Thirteen Days of Glory

February 23, 1836 (the first day)

The Mexs sent their emissaries out to see us and demand that we surrender. Some of the men still wore the makeup and skirts, knowing that it would infuriate the Mexs. One of their priests said that we were the Whores of Babylon and an Abomination on the Face of the Earth. Travis, Bowie, and Crockett were all described as the Anti-Christ, which amused them. They had stayed the night together in an erotic tangle and were still in the ecstatic afterglow of love.

Travis told the emissaries to be damned. We were free man trying to find a place to live away from the persecution of unknowing religious zealots. Texas would be our homeland. The archbishop called him a nasty faggot. Travis was shaken by this. None of us will ever forget that image, as the Inquisition would take one of our own, dip him into the tar, and set him afire to the delight of the crowd. Travis struck the man across the face. Bowie brandished his famous knife, slicing the air wickedly, bringing the point up to the throat of a priest, but Crockett restrained him. The conference was over. Within 15 minutes, the battle was on. The boy from last night fought by my side. We were greatly outnumbered and I feared that we would be overrun quickly. But, the Mexs were unable to co-ordinate their attack. The size of their force must have made communications difficult. Whatever the reason, we survived that first day well, none dead and only five wounded. I slept on the wall with my rifle in my hand.

February 28, 1836

It is day 6 of the siege. I have seen the sea of blue and red jackets, relentless as the tide, lapping up the sides of the Mission. They fight doggedly, urged on by their leaders and priests. Each morning the archbishop arises, leaving a new whore, to speak the Mass that he hopes will bring about our end and restore order to his world. Other priests stand in the battlefield giving last rites, swinging censers, and attempting to inspire the troops.

We have lost 25 or 30 men, bringing us to somewhere near 150. Many of those remaining have injuries of one form or another. Travis is among these, but he refuses to quit. He is an inspiration to us all. At night he roams the walls, throwing kisses to the Mexs, enticing them to join us.

The boy from the party is dead. He took a shot full in the chest on the second or third day. All days now seem to be the same. Nonetheless, he held on for another day, wheezing loudly, blood gurgling in his lungs. At the end, he began crying loudly for Charles. I came to him and held his hand as he died. We talked and, in his delirium, I was Charles again and we reminisced.

This has caused me more pain than anything the Mexs could have ever done. Why do young boys such as he have to die to satisfy the prejudices of others? He had harmed no one nor did he hold anyone in contempt. He was, and remains, a good man whose memory will not be forgotten.

March 3, 1836

Will this siege never end? It is ten days now and it appears that the Mexs will never give up or leave. Our forces are dwindling rapidly. Travis has sent several couriers to Sam Houston requesting re-inforcements. We all pray for their raucous shouts and laughter to be on the next breeze. Some men are becoming desperate for their lives. And who can blame them? Nearly everyone carries some scar from the battle. Many are dead.

The talk of our homeland is dying. Bowie had been its chief spokesman in Louisiana and had urged Travis and Houston into the rebellion. Travis and Bowie are now wounded and Houston is still missing from the fight. Travis is unable to continue and is confined to his bed with a fever. Bowie is among the wounded and appears to be on his last legs. He keeps his knife close at hand to prevent being killed by a spy. His delirium seems to spread among the troops. It is not right that men of such power should not be able to die in dignity. Crockett is now the leader in the battles.

I saw a sight this morning that I shall never forget. Out among the fields, pocked with cannon holes, a young Mex boy played near the tent of his father. It seemed odd that the young can endure such horrors and still be able to play among the dead. It seems to underscore what we have said. We are the same as they. We should be working together rather than killing each other. We live and breathe and love and seek to share our lives with people who care. But now it seems that we must kill one another. What a piece of work is Man.

March 5, 1836

The end is near! Surely the morrow will bring the resolution. The fighting has continued for 12 days. We are exhausted. Our food, which seemed so bountiful, is at an end. The supplies of ammunition are also near the end. Unless Houston shows on the dawn, we will be unable to finish the fight. The walls of the garrison have been breached with cannonfire in several places but we have secured these areas with overturned wagons and furniture. But, we are now unable to guard these areas and also maintain sufficient cover on the walls. Crockett has talked of retreating to the chapel and blowing the magazine, taking as many of them with us as we might. We do not want have to consider this, but I feel that none will hesitate if it is needed.

My thoughts run continually to Jamie and I hope he will forgive me for leaving him, for it appears that I will be unable to return. Jamie, if for some reason this journal finds its way to you (and I can but hope that it will), do not mourn for me. Rather, continue the fight for the Rights of Man. I am but one small soldier in the bigger fight. Carry that fight on to its conclusion. Show others that we live and die with the same fervor. Remember me - no, rather, Remember us and the good times that we have had. Let these memories spur you on. FIGHT... and, better yet, win for us that homeland which we desire and bring others safely into it. Others have approached me with a plan. It is foolhardy and will only hasten the end. But, in a perverse way, it pleases me. We will all face the final day in full feminine garb and makeup. Those who have none will be given items from those with extra. Tomorrow Santa Anna and his Inquisitors will see us as the men we really are. Their rage will be unrelenting. They will never forget our reasons for the fight.

The dawn is soon approaching and I must prepare myself for the battle. The world shall not soon forget what we will do this day. Hail and Farewell!

(for Neal Barrett, Jr.)