Texas Hero. Merline Lovelace
touched this woman. Yet one glide of his fingers along her smooth, warm skin set off a chain reaction that started in his arm and ended about six inches below his belt.
For the first time since Lightning’s call some hours ago, Jack conceded maybe Eduardo Alazar had reason to be concerned. The fires weren’t out. Not entirely.
Jack had been so certain the embarrassment he’d caused Ellie and himself had doused any residual sparks. The sudden flare of heat in his gut screamed otherwise. Clenching his jaw against the unwelcome sensation, he tried to concentrate on Ellie’s recitation.
“A series of droughts and epidemics decimated the mission’s religious population,” she related. “In 1793 the structure was turned over to civil authorities. At that point, Spanish cavalry from Alamo de Parras in Mexico took occupancy, and the fort became known at the Pueblo del Alamo. When the Spanish were driven out of Mexico, Mexican troops moved in. About the same time, the Mexican government opened the province of Texas to foreign settlers.”
“Foreign meaning Americans?”
“Americans and anyone else who would put down roots and, hopefully, help stem attacks on settlements by the Commanches and Apaches. Given the proximity to the States, though, it’s only natural that most immigrants were Americans. Led by Stephen Austin, they flooded in and soon outnumbered the Mexican population five to one. It was only a matter of time until they decided they wanted out from under Mexican rule.”
“Those pesky Texans,” Jack drawled.
“Actually,” she replied with a smile, “they called themselves Texians then. Or Tejanos. But they were pretty pesky. Tensions escalated, particularly after General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna seized control of the Mexican government and abrogated the constitution. In the process, he also abrogated most of the rights of the troublesome immigrants. There were uprisings all over Mexico—and outright rebellion here in Texas.
“After several small skirmishes, the Americans declared their independence and sent a small force to seize the Alamo. When Santa Anna vowed to march his entire army north and crush the rebellion, the tiny garrison sent out a plea for reinforcements. William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, among others, answered the call.”
The names sounded like a roll call of America’s heroes. Jim Bowie, the reckless adventurer as quick with his wit as with his knife. Davy Crockett, legendary marksman and two-term member of Congress from Tennessee. William Barrett Travis, commander of the Texas militia who drew a line in the sand with his saber and asked every Alamo defender willing to stand to the end to cross it. Supposedly, all but one did so.
Those who did met the fate Ellie related in a historian’s dispassionate voice.
“When Santa Anna retook the Alamo in March, 1836, he executed every defender still alive and burned their bodies in mass funeral pyres. Or so the few non-combatants who survived reported.”
“But you think those reports are wrong.”
“I think there’s a possibility they may be.”
With that cautious reply, she led the way through the small door set in the massive wooden gates fronting the mission. Inside, thick adobe walls provided welcome relief from the heat. A smiling docent stepped forward to greet them.
“Welcome to the Alamo. This brochure will give you… Oh!” The smile fell right off her face. “It’s you, Dr. Alazar.”
“Yes, I’m back again.”
“Our museum director said you’d finished your research here.”
“I have. I’m playing tourist this afternoon and showing my, er, friend around.”
The docent’s glance darted from Ellie to Jack and back again. Suspicion carved a deep line between her brows. “Are you planning to take more digital photos?”
“No. I’ve taken all I need.”
“We heard those were stolen.”
“They were,” Ellie replied coolly. “Fortunately, I make it a practice to back up my work.”
The volunteer fanned her brochures with a snap. “Yes, well, I’ll let Dr. Smith know you’re here.”
“You’ve certainly made yourself popular around here,” Jack commented dryly.
“Tell me about it! The exhibits are this way.”
Exiting the church, they entered a long low building that had once served as the barracks and now housed a museum of Texas history. Ellie let Jack set the pace and read those exhibits that caught his interest.
They painted a chillingly realistic picture of the thirteen-day siege. There was Santa Anna’s army of more than twelve hundred. The pitiful inadequacy of the defending force, numbering just over a hundred. Travis’s repeated requests for reinforcements. The arrival of the Tennesseeans. The wild, last-minute dash by thirty-two volunteers from Goliad, Texas, through enemy lines. The final assault some hours before dawn on March sixth. The massacre of all defenders. The mass funeral pyres that consumed both Texan and Mexican dead. The pitiful handful of non-combatants who survived.
The original of Travis’s most famous appeal for assistance was preserved behind glass. Written the day after the Mexican army arrived in San Antonio, the letter still had the power to stir emotions.
Commander of the Alamo
Bexar, Fby 24th, 1836
To the People of Texas and All Americans in the World
Fellow Citizens & Compatriots
I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual bombardment & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly on the walls. I shall never surrender nor retreat.
Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism, & of everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country.
Victory or death
William Barrett Travis
Lt. Col. Comdt
P.S. The Lord is on our side. When the enemy appeared in sight, we had not three bushels of corn. We have since found in deserted houses 80 or 90 bushels & got into the walls 20 or 30 head of Beeves.
Travis.
“Whew!” Jack blew out a long breath. “No wonder the mere suggestion that this man didn’t die at the Alamo has riled so many folks. He certainly made his intentions plain enough.”
Nodding, Ellie trailed after him as he examined the exhibits and artifacts reported to belong to the defenders, among them sewing kits, tobacco pouches and handwoven horsehair bridles and lariats. A small, tattered Bible tugged at her heart. It was inscribed to one Josiah Kennett, whose miniature showed an unsmiling young man in the wide-brimmed sombrero favored by cowboys and vaqueros of the time. Silver conchos decorated the hatband, underscoring how closely Mexican and Tejano cultures had blended in the days before war wrenched them apart.
When Jack and Ellie emerged into a tree-shaded courtyard, the serene quiet gave no echo of the cannons that had once thundered from the surrounding walls. Tourists wandered past quietly, almost reverently.
“Okay,” Jack said, summarizing what he’d read inside. “Susanna Dickinson, wife of the fort’s artillery officer, said that Travis died on the north battery. Travis’s slave Joe said he saw the colonel go down after grappling with troops coming over the wall. They make a pretty convincing argument that William B. stuck to his word and died right here at the Alamo.”
“An