Anna’s surprise attack on the Alamo misfired—Fannin again beseeched Robinson, “I hope you will soon release me from the army, at least as an officer.”
CHAPTER SIX
“The Enemy Are in View”
L IGHTS FLICKERED BEFORE DAWN at Ambrosio Rodriguez’ house in San Antonio on the morning of February 23. Mrs. Rodriguez’ cousin Rivas had reappeared during the night, saying he saw Santa Anna in disguise at the last fandango. Imagination, of course, but the citizens had come to expect almost anything from His Excellency. Besides, there was nothing imaginary about the muddy courier who rode into town urging the local Mexicans to get out—the place was about to be attacked.
Señor Rodriguez was off with some of Captain Seguin’s company at Gonzales, but Mrs. Rodriguez was a capable woman. She quickly buried the family savings, about $800, in the clay floor … got a big two-wheeled oxcart … piled six-year-old Jose and his cousin Pablo in the back … and set out for the safety of the Ximenes family rancho.
By sunrise the same scene was unfolding all over town. People hurried to and fro, huddled in excited conversations, dashed in and out of their houses with clothes, bedding, pots and pans. Creaking, bumping, rattling along—a steady stream of carts crawled off into the open country. And those who couldn’t ride seemed glad to walk, bending under their bundles, yanking their children behind them.
Travis watched, wild with frustration. The fainthearted had been pulling out for weeks, but nothing like this. Yet no one would explain anything. Worse, they told obvious lies: they were going to the country to do a little farming. Townspeople? In February?
Exasperated, he ordered no one else to leave. The commotion only increased. He arrested and questioned people at random. The mystery only deepened. Nine o’clock … ten … it was nearly eleven when finally he learned. A friendly Mexican took him aside, described the visit from Santa Anna’s courier, told him that last night the Mexican cavalry were already at the Leon Creek, only eight miles away.
Travis and Dr. John Sutherland raced to the San Fernando church, a squat pile of stone that slumbered peacefully between the Main and Military Plazas. The church was anything but impressive, but its short, square tower easily dominated the area. Up the winding stairs they scrambled, taking a sentinel with them. In the belfry all three strained their eyes to the south and west. In the bright morning sunlight there was only the chaparral, the mesquite thickets, the rolling prairies. Nothing else.
Telling the lookout to ring the bell if he saw anything suspicious, Travis and Sutherland clambered down to the street again. Travis went off to his room in town; Sutherland to Nat Lewis’ store on Main Plaza. Lewis, a bald, jolly man who had never allowed his friendliness to interfere with his pursuit of the dollar, was busy taking inventory.
Ruefully remarking that he might not see his stock much longer, Lewis asked Sutherland to help him. The minutes ticked away as the two men counted the spools, the bolts of cloth, the pots and plates, the candy sticks reserved for the children of valuable customers. Outside it was quieter now; most of the townspeople seemed to be gone, or indoors as a result of Travis’ orders. Noon … one o’clock …
The bell in the tower clanged wildly. Sutherland dropped the trays of dry goods, ran across the plaza to the church. Travis was already there; others were pouring in from everywhere. High in the tower the lookout called down, “The enemy are in view!”
Up the stairs raced several men, and together they all peered out to the southwest where the sentinel pointed. But again there was nothing in sight—just the bare plains, glaring bright in the noonday sun. Cries of “false alarm!” Then a shower of scorn for the sentry, who stood his ground cursing and shouting, “I seen them … they’ve hid behind the brushwood!”
It did no good;
CHAPTER SIX
“The Enemy Are in View”
L IGHTS FLICKERED BEFORE DAWN at Ambrosio Rodriguez’ house in San Antonio on the morning of February 23. Mrs. Rodriguez’ cousin Rivas had reappeared during the night, saying he saw Santa Anna in disguise at the last fandango. Imagination, of course, but the citizens had come to expect almost anything from His Excellency. Besides, there was nothing imaginary about the muddy courier who rode into town urging the local Mexicans to get out—the place was about to be attacked.
Señor Rodriguez was off with some of Captain Seguin’s company at Gonzales, but Mrs. Rodriguez was a capable woman. She quickly buried the family savings, about $800, in the clay floor … got a big two-wheeled oxcart … piled six-year-old Jose and his cousin Pablo in the back … and set out for the safety of the Ximenes family rancho.
By sunrise the same scene was unfolding all over town. People hurried to and fro, huddled in excited conversations, dashed in and out of their houses with clothes, bedding, pots and pans. Creaking, bumping, rattling along—a steady stream of carts crawled off into the open country. And those who couldn’t ride seemed glad to walk, bending under their bundles, yanking their children behind them.
Travis watched, wild with frustration. The fainthearted had been pulling out for weeks, but nothing like this. Yet no one would explain anything. Worse, they told obvious lies: they were going to the country to do a little farming. Townspeople? In February?
Exasperated, he ordered no one else to leave. The commotion only increased. He arrested and questioned people at random. The mystery only deepened. Nine o’clock … ten … it was nearly eleven when finally he learned. A friendly Mexican took him aside, described the visit from Santa Anna’s courier, told him that last night the Mexican cavalry were already at the Leon Creek, only eight miles away.
Travis and Dr. John Sutherland raced to the San Fernando church, a squat pile of stone that slumbered peacefully between the Main and Military Plazas. The church was anything but impressive, but its short, square tower easily dominated the area. Up the winding stairs they scrambled, taking a sentinel with them. In the belfry all three strained their eyes to the south and west. In the bright morning sunlight there was only the chaparral, the mesquite thickets, the rolling prairies. Nothing else.
Telling the lookout to ring the bell if he saw anything suspicious, Travis and Sutherland clambered down to the street again. Travis went off to his room in town; Sutherland to Nat Lewis’ store on Main Plaza. Lewis, a bald, jolly man who had never allowed his friendliness to interfere with his pursuit of the dollar, was busy taking inventory.
Ruefully remarking that he might not see his stock much longer, Lewis asked Sutherland to help him. The minutes ticked away as the two men counted the spools, the bolts of cloth, the pots and plates, the candy sticks reserved for the children of valuable customers. Outside it was quieter now; most of the townspeople seemed to be gone, or indoors as a result of Travis’ orders. Noon … one o’clock …
The bell in the tower clanged wildly. Sutherland dropped the trays of dry goods, ran across the plaza to the church. Travis was already there; others were pouring in from everywhere. High in the tower the lookout called down, “The enemy are in view!”
Up the stairs raced several men, and together they all peered out to the southwest where the sentinel pointed. But again there was nothing in sight—just the bare plains, glaring bright in the noonday sun. Cries of “false alarm!” Then a shower of scorn for the sentry, who stood his ground cursing and shouting, “I seen them … they’ve hid behind the brushwood!”
It did no good;
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