A couple of years ago, I visited the Alamo. The ghosts are thick there. I used to not believe in ghosts, but after living in a haunted house in Pennslyvania many years ago, I became a believer. That’s a story for another time. Ghosts seem to be part of my life now. From Gettysburg to The Alamo, they insist on telling their story.
The Battle of the Alamo really wasn’t anything like what we’ve seen in the movies. No disrespect to John Wayne, but the Alamo Mission Church was just one part of the garrison that the Texans defended. The real battle took place in the area that was in front of the Church. It was bounded by barricades. There just weren’t enough men to defend the perimeter. They were over run, and died on their feet, defiant to the end with their smoking guns empty. These were men. They were soldiers, and politicians. They were ranchers, and pilgrims. They were refugees from an America that was growing with every passing day.
When I walked the grounds of the Alamo, every so often I paused and thought about the battle. I didn’t go in the old Mission Church, but I stayed in the open area in front of the church where the fighting was. I closed my eyes and I could very nearly see the fight, smell the burnt powder, and hear the cries. It was almost startling to see tourists when I opened my eyes again.
I thought about Jim Bowie and Captain William Travis. I thought about Davy Crockett. He had been in Congress. He came to Texas because he lost an election. He said “All of you can go to hell. As for me, I will go to Texas.” I once heard a joke about the Alamo. Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett were looking out over the walls at the 5000 Mexican soldiers marching toward the Alamo to do battle. Jim turns to Davy and says “Are we having landscaping done?” I thought it was funny when I heard it. It’s not funny now. I don’t dare close my eyes because I know 126 ghosts will be staring at me, not laughing at all.
Have you ever wondered why are no survivor accounts of the battle? Santa Anna had the few survivors, wounded men, shot. Ever wondered why there isn’t a grave yard at the Alamo? Why are there no graves to visit? There are no graves because General Santa Anna had the bodies of the defenders of the Alamo piled up and burned. There are no graves because there were not bodies to bury. Santa Anna thought that by burning the bodies he was sending a message to the Texans that he was unbeatable. He wanted them to understand that he would show no mercy and that, when he defeated them, they would be forgotten. He wanted them to believe that they would disappear from the face of the earth forever, that their families would have no body to bury. The General didn’t understand Texans at all. He didn’t realize that when he burned the bodies he turned The Alamo into a holy place.
Sam Houston and the Texans routed the Mexicans at San Jacinto. He captured General Santa Anna. In what was a controversial decision at the time, Houston spared the General. He showed Santa Anna the mercy that Santa Anna denied the defenders of the Alamo. In exchange for Houston allowing Santa Anna to live, Santa Anna signed papers recognizing Texas as an independent country, and the Lone Star republic was born.
I remember taking one last look around the area of the Alamo before I left. The place was covered with tourists. I took a quick count and found that in the area in front, there were roughly 150 tourists. I closed my eyes again. I could see the battle play out. I smelled the powder. I heard the shouts. In the predawn darkness, the Mexicans had crept toward the garrison. Two great assaults failed before a third became a human wave braking over the barricades at either end. Travis went down early. Caught in a cross fire, Texans fell like grain before scythes. Some charged the Mexicans and died. Some stood their ground and died. Bowie, sick and in the hospital, died firing his guns from his bed. Crockett died swinging his rifle like a club. It was over in an hour. In the end, they all died.
I opened my eyes to see families smiling for photos. I looked around. The ghosts faded back into my mind. I listened. All I heard was laughter. The echos of cannons and guns became the sounds of traffic. Lost in thought, I walked back to the hotel.
Just as I was about to enter the hotel, I stopped and looked back toward The Alamo. A breeze stirred. I sniffed the air. Ever so faintly, I smelled gunpowder.
March 6th was the day The Alamo fell. Remember the Alamo. It’s a holy place.
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