XLIIIA. D. 1836DAVY CROCKETT
Faroff on his farm in Tennessee, old Davy Crockett heard of the war for freedom. Fifty years of hunting, trapping and Indian warfare had not quenched his thirst for adventure, or dulled his love of fun; but the man had been sent to Washington as a member of congress, and came home horrified by the corruption of political life. He was angry and in his wrath took his gun from over the fireplace. He must kill something, so he went for those Mexicans in the West.
His journey to the seat of war began by steamer down the Mississippi River, and he took a sudden fancy to a sharper who was cheating the passengers. He converted Thimblerig to manhood, and the poor fellow, like a lost dog, followed Davy. So the pair were riding through Texas when they met a bee hunter, riding in search of wild honey—a gallant lad in a splendid deerskin dress, who led them to his home. The bee hunter must join Davy too, but his heart was torn at parting with Kate, the girl he loved, and he turned in the saddle to cheer her with a scrap of song for farewell:
“Saddled and bridled, and booted rode he,A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee.”
“Saddled and bridled, and booted rode he,A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee.”
“Saddled and bridled, and booted rode he,A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee.”
“Saddled and bridled, and booted rode he,
A plume in his helmet, a sword at his knee.”
But the girl took up the verse, her song broken with sobbing:
“But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.”
“But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.”
“But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.”
“But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,
And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.”
There were adventures on the way, for Davy hunted buffalo, fought a cougar—knife to teeth—and pacified an Indian tribe to get passage. Then they were joined by a pirate from Lafitte’s wicked crew, and a young Indian warrior. So, after thrashing a Mexican patrol, the party galloped into the Alamo, a Texan fortress at San Antonio.
One thousand seven hundred Mexicans had been holding that fort, until after a hundred and twenty hours fighting, they were captured by two hundred and sixteen Americans. The Lone Star flag on the Alamo was defended now by one hundred and fifty white men.
Colonel Travis commanded, and with him was Colonel Bowie, whose broken sword, used as a dagger, had given the name to the “bowie knife.” Crockett, with his followers, Thimblerig, the bee hunter, the pirate and the Indian, were warmly welcomed by the garrison.
February twenty-third, 1836, the Mexican president, Santa Anna, brought up seventeen hundred men to besiege the Alamo, and Travis sent off the pirate to ride to Goliad for help.
On the twenty-fourth the bombardment commenced, and thirty cowboys broke in through the Mexican lines to aid the garrison.
On the twenty-eighth, here is a scrap from Davy’s private diary: “The settlers are flying ... leaving their possessions to the mercy of the ruthless invader ... slaughter is indiscriminate, sparing neither age, sex, nor condition. Buildings have been burned down, farms laid waste ... the enemy draws nigher to the fort.”
On the twenty-ninth: “This business of being shut up makes a man wolfish—I had a little sport this morning before breakfast. The enemy had planted a piece of ordnance within gunshot of the fort during the night, and the first thing in the morning they commenced a brisk cannonade pointblank against the spot where I was snoring. I turned out pretty smart and mounted the rampart. The gun was charged again, a fellow stepped forth to touch her off, but before he could apply the match I let him have it, and he keeled over. A second stepped up, snatched the match from the hand of the dying man, but Thimblerig, who had followed me, handed me his rifle, and the next instant the Mexican was stretched upon the earth beside the first. A third came up to the cannon, my companion handed me another gun, and I fixed him off in like manner. A fourth, then a fifth seized the match, but both met with the same fate, and then the whole party gave it up as a bad job, and hurried off to the camp, leaving the cannon ready charged where they had planted it. I came down, took my bitters and went to breakfast. Thimblerig told me the place from which I had been firing was one of the snuggest stands in the whole fort, for he never failed picking off two or three stragglers before breakfast.”
March third.—“We have given over all hope.”
March fourth.—“Shells have been falling into the fort like hail during the day, but without effect. About dusk in the evening we observed a man running toward the fort, pursued by about a dozen Mexican cavalry. The bee hunter immediately knew him to be the old hunter who had gone to Goliad, and calling to the two hunters, he sallied out to the relief of the old man, who was hard pressed. I followed close after. Before we reached the spot the Mexicans were close on the heels of the old man who stopped suddenly, turned short upon his pursuers, discharged his rifle, and one of the enemy fell from his horse. The chase was renewed, but finding that he would be overtaken and cut to pieces, he now turned again, and to the amazement of the enemy became the assailant in turn. He clubbed his gun, and dashed among them like a wounded tiger, and they fled like sparrows. By this time we reached the spot, and in the ardor of the moment followed some distance before we saw that our retreat to the fort was cut off by another detachment of cavalry. Nothing was to be done but to fight our way through. We were all of the same mind. ‘Go ahead!’ cried I; and they shouted, ‘Go ahead, Colonel!’ We dashed among them, and a bloody conflict ensued. They were about twenty in number, and they stood their ground. After the fight had continued about five minutes a detachment was seen issuing from the fort to our relief, and the Mexicans scampered off, leaving eight of their comrades dead upon the field. But we did not escape unscathed, for both the pirate and the bee hunter were mortally wounded, and I received a saber cut across the forehead. The old man diedwithout speaking, as soon as we entered the fort. We bore my young friend to his bed, dressed his wounds, and I watched beside him. He lay without complaint or manifesting pain until about midnight, when he spoke, and I asked him if he wanted anything.
“‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘Poor Kate!’ His eyes filled with tears as he continued: ‘Her words were prophetic, Colonel,’ and then he sang in a low voice.
“‘But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.’
“‘But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.’
“‘But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.’
“‘But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see,
And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.’
“He spoke no more, and a few minutes after, died. Poor Kate! who will tell this to thee?”
March fifth: “Pop, pop, pop! Bom, bom, bom! throughout the day—no time for memorandums now—go ahead. Liberty and independence forever!”
David Crockett
David Crockett
* * * * *
So ends Davy’s journal. Before dawn of the sixth a final assault of the Mexican force carried the lost Alamo, and at sunrise there were only six of the defenders left alive. Colonel Crockett was found with his back to the wall, with his broken rifle and his bloody knife. Before him lay Thimblerig, his dagger to the hilt in a Mexican’s throat, his death grip fastened in the dead man’s hair.
The six prisoners were brought before Santa Anna, who stood surrounded by his staff amid the ruins. General Castrillon saluted the president. “Sir, here are six prisoners I have taken alive; how shall I dispose to them?”
“Have I not told you before how to dispose of them—why do you bring them to me?”
The officers of the staff fell upon the prisoners with their swords, but like a tiger Davy sprang at Santa Anna’s throat. Then he fell with a dozen swords through his body.
Up with your banner, Freedom.Thy champions cling to thee.They’ll follow where’er you lead ’em—To death or victory.Up with your banner, Freedom!Tyrants and slaves are rushingTo tread thee in the dust;Their blood will soon be gushingAnd stain our knives with rust,But not thy banner, Freedom!While Stars and Stripes are flyingOur blood we’ll freely shed;No groan will ’scape the dying,Seeing thee o’er his head.Up with your banner, Freedom!
Up with your banner, Freedom.Thy champions cling to thee.They’ll follow where’er you lead ’em—To death or victory.Up with your banner, Freedom!Tyrants and slaves are rushingTo tread thee in the dust;Their blood will soon be gushingAnd stain our knives with rust,But not thy banner, Freedom!While Stars and Stripes are flyingOur blood we’ll freely shed;No groan will ’scape the dying,Seeing thee o’er his head.Up with your banner, Freedom!
Up with your banner, Freedom.Thy champions cling to thee.They’ll follow where’er you lead ’em—To death or victory.Up with your banner, Freedom!
Up with your banner, Freedom.
Thy champions cling to thee.
They’ll follow where’er you lead ’em—
To death or victory.
Up with your banner, Freedom!
Tyrants and slaves are rushingTo tread thee in the dust;Their blood will soon be gushingAnd stain our knives with rust,But not thy banner, Freedom!
Tyrants and slaves are rushing
To tread thee in the dust;
Their blood will soon be gushing
And stain our knives with rust,
But not thy banner, Freedom!
While Stars and Stripes are flyingOur blood we’ll freely shed;No groan will ’scape the dying,Seeing thee o’er his head.Up with your banner, Freedom!
While Stars and Stripes are flying
Our blood we’ll freely shed;
No groan will ’scape the dying,
Seeing thee o’er his head.
Up with your banner, Freedom!
Let us return to Sam Houston. His life of cyclone passions and whirling change—a white boy turned Indian, then hero of a war against the redskins; lawyer, commander-in-chief and governor of a state, a drunken savage, a broken man begging a job at Washington, an obscure conspirator in Texas—had made him leader of the liberators.
The fall of the Alamo filled the Texans with fury, but when that was followed by the awful massacre of Goliad they went raving mad. Houston, their leader, waited for reinforcements until his men wanted to murder him, but when he marched it was to San Jacinto where, with eight hundred Texans, he scatteredone thousand six hundred Mexicans, and captured Santa Anna. He was proclaimed president of the Lone Star republic, which is now the largest star in the American constellation.