Goliad, Old John's Bar.
William Travis pushed open the bar's swinging doors, and the sharp smell of liquor and choking smoke hit him, mixed with the stink of feet and cheap perfume.
The soldiers were enjoying themselves with the prostitutes, while the crowd writhed wildly to the lively music.
The soldiers hoisted the prostitutes onto their shoulders. The brazen women didn't care that their charms were on full display. Everyone was still basking in the joy of victory. Goliad, San Antonio, and even Texas now belonged to them.
Just three months earlier, they had wiped out a Mexican garrison of forty men and successfully seized Goliad.
But now Santa Anna was about to arrive with an army of eight thousand Mexican soldiers. If they counted the stragglers gathered along the way, the newly recruited Black slaves, and the Native Americans, the total would likely exceed ten thousand.
William Travis was troubled. He wanted to find James Bowie, the volunteer forces' commander, at once.
As William Travis searched inside, he also had to dodge the drunks and prostitutes who might crash into him at any moment. The damp floor beneath his feet was coated in grease and rum, and he nearly slipped.
William Travis shouted, "Colonel James Bowie, are you here? I'm Colonel William Travis. I need to talk to you."
But no one answered. Furious, William Travis drew the pistol from his belt and fired twice at the ceiling.
"Bang! Bang!" The shots silenced the noisy crowd, but the circular chandelier holding the candles came crashing down from the ceiling, knocking a drunk flat.
"Get him out of here. Who's James Bowie?"
A dwarf raised his hand. William Travis asked, puzzled, "Are you James Bowie?"
The dwarf shook his head quickly and replied, "Colonel Bowie is upstairs, but I don't think he wants you disturbing him."
William Travis grew irritated. "I'm Colonel William Travis, the highest-ranking military commander here. I want to see him now."
The dwarf shrugged and pointed upstairs.
William Travis angrily strode to a room on the second floor and kicked the door open. He found Colonel Bowie in the middle of something unspeakable, so he had to close the door and wait outside.
About three minutes later, Colonel Bowie opened the door.
"Colonel William Travis, sorry for the wait."
"Not long. Just three minutes."
They exchanged awkward smiles, but somehow, they had grown considerably closer.
"Let's talk in another room and give her a chance to rest," Colonel Bowie suggested.
James Bowie was less famous than the knife he had invented. The knife, with its upturned tip and handguard, would later be known as the Bowie Knife—the kind of American military knife we see most often.
James Bowie and William Travis went to the kitchen. Bowie picked up two cups and handed one to Travis.
"Have a drink first. You can't talk with a dry throat."
Then Bowie opened a bottle of rum and poured a cup for Travis and one for himself.
Travis pushed his cup away. "I don't drink. Those people outside are in no shape to fight. And I have bad news for you: no one is coming to save us. Santa Anna has brought ten thousand men, and we have only two colonels and two hundred soldiers."
"Oh, I've heard. So what if it's ten thousand?" Bowie downed his drink without a care.
"We don't have enough soldiers or weapons. We've got only three cannons, old relics the Mexicans left behind."
"Believe me, Travis. The Mexicans' cannons won't be any better than ours," Bowie said with a laugh. He knew the Mexicans were still using old Spanish relics.
"But even with my men and your volunteers, we have only two hundred. How are we supposed to stand against Santa Anna's army?"
"I'm not afraid to die. But when I do, the Mexicans will know I'm not to be trifled with. I'll tear a chunk of flesh off them, smear it with butter, and gobble it down."
James Bowie wasn't lying. He truly feared no death. Everyone who had met him praised him as a real Western cowboy, a desperado.
"But I don't want to die for nothing."
"Then hand over your command to me, good fellow. The big shots are busy figuring out how to found a country. We have to stop Santa Anna. It's that simple."
Bowie reached for Travis's cup again, but Travis snatched it away.
"I'm not afraid to die either. But Texas can't do without San Antonio. History will prove I'm right."
Travis downed the drink, then promptly choked on it.
"Not bad. You're a tough one, haha!"
"Bowie, I have a request." Travis hesitated.
"Go on. Like a man."
"I want you to keep quiet. I'm going to tell the soldiers that General Houston is on his way with two thousand reinforcements. I'm afraid those cowards will run. Our job is to buy the big shots enough time."
Bowie hesitated, then nodded.
"Fine. I won't expose you. But if anyone wants to leave, that's their choice. You can't stop them."
"Suit yourself. I don't think Houston would be stupid enough to abandon San Antonio. You and I both know how important it is to Texas. If Santa Anna takes San Antonio, he'll be invincible."
But in history, Santa Anna grew overconfident and rushed ahead after the Battle of the Alamo. He was eventually ambushed by Houston's militia, led by the settler Houston, and all his efforts came to nothing. Santa Anna himself was forever nailed to the pillar of shame.
A day later, the American legend David Crockett arrived in Goliad with twenty Tennessee volunteers.
According to legend, David Crockett could tear apart a pack of wolves with his bare hands, wrestle a grizzly bear, hold off an attack by three hundred Native American warriors single-handedly, and thwart a British plot to assassinate the American president all on his own.
Such a legendary figure was also the only American officer to surrender to Santa Anna during the Battle of the Alamo.
Historically, the twenty Tennessee volunteers led by David Crockett were the last reinforcements to reach the Alamo.
But in fact, an army of four hundred was stationed just over ten kilometers from the Alamo, led by Colonel Maning.
Yet these men neither went to Travis's aid at the Alamo nor obeyed Houston's order to leave San Antonio and join the main force.
They stood by and watched the Alamo defenders perish, then became the target of Santa Anna's wrath.
Their only role in history was to leave Santa Anna with a reputation for massacring prisoners.
A thousand volunteers had just set out from Boston, but they wouldn't arrive for another two months.