The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo

"No Greaser kin see through a hoss," remarked one of the adventurers, "but I'll tell you what, my boy, your tightest squeeze is goin' to be in gettin' out on the further side. They're guardin' thar rear more'n they are toward the fort. They're on the watch for anything Sam Houston may let loose on 'em."

That was in strict accordance with the military prudences of the situation, but for that very reason all the guards on duty were looking out instead of looking in. No patrol, for instance, beyond the camps, whether mounted or on foot, could at once imagine anything suspicious concerning a dim shape slowly tramping out from the horse corral. Only one did come, and he walked along leading with him a saddled and bridled mustang.

"Here comes the guard!" he suddenly exclaimed, aloud. "Now's my time. I'll signal to Davy."

He sprang upon the back of the mustang, turned and blew a short, sharp whistle, and galloped away. Hundreds of men may have heard the whistle, but only one understood it. Not a solitary Mexican at once followed the vanishing horseman, and he quickly was beyond successful following.

Hoarse shouts had gone after him, truly. Orders to halt, with Spanish inquiries and execrations, had sounded from all directions. It was understood that something or other had happened, and there were officers who at once began to investigate the matter.

The proper direction of their first efforts was plainly indicated by an extraordinary disturbance in the corral. Quite a large number of the horses were now loose and they were running around excitedly. It did not arise to the dignity of a stampede, but the guards who first rushed in came near being trampled down. These were joined at once by the too zealous sentries of a battery which had been stationed at the right of the corral, so that its guns were for the moment left to take care of themselves.

"Don't I wish I had some spikes?" inquired a very low, hoarse chuckle that was crawling along at the side of one of the guns. "If I had I'd spile every touch-hole of this 'ere battery. Hullo! Thar they are. I reckon I kin shew 'em a new p'int in the right way of handlin' artillery. That is, if ary one of these long fours is primed."

After that there came a clicking of flint and steel, and then a soft glow of fire close to the ground.

Louder grew the tumult in the corral, angrier and more numerously arose the shouts and commands of the officers.

"Jim Carson's got clean away from 'em, I reckon," was spoken more loudly, "but that lot of Greasers have marched to about the right spot. Wonder what this thing is shotted with. Here she goes!"

A hand went up to the breech of the gun and then the first booming alarm went out.

"Reckon 'twas a round shot," he said. "It fetched 'em. One more."

A second gun spoke out, and then a third, in quick succession, but to Mexican ears it seemed the correct thing for any of their own guns to do in case of a sudden alarm at night. It would show the garrison that its besiegers were awake.

Nevertheless, the iron missiles had been sent with deadly effect among the luckless detachment of infantry, and every man of it who was left unhurt fired off his musket at the space in front of him and the possible Gringos it might contain. Sentry after sentry, all along, in camp after camp, followed that example, front and rear. The very game-cocks in their coops crowed vigorously, and the general himself came out of his tent to see what was the matter with them and with his army.

The artillerymen who now came hurrying back to their guns found no one with them, – nothing but an entirely unexplainable mystery. There were now no soldiers in front of the battery, however. The coast was clear, and across the moonlit area from which he had driven his enemies Davy Crockett strode on to the Alamo.

"Who goes there?" greeted him from the sentry at the gate.

"I ain't a-goin' jest now; I'm comin'," shouted back the very grim old joker, with a fierce laugh. "Travis, I reckon Jim Carson's all right. We took him a good mount from thar own corral. But I fired them alarm guns myself. Wait till I git in and I'll tell jest how I did it, but I reckon the Greasers 'll think we've made a sortee."

Three cheers were given him, and these too were heard by the Mexicans to increase their perplexity. Something very like a sortie had really been made, and the entire Mexican army was getting under arms. One regiment marched a mile before it could be ordered back, but Santa Anna himself had preserved his military composure.

"Caramba!" he exclaimed, in reply to one of his officers. "Houston? No! He has no force that he can send. We have nothing to deal with but the desperadoes inside of yonder walls, and we shall slaughter them to-morrow."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE REINFORCEMENT

Away outside of the fort wall at sunrise stood Davy Crockett, all alone. He had been noting with evident interest the marks made upon the masonry by the cannon-balls fired the day before.

"All right," he said. "It amuses them and it doesn't hurt us. I'm only fifty, and my ha'r will be turnin' gray before they git in this way."

It was a satisfactory conclusion, and he turned to scan the Mexican lines.

"Jim Carson got away from them," he said. "Of course he did, but we can't wait for Sam Houston. We've got to depend on ourselves. Well, now! If this isn't curious! Whoever heard of Greasers gittin' up early? I didn't, but they're a-movin'. Reckon we're goin' to have some fun right away."

That was the opinion of Travis and two ranger officers up in the church tower.

The camps of the Mexican infantry were pouring forth their bayonets, and everywhere the cavalrymen stood beside their horses, ready to mount at the word of command. What was to be done with horsemen in an attack upon stone walls did not appear, but the telescope revealed much more ominous preparations. Already out in front of the southerly camps were parties of men who were provided with ladders. If the artillery as yet had made no breaches, the walls could be climbed over. The cannon were to have their share in the day's work nevertheless, and at a given signal every battery began to speak. A storm of iron pellets hurtled against the defences or flew over them.

That part of the fortress which was mainly composed of the church and of the convent did not promise well for a climbing adventure. The assaulting force was therefore massed for a rush against the lower walls around the plaza. These were pierced for musketry as well as for cannon. Every shot-hole had now its marksman, with two more standing behind him ready, each to take his place in turn while the others reloaded.

"Let 'em come close up," was the order of Colonel Travis. "Hit every man just below his belt."

"And ef you do," added Crockett, "that thar Greaser 'll sit right down."

Low voices passed from man to man, and the substance of the utterances was, —

"Hit, boys! Every shot is for life."

An iron calmness grew harder in all their faces as the fire of the batteries ceased and the Mexican masses began to move steadily forward to the sound of their drums. They came on as confidently as if the fort were already their own, for their officers were freely declaring the expectation that at the last moment the Gringos would give up so hopeless a defence and surrender.

That is, the nerves of the rangers or of their commander, proof against the thunders of the artillery, were to fail at the prospect of being crushed by overwhelming numbers. Perhaps the very silence that reigned around the fort did something to increase the delusion, and the foremost ranks advanced to within short rifle range.

"Ain't I glad the grape-shot and canister got here in time!" growled Sergeant Daly, squinting along his gun.

"Ready!" shouted Travis at that moment from the middle of the plaza. "All ready! Let 'em have it! Fire!"

Every cannon of the fort which bore upon the enemy went off as if one hand had fired them all. A storm of lead and iron swept through the advancing columns. Then as the smoke-clouds cleared away a little the cracking of the rifles began, and the astonished Mexicans dropped rapidly, only too many of them smitten "just below the belt" or a few inches above it.

The attempt to overawe the garrison by a sudden attack in force had signally failed. It had become little better than a disastrous reconnoitring party. Nothing had been really ready for so serious an undertaking as the storming of the Alamo. The Mexican troops were marched back to their camps, while their officers made up very disagreeable lists of killed and wounded.

The cannon of the fort had been very well handled and the accuracy of the rifle practice had been remarkable. At the same time, not a man of the garrison had received so much as a scratch. They could hardly believe that the battle was over.

"Jim Bowie," shouted Crockett, as he saw his friend coolly at work with a rifle-wiper, "none o' that jest now. Don't stop to clean your gun. Blaze away with it dirty and wipe it out by and by, after this butcher business is over. It hasn't been exactly a fight, not yit, but it's p'isonous fun for Santy Anny."

The Mexican general indeed was wild with rage and disappointment over the failure of his first ill-advised demonstration. For the first time in his varied military experience he had witnessed the effects of sharp-shooting.

He was not singular by any means. At that date the best infantry of Europe were still armed with smooth-bore muskets and depended mainly upon volley-firing when in action. The crack regiments of England, truly, had received a terrible lesson at New Orleans from the American riflemen under General Jackson, but neither the British nor any other military power had seemed willing to profit largely by it.

All military operations were over for the day. The batteries rested, and the commander-in-chief of the beaten army had not even the heart for his evening game of monte.

"Men!" said Colonel Travis to his gallant garrison, drawn up for a kind of triumphant review in the plaza, "I don't mean to say much, but this is the kind of work that is going to save Texas."

"You bet it is, and thar's got to be heaps of it done," came in a low-voiced snarl from Crockett. "What they need is killing."

"The enemy have received a sharp lesson," continued Travis, "but they won't give it up right away. They can't afford to retreat after only one battle. Santa Anna would be kicked out of power if he should fail to take the Alamo. So if we can beat him completely we shall be setting both Texas and Mexico free from the old gambler's tyranny."

A loud cheer responded, and on the heels of the last "hurrah" Crockett remarked, —

"And we'll save our own throats, too, if that's any object. Mine was feelin' a little kind o' sore this mornin', but it's all right jest now."

The men went to their quarters and stations in very full accord with the feelings of the old bear hunter.

"Bowie," said Travis, as soon as they were alone together, "it's almost better than I hoped for. What do you think?"

"There will be two or three days of cannonading," said Bowie. "Then there will be another attack. I reckon we can beat them off again. We haven't provisions for a long siege. They could starve us out."

"If they give Houston time enough," replied Travis, "he'll be operating on the outside of 'em somehow. They can't wait for too long a siege."

"We are not to die of starvation," said Bowie. "If it comes to that, we can walk out and die killing Mexicans. I will for one."

They were not at all deceived as to the desperate nature of their position. As for their patriotic commander-in-chief, he was struggling with a sea of troubles. Most of the money found in the old adobe had gone to New Orleans for arms and ammunition, but it might be weeks before there would be any important returns. He was using the remainder of the cash at home trying to get his hastily gathered volunteers into the shape of an army. He and Austin had several bodies of men at points distant from each other, but not one of them could be marched for the relief of the Alamo, nor would all of them together have been a third in number of the force under Santa Anna. Some of their commanders, to make the matter worse, seemed hardly to consider themselves under anybody's orders, so new and so unsettled was the authority of the Texan government.

It was toward the close of the day of that first attempt to storm the fort that a party of thirty-two mounted riflemen were somewhat leisurely pursuing their way along a road the western end of which was known to reach the town of San Antonio de Bexar. At their head rode a short, squarely built man, whose hat was pulled forward over his eyes. He was leaning a little, as if he were bent down by some weight or other.

"They are all there," he muttered. "The best men in Texas. They'll never give up. They'll die right whar they stand. Ye-es, sir! I'm goin'! I am! If it's only to go in and die alongside of Jim Bowie, and Travis, and old Davy!"

A shout rang out behind him, and it was instantly answered by an Indian war-whoop in front.

"Halt!" he promptly commanded as he raised his head, but he at once added, "Only one redskin. Who cares? What's up?"

The one redskin was trying in vain to urge an exhausted pony to a gallop.

"I'll ride forward and meet him," exclaimed the officer. "He's got something. I know Indians. Hold on, boys."

In a moment more he was listening to an eager voice that told him great news.

"Red Wolf," he said. "Heap Lipan. Son of Castro. Friend of Big Knife."

"But what are you here for?" interrupted the white leader. "I'm Colonel Smith."

"Travis heap want more Texan!" said Red Wolf. "Santa Anna come! All Mexican at fort. Heap big gun. More Texan come or all ranger lose hair. Castro great chief! Tell young brave ride heap! Bring many rifle! Ugh!"

"God bless you!" exclaimed Smith. "Bully for Castro! I know him."

Then he turned to his men and shouted, —

"Boys! It's all right! He's from the fort. Santa Anna's whole army is marching upon the Alamo. It's thar now!"

"We ought to ha' come quicker," was the first response that came from any of the men. Smith could speak Spanish, however, and Red Wolf was more at home in that tongue than in English. He now gave the colonel a full account of the scout he and his father had made; of the arrival of the supply-train; of the condition of things at the fort; and of the estimated strength of the Mexican army. All that he said was at once communicated to the men, but it did not seem to dismay them. On the contrary, not one of them faltered when at last their commander addressed them with, —

"Men! Now you know just how it is, how many of you are ready to push right on with me to the Alamo?"

"Git right along," came cheerily back from one of the riflemen. "Thar ain't any white feathers a-flyin' in this crowd. We're all with ye. Hurrah for Texas!"

"Forward, march!" shouted the colonel. "Every mile is worth blood. Boy, let 'em give you another mount. That thar mustang o' your'n is played out."

There was no more travel in him, at all events, and he was quickly turned loose to shift for himself, while all that had been on him was going westward upon a comparatively fresh and lively pony.

"It 'll be about two days' riding," remarked Smith, "at the rate we'll have to go. When we get thar, we'll have to take our chances for findin' our way into the fort."

"We'll get in," they all agreed, but just how they expected to do it did not appear. On they rode, and their camp that night had the appearance of a picnic rather than of the bivouac of a handful of adventurers who were on their way to cut a path for themselves through a hostile army to almost certain death.

The Mexican general held a council of war that evening, and its session lasted late into the night, for there were ample refreshments upon the table in his marquee.

It was not a cheerful council, for the reports of the army surgeons were rendered, and they were unpleasant reading. So appeared to be several despatches which had but just arrived.

"General," exclaimed General Cos, when his commander had announced their contents, "the sinking of that barge in the Nueces is a greater disaster to us than is to-day's repulse. With those two heavy guns we could have made a breach in the wall in an hour."

"We must make one somehow," replied Santa Anna, "since you all disapprove of a night assault. Castrillon, mass your batteries to-morrow and play all your shot upon one point. Make every shot tell. It's only a matter of time."

"So!" replied the artillery officer. "The breach can be made. And all the while the garrison will be eating up its supplies."

"So will we," laughed General Cos, "but we've a big drove of cattle coming. We can live on beef and water till we have crushed this den of Gringo tigers."

The tigers themselves in their fort-den were resting quietly, all but one, for the commander of the Alamo was pacing up and down slowly, thoughtfully, in the plaza. No doubt it behooved him to be wakeful, but once, when he paused in his promenade, he said, half aloud, —

"I hope Jim Carson got through. Crockett feels pretty sure that he did. Then my wife will get my last letter. I want her to know that I did my duty and died like a man. I had hoped to live in Texas and see it grow up to be something, but it's no use talking of that now. Our time has come. Not a man of us will ever get out of this place alive. And all because Sam Houston can't raise cash enough to feed his men on a march."

He laughed satirically, and the sentry at the gate and the watchers at the loop-holes heard him. It did them good to know that he was so merry.

The night waned toward the dawn. Just in the gray mist of the dark hour the riflemen under Colonel Smith had risen and they were busy around their camp-fires. They had no idea of any enemy being near them, but suddenly they were startled by a loud "whoop!"

"That redskin!" shouted Smith, snatching his rifle and dashing out of the camp. "Come on, boys! Something's up!"

They were following fast, but he was well ahead, and he came out into the road in time to hear a shrill voice beyond him in the mist demanding, —

"Jim heap halt! Ugh! Red Wolf! Heap Texan!"

"You young sarpent, are you here?" came back from a man on horseback. "Do you mean to say that some of our men are nigh around?"

"Who goes thar?" shouted Smith.

"Carson, from the Alamo," responded the messenger. "Who are you?"

"Friend of Big Knife," suggested Red Wolf to the colonel. "Ranger."

"All right!" shouted back Smith. "Dismount and come in. We're on our way to jine the garrison. How are things?"

"Well," replied Carson, as he came to the ground, "when I came away Santa Anna had just fairly got into position. I had to snake it through his lines to carry despatches to Houston. Jest you look here, though. Don't you believe I left without orders. Somebody had to come. I'm coming right back to the fort soon as I've done my arr'nd."

"Bully for you!" shouted a rifleman. "That's what we're here for. Come along now and git yer rations."

"I might ha' gone by ye if it hadn't been for Red Wolf," said Carson, as they went along. "Bowie says he's the brightest chap of his age that he ever knew. He can't say that he ever saw him asleep. He can guide ye into the fort when you git thar."

"We'll git in," replied Smith. "I reckon Travis 'll be glad we met you. Every rifle's going to count in such a fight as this promises to be."

"You bet!" said Jim. "I felt bad about coming away, but I gave up my chance there to please Travis. You'll see me inside the walls before many days. You will!"

CHAPTER XX.

NEARING THE END

The siege of the Alamo had lasted during eight long, terrible days. There had been a great deal of severe skirmishing, in which the Mexicans had suffered losses every time they drew too near the walls. The blockade, however, had become so close and vigilant that it was no longer possible for any bearer of despatches to get out or in. Out of several that had been sent, it was understood that two only had escaped capture and immediate execution. From those who had reached him General Houston was informed as to the condition of affairs at the fort. The deepest sympathy was felt for the beleaguered patriots and preparations for their relief were going on. Precious cargoes of army supplies had arrived from New Orleans in spite of Mexican war-vessels cruising in the Gulf. Troops were getting ready. One train of wagons accompanied by a force of riflemen was already a number of miles upon its way, with a vague idea that it might somehow evade the army of Santa Anna. Men assured one another that if the garrison could only hold out a few days longer all would be well.

Colonel Travis and his men had held their own remarkably. They even seemed but little fatigued by their long watching, their readiness to be called to the shot-holes at any hour of day or night. They were exceedingly tough and hardy men. They would have been in good spirits if it had not been for two things. One of these sombre considerations was the condition of about ten yards of the southerly wall of the plaza. This was crumbling under the continual pelting of Castrillon's guns. Most of it was nearly level with the ground, and the gap had been feebly filled with such pieces of timber and other materials as could be had. Loose earth had been heaped upon them, but the slight barrier so constructed was at the mercy of cannon-balls. The other point was even more important.

"Colonel Travis," reported Sergeant Daly that morning, "thar's only half a dozen rounds for the cannon. The last ounce of power and the last bullet have been sarved out to the men. Thar isn't enough for an hour's shootin' if the next fight turns out a hot one."

"Oh, God! If Houston knew!" groaned the commander. "Why doesn't help come? Daly, don't say a word to the men. It's possible that the Greasers may not make another attack – "

"We've killed a heap of 'em," replied the brave artilleryman. "But what on 'arth are guns good for without ammunition?"

"We won't surrender, if we've nothing left to fight with but our knives!"

"Colonel!" exclaimed Daly. "The men wanted me to ask you that question. They know just the fix we're in. You won't surrender?"

"I won't!" said Travis, firmly.

"Thank God!" almost shouted Daly. "We want to die like men, with arms in our hands. We don't want to be led out and butchered."

"The boys needn't be afraid that I'll go back on 'em," replied the colonel. "I won't rob them of their last rights. If we've got to die, we'll go down fighting."

"That's all I wanted to know," said Daly, and away he strode to tell his comrades that they were in no danger of being betrayed unarmed into the hands of Santa Anna.

Hardly had he gone before there came a hail and a response at the great gate, and two men stood before it. One of them wore the uniform of the Mexican army and the other almost no uniform at all.

"Jim Carson! Castro!" had been loudly announced by the sentry.

"Let 'em in, quick!" shouted Travis. "You don't know who's behind 'em."

"Ugh!" exclaimed the chief as he stepped inside. "Jim heap Mexican. Where Red Wolf? Chief want him."

"Colonel Smith!" instantly called out his companion, "I played Greaser to git through their lines. How'd you do it?"

"That young Lipan wolf did it," he said. "He led us 'round to the west'ard, and we hadn't anything to do but to follow him. They thought our party was one of their own patrols. We didn't lose a man. Colonel Bonham got in all alone."

No more explanations could be given then and there, for Carson had made his daring experiment that he might bring encouraging despatches from the President and that he might not break his word about returning.

Travis opened the letter handed him and he read it where he stood.

"It's all right, men," he said. "The whole state is rising. If we can hold the fort a little longer the boys 'll come!"

Hearty cheers responded, and Carson was at once taken possession of by his fellow-rangers that they might pump him of all the news he had gathered while away.

"Ugh! Heap boy!" said Castro.

Before him stood Red Wolf, and during two or three minutes they talked rapidly in their own tongue. As soon as the chief ceased speaking, Travis approached him and held out a hand.