Unsheathing his sword during a lull in the virtually incessant bombardment Colonel William Barret Travis drew a line on the ground before his battle-weary men. In a voice trembling with emotion he described the hopelessness of their plight and said, "those prepared to give their lives in freedom's cause, come over to me."
Without hesitation, every man, save one, crossed the line, Colonel James Bowie, stricken with pneumonia, asked that his cot be carried over.
For twelve days now, since February 23, when Travis answered Mexican General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna's surrender ultimatum with a cannon shot, the defenders had withstood the onslaught of an army which ultimately numbered 4,000 men.
Committed to death inside the Alamo were 189 known patriots who valued freedom more than life itself. Many, such as the 32 men and boys from Gonzales who made their way through the Mexican lines in answer to Travis's plea for reinforcements, were colonists. Theirs was a fight against Santa Anna's intolerable decrees. Others were volunteers such as David Crockett and his "Tennessee Boys" who owned nothing in Texas, and owed nothing to it. Theirs was a fight against tyranny wherever it might be. A handful were native Texans of Spanish and Mexican descent who suffered under the same injustices as the other colonists.
Now with the ammunition and supplies all but exhausted, yet determined to make a Mexican victory more costly than a defeat, those who rallied to the Texas cause awaited the inevitable.
It came suddenly in the chilly, pre-dawn hours of March 6. With bugles sounding the dreaded "Deguello" (no quarter to the defenders) columns of Mexican soldiers attacked from the north, the east, the south and the west. Twice repulsed by withering musket fire and cannon shot, they concentrated their third attack at the battered north wall.
Travis, with a single shot through his forehead, fell across his cannon. The Mexicans swarmed through the breach and into the plaza. At frightful cost they fought their way to the Long Barrack and blasted its massive doors with cannon shot. Its defenders, asking no quarter and receiving none, were put to death with grapeshot, musket fire and bayonets.
Crockett, using his rifle as a club, fell as the attackers, now joined by reinforcements who stormed the south wall, turned to the chapel. The Texans inside soon suffered the fate of their comrades. Bowie, his pistols emptied, his famous knife bloodied, and his body riddled, died on his cot.
Present in the Alamo were Captain Almeron Dickinson's wife, Susanna, and their 15-month-old daughter, Angelina. After the battle, Santa Anna ordered Mrs. Dickingson, her child, and other noncombatants be spared. Other known survivors were Joe, Travis servant; Gertrudis Navarro, 15, sister by adoption to James Bowie's wife, Ursula; Juana Navarro Alsbury, sister of Gertrudis, and her 18-month-old son, Alijo; Gregorio Esparza's wife Ana, and her four children: Enrique, Francisco, Manuel and Maria de Jesus; Trinidad Saucedo and Petra Gonzales. Another survivor was Lewis "Moses" Rose, who by his own choice left the Alamo on the fifth day of March.
Santa Anna, minimizing his losses which numbered nearly 600, said, "It was but a small affair," and ordered the bodies of the heroes burned. Colonel Juan Almonte, noting the great number of casualties, declared, "Another such victory and we are ruined."
The Texans' smoldering desire for freedom, kindled by the funeral pyres of the Alamo, roared into flames three weeks later at Goliad when Santa Anna coldly ordered the massacre of more than 300 prisoners taken at the Battle of Coleto Creek.
On April 21, forty-six days after the fall of the Alamo, less than 800 angered Texans and American volunteers led by General Sam Houston launched a furious attack on the Mexican army of 1,500 at San Jacinto. Shouting "Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!", they completely routed the Mexican army in a matter of minutes, killing six hundred and thirty while losing nine. Santa Anna was captured. Texas was free; a new republic was born.
An independent nation for nearly 10 years, Texas was officially annexed to the United States on December 29, 1845. With the change in government, and the lowering of the Texas flag on February 19, 1846, outgoing President Anson Jones declared, "The final act in the great drama is now performed; the Republic of Texas is no more."
On January 23, 2005 I had a chance to re-visit the Alamo with my best friend Ralph while we vacationed away from home (I had been there some 10 years earlier with my other best friend Joe). While there we did the "touristy thing to do" and visited the Alamo, located in the center of downtown San Antonio. We entered and felt the presence of the countless men who now stand silent and proud on the grounds we treaded on, taking in the scope of the battle for what they believed in with their lives and (ultimately) died for.
At the exit sat a guest book with all the names of people who had visited to pay their respects. Ralph and I signed our names, but for me, it held more of a meaning than most people there. Ralph questioned my signature on the record asking "Why are you doing that? You don't need to sign your birthday".
"I don't know..." I replied. "but I wanted to."
I signed the guestbook with my name along with my birthday: March 6, 1979.
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