nd the bee-hunter
were mortally wounded, and I received a sabre-cut across the forehead.
The old man died without speaking, as soon as we entered the fort. We
bore my young friend to his bed, dressed his wounds, and I watched
beside him. He lay, without complaint or manifesting pain, until about
midnight, when he spoke, and I asked him if he wanted anything.
'Nothing,' he replied, but drew a sigh that seemed to rend his heart,
as he added, 'Poor Kate of Nacogdoches.' His eyes were filled with
tears, as he continued, 'Her words were prophetic, Colonel," and then
he sang in a low voice, that resembled the sweet notes of his own
devoted Kate:

'But toom cam' the saddle, all bluidy to see, And hame came the steed,
but hame never came he.'

He spoke no more, and a few minutes after died. Poor Kate, who will
tell this to thee?

The romantic bee-hunter had a sweetheart by the name of Kate in
Nacogdoches. She seems to have been a very affectionate and religious
girl. In parting, she had presented her lover with a Bible, and in
anguish of spirit had expressed her fears that he would never return
from his perilous enterprise.

The next day, Crockett simply writes, "March 5th. Pop, pop, pop! Bom,
bom, bom! throughout the day. No time for memorandums now. Go ahead!
Liberty and Independence forever."

Before daybreak on the 6th of March, the citadel of the Alamo was
assaulted by the whole Mexican army, then numbering about three
thousand men. Santa Anna in person commanded. The assailants swarmed
over the works and into the fortress. The battle was fought with the
utmost desperation until daylight. Six only of the Garrison then
remained alive. They were surrounded, and they surrendered. Colonel
Crockett was one. He at the time stood alone in an angle of the fort,
like a lion at bay. His eyes flashed fire, his shattered rifle in his
right hand, and in his left a gleaming bowie-knife streaming with
blood. His face was covered with blood flowing from a deep gash across
his forehead. About twenty Mexicans, dead and dying, were lying at his
feet. The juggler was also there dead. With one hand he was clenching
the hair of a dead Mexican, while with the other he had driven his
knife to the haft in the bosom of his foe.

The Mexican General Castrillon, to whom the prisoners had surrendered,
wished to spare their lives. He led them to that part of the fort where
Santa Anna stood surrounded by his staff. As Castrillon marched his
pri