The next day he saw the Mexicans spreading further and further about the
Alamo, and they were in such strong force that the Texans could not now
afford to go out and attack any of these bands. A light cold rain fell,
and as he was not on duty he went back to the hospital, where he sat in
silence.
He was deeply depressed and the thunder of the Mexican cannon beat upon
his ears like the voice of doom. He felt a strange annoyance at the
reports of the guns. His nerves jumped, and he became angry with himself
at what he considered a childish weakness.
Now, and for the first time, he felt despair. He borrowed a pencil and a
sheet of paper torn from an old memorandum book and made his will. His
possessions were singularly few, and the most valuable at hand was his
fine long-barreled rifle, which he left to his faithful friend, Obed
White. He bequeathed his pistol and knife to the Panther, and his
clothes to Will Allen. He was compelled to smile at himself when he had
finished his page of writing. Was it likely that his friends would ever
find this paper, or, if finding it, was it likely that any one of them
could ever obtain his inheritance? But it was a relief to his feelings
and, folding the paper, he put it in the inside pocket of his hunting
shirt.
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