December 30, 1999 9:51 AM

SRU: Crockett's Last Stand

By JDCopyhack

"You all go to Hell and I'm goin' to Texas."

With those words, the bittersweet political career of Davy Crockett came to an end. Having just lost his re-
election bid for a fourth term in congress, he mounted his horse and began the long, lonely journey back to 
his farm in the green hills of Tennessee. At one time, he had aspirations of running for president, possibly 
as soon as Andrew Jackson's term ended. But now, his dreams had been shattered.

He had been used as a pawn by the present administration while congress attempted to pass an Indian Bill that 
would herd the various tribes into small parcels of land called reservations. Over the years, Davy had learned
 to respect the Indians and had earned their trust in the process. So, one day, he returned to Washington from
 a speaking engagement, stormed onto the Capitol floor, and said his piece. His opposition to the bill proved 
to be political suicide.

On the journey home, he fiddled with an idea that might help him regain some of his lost pride. Across the 
Mississippi there was a new republic forming called Texas. The settlers there were locked in a difficult 
struggle for independence with the Mexican government. Their adversary was Generalissimo Antonio Lopez de 
Santa Anna, the president of Mexico, commander of its armies, and the self-proclaimed Napoleon of the West.

Davy had learned of the troubles taking place in Texas during the latter stages of his congressional term. 
While Washington had not officially come out in support of the burgeoning republic, many Americans had already 
joined the fight for freedom. In return, the Texican government had promised land to any man who came to bear 
arms against the Mexican menace.

By the time Davy returned to his home, the plan was all mapped out. He would ride into Texas amidst much 
fanfare, a savior among mere men, and would negotiate a truce with Santa Anna, perhaps over a bottle of 
Tennessee's finest sour mash. After all, for all of his acclaim as an Indian fighter, his gift of gab was 
still his greatest asset. In return for his efforts, the grateful Texicans would elect Davy president of the
 new republic. Now nearing 50 years old, he figured this might be his last chance at regaining his faded 
glory.

Soon, Davy kissed his wife goodbye and bade farewell to his children. "We'll be together soon," he told them. 
"Our new house will be settin' on more of God's green earth than your eyes could possibly see."

With that, he fixed his wide-brimmed hat atop his head and rode off with a band of 12 men, whom he called his 
"Tennessee Boys." Among them was Jericho Smith, a life-long friend, who was skeptical of Davy's plan, but 
followed him blindly as always.

"You know what I always say," Davy told his friend the night before. "Be sure you're right, then go ahead."

"I'll tell you this, Jericho. I know I'm right. I can feel it in my bones."

***
By the end of January 1836, they crossed wearily into Texas, and were greeted with rolling green hills and 
towering forests. By now, Davy had heard that the rebellion had intensified. Santa Anna himself was leading 
the Mexican forces toward the town of San Antonio de Bexar, to recapture an aging mission turned fortress 
called the Alamo, which had been lost by the Mexicans in a skirmish with the Texican rebels.

"So, where to now, Davy," Jericho asked as they made camp along a small stream running through an open forest.


"Well, seems to me that San Antonio's the place to be," he answered. "Looks like thar's going to be a fair bit
 of fightin' goin' on and I don't want to miss out on the fun."

Jericho nodded, then turned his attention to fixing a fire. While the others went hunting for food, Davy 
grabbed the tin coffeepot and headed down toward the stream, where we was greeted by an unusual sight.

There, bathing in the water, was an old man with a long white beard. Nearby stood a covered wagon with the 
words "Spells R Us - Magical Remedies For Whatever Ails You" pained in bright red letters on the over-
stretched canvas.

"How's the water, mister," Davy called out.

The old man turned around and smiled, as if expecting this moment.

"Well, I see you finally made it. I wasn't sure how long that snow storm near Little Rock was going to hold 
you up."

"You been followin' me, mister?" Davy snarled. "Cause if yer fixin' to do something funny, I'd think twice if 
I was you. My boys are just itchin' fer a fight."

"Oh, trust me, I mean you no harm," the old man said stepping out of the stream, wringing water from his 
beard. "In fact, I came here to help you."

"You want to help? Why don't you start by puttin' some clothes on?"

"Oh my, I nearly forgot. I must look quite the sight. Please, give me a moment."

With that, the old man closed his eyes and did a slow pirouette. As he turned, a tattered blue bathrobe 
materialized upon his slender frame.

"There, that's better. Please, sit down, Mr. Crockett."

Davy simply stared in amazement. Nothing he had ever seen compared to what just took place before his very 

"Do not be afraid, Davy. May I call you Davy?"

Yeah, sure, some people call me that."

"I know how hard this past year has been for you," the old man continued. "Especially after that ugly mess in 
congress. To be honest, I never could stand politicians. And now you feel that your best years are behind you.
 You see the gray in your hair, feel the creak in your bones. You feel time is passing you by, don't you, 
Davy?"

"How do you know all this?"

"You see, Davy, I'm a wizard. Now tell me how I can help you."

Davy pondered the situation. He had heard about the witches who practiced the black arts in the foothills of 
the Tennessee mountains. But those were just yarns his daddy told him to work up a good scare around the 
campfire.

"There's no such thing as wizards, old man. Why don't you finish up yer business and get goin'. Yer runnin' 
outta daylight."

"I know it's hard for you to believe, Davy. But tell me, what do you have to lose by believing in me? If I am 
just a crazy old man like you think, then you will be no worse off than you are now. But if I am telling the 
truth..."

"You know what, old man? I don't believe a thing you are telling me. But I'll play along if it'll jes get you 
outta here that much quicker."

"Good. Now tell me, what is it you seek in Texas? It can't be fame, because you're better known than even the 
president. Fortune? From what I know, money has never been a concern of yours. So, what then? Redemption?"

The old man had struck a nerve.

"I've already done more things than most men even dream about. But..."

"Go on, Davy."

"I'm not much of a fightin' man anymore. I mean, I'm still a good shot, the best around, but I'd much rather 
talk myself outta a skirmish than shoot my way outta one."

"I see," the wizard said, still twisting water out of his long beard.

"I figure if I can jes get Santy Anna alone for a few minutes, I can talk some reason into him. Jes like I did
 with the Creek Indians."

"Now we're getting somewhere," the wizard replied, cleaning his ears with a cloth. "May I ask what's stopping 
you?"

"Well, let's face it, he's surrounded by thousands of soldiers. I'm sure to get cut low before I get a chance 
to talk with him."

"So, it seems to me then, that what you need is to be assured of a safe, private meeting with Santa Anna."

"Yes, that's it exactly."

"Well, Davy, I have just the thing."

The wizard lifted himself to his feet and stepped back towards the covered wagon. He rummaged through a trunk 
for a few minutes before returning with an odd-looking fur cap with a tail.

"Here, Davy, this will help."

Davy took the object and stared at it. It seemed to stare right back through two eye sockets fixed on the 
front.

"A hat?"

"Not just any hat, Davy, but a COONSKIN cap. Trust me, someday this will be all the rage."

Davy removed his wide-brimmed hat, but as he attempted to put the coonskin cap atop his head, the wizard 
interjected.

"Not yet! You must wait to put it on until you are fully prepared to meet with Santa Anna. Only then will the 
magic work."

"Okay. How much ya askin' fer it?"

"How about we make a trade? The cap for your knife?"

Crockett reached down toward his beltline and removed the blade from its sheath. The knife had been a present 
from his father, who made it for him shortly after Davy was born. The younger Crockett used it for the first 
time when he was only three years old to kill a bear that had attacked the family's livestock.

"In the fading sunlight, Crockett looked at the reflection that stared back at him from the silver blade. What
 he saw was an old man, once filled with purpose, now seemingly lost in the wilderness. Perhaps this cap would
help him regain the confidence and tenacity of his youth.

"You got yerself a deal!"

The wizard took the knife, admired it, and then walked back to the covered wagon where he stored it safely in 
the same wooden trunk that had produced the coonskin cap. When he returned, he held out his hand and wished 
Davy well.

"Now, you better be going, Davy. Your friends are bound to come looking for you, and quite honestly, I prefer 
not to be seen by anyone else."

"I understand. 'Sides, I'm getting kinda hungry anyway."

Davy turned and started back towards camp. After a few steps, he looked back.

The wizard and covered wagon were gone.

***
Davy and his Tennessee Boys enlisted in the Texican army as volunteers and arrived at the Alamo on February 8,
 1836. Leading a force of over 4,000 battle-tested soldiers, Santa Anna arrived two weeks later and 
immediately took up residence in the opulent home of the town's mayor.

Constructed of adobe, the Alamo was anything but fit for battle. Its vast expanse, crumbling walls, and lack 
of parapets would make it difficult to defend for even for an army five times the size of the 186-man Texican 
garrison. Yet, for 12 days, they persevered under constant bombardment by Santa Anna's cannons. But after a 
dozen nights, Colonel William Barret Travis, who had assumed total command of the garrison after Jim Bowie 
took ill, gathered his men in the main plaza.

Explaining that reinforcements would not be coming and that defeat was imminent, he drew a line in the cold,
 hard ground with his saber and appealed to each man to step across the line and join him in a fight to the 
death. All but two men crossed the line. One, a sickly Bowie, asked to be carried across the line as the 
garrison cheered. The other, a man named Moses Rose, who had fought with Napoleon at Waterloo, was not as 
gallant. Later that evening, he scaled the walls and disappeared into the night only to spend the rest of his
 life defending his cowardice.

***
As the night dragged on, an eerie silence fell over the fortress. For the first time since the siege began, 
the Mexican cannons were quiet. Exhausted, the Alamo defenders lapsed into a deep slumber. All, that is, 
except for Davy, who fumbled through his pack until he found the coonskin cap. The time had come to test the 
old man's magic.

He removed his wide-brimmed hat and laid it besides the trusty long rifle he named "Betsy." His old friend, 
Jericho, slept nearby, and Davy glanced in his direction before scaling the low palisade fence he had been 
assigned to defend. Slipping the coonskin cap onto his head, he felt an odd tingle that swept through his 
entire body. It startled him at first, but soon he regained his composure and crept slowly toward the Mexican 
camp.

The first hint that something was not quite right came when he looked down to see his pant legs fusing 
together then change colors, from a dirty tan to a vibrant swirl of orange, yellow, and blue. The material, 
now made of soft pleated cotton rather than animal skin, billowed out as if to form a woman's dress. Next to 
be affected was his coat, which turned a satiny white with a neckline that plunged toward his swelling chest. 
The increasing heaviness alarmed him and Davy looked down to see an ample bosom.

More changes followed, each quicker than the last. His hair became long, black, and lustrous. His hands became
 thin and feminine. He felt a gnashing of bone as his body shrank and reformed. His hips flared, waist 
narrowed. His movements became more fluid. Even his skin changed from a pasty white to a creamy shade of 
olive.

Despite the many changes and the confusion swirling about his brain, Davy continued toward the Mexican camp. 
Suddenly, he doubled over in pain as he felt a sharp tug in his groin. A gust of cold wind lifted the cap from
 his head and blew if beyond reach into the dark prairie. Still he moved forward, feeling better with each 
step.

Suddenly, he was confronted by a Mexican sentry and was startled at how tall he seemed.

"What are you doing here," the sentry asked.

"I am here to see His Excellency," Davy answered, surprised at the softness of his voice. Equally surprising 
was how fluent his Spanish had become.

"Ah, yes, I was told that the General would be entertaining tonight. Please excuse me and I will summon his 
valet."

As the moments passed, Davy marveled at how easily he was able to secure an audience with Santa Anna. Soon, 
they would be laughing it up and wondering what all the fuss was about.

"You are late," a man said as he emerged from the darkness. "We must hurry. His Excellency is running out of 
time."

As the man showed Davy to Santa Anna's quarters, he again marveled at how tall his escort was, especially 
since he had heard the Mexicans were a fairly small people.

The valet opened the door and ushered Davy inside a lavish sitting room.

"Please, sit," he said, pointing to a red velvet couch. "His Excellency will be with you shortly."

Davy scanned the room. It spoke of wealth and power. This Santa Anna must be quite full of himself, he 
thought. Tired of waiting for his host, he rose from the couch and explored the room. At first, he was 
bothered by the annoying swish of the dress he wore, but now he seemed more comfortable in the fabric. The 
same could be said for the breasts that adorned his chest. They were large and heavy, but again, he seemed to 
adjust quite naturally.

Across the room he spied a mirror. What he saw in the reflection took his breath away. Instead of seeing the 
weathered face of an aging frontiersman, he gazed upon the lovely visage of a Mexican senorita, not much more 
than 17 years old. Davy gasped at the sight of full, red lips and wide, smoldering eyes. The black hair 
cascaded down upon his shoulders and framed his face beautifully. Stepping backwards to get a fuller look, he 
noticed a most voluptuous body.

With his now feminine hands tipped with red nails that matched the shade of his lips, he reached towards his
face and felt the silky skin where just moments before there had been a two-week growth of beard. Examining 
further, he cupped his full breasts and rubbed them gently. The sensation he generated brought an unexpected 
smile to his face.

"What happened," he wondered aloud as he continued to gaze upon the beautiful young woman he had become. But 
as he searched his brain for clues, he found few answers. His search was soon interrupted by the sounds of a 
door opening and boots clomping heavily on the tile floor. He turned quickly to see Santa Anna dressed in full
 military regalia.

"Please, join me on the couch," he said in a gentlemanly tone. Davy easily obliged.

"Would you care for some wine, my dear," Santa Anna asked, reaching for a bottle and two glasses that had been 
left on the table behind him.

"Yes, that would be lovely," Davy answered, amazed at his breathy response.

"You may call me Antonio. What is your name?"

Davy searched the deep recesses of his memory, but the answer was not what he expected.

"My name is Maria Consuela de la Pena."

The general moved closer.

"That is such a pretty name, but not as pretty as you."

Putting his glass down, he placed an arm around the new woman and gently guided her to the next room, where a 
stately bed awaited them. There, in the soft glow of candlelight, whatever last shred of his previous life 
Davy was holding onto disappeared forever. Gone was the man of frontier legend, replaced by a young woman who 
skillfully and instinctively brought pleasure to the most powerful man in Mexico.

Santa Anna had never been with such a passionate woman. For the next hour, he felt the warm embrace of her 
full lips upon his throbbing member and suckled her bountiful breasts. And when he finally entered her, it was 
if this moment had been pre-ordained. Each powerful thrust was greeted with a loving kiss, a gentle caress, an 
excitable moan. And by the time he emptied himself inside her, he knew he had found his soulmate. They 
remained entwined in each other's warm embrace until a knock on the door signaled an end to the tryst.


"General, it's time."

***
The peace of the pre-dawn hours soon gave way to chaos with the blood-curdling sound of the "Deguello," the 
Mexican signal that no mercy would be given. As the trumpets blared, four columns of Mexican soldiers stormed 
the Alamo from all sides. Awakened at his post along the southern palisade, Jericho Smith grabbed his rifle 
and leaped into action.

"Let's give 'em what fer, Davy."

There was no response.

Jericho fired into the darkness and soon, the first wave was repelled. As the Texicans cheered, Jericho looked
 to his right expecting to see his old friend. Instead, all he saw were the familiar wide-brimmed hat and 
prized rifle. With little time to speculate on his friend's fate, Jericho put on the hat and took hold of the
 rifle, hoping that Davy's marksmanship would somehow rub off.

Within minutes, the Mexicans again stormed the Alamo, only to be set back a second time. But during the third 
assault, a breech opened up in the northern wall of the compound. The Mexicans flooded into the main plaza and
 overwhelmed the outnumbered defenders. The Alamo had fallen.

***
Though his troops had suffered over 600 casualties, Santa Anna entered the main gate of the vanquished 
fortress to rousing cheers. "Viva Santa Anna," his men shouted as the sun rose high in the sky. Before 
drinking to his victory, he asked to see the bodies of the Alamo commanders. Travis died at the north wall, a 
single bullet wound marked his forehead. Bowie was found on his cot inside the chapel, his body pierced by 
more than a dozen bayonets.

Soon after inspecting the corpses and ordering them burned, the general was summoned back to the main plaza.
 There, amidst his troops, were seven defenders who had survived the battle and surrendered. Among them was a
 man wearing a unique, wide-brimmed hat.

Jericho's mountain instincts had served him well during the battle. After the Mexicans had broken through, he 
bravely fought his way to the long barracks, where he and several others stood their ground, picking off the 
Mexicans one-by-one as they entered the narrow quarters. But gunpowder and bullets were scarce, and soon the 
remaining defenders ran out of both.

A compassionate Mexican officer, perhaps sickened by the carnage his army had wreaked, offered the protection 
of surrender. Jericho and the others had little choice but to accept his terms and were paraded out into the 
open. On more than one occasion throughout the siege, Davy had climbed atop the Alamo's highest wall and 
dared the army to attack. He even fired off several volleys, killing more than a few Mexicans. Now, still 
wearing his friend's distinctive hat, Jericho was mistaken for the famous frontiersman.

"Kwockety," the Mexican soldiers whispered as Jericho stood and stared at Santa Anna. He decided to play the 
part as best he could.

"General, my name is Davy Crockett. I'm a congressman..."

"Silence," Santa Anna commanded. "I did not order anyone to take prisoners."

With that, he turned his back and waved his hand.

"Kill them all!"

***
Maria Consuela awoke sometime around noon, oblivious to the battle that had raged hours earlier. That night
 she would make love to Santa Anna again, just as she would for each of his remaining nights in San Antonio. 
In return, Santa Anna showered her with gifts of silver, turquoise, and perfume. To many, she would seem to 
be a prostitute, trading sexual favors for expensive trinkets. But the truth was, Santa Anna had fallen in 
love with the young beauty and she felt the same way. She was intoxicated by his power, yet entranced by the 
gentle, loving way he treated her. No man had ever made her feel this way before.

"I will return for you," he said before leaving San Antonio to continue his crusade. "You will love Mexico 
City. I shall build a palace in your honor."

As he kissed her hand gently, visions of adoring crowds lauding the mighty conqueror and his new bride filled 
his imagination. Then, he wiped a tear from her cheek and mounted his horse. Maria Consuela continued to sob 
as Santa Anna and his army disappeared beyond the horizon.

Several weeks later, Santa Anna's army was defeated at San Jacinto. In return for his freedom, he agreed to 
recognize Texas as an independent republic. He never returned to San Antonio.

***
In the days and weeks that passed, Maria Consuela discovered the irony of her situation. She was happy that 
Texas had achieved the independence her people had fought so hard for, yet she grieved for the loss of the 
only man she ever loved. But, time has a way of healing all wounds. In the years that followed, more settlers
 flocked to San Antonio. One, a young man named Will Purdy, captured her heart. Soon they were married.

***
Maria Consuela died in 1898 at the age of 79. At her graveside, she was eulogized as a woman who had 
persevered through the most turbulent of times to emerge as a loving wife, mother, and grandmother. For 50 
years, she provided loving support to her husband, who she was now buried next to in a small plot of land at 
the far end of the spacious ranch they had built together. She taught her three daughters the flowing 
movements of the festive Mexican dances and how to embroider their own clothes, and she raised two strapping 
sons, who both went on to serve as Texas Rangers.

There could be no finer tribute, the wizard thought as he watched the ceremony from a nearby hilltop. Though 
the legend of Davy Crockett would grow to mythic proportions with the passing of time, the legacy of Maria 
Consuela would live on in the hearts, minds, and traditions of her family.

Redemption? Let history be the judge.

***
Author's Notes: Contrary to popular belief and cinematic presentation, there is no historical evidence that 
suggests Davy Crockett ever wore anything even resembling a coonskin cap (sorry Walt, Fess, and Duke). 
However, according to Mexican accounts published following the battle, there is ample evidence to suggest that
Crockett surrendered and was later executed. Thus the facts behind my fiction.