea's army. King and his men returned to attempt a rescue, only to be pinned down themselves by Urrea's rifles. The double battle was a standoff until the Texans ran out of bullets and powder. Under the cover of dark the two Texas companies tried to escape. But the numbers of the enemy and the antipathy of the locals, who reported to Urrea on the rebels' progress, doomed both Texan contingents. King and his men were captured the next day and sent back to Refugio. Ward's battalion got farther but eventually surrendered as well.

The Refugio affair gravely weakened Fannin's force at a time when it needed every man, if only to conduct a successful retreat. On March 11 Houston sent Fannin two letters. The first relayed the grim news of the Alamo's fall; the second instructed Fannin to abandon Goliad and retreat to Victoria, on the Guadalupe below Gonzales. “Previous to abandoning Goliad, you will take the necessary measures to blow up that fortress, and do so before leaving its vicinity,” Houston said. Haste was essential. “The immediate advance of the enemy may be confidently expected, as well as a rise of water. Prompt movements are therefore highly important.”

But if decisiveness wasn't in Fannin's character, neither was promptness. He delayed nearly a week before obeying Houston's order, hoping Ward and King would return. If they had, Fannin's procrastination might have been repaid, for the combined force could have retreated more strongly than Fannin's reduced force did alone. But the delay also allowed Urrea to close in. And even after Fannin discovered that Ward and King would not be returning, he dallied at Goliad. He held a council of war and then wasted a day allowing one of his companies to chase loyalist scouts around the neighborhood of the town—and letting the rest of the garrison watch rather than make ready for the retreat. “As the affair was nearly all visible from the fort,” J. H. Barnard recalled, “it produced considerable excitement, and all left the work to see the ‘sport.' ” The effort yielded a minor victory and a momentary feeling of satisfaction. “The events of the day had animated all, and good humor and cheerfulness prevailed,” Barnard said. But they also wasted dwindling time.

The garrison got away the next morning, after putting the town to the torch. The first leg of the march was ominously labored. “The country around us seemed entirely deserted,” explained Herman Ehrenberg, whose New Orleans Greys had joined Fannin after heeding Houston's plea not to go to Matamoros. “Even the usual spies had stopped prowling around. . . . A large number of wagons laden with foodstuffs and ammunition encumbered and slowed up our march, for, unwilling at first to lose all our belongings, we had taken with us much heavy baggage.” To speed the column, Fannin ordered some of the baggage abandoned. When this afforded only marginal improvement, he took more-drastic measures. “Several wagons were broken up or merely abandoned, and their teams hitched to the remaining carts,” Ehrenberg said. “After crawling on a little farther, disgust at the creeping pace of our column induced us finally to abandon all our equipment.”

But they didn't abandon it soon enough. Despite keeping a lookout all morning, Fannin's column saw not a single Mexican, encouraging the commander to call a noon halt. The men were nervous at this additional delay, but Fannin dismissed their worries. “His former experience in fighting Mexicans had led him to entertain a great contempt for them as soldiers, and caused him to neglect such precautionary measures as were requisite from their great numerical strength and superiority,” Barnard wrote. The march resumed, and the column advanced toward Coleto Creek, where timber along the banks promised protection.

They were still a mile from the creek when a unit of Mexican cavalry, Urrea's advance guard, rode into sight. Fannin's officers urged that the column dash for the creek, where the cover would make up for their lack of numbers. Fannin rejected the advice and ordered the men to form a hollow square, with the four artillery pieces they still possessed at the corners.

“Our army now waited for the approach of its adversaries,” Ehrenberg recalled. The Mexicans fired, futilely, from several hundred yards, then from closer range, with no more effect. The Texans continued to wait. “We did not return their fire because they were still beyond the reach of our rifles. Our artillery officers, tall fine-looking Poles, decided likewise to let the enemy's cavalry draw nearer before opening fire. Finally, when the Mexican horsemen had come close enough to us, our front line moved aside so as to leave free range to our cannon, which poured heavy shot upon our hasty and over-confident assailants.” The Texans' patience was well rewarded. “The effect of our artillery fire was immediate and horrible. Frightened by the noise, the horses of the enemy plunged and kicked wildly. Many of the Mexicans were thrown off their saddles, and their riderless horses galloped aimlessly across the field, while wounded men and beasts lying prostrate in the dust were trampled upon by the advancing or retreating cavalry squadrons.”

The Texans held their own throughout the afternoon. The Mexicans charged, then charged again, but each time were repulsed by the defenders' fire. Yet the bleakness of the Texans' predicament was evident to all. By now the bulk of Urrea's army had arrived, and it encircled the Texans, who were running low on ammunition and lacked water to cool their cannons, which became inoperable from overheating, and to assuage their thirst, which became unbearable, especially for the hemorrhaging wounded. Darkness brought a respite from the shooting but not from the Texans' danger and discomfort. “We heaped, around our small camp, wagons, dead horses, and human corpses, so as to have some kind of shelter if the enemy made a night attack,” Ehrenberg wrote. “The groans of the wounded increased the misery and horror of our situation. The cries of pain uttered by the stricken soldiers, the muffled thuds arising from the building of our barricades, and the challenges of the Mexican sentries broke the silence of the prairie, which lay dark and cheerless around us. There was not the smallest breath of air, and the moisture of the atmosphere added to the discomfort of our wounded companions. A few of them, consumed by burning fever . . . begged pitifully for water. Our canteens were empty, and although it wrung our hearts to see them suffer, we could not even moisten their parched lips with a drop of water.” A light rain began to fall, easing the fever of the wounded and some of their thirst, but it also dampened the unprotected powder of the Texans, rendering much of it useless.

Another argument broke out among the officers. Several, including those leading Ehrenberg's Greys, wanted to risk everything in an attempt to fight through the Mexican lines to Victoria, ten miles away. Others, including Barnard's Captain Shackelford, refused to countenance any scheme that would leave the Texan wounded (about fifty, besides the nine or ten killed thus far) to the mercy of the Mexicans, who, on the evidence of the Alamo, had none for rebels. Fannin, himself wounded, albeit not seriously, sided with Shackelford.

With dawn the Texans' position appeared hopeless. Additional Mexican artillery had been positioned in the night, trained from high ground down upon on the Texans' wall-less square. Fannin had been hoping that some scouts who hadn't been trapped the previous day might bring relief from Victoria. But when no help arrived, and when the Mexican cannons began pounding the Texas troops, he signaled to Urrea a desire to parley.

At this point the story becomes confused. “I immediately ordered my battery to cease firing and instructed Lieut. Col. Morales, Captain Juan José Holzinger, and my aide, José de la Luz González, to approach the enemy and ascertain their purpose,” Urrea recalled. “The first of these returned soon after, stating that they wished to capitulate. My reply restricted itself to stating that I could not accept any terms except an unconditional surrender.” This prompted some back-and-forth with the Texans. Then, Urrea continued, “desirous of putting an end to the negotiations, I went over to the enemy's camp and explained to their leader the impossibility in which I found myself of granting other terms than an unconditional surrender. . . . Addressing myself to Fannin and his companions in the presence of Messrs. Morales, Salas, Holzinger and others, I said conclusively, ‘If you gentlemen wish to surrender at discretion, the matter is ended; otherwise I shall return to my camp and renew the attack.' ” Urrea was acting under the duress of Santa Anna's no-quarter policy; he seems to have been speaking sincerely when he said, “In spite of my great desire of offering them guarantees as humanity dictated, this was beyond my authority. Had I been in a position to do so, I would have at least guaranteed them their lives.” Urrea added: “Fannin was a gentleman, a man of courage, a quality which makes us soldiers esteem each other mutually. His manners captivated my affection, and if it had been in my hand to save him, together with his companions, I would have gladly done so. All I could do was to offer him to use my influence with the general-in-chief. . . . After my ultimatum, the leaders of the enemy had a conference among themselves, and the result of the conference was their surrender according to the terms I proposed.”

The Texans remembered things differently. Ehrenberg found himself in the middle of negotiations when it was discovered that none of the Mexican officers spoke much English and none of the Texans much Spanish. But Mexican captain Holzinger, like Ehrenberg, spoke German, and so the parley was conducted largely in German, with Holzinger interpreting to the Mexicans and Ehrenberg to the Texans. As Ehrenberg recalled, “After a long debate, Fannin finally agreed to the surrender of all our arms, but we were to retain our private property and were to be sent by ship from Copano or Matamoros to New Orleans, where we would be set free on condition that we gave our word of honor not to fight any longer against the present government of Mexico.” Ehrenberg added parenthetically: “This promise would not have been a serious obstacle to us, since in Mexico governments changed almost every year.”

Barnard, who apparently learned the terms of the surrender along with the rest of the Texans, remembered the events much as Ehrenberg did. “After some parley,” Barnard said, “a capitulation with General Urrea was agreed upon, the terms of which were that we should lay down our arms and surrender as prisoners of war; that we should be treated as such, according to the usages of civilized nations; that our wounded men should be taken back to Goliad and properly attended; and that all private property should be respected. These were the terms that Colonel Fannin distinctly told his men on his return had been agreed upon, and which was confirmed by Major Wallace and Captain Dusaugue.” Barnard corroborated, for the most part, Ehrenberg's recollection regarding transport to New Orleans. “We were also told, although I cannot vouch for the authority, that as soon as possible we should be sent to New Orleans under parole not to serve any more against Mexico during the war with Texas. . . . It seemed to be confirmed by an observation of the Mexican Colonel Holzinger, who came to superintend the receiving of our arms. As we delivered them up, he exclaimed: ‘Well, gentlemen, in ten days, liberty and home.' ”