Bowie escorted Crockett to Bexar’s main plaza, where a large crowd had by now gathered. A speech was naturally in order. Crockett’s hell-and-Texas story was greeted with enthusiasm, and he finished it with a democratic flourish. ‘I have come to aid you all that I can in your noble cause,’ he told them. ‘I shall identify myself with your interests, and all the honor I desire is that of defending as a high private, in common with my fellow citizens, the liberties of our common country.’

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Crockett found quarters near the Plaza de Armas and surveyed the town, so different and exotic from what he knew, with its adobe huts, ancient missions and large Mexican population. The ditches that his new friend Bowie was so determined to defend were hardly imposing. The Alamo was a sprawling mission compound founded in 1718 by Franciscans as the mission San Antonio de Valero and converted in 1801 into a fort for Spanish troops. After the Mexican revolution of 1821, the mission had been abandoned, many of its buildings occupied by local citizens. Like most of the Spanish missions in the Southwest, there was a large rectangular plaza of about three acres lined by 9- to 12-foot stone walls. A series of rude adobe buildings formed the west wall, facing toward the town, while the east wall was marked by a two-story building called the long barracks. South of these barracks was the ruined church, with 22-foot-high walls. The roof had collapsed 60 years before. The main gate was west of the church, through a single-story building called the low barracks. Between the church and the low barracks was a 50-yard gap fortified with earth and logs. This would be the area Crockett would eventually be assigned to defend.

Although the old mission was crumbling and in disrepair, the Texans had 21 pieces of artillery of various sizes captured from General Cós. They also had a good supply of British Brown Bess muskets and 16,000 rounds of ammunition left by the Mexicans. If they could hold the Alamo, it might yet prove a rallying point for all of Texas. That was certainly Bowie’s hope.

On February 10 a grand fandango was held in Crockett’s honor. Around midnight word arrived from Placido Benavides on the Rio Grande that Santa Anna had reached the river with a large army. Bowie took the warning seriously, but his rival for command of the 150-man garrison, William Barret Travis, dismissed the report. Arguing that he was about to dance with the loveliest lady in all Bexar, Travis declared: ‘Let us dance to-night and to-morrow we will make provisions for our defense.’

The Mexican army was but 10 days away, and as the men sobered up the next morning they found Travis and Bowie in contention for command. Travis was a 27-year-old South Carolina lawyer of Byronic temperament and soaring ambition. More than perhaps any other man in Texas he had helped foment the rebellion, and now he was determined to command this frontier outpost of dubious honor. Bowie, a swashbuckling adventurer and reckless land speculator, was the most famous man-killer in the old Southwest–and had given his name to a deadly blade. Finally, by February 14, they had reluctantly agreed to share command–Bowie the volunteers and Travis the regulars.

While the Texan commanders bickered, the Mexicans rapidly advanced, crossing the Rio Grande on February 16. Santa Anna, personally humiliated by the defeat of his brother-in-law Cós in December, was determined to retake Bexar and redeem his family honor. By February 21 his advance guard was within striking distance of the Alamo, only stopped from launching a surprise attack by a rain-swollen river.

Bexar was a community in motion on the morning of February 23, with a steady stream of wagons and carts moving the citizenry out of town. A sentinel in the bell tower of the San Fernando Church soon spied the reason for the exodus–Mexican troops. Two scouts, John W. Smith and John Sutherland, rode out to investigate. They soon came galloping back, Sutherland’s horse taking a tumble along the way. Mexican cavalry was not far behind them. The Texan garrison hurriedly retreated to the doubtful sanctuary of the Alamo. ‘Poor fellows,’ a Mexican woman called out to them, ‘you will all be killed.’

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