The soldiers were glad to follow.
At the far end of the church a few Texans were left, still fighting
with clubbed rifles. The Mexicans drew back a little, raised their
muskets and fired an immense shattering volley. When the smoke cleared
away not a single Texan was standing, and then the troops rushed in with
sword and bayonet.
It was nine o'clock in the morning, and the Alamo had fallen. The
defenders were less than nine score, and they had died to the last man.
A messenger rushed away at once to Santa Anna with the news of the
triumph, and he came from the shelter, glorying, exulting and crying
that he had destroyed the Texans.
Ned followed the dictator. He never knew exactly why, because many of
those moments were dim, like the scenes of a dream, and there was so
much noise, excitement and confusion that no one paid any attention to
him. But an overwhelming power drew him on to the Alamo, and he rushed
in with the Mexican spectators.
Ned passed through the sallyport and he reeled back aghast for a moment.
The Mexican dead, not yet picked up, were strewn everywhere. They had
fallen in scores. The lighter buildings were smashed by cannon balls and
shells. The earth was gulleyed and torn.
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