The smoke from so much firing
drifted about in banks and clouds, and it gave forth the pungent odor of
burned gunpowder.
The boy knew not only that the Alamo had fallen, but that all of its
defenders had fallen with it. The knowledge was instinctive. He had been
with those men almost to the last day of the siege, and he had
understood their spirit.
He was not noticed in the crush. Santa Anna and the generals were
running into the church, and he followed them. Here he saw the Texan
dead, and he saw also a curious crowd standing around a fallen form. He
pressed into the ring and his heart gave a great throb of grief.
It was Crockett, lying upon his back, his body pierced by many wounds.
Ned had known that he would find him thus, but the shock, nevertheless,
was terrible. Yet Crockett's countenance was calm. He bore no wounds in
the face, and he lay almost as if he had died in his bed. It seemed to
Ned even in his grief that no more fitting death could have come to the
old hero.
Then, following another crowd, he saw Bowie, also lying peacefully in
death upon his cot. He felt the same grief for him that he had felt for
Crockett, but it soon passed in both cases. A strange mood of exaltation
took its place.
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