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792 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1968
The land, the climate, the sense of endlessness yet constant change made all who came there hospitable, patriotic, violent, and brave. In the Indian it produced mysticism, as he wailed his death songs to the earth, the cold moon, and sun. In the Hispanic breast it made a communion with Nature, a poetry, a willingness to ride the broad vistas, pause under moss-hung oaks, and be. The Anglo had no eye for beauty, less feel for rock-ribbed soil. Yet the land was too big even for big men to develop and destroy. He fenced it, damned it, threw his cattle over it in prodigal hordes; he farmed it, and in drought and shattering hail and cold, cursed Nature and Nature's God. Yet all these acts were in their own way acts of love. The Anglo-Saxon laced his soil with his own and other men's blood; it would take his bones, and monstrous artifacts, and still remain. The sun would remain, while men must die. The moon would rise again, while civilizations fell. In the end would be the earth. Texas, under any name, would go on forever.
Buck Travis was one of those most fortunate of men; on the grim stone walls of the Alamo he had found his time and place. He was between twenty-five and twenty-seven years of age.
They divided their time among hunting, fishing, and backbreaking work, and like the pure hunter, they were crowded by more industrious neighbors. When the Indians were gone, and the country settled up, with newer, richer settlers rising all around, this class tended to sell out or move out, heading on. These men were adventurous, restless, and in terms of organized society, shiftless; but they were stubbornly proud and Calvinistic for all of that. They were freedom-loving. They scorned to work for wages or to be tenant to another man. In fact, they probably worked harder and gained less with the rifle than they might have done with the plow, and they held themselves to be equal with any man.The prose is a little purple (e.g., "grubby children" and "gaunt woman"), but it makes reading this much history really entertaining.
Again and again, the hunter-settler packed up his few belongings, his grubby children, and his gaunt woman and wandered on. He rarely changed his condition but merely repeated his former life. He carried certain dreams, and certainly a certain heartbreak, with him where he went. He tended to despise the successful gentry, the lawyers, the merchants, and their airs. This man, like the trapper before him, was a true pioneer; he helped break a savage land, but he paid a savage price. His kind made up the mass of poor whites on the Southwestern frontier.
The morality of this opening border warfare was meaningless, because morality could only be defined within a culture, never across two cultures. The moral, upstanding Comanche who lived by the laws and gods of his tribe enjoyed heaping live coals on a staked-out white man’s genitals; a moral Mexican, for a fancied insult, would slip his knife into an Anglo back. The moral Texan, who lived in peace and amity with his fellows, would bash an Indian infant's head against a tree, or gut-shoot a “greaser” if he blinked. Relations between disparate cultures were to be determined, as always, by the relative strength and weakness of each, and by the dynamic or regressive nature displayed by Anglos, Indians, and Mexicans. Relations could not be governed by individual, internal ethics or morals any more than history had been determined by such parameters in the past. The great change the frontier Texan made from the Anglo-American mainstream in these years was the real, if unarticulated, understanding that his enemies were "different."I'm not even informed enough to have opinions about whether Fehrenbach is correct with his descriptions; it is just nice to read coverage of challenging periods in American history with writing that is straight-forward and without a bunch of awkward modern throat-clearing.
Fellow Citizens and Compatriots:
I am besieged with a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual Bombardment and cannonade for 24 hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison is to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the wall. I shall never surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism, and everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due his honor and that of his country.
VICTORY OR DEATH.
William Barret Travis
LT. COL. COMD'T.