Part 34 (1/2)

”Are they really coming?” demanded Henry Parker, who had been sleeping beside Dan, in one of the rooms of the convent.

”I reckon they are, Henry,” was the quick response, and up leaped the youth, and ran, gun in hand, to where Poke Stover was doing guard duty.

”Are they coming, Poke?”

”Yes, Dan, and plenty of 'em, too. They are divided into several divisions.”

There was no time to say more, for already one of the divisions, commanded by Colonel Duque, was attacking the northern wall. Here Lieutenant-Colonel Travis commanded in person. The commander was bareheaded, and carried a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.

”Now, boys, give it to them hot!” he shouted. ”Don't let them get over the wall. Fire to kill! Fire to save your own lives!” And then the cannon belched forth, followed by a crack-cracking of the smaller firearms. The aim of the Texans was so deadly that the column was repulsed for the moment, and Colonel Duque was seriously wounded.

By this time the divisions to attack the other sides of the mission had come up. As one column tried to raise their scaling-ladders, Davy Crockett threw his c.o.o.nskin cap at them in defiance, and laid one of the officers low with a shot from his trusty ”Betsy.” Fifty other shots rang out, and the morning air became heavy with the smoke of rifles and cannon.

”We must beat 'em back!” cried Stover, who was close to Crockett, and as the old hunter blazed away so did the frontiersman and Dan, and the youth had the satisfaction of seeing the Mexican he had aimed at go down, rope and gun in hand, shot through the ankle.

The fighting was now incessant on all sides, but gradually the Mexicans concentrated on the northern wall. They were yelling like so many demons, and their officers urged them forward by threats and sword blows, until the first rank was fairly wedged against the stone wall of the mission. A cannon belched forth, doing fearful havoc, but those in front could not retreat because of those pus.h.i.+ng behind them, and in a twinkle one Mexican soldier was piled above another, until the top of the wall was gained, and, as one authority states, they came ”tumbling over it like sheep,” falling, in some cases, directly on the bodies of the Texans below.

”The convent yard is taken!” was the cry. ”To the convent! To the hospital!” And as quickly as it could be done the Texans left the yard.

In the crowd were Dan, Stover, and Henry Parker. As the latter turned, a Mexican under-officer aimed his pistol at the young man.

”Down, Henry!” yelled Dan, but, before Parker could drop, the pistol was discharged and Henry Parker fell like a lump of lead, shot through the brain.

The sudden death of his friend made Dan spellbound, and he gazed at the corpse in horror. Then he felt his arm seized by Poke Stover, and in a minute more found himself being hurried toward the church.

”We can't do anything more,” exclaimed the old frontiersman. ”They number ten to one, and more. We are doomed, unless we can manage to escape!”

”Poor Henry!” murmured Dan, when he could speak. ”What will his mother----”

”Yes, yes, lad, I know; but we can't talk about it now. Come on.”

”To where?”

”Anywhere, away from that howling, raging mob of greasers. They'll show us no quarter.”

”Travis is dead!” said somebody who was pa.s.sing them. ”They fairly hacked him to pieces!”

As Stover and Dan ran into the church building, there was a loud report in the courtyard. The Mexicans had captured one of the cannon, and turned it upon the long ward of the hospital building, and the grape-shot laid fifteen Texans low. The Texans were now fighting from room to room of the convent, and the whole place looked like a slaughter-pen.

”To the church!” came the cry. ”To the church! Let the last stand be in the church!” The cry was taken up on all sides, and every Texan who could do so ran for the church with all possible speed. In the meantime, the stockade had been carried, and fresh Mexican soldiers were pouring over this in droves.

At the entrance to the church stood Davy Crockett, clubbed rifle in hand, and with the blood pouring from a wound in the head.

”Rally around me, boys!” he shouted. ”Don't give up! We are bound to whip 'em yet!” And as the first of the Mexicans came on, he laid two of them low with one mighty blow of his favourite ”Betsy,” that cracked the rifle in half. And, as the rifle fell, so did lion-hearted Davy Crockett, to rise no more.

With the fall of Crockett, the other Texans, especially those who had emigrated from Tennessee, fought like demons, and soon the whole church was so thick with smoke that scarcely one man could be told from another. In a side apartment lay Bowie, suffering from a fall from a platform, where he had been directing operations. As the Mexicans swarmed into the room, Bowie raised himself up and fired his pistols.

Seeing this, the Mexicans retreated, and fired on him from behind the door, killing him almost instantly.