The cannonballs ripped through the rock wall, sending bits of rock into Lieutenant-Colonel William Travis’ legs. He fell over against the cannons as the rock tore into him. It felt as though he had been stuck with hot needles, burning him as they pierced the flesh.
“Fire,” he yelled, stammering to his feet.
The cannonballs rocketed into the seemingly endless number of Mexican soldiers charging the Alamo. They were surrounded, and Colonel Travis didn’t know how much longer they would last. Could this be the end of the Republic of Texas? He wasn’t sure, and all that was left was Sam Houston and his army.
The Mexicans began to charge, climbing the Alamo walls. It was more than they would withstand. He would have to fight hand to hand.
“Fire,” he ordered. The cannon blasted away again. More Mexicans penetrated the Alamo walls. They were coming. Colonel Travis unsheathed his sword. “For Texas, and for America,” he yelled.
He turned as a sword pierced his heart. Colonel Travis grasped his chest. He staggered, turned and fell on the hot cannons, dead.