The Blood of Heroes: The 13-Day Struggle for the Alamo--and the Sacrifice That Forged a Nation by James Donovan Page A
Authors: James Donovan
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fire quickly put the soldados and the artillerymen to flight. Before the day was over the Mexicans would draw the cannon within the walls by means of lassos.
Inside the town another problem presented itself. The defenders had fortified a house directly in the path of Johnson’s division, and the heavy small arms and artillery fire from it made progress impossible. Only when a six-pounder was wheeled up from the Texian lines outside town and a barrage of cannonballs unloaded did the Mexicans abandon the stronghold. When a Texian officer ordered the cannon into the open street facing the enemy breastworks, two of the gun’s crew were shot dead and three others wounded. The second lieutenant manning the gun, a Virginian named William Carey, continued to load and fire it with two other men. He barely escaped death when a musket ball passed through his hat and creased his skull. Carey was made first lieutenant soon after, when the man he replaced was cashiered for cowardice.
That afternoon, Milam led a final push toward Main Plaza, then made his way through the rubble to confer with Johnson at the large Veramendi house, called by some of the men the Bowie house since it had been owned by the latter’s former father-in-law. Milam suggested a daring plan to capture General Cós, who was issuing commands from a house south of the plazas. Dressed in a white blanket coat, Milam stepped into the courtyard about one p.m. with a small field glass to get a better look at the Mexican command post, and to determine the best route there. A second later he fell to the ground, a bullet through his right temple, and died instantly. A Texian pointed toward the river less than a hundred yards away, where a puff of smoke had appeared in a cypress along the opposite bank. Several men took aim and fired, and a body dropped to the riverbank and rolled into the river. After the battle the Texians would learn the name of the sniper: Felix de la Garza, reputedly one of the best shots in the Mexican army.
The stunned Texians buried their captain in one of the trenches they had dug in the yard, along the east wall, and spent the rest of the day wondering who would replace Milam’s strong leadership and calm under fire. His loss “put a considerable damper on the army,” remembered one attacker. Rumors of a large Mexican reinforcement nearing town were rampant. That evening the Texian officers selected Frank Johnson to oversee the assault. He knew Milam’s plan well and had no desire to change it. About ten o’clock that night, in a chilling drizzle, four companies of volunteers attacked and seized a stone house just north of the church.
The fourth day was more of the same—bracing cold, stiff resistance, and every foot advanced bought in blood and sweat. In the afternoon a furious artillery barrage pinned down a company of rebels behind some flimsy jacales and an adobe wall. When a well-aimed load of grapeshot tore down even that poor protection, one infuriated Texian, a tall, redheaded scout named Henry Karnes, who had ventured into Texas as a trapper and decided to stay, yelled for cover and dashed across a street through heavy fire to a stone house bristling with Mexican muskets at every window and on the rooftop. The twenty-three-year-old Tennessean carried a crowbar in one hand and his rifle in the other. He hit the door and began to pry it open while his comrades loosed a steady fire on the soldiers on the roof. By the time he broke the door open and burst into the house, most of the men were right behind him. The bulk of the soldados, taken aback by such madness, skedaddled. The rest were taken prisoner.
Both sides were exhausted after four grueling days of almost constant struggle. One of the two Texian columns had been reduced by half, to forty-nine men, and they were almost out of ammunition, with little gunpowder left. A frigid rain the next morning resulted in less gunfire on both sides due to damp powder, and eased the stench of
Inside the town another problem presented itself. The defenders had fortified a house directly in the path of Johnson’s division, and the heavy small arms and artillery fire from it made progress impossible. Only when a six-pounder was wheeled up from the Texian lines outside town and a barrage of cannonballs unloaded did the Mexicans abandon the stronghold. When a Texian officer ordered the cannon into the open street facing the enemy breastworks, two of the gun’s crew were shot dead and three others wounded. The second lieutenant manning the gun, a Virginian named William Carey, continued to load and fire it with two other men. He barely escaped death when a musket ball passed through his hat and creased his skull. Carey was made first lieutenant soon after, when the man he replaced was cashiered for cowardice.
That afternoon, Milam led a final push toward Main Plaza, then made his way through the rubble to confer with Johnson at the large Veramendi house, called by some of the men the Bowie house since it had been owned by the latter’s former father-in-law. Milam suggested a daring plan to capture General Cós, who was issuing commands from a house south of the plazas. Dressed in a white blanket coat, Milam stepped into the courtyard about one p.m. with a small field glass to get a better look at the Mexican command post, and to determine the best route there. A second later he fell to the ground, a bullet through his right temple, and died instantly. A Texian pointed toward the river less than a hundred yards away, where a puff of smoke had appeared in a cypress along the opposite bank. Several men took aim and fired, and a body dropped to the riverbank and rolled into the river. After the battle the Texians would learn the name of the sniper: Felix de la Garza, reputedly one of the best shots in the Mexican army.
The stunned Texians buried their captain in one of the trenches they had dug in the yard, along the east wall, and spent the rest of the day wondering who would replace Milam’s strong leadership and calm under fire. His loss “put a considerable damper on the army,” remembered one attacker. Rumors of a large Mexican reinforcement nearing town were rampant. That evening the Texian officers selected Frank Johnson to oversee the assault. He knew Milam’s plan well and had no desire to change it. About ten o’clock that night, in a chilling drizzle, four companies of volunteers attacked and seized a stone house just north of the church.
The fourth day was more of the same—bracing cold, stiff resistance, and every foot advanced bought in blood and sweat. In the afternoon a furious artillery barrage pinned down a company of rebels behind some flimsy jacales and an adobe wall. When a well-aimed load of grapeshot tore down even that poor protection, one infuriated Texian, a tall, redheaded scout named Henry Karnes, who had ventured into Texas as a trapper and decided to stay, yelled for cover and dashed across a street through heavy fire to a stone house bristling with Mexican muskets at every window and on the rooftop. The twenty-three-year-old Tennessean carried a crowbar in one hand and his rifle in the other. He hit the door and began to pry it open while his comrades loosed a steady fire on the soldiers on the roof. By the time he broke the door open and burst into the house, most of the men were right behind him. The bulk of the soldados, taken aback by such madness, skedaddled. The rest were taken prisoner.
Both sides were exhausted after four grueling days of almost constant struggle. One of the two Texian columns had been reduced by half, to forty-nine men, and they were almost out of ammunition, with little gunpowder left. A frigid rain the next morning resulted in less gunfire on both sides due to damp powder, and eased the stench of
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