Lesson 64: Army Marches to Estrada - Battle of Concepcion
The army, now increased to about 1200, remained but a few days on the Salado after the affair of the Powder-House, taking up the line of march for the old ruinous mission of Espada, on the river San Antonio, eight miles below the city. In our ranks were now many men, whose names afterwards became household words with old Texans, and some of whose deeds thrilled the world with admiration and wonder.
In addition to the three patriots, Houston, Austin and Summerville, mentioned in my sketch of the battle of the Powder-House, there were the following, (Many members of the "consultation," left at the Salado; but some went with the army to Espada.), viz: James Bowie, William B. Travis, Branch T. Archer, William T. Austin, (the present incumbent of the marshalship,) Frank W. Johnston, the brave but unfortunate Grant, the gallant but ill-fated Fannin, (then Captain of a company from Fort Bend, called the "Brazos Guards,") Edward Burleson, Capt. Coleman, the after wards noted spies, Deaf Smith and Henry Carnes, and, if my memory serves me, the two Whartons, John and William--the latter the father of the illustrious young General, who has so greatly distinguished himself in Kentucky and Tennessee--with many others whose names are equally dear to old Texans, but whose deeds are less known to fame.
The ruins of the Mission Espada offering but little protection to our troops, and being too far distant from San Antonio, the scene of our contemplated operations, and the corn on the irrigated bottom lands being more abundant higher up the river, volunteers were called for to look out a place of encampment for the army nearer the city. In a short time eighty two mounted men from different companies, but now under the nominal command of Bowie and Fannin, were on the march up the river, with orders to select a good camping ground within a short distance of the city and Alamo, but out of range of the enemy's artillery on the walls of the latter. As we silently wended our way along the narrow road that followed the serpentine course of the stream, we caught occasional glimpses of the mounted sentinels of the enemy, each of whom, after taking a hurried glance at our cavalcade, would dash off into the musquite bushes that lined our way on one hand or the other, and be out of sight in an instant. All thought these alert horsemen were but the out-riders of a large force that would presently attack us at some favorable spot on the route. But, pressing steadily on, and passing through the dilapidated walls and thatched hovels that surrounded the Missions of Saint Joseph and Saint John, we reached, by noon, without molestation, a remarkable bend of the river, five hundred yards west of the venerable Mission Concepcion, and and a little over a mile below the city and the Alamo. About two o'clock that evening, a Mexican, in citizen's garb, entered our encampment, leading a mule laden with pelencies, (Sugar put up in one and two pound cakes for convenience of carriage, and tastes much like maple sugar.) to barter to our men. Many of us suspected that this Mexican was a spy, sent in by Coss to ascertain our numbers and position, and some communicated their thoughts to our officers. But, as the fellow told a plausible tale, and had brought a couple of bottles of muscat wine, a present, as he represented, from a Roman Catholic priest in the city to his friend, General Austin, and as our orders were not to molest friendly citizens, he was permitted to return unharmed, so soon as he had disposed of his sugar. In one hour after this emissary left, our camp was beset in front by the Mexican cavalry, and light skirmishing was kept up between them and our sharp-shooters until dark. At night a consultation was held, at which it was determined that our situation was extremely perilous, hemmed in as we were by unknown numbers of the enemy. In this emergency it was evidently necessary that Gen. Austin, with the main body of the army at Espada, should be apprised of our situation. It was a dangerous undertaking to run the gauntlet of the enemy's horsemen in the dark. Several, however, offering their services, one Colonel McComb was eventually chosen for the seemingly hazardous and forlorn enterprise. Bidding us all a solemn farewell, the gallant soldier mounted his steed, and, crossing the river at a ford just below the bend in which we were encamped, he arrived safely at headquarters at midnight.
Our mess-fires being extinguished, horses tied up, and sentinels posted, each man laid on his arms, or, with rifle in hand, sat at the foot of a tree and nodded until day-break. At this hour, however, there was so dense a fog, that a man could not be seen at the distance of forty feet. Under cover of the fog, the enemy suddenly dashed in near our tents, and drove off fiteen or twenty of our horses that had been turned loose to graze. It was at this moment that Henry Carnes performed the unequalled feat of killing three of the Mexican cavalry at one discharge of his fowling piece. He was on guard at the bend of the river above camps, toward the Alamo; and as the squadron charged past him, he gave them his "broadside," and, by dint of hard running, through the bushes on the river bank, he got safely into camps, with his clothing, however, riddled with balls, and his powder-horn split wide open by a bullet striking it on the head.
So soon as the fog lifted a little, three of the men were sent across the mesquite plain in our front, with directions to station themselves on top of the Mission Concepcion, and, with flags, to give us warning of the movements of the enemy, or the long-wished-for approach of our army from Espada. (These three men remained in the cupola of the mission during the whole of the fight, without being discovered by the enemy.) From these look-outs, we soon ascertained that a large force of infantry, with one piece of artillery, were at the rancho across the river, in our rear, preparing to attack us. At this moment, also, four or five hundred cavalry came thundering down the road from the Alamo, and very deliberately took position, in two lines, across our front, and between us and our three friends in the cupola of the mission. Young reader, would you not have thought that we were a band of old Texans nicely caught in the toils of an artful and savage foe, with seven hundred infantry and artillery, and an unfordable river, save at the point commanded by the enemy, in our rear, and a forest of lances in our front? Be patient, however, and you shall soon learn what a few determined men can, with the help of God, accomplish in a good cause against, apparently, overwhelming numbers.
The cavalry had but barely posted themselves in our front, with their crimson flags now seen dancing in the morning breeze, and their bright lance points glittering in the rising sun-light, when our comrades in the cupola (Four or five of the enemy were shot in the back by these men in the cupola.) telegraphed us that the force in our rear was moving toward the ford before mentioned. In order to meet this demonstration of the enemy, our line was extended in open order from the camp down toward the ford, where the stream ran straight. By this change of position, our line was brought parallel with, and in twenty paces of that of the foe whenever he should cross and face toward the point of the bend where their spy had left us the previous evening. That is, we moved down the stream, and our enemy would soon be marching in the contrary direction--up the stream--past us, toward the spot where they imagined we were yet encamped. The Mexicans would be in the open prairie. We were posted at the edge of the timber and prairie, behind a kind of second embankment of the river, and were invisible to our foes, although they were, presently, marching parallel with us, and in fiteen or twenty paces of the muzzles of our concealed rifles. With our hack-knives we soon cut away the vines and bushes that covered our natural breast-works, and dug steps in the earthen wall, that we might the more easily reach the top to fire. In this position, we quietly awaited the enemy's advance, with orders from Bowie to reserve our fire until the head of the Mexican column should pass the lower end of our line, when he would give the signal to fire. The brave Fannin also addressed the men in cheering words, cautioning us to "keep cool," and take deliberate aim. While the gallant little Coleman, and other experienced Indian fighters, charged us to aim at the enemy's officers and artillery men, and to bear in mind that it was victory or death.
These dispositions of our men were barely made, when the foe was seen crossing the river, with the cannon in front, unlimbered, (Field artillery are mounted on four wheels. When going into action, they are "unlimbered," that is uncoupled, the gun remaining on the hind wheels, and the caisson, or ammunition box, in the rear, on the fore wheels, the ammunition being taken to the men at the gun, now in front, by what is called the powder monkey--a man, or boy, very often.) and ready for action, while the infantry behind, formed in what seemed a square, as fast as they reached our side of the stream. Raising a sort of Indian yell, on they came--infantry and artillery--past the lower end of our line, all the while pouring an incessant fire into the encampment we had just left. The piece of artillery had probably reached the center of our line, halting at intervals, and sending its tempest of grape past us into the bend, when the signal was given, and our shot-guns and rifles poured their leaden showers into the ranks of the astounded enemy.
The Mexican infantry was instautly thrown into confusion by the first scathing volley, and by the time our boys had given them three more, equally deadly and well-directed, their ranks were almost irretrievably disordered. O! for one single charge, at that moment, of the thousand brave horsemen we had left at Espada, and whose banners we had vainly expected to see fluttering over the hills, behind the old mission, every minute during that long--long morning. But they came not in time, and we must fight the battle without them.
The Mexican nine-pounder, being manned by veterans of the celebrated Tampico regiment, still advanced, and sent its canister hurtling into the bend, with the caisson drawn by six mules, with a rider on each, a short distance in the rear of the gun. In less time, however, than you could count twenty, every rider was shot dead from his mule. So complete was the confusion of the infantry, the riderless animals, now frantic from wounds, wheeled about with the caisson, and at headlong speed dashed through the already deranged ranks, killing and maiming as they went, and cutting a clean, wide lane through the living masses. Several of the Mexican artillerists had by this time fallen, and in ten minntes after the mules ran off with the caisson. sixteen out of seventeen of that brave band were prostrated. The seventeenth and last, in attempting to spike the gun, was also instantly shot down, falling across the trail of the piece, with the spike grasped in his hand. Now, young reader, for the first time in life, the writer heard a genuine Texas yell. We had hitherto fought in silence, but now, as we rushed to take possession of the unmanned gun, and turned its muzzle on the infantry, by this time retreating toward the ford they had crossed, one long, loud yell spontaneously broke forth from all, its sound reverberating through the dark corridors of the old mission, startling thousands of bats (At that day, these nondescripts were to be found in tens of thousands in those deserted churches.) that nestled in their crevices; and being taken up by our three comrades on the top, were echoed and re-echoed along the line of river timber till they died away in the distance.
The battle was now evidently over. The cavalry were, however, still in our front, but as they had been placed there merely to transfix us with their long lances, when we should be driven to the plain by the artillery and infantry, they took no part in the fight save a harmless fire at long range, from their scopetts. (The young reader is no doubt, by this time, anxious to know what sort of a fire-arm the scopett (I spell it as generally pronounced by old Texans) is. It was a short, large bored gun, made for horsemen; and the lock, after the old Moorish fashion, resembled steel traps more than the gun locks of this day.) If ammunition had been left with the cannon, we might now have driven off these redoubtable lancers also with loss; but on examination but three round of grape were found with the gun, and these we reserved for use in case the discomfitted enemy should rally again to the fight. Very soon, however, those showy horsemen were very glad to scamper off the way they came, and leave us alone in our glory, for the rear of their infantry had scarcely recrossed at the ford when a cloud of dust and the waving of the Lone Star Flag on the high hill back of the mission, the spot to which our little troop had so often looked for help that morning, announced the rapid approach of our army from Espada. At full speed, on came the dark squadrons, the solid plain tremulous, as it were, with the galloping of the thousand steeds, and vengeance flashed in the eyes of every rider. They had heard the Mexican cannon, and no commands could restrain them from rushing on to avenge, as they supposed, the massacre of the little band that had left the previous evening. In a moment, they were among us, as much surprised as ever men were at seeing the captured gun with its blood-stained wheels, and the ground strewn with dead and wounded Mexicans. Now, again the yell that has so often stricken with fear the hearts of freedom's foes, burst forth in tenfold fury, from over a thousand throats, and smote the ears of our dispirited foes as they hastened to gain the shelter of the Alamo. Many of the enemy's dead were borne off the field, three being found in the ford of the river, drawn thither, with ropes about their feet, by their comrades. Still, several wounded, and sixty or seventy dead were left on the ground. A Roman Catholic priest, the same man that sent the wine to General Austin, (That Mexican, with his wine and sugar, was sent by Gen. Coss, as we afterwards found out, the priest knowing nothing of the present to Austin, etc.) came in that evening, with a flag of truce, and carts for the dead. This priest reported the Mexican loss at one hundred and twenty killed and wounded. Our loss was only one man (Andrews) killed, and four slightly wounded. A ball passed through Fannin's hat, grazing the scalp, and knocking him to his knees, but he rose again with a cheer, and continued the fight.
Had Austin left the Mission Espada one half hour earlier, that pleasant morning, Coss's army would have been annihilated at a single blow, and the subsequent campaign, of nearly three months, ended. The writer has never been informed of the cause of this palpable military blunder. Many of the men, however, laid all the blame on Austin, but as Texans were then a wild, ungovernable set, uninured to war and discipline, it is reasonable to conclude that a better general than the "father of Texas" confessed himself to be, would have found it impossible to get them away from camps in time to aid their comrades.