A Tale of Alamo Heroes

The mission was overrun. Musket balls and scrap metal punched holes in the black- powder smoke. One young man gained the top of the long barracks by ladder. To race across the roof was to expose himself to the fire of friends and foes alike, but he would not be stopped. He crouched as he ran, as if leaning into a storm. When he reached the base of the flagpole, he tore at the cloth, pulling it free, replacing it with a flag of his own. His comrades cheered and returned to the desperate battle with fresh resolve. The hero was just eighteen years old. He would not live to be nineteen. A shot felled him moments later. He died, a martyr to his love for his country's flag. Jose Maria Torres was a Mexican officer in the Sappers Corps.

We remember the Alamo because the story is a tale of heroism. Sometimes, though, we forget that heroes fought on both sides. Heroism is a courageous response to adversity. That morning in March was a disaster for both sides, and heroes on both sides responded with grace and courage.

We have not always acknowledged the Mexican heroes. In Lon Tinkle's "Thirteen Days to Glory," the author explained the willingness of the Mexican soldiers to charge into a wall of fire with a dismissal— Santa Anna "supplied his forces with liberal drafts of aguardiente, Mexican firewater, to instill the extra ounce of bravery just before the attack" (Tinkle, 196).

This is not to single out Lon Tinkle's popular book for criticism, but rather, to note holes in the Alamo narrative, and to begin to honor all those who reflected the heroic values we associate with the story.

Facing adversity? The Mexican army moved in the dead of winter to catch the garrison at Béjar by surprise. Across six hundred miles of mixed terrain in weather that was in turns, hot and dry, then stinging with the driven snow of a norther, they marched in sandals and threadbare uniforms. They were poorly supplied, having left San Luis Potosi with a month's food (none at all for the officers, who were expected to provide their own provisions). For the final month of the march, soldiers carried their packs on eight ounces of corncake a day. Yet they were able to catch the Alamo garrison by surprise, chasing them from the town of Béjar before the Alamo storerooms could be fully stocked with supplies.

What Santa Anna might have looked like during the Alamo battle of 1836.

Courage? The Mexican army made a frontal assault on the Alamo walls without the benefit of battle experience, or even weapons training. The army had been assembled by conscription just prior to the march. Santa Anna was a proponent of "volley fire," believing that the musket was a more effective weapon if fired without aiming, in volley, a sort of "moving shotgun." The assault on the Alamo was, by his orders, the first time that most of his men had fired a musket. Yet they stormed the walls, into the mouths of cannon, taking a huge number of casualties. And they prevailed.

Honor? The order for no quarter was given by Santa Anna, who reasoned that he was fighting criminals and foreign interlopers. Surely the rules of war did not apply against pirates. Yet his order did not go unopposed. At a staff meeting, General Manuel Fernandez Castrillón spoke against the assault itself, arguing for patience. Siege cannon that could have taken down the Alamo walls were only days away, so why waste Mexican lives in a frontal assault? He also argued against the policy of no prisoners. He was joined in his opinion by Colonel Almonte. This dissension came at great risk. Santa Anna kept his own counsel, and did not tolerate disagreements.

Grace? The same General Castrillón was credited in several Mexican accounts with taking prisoners, despite his commander's orders. One of the prisoners may have been Davy Crockett. Many historians believe that Castrillón tried to protect at least a few of the defenders, but was overruled by an angry Santa Anna, who ordered the prisoners put to death. (Castrillón's own fate was ironic, given his efforts. At San Jacinto, he was the center of the only Mexican resistance. When the lines broke under Houston's attack, he refused to run, saying, "I have been in forty battles, and never showed my back! I'm too old to do it now!" He was shot where he
stood.)

We remember the Alamo as a battle against tyranny, and the willingness to sacrifice for others. It is interesting to note that Mexican participants in the battle argued for the same ideals. As Sergeant Navarro said in his poem meant to memorialize the Mexican dead of the Alamo battle: "...They did not fear for death/ for the country received more than death./ It is a step to a better life." Santa Anna was a despot, but many of his men believed in the dream of the Mexican Republic, and died for that cause.

One hopes that the new Alamo movie will tell a rounded, more inclusive tale. There's no loss in this for those who cherish the myth. Heroism is not mutually exclusive. Muhammed Ali was great, not because he danced alone, but because he traded blows with the likes of Liston, Frazier, and Foreman. Those who celebrate heroism, and in particular, tragic heroism, should remember the Alamo, for there were two "lost causes" on the field that day. Heroes from both sides deserve our respect.

Brian Kaufman is the author of "The Breach," a historical novel that tells the Alamo story exclusively from the Mexican Army's point of view. "The Breach" is available from Last Knight Publications.

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