fever. Falling by the wayside, they had little care except that provided by rough, kindly “doctors,” whose chief medical qualification seemed to be an inventive mind. “A good receipt for a cough alcoholic,” Dr. J. H. Barnard noted in his ledger: “Tincture Cannabis India three ounces; Extract of Calabria Liquorice half pound; salts of tartar one-eighth pound; warm water one gallon.” Under such ministrations, it took a deep love of liberty indeed to march to the rescue of Texas.
Many preferred to come by sea. They had their hardships too—rolling in the coastal swells, thirsty under the hot Gulf sun, bumping over the off-shore sand bars—but at least no fever or mud or aching feet. The New Orleans shipping notices ticked them off—the second company of Greys on the schooner Columbus … 62 men on the steamboat Quachita … 15 more on the schooner Santiago.
The little group that boarded the Santiago on December 7 was typical. Impressed by Captain Lentner’s glowing notice of his “splendid accommodations,” they took passage-strangers from ten different states. Richard W. Ballentine was a 21-year-old country boy, fresh from a big family of brothers and sisters in Marengo County, Alabama; Cleland K. Simmonswas a tidewater aristocrat from Charleston, South Carolina.
A couple of days out, they all jammed into the Santiago’s cramped little cabin (they never found the “splendid accommodations”) and put their feelings on record: “We hereby declare that we have left every endearment at our respective places of abode in the United States of America to maintain and defend our brethren, at the peril of our lives, liberties and fortunes.”
Noble words but hard to prove. For as the new arrivals converged on San Antonio, they found little going on. By November 1, Cós was bottled up in town and the nearby Alamo, while the Texans surrounded him in a loose, sprawling circle. No one knew what to do next.
Leadership had all but disappeared. Stephen Austin left to rally support in the United States. General Edward Burleson, who replaced him, seemed to have no heart for fighting. Jim Bowie, although devoted to the cause, showed only flashes of his old fire. In October he led a force that routed the Mexicans at Concepción; on the other hand, he twice tried to resign.
Travis dashed about … scouting, burning grass, capturing Mexican horses. But these weren’t the deeds of a Famous Man, and on November 6, he too tried to resign. He explained vaguely that he could no longer be useful “without complaints being made”—odd excuse for a Byronic hero. He was briefly mollified, but later in the month he did pull out. Riding to San Felipe, he joined the General Consultation that was setting up the Provisional Government of Texas.
The siege dragged on, with little to do. The inactive troops grew restless and quarrelsome. One damp November day a man named Conway killed Sherod Dover of Captain Coleman’s Company. The men hung Conway from a pecan tree, and the incident would have been forgotten—except thatDover’s name was later enshrined in another, mistaken connection.
Then the camp snapped to life on December 2. Two of San Antonio’s American residents, Sam Maverick and John W. Smith, escaped from town; reported that the Mexicans were starving, dispirited, low in ammunition. The newcomers urged immediate attack and offered a plan, backed by maps that Maverick had smuggled out.
For two days Burleson hesitated, still unwilling to fight. Then a leathery plainsman named Ben Milam finally lost patience, emerged from the General’s tent shouting, “Boys, who will come with old Ben Milam into San Antonio?” A roar of approval, and 240 men joined up.
Shortly before dawn on December 5, they advanced on the town. For four days they fought house to house, hand to hand. It was slow, dangerous work—Ben Milam himself was shot by a sniper, fell dead in Sam Maverick’s arms. But the Texans moved steadily forward, and one
Many preferred to come by sea. They had their hardships too—rolling in the coastal swells, thirsty under the hot Gulf sun, bumping over the off-shore sand bars—but at least no fever or mud or aching feet. The New Orleans shipping notices ticked them off—the second company of Greys on the schooner Columbus … 62 men on the steamboat Quachita … 15 more on the schooner Santiago.
The little group that boarded the Santiago on December 7 was typical. Impressed by Captain Lentner’s glowing notice of his “splendid accommodations,” they took passage-strangers from ten different states. Richard W. Ballentine was a 21-year-old country boy, fresh from a big family of brothers and sisters in Marengo County, Alabama; Cleland K. Simmonswas a tidewater aristocrat from Charleston, South Carolina.
A couple of days out, they all jammed into the Santiago’s cramped little cabin (they never found the “splendid accommodations”) and put their feelings on record: “We hereby declare that we have left every endearment at our respective places of abode in the United States of America to maintain and defend our brethren, at the peril of our lives, liberties and fortunes.”
Noble words but hard to prove. For as the new arrivals converged on San Antonio, they found little going on. By November 1, Cós was bottled up in town and the nearby Alamo, while the Texans surrounded him in a loose, sprawling circle. No one knew what to do next.
Leadership had all but disappeared. Stephen Austin left to rally support in the United States. General Edward Burleson, who replaced him, seemed to have no heart for fighting. Jim Bowie, although devoted to the cause, showed only flashes of his old fire. In October he led a force that routed the Mexicans at Concepción; on the other hand, he twice tried to resign.
Travis dashed about … scouting, burning grass, capturing Mexican horses. But these weren’t the deeds of a Famous Man, and on November 6, he too tried to resign. He explained vaguely that he could no longer be useful “without complaints being made”—odd excuse for a Byronic hero. He was briefly mollified, but later in the month he did pull out. Riding to San Felipe, he joined the General Consultation that was setting up the Provisional Government of Texas.
The siege dragged on, with little to do. The inactive troops grew restless and quarrelsome. One damp November day a man named Conway killed Sherod Dover of Captain Coleman’s Company. The men hung Conway from a pecan tree, and the incident would have been forgotten—except thatDover’s name was later enshrined in another, mistaken connection.
Then the camp snapped to life on December 2. Two of San Antonio’s American residents, Sam Maverick and John W. Smith, escaped from town; reported that the Mexicans were starving, dispirited, low in ammunition. The newcomers urged immediate attack and offered a plan, backed by maps that Maverick had smuggled out.
For two days Burleson hesitated, still unwilling to fight. Then a leathery plainsman named Ben Milam finally lost patience, emerged from the General’s tent shouting, “Boys, who will come with old Ben Milam into San Antonio?” A roar of approval, and 240 men joined up.
Shortly before dawn on December 5, they advanced on the town. For four days they fought house to house, hand to hand. It was slow, dangerous work—Ben Milam himself was shot by a sniper, fell dead in Sam Maverick’s arms. But the Texans moved steadily forward, and one
Similar Books
