Eyes of Eagles

Thirty-seven

The Ninth Day

March 2, 1836

Although the men of the Alamo never knew it, those delegates meeting at Washington-on-the-Brazos, on this date, officially rejected the Mexican constitution of 1824 and with a rousing cheer, adopted the Declaration of Independence, declaring Texas to be a Republic.

Had they somehow by magic learned of that decision, Davy Crockett would have more than likely spat on the ground and said, “Why, hellfire! We done that a week and a half ago! You boys is suckin’ hind tit!”

Or words to that effect.

The bombardment from the Mexican cannon continued without letup. Miraculously, despite all the hundreds of shells that had dropped all around and inside the mission, none of the defenders had been killed and only a few had been wounded, none of them seriously.

Travis had given the order: “Save your powder, boys. Don’t bother returning the fire. We’ll need everything we’ve got when...” He stumbled over the last words. “... the time comes.”

Bowie called Jamie to his quarters. Jamie was shocked at the man’s appearance. Bowie had lost weight and his eyes were deep-set in his head. He looked much older than his years. He handed Jamie several sheets of paper.

“Commit it to memory, lad,” Bowie requested. “Just in case something happens to your pouch. Sit down over there by the light and read it over and over. I’ll rest while you’re doing that. I am so damned tired!”

Bowie was dying.

Jamie committed the pages to memory over the rasping breathing of Jim Bowie. Sam walked over to his master and covered him with a thin blanket.

“He’s asleep, now, Mr. Jamie. He might not wake up for hours. Them pages you read, was they most eloquent?”

“Yes, Sam. They were very eloquent.”

“I knowed they would be. He mutters in his sleep a lot after he writes. Words like liberty and freedom and abouts how the men of this garrison gonna shed they blood for all Texas to be free. He can speak right good when he puts his mind to it.”

“You like him, don’t you, Sam?”

“He don’t beat me none.”

Jamie arched an eyebrow at that simple statement of loyalty and devotion. “Stay out of the fight, Sam. Stay clear out of it and when it’s over, head for the high country and live out your life as a free man.”

“We’ll see,” the freed slave said.

Jamie stepped out of the sick room and walked across the plaza. His patience was now wearing thin. While he no longer felt like a traitor because of his orders to leave the fort when the battle was nigh, he felt helpless locked inside the walls. And he was outraged that these brave men had been abandoned to die. He paused at Travis’s hail from his quarters, changed direction, and walked over to the colonel.

“Yes, sir?”

“Bonham should be back tomorrow. I’m sending Smith out tomorrow night. You’d better go with him, Jamie.”

“Is that an order, sir?”

Travis hesitated. “Ah... no, Jamie. It isn’t. But I feel that Santa Anna will not wait much longer. For some reason, March sixth keeps creeping into my mind. I am not a man much given to premonition, Jamie, and have told no one else that.”

“I won’t repeat it, sir.”

“I want you out of here no later than midnight on the fifth, Jamie. And that is an order. Those dispatches in your pouch will be our last farewells to the outside world.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“You saw Bowie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“His condition?”

“Worse. He’s very weak.”

Travis nodded, and then left when he was called by a work party along the log-reinforced south wall by the church.

“March the sixth,” Jamie muttered. “Well, maybe the colonel is wrong.”

He wasn’t.