by one the strong points fell—the Navarro house, the Zambrano row, the priest’s house.
At 6:30 A.M. on December 9 General Cós had enough. Surrender negotiations began, and by 2 o’clock the following morning the terms were set. Cós agreed to retire beyond the Rio Grande under parole; he and his officers would “not in any way oppose the re-establishment of the Federal Constitution of 1824.”
“All has been lost save honor,” bemoaned Captain José Juan Sanchez Navarro, appointed by Cós to sign the surrender document.
“A child’s bargain,” snorted volunteer William R. Carey of Baltimore, mulling over the same agreement. “However, it’s done now and it’s too late to alter until we have another fight, which we expect shortly.”
Most of the Texans preferred Captain Sánchez’ view—Mexico had suffered a crushing defeat. The danger was over. General Burleson went home to his family. Creed Taylor of York’s Company returned to his cabin on the Guadalupe with enough trophies to pass for a Mexican—a sleek new horse, silver-mounted saddle, costly bridle, splendid silk sash, silver spurs. The scene was repeated everywhere as the colonists left the army to rejoin their families, celebrate Christmas and begin farming again.
Many of the American volunteers were equally anxious to leave San Antonio now that the fighting was over. Dr. James Grant, a shrewd Scot, sensed this and proposed an exciting project. Why not carry the war to Mexico itself? The country below the Rio Grande was full of liberals who would rally around. If the volunteers took the port of Matamoros, they would find plenty of friends—and magnificent booty too. Dr. Grant happened to be a large landowner in that area; he stood to gain immensely if his confiscated estates were liberated, but nobody bothered to look for a hidden motive. The idea sounded perfect. The men seethed with excitement; most could hardly wait to get going. Colonel Frank Johnson, now in command, was all for it too. He turned the post over to Colonel James C. Neill and dashed off to get the provisional government’s blessing.
Grant didn’t bother to wait. On December 30 he set out, taking 200 of the men with him. They marched off in a blaze of enthusiasm—their eyes on the loot of Matamoros, their hands on the loot of San Antonio. For they appropriated practically everything in sight—money, clothing, saddles, arms, food, blankets, medical supplies. Behind them they left only picked-over Mexican junk that nobody wanted—30 useless muskets … 2 trumpets, 1 large clarion … I5 carabines, out of order.
“It will be appalling to you to learn and see herewith ouralarming weakness,” Colonel Neill wrote the authorities in San Felipe on January 6, 1836. He had only 104 men. There was no food or clothing. Many of the volunteers were down to one shirt and one blanket. “If there has ever been a dollar here, I have no knowledge of it.”
A week later, conditions were even worse. On January 14 the men were to get their October pay, but nothing turned up. Next morning Neill was down to 80 effectives: a few hungry colonists and volunteers, a handful of shivering New Orleans Greys. Clearly he couldn’t hold both the town and the Alamo with a force like this. He ordered the men in Bexar back across the winding little San Antonio River and concentrated his whole strength in the rambling old mission just east of town.
“You can plainly see that the Alamo never was built by a military people for a fortress,” Green B. Jameson wrote Sam Houston on January 18. Jameson, the mechanically minded lawyer, had cast aside his San Felipe practice to become the Alamo “engineer.” He had no technical background, but it didn’t require professional training to see the fort’s many weak points.
The old mission, mostly built by 1750, was a large, sprawling compound of buildings taking up over three acres. Heart of this compound was a rough rectangle of bare ground, flatteringly
At 6:30 A.M. on December 9 General Cós had enough. Surrender negotiations began, and by 2 o’clock the following morning the terms were set. Cós agreed to retire beyond the Rio Grande under parole; he and his officers would “not in any way oppose the re-establishment of the Federal Constitution of 1824.”
“All has been lost save honor,” bemoaned Captain José Juan Sanchez Navarro, appointed by Cós to sign the surrender document.
“A child’s bargain,” snorted volunteer William R. Carey of Baltimore, mulling over the same agreement. “However, it’s done now and it’s too late to alter until we have another fight, which we expect shortly.”
Most of the Texans preferred Captain Sánchez’ view—Mexico had suffered a crushing defeat. The danger was over. General Burleson went home to his family. Creed Taylor of York’s Company returned to his cabin on the Guadalupe with enough trophies to pass for a Mexican—a sleek new horse, silver-mounted saddle, costly bridle, splendid silk sash, silver spurs. The scene was repeated everywhere as the colonists left the army to rejoin their families, celebrate Christmas and begin farming again.
Many of the American volunteers were equally anxious to leave San Antonio now that the fighting was over. Dr. James Grant, a shrewd Scot, sensed this and proposed an exciting project. Why not carry the war to Mexico itself? The country below the Rio Grande was full of liberals who would rally around. If the volunteers took the port of Matamoros, they would find plenty of friends—and magnificent booty too. Dr. Grant happened to be a large landowner in that area; he stood to gain immensely if his confiscated estates were liberated, but nobody bothered to look for a hidden motive. The idea sounded perfect. The men seethed with excitement; most could hardly wait to get going. Colonel Frank Johnson, now in command, was all for it too. He turned the post over to Colonel James C. Neill and dashed off to get the provisional government’s blessing.
Grant didn’t bother to wait. On December 30 he set out, taking 200 of the men with him. They marched off in a blaze of enthusiasm—their eyes on the loot of Matamoros, their hands on the loot of San Antonio. For they appropriated practically everything in sight—money, clothing, saddles, arms, food, blankets, medical supplies. Behind them they left only picked-over Mexican junk that nobody wanted—30 useless muskets … 2 trumpets, 1 large clarion … I5 carabines, out of order.
“It will be appalling to you to learn and see herewith ouralarming weakness,” Colonel Neill wrote the authorities in San Felipe on January 6, 1836. He had only 104 men. There was no food or clothing. Many of the volunteers were down to one shirt and one blanket. “If there has ever been a dollar here, I have no knowledge of it.”
A week later, conditions were even worse. On January 14 the men were to get their October pay, but nothing turned up. Next morning Neill was down to 80 effectives: a few hungry colonists and volunteers, a handful of shivering New Orleans Greys. Clearly he couldn’t hold both the town and the Alamo with a force like this. He ordered the men in Bexar back across the winding little San Antonio River and concentrated his whole strength in the rambling old mission just east of town.
“You can plainly see that the Alamo never was built by a military people for a fortress,” Green B. Jameson wrote Sam Houston on January 18. Jameson, the mechanically minded lawyer, had cast aside his San Felipe practice to become the Alamo “engineer.” He had no technical background, but it didn’t require professional training to see the fort’s many weak points.
The old mission, mostly built by 1750, was a large, sprawling compound of buildings taking up over three acres. Heart of this compound was a rough rectangle of bare ground, flatteringly
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