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217
Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth;
(I tell not the fall of Alamo,
Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo,
The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo;)
'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men.
218
Retreating, they had form'd in a hollow square, with their baggage for breastworks;
Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance;
Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone;
They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave up their arms, and march'd back prisoners of war.
219
They were the glory of the race of rangers;
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,
Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate,
Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,
Not a single one over thirty years of age.
220
The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads, and massacred—it was beautiful early summer;
The work commenced about five o'clock, and was over by eight.
221
None obey'd the command to kneel;
Some made a mad and helpless rush—some stood stark and straight;
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart—the living and dead lay together;
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt—the newcomers saw them there;
Some, half-kill'd, attempted to crawl away;
These were despatch'd with bayonets, or batter'd with the blunts of muskets;
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him;
The three were all torn, and cover'd with the boy's blood.
222
At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies:
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.