The Bravest Man in the Texian Army

 

James Austin Sylvester,
as an old man

The Texas Revolution is usually written through the perspectives of some of the big, over-the-top personalities who peopled it: Crockett, Travis, Bowie, Houston. And yet, thousands of Texian settlers, Tejano residents and American volunteers served in the armies of the Texian revolutionary cause from 1835-36. Of these ordinary soldiers, precious few of their stories are well known. This is the tale of one of them, pieced together from various sources. The story revealed in this research is an astounding one: that of a man who plays a key role in key events that bookend the Texas Revolution. And of a man that, as many would also say, was the bravest man in the Texian Army.

In one of the more obscure, but authentic accounts of the Texas Revolution, that of Creed Taylor,[1] is a story of incredible heroism in the battle of Béxar. Creed’s account, taken down decades after the revolution, was published in a small book, “Tall Men With Long Rifles,” which can be found here.[2] In his description of the battle in which Texian forces first captured San Antonio in December 1835, Taylor describes the troops led by Col. Ben Milam fighting their way into the city, house-by-house, sometimes rushing from one building to another, at other times, hacking their way through adjoining adobe walls of one house to seize another.

Creed Taylor's Account of the Texas Revolution

By December 7, the Texians had worked their way close to the Spanish positions but had become trapped in a perilous, close-quarters fight. I’ll let Creed tell the story:

“Of daring and heroic deeds occurring during the assault, a volume could be written – every man fought for himself and everyone proved himself a hero. On the third day, after we had captured the house on the north side of the plaza, the Mexicans planted a cannon to the left, just outside their main works and trained it on the building we had just taken. This gun was playing havoc with our shelter. Seeing this, a young man from Nacogdoches, by the name of Sylvester, of Captain Edward’s company, made a dash for the gun, shot one of the gunners, knocked another down with his rifle, spiked the cannon, and escaped back to the lines. Cheer after cheer went up from his comrades, and Ben Milam declared it the bravest deed he had ever seen or read about.”

“Cheer after cheer went up from his comrades, and Ben Milam declared it the bravest deed he had ever seen or read about.”

 

The account is confirmed in a separate report from another witness, Stephen F. Sparks:

“When we had taken the north row of houses and were firing on the outside of the doors and windows, Sylvester ran across the Plaza, right through the Mexicans, and spiked their cannon, then turn and ran back; just as he jumped in a door, he turned to look, and as he did so, he had one of his eyes shot out.[3]

Reading these accounts – both of which mention the man named Sylvester, with no further identification – I decided I had to track this person down. Looking for clues in this book, I noted that elsewhere in his account, Creed Taylor mentions a “Jim Sylvester,” but he doesn’t clarify that this is the same person. But confirmation comes from the Muster Rolls of the Texian Army. In the rolls of the 1^st Regiment of Texan Volunteers for December 1835 – the time of the battle – there is a J.N. Sylvester, a sergeant. Yet no such person appears anywhere else. A look at a later date of the same muster rolls confirms his name: James A. Sylvester. As is frequently the case, a letter is often mis-transcribed when an account is converted from handwriting to print. “J.N. Sylvester” was certainly “J.A. Sylvester,” confirmed by his exactly identical position within the unit hierarchy.

So who was James A. Sylvester? As far as I know, mine is the first confirmation that he was the man who performed the heroics at Béxar, but he’s actually very well known for two other events, to which we will get in a moment. But no account of Sylvester’s later exploits, has ever connected him to these early heroics in Béxar.

James A. Sylvester was born in Baltimore, Maryland in 1807 and worked as an apprentice printer in Kentucky, before making his way to Texas and settling in Nacogdoches.[4] We don’t know when he joined in the Texian Army, but it was likely after the Battle of Gonzales, as many men flocked to join the army that was marching on San Antonio. Spark’s account of Sylvester’s eye being “shot out” suggests a shocking – possibly fatal wound, but it clearly wasn’t. In fact, it was likely the wound that saved his life, because Sylvester would likely have been taken to Gonzales to recover and would therefore miss his chance of martyrdom at the Alamo in March 1836.

By mid March, 1836, Sylvester, presumably having recovered from his wound, was made second sergeant and color bearer of Captain Sidney Sherman’s Volunteers. With the rest of the company, Sylvester would march Eastward with Sam Houston’s army. According to one account, he was actually captured by Mexican soldiers at Harrisburg, but he managed to escape, rejoining the Texian army just in time for the fateful Battle of San Jacinto.

Sylvester, who had been fighting since Béxar as a volunteer, appears to have also been granted a commission as Captain in the regular Texian army, but he didn’t take advantage of it, and chose to continue as a sergeant of volunteers. As flag bearer, he had a distinct privilege, for his unit, Sherman’s volunteers, carried a large flag featuring a Goddess of Liberty, presented to the unit by the ladies of Newport, Kentucky. It was the only flag known to have been flown during the battle. James Sylvester carried that it throughout the 18 minute fight, and is therefore immortalized in the famous painting of the battle by Henry McArdle.

Henry McArdle's Painting of the Battle of San Jacinto
Below: A close up of the flag. Although the image leaves the flag bearer
mysteriously vague, we know that person was James Sylvester.

But there’s more to the story, because James Sylvester the heroic fighter at Béxar, the standard bearer at San Jacinto, had one more claim to fame in store. Following the battle, General Edward Burleson organized several scouts to hunt for Mexican stragglers, of which Sylvester was one. From his own account:[5]

“The squad under my command proceeded back to camp. We left the main road and took down the bayou. We had not proceeded very far before some one of them proposed to skirt the timber in search of game. I took the straight direction promising to await their arrival at a certain point. After leaving the party, pursuing my course alone, I suddenly espied an object coming towards me, near a ravine. I immediately turned and made an effort to attract their attention. When I again looked for the object, it had vanished. Riding in the direction in which I had seen it, I came up to the figure of something covered with a Mexican blanket…

He saw that it was a man in hiding. Sylvester came up on him.

“I ordered him to get up, which he did, very reluctantly and immediately took hold of my hand and kissed it several times, and asked for General Houston and seemed very solicitious to find out whether he had been killed in the battle the day previous. I replied assuring him that General Houston was only wounded, and was then in his camp. I then asked him who he was when he replied that he was nothing but a common soldier---I remarked the fineness of his shirt bosom---which he tried to conceal and told him he was no common soldier; if so he must be a thief. He seemed much disconcerted, but finally stated that he was an aide to General Lopez de Santa Anna---To affirm his assertion, he drew from his pocket an official note from General Urrea to General Santa Anna dated on the Brazos informing Santa Anna that he would be able to form a junction at or near Galveston and should immediately take up line of march to Velasco.”

Sylvester initially bought the story, figuring that an aide would indeed be likely to have such a paper. As his squad rode up to join him, Sylvester prepared to head back. The “soldier” he had captured complained of fatigue and asked to ride part of the way. One of the party agreed to let him, and put him on his horse, the Texian walking for a time. When they approached the Texian camp, the officer demanded his horse back from the prisoner, who refused. Sylvester instructed him to comply, which he reluctantly did. The came into the Texian camp and Sylvester left his prisoner with the camp guard. What followed next was a famous event in Texas history: The prisoner, brought in among the Mexican captives, was welcomed with shouts of “El Presidente!” and suddenly the Texians realized that Sylvester had captured the President of Mexico, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. The Mexican dictator was then brought before Houston, who in a famous gesture of humanity, agreed to spare his life in exchange for signing the treaty that gave Texas its independence. With Santa Anna agreeing, Houston sent for Sylvester.

“When I returned to camp (having been sent for by General Houston) I was ordered to report to headquarters in person. I proceeded to the place---a wide spreading oak---and on presenting myself to General Houston, General Santa Anna immediately arose and came forward, embraced me, and turning to General Houston and other officers returned me thanks for my kindness while escorting him to camp and told me I was his savior.”

 

The Surrender of Santa Anna

After the revolution, James Sylvester lived in Texas in Jackson County for a number of years, served in the ill-fated Somervell Expedition, a punitive raid into Mexico in late 1842 to respond to a Mexican invasion of Texas earlier that year. The expedition captured Laredo on December 8, and shortly thereafter, captured Guerero. One of these battles – it is unclear which, is preserved in the account of Jacob Hartman, who recalls another example of Sylvester’s heroism. Five men in the company were trying to take an intersection during street fighting. Hartman described his compatriots as “perfect specimens of manhood, tall, muscular and supple as is found only in the young.” Separated from them, he watched the men fighting their way up the street:

“After an interminable length of time, Price hurried around the bend in the street. I strained my eyes to see if the others followed, and my throat tightened as I saw Sylvester, then Kegans, and finally Hodge round the bend, kneeling and firing as they came. The group paused a few minutes and exchanged fire with some Mexicans in the street behind them, then I saw them relax, laugh with each other and almost as one, turn and look in my direction. As the four grinning faces hurried toward me I realized their official objective had been to take the intersection from the enemy, but they had added and unofficial objective of their own, to rescue me as soon as possible. Now, I began to understand very faintly the spirit of the Texans which set them apart from the rest of the people the world over.”[6]

After the battle, Somervell, the commander, decided to return to Texas, but 2/3 of his army refused, and instead continued their invasion into Texas. Sylvester, who by this time didn’t need to prove his courage to anyone, returned with his commander. It was fortunate too, as the Texians who continued were ultimately captured at Mier, imprisoned and forced to endure the brutal decimation of the infamous Black Bean Affair, in which one in ten of their number were executed, and the remainder sent to Mexico in irons. Sylvester eventually moved to Louisiana, served as editor of a newspaper there, and died in 1882.

---

[1] Creed Taylor is the son of Josiah Taylor, one of the key commanders in the 1813 Republican Army of the North, the subject of my book, “The Lost War for Texas: Mexican Rebels, American Burrites and the Texas Revolution of 1811.” www.lostwarfortexas.com

[2] James T. DeShields, “Tall Men With Long Rifles: The Glamourous Story of the Texas Revolution as Told By Captain Creed Taylor, Who Fought in that Heroic Struggle from Gonzales to San Jacinto,” San Antonio, Tx: The Naylor Company, 1935.

[3] Texas State Historical Association. The Quarterly of the Texas State Historical Association, Volume 12, July 1908 - April, 1909, periodical, 1909; Austin, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth101048/: accessed May 16, 2025), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Texas State Historical Association, pg. 62.

[4] Sylvester’s Handbook of Texas entry suggests he came to Texas as part of Sidney Sherman’s company of Kentucky Riflemen, but this is likely in error, as Sherman’s company didn’t even arrive in Texas until February 1836, whereas the muster rolls of the army clearly show Sylvester was present at the Siege of Béxar. Also, Creed Taylor’s account clearly implies that Sylvester was from Nacogdoches, not merely an outsider passing through. It’s hard to know for sure, because in Texas at this time, residence of merely a few months or even weeks could count in the eyes of one’s neighbors.

[5] This account is taken from the Sons of Dewitt Colony webpage. It is a great source, but maddingly, doesn’t provide its own sources. Thus while I have a good idea of where the original account can likely be found, I have not been able to do so due to limitations of Internet resources.

[6] This account comes from a book called “I Went to Mier” published shortly after the incidents by Hartman. The book is extremely rare and I have not been able to locate it, but it is quoted in two sources, in Katie Barnard, “Old Texians” The Texas Historian, Vol. 38, No. 3, January 1978, 12; and in a book called “A Man Called Jim” by Anemone Love Binkley, which is further excerpted in a genealogical article about John Ross Kegans, one of the men involved, which can be found here: https://www.browncountytexasgenealogy.com/Articles/KegansMEIR.pdf

Republican Army Strength

The Republican Army of the North, the force which invaded Texas in August 1812, was an army always in flux. For this reason, pinning down the army's strength is a very difficult thing.

The original filibuster core of the force, which crossed the border and captured Nacogdoches on August 11, was only about 150 men. But the army soon began adding new recruits, both from additional filibusters arriving from Louisiana and native Tejanos and Indians who joined. Following the epic siege of La Bahia, the army defeated the Spanish royalists at Rosillo and captured San Antonio. Then, following the execution of 11 Spanish royalist officers by vengeful natives, large numbers of Anglo Americans went home. Some left, never return. Others, like Samuel Kemper, took furloughs and returned to fight later on.

Even while this was happening, new recruits were always coming to Texas and replacing old fighters, or even augmenting them. Thus, the strength seems to have always been uncertain. But there are some datapoints that can be considered in piecing together the army strength.

Invasion of Texas, August 1812: 130-150 men.[1] The army’s agents in Natchitoches claimed an additional 500-600 men were on the way to join them. Spanish Commander Bernardino Montero learned on July 27 from a French creole that there were 365 Americans on the other side. This number was likely inflated, though the smaller (150) number may have been merely an advanced force which penetrated Texas, and these follow-on troops, whatever the number, likely followed in their wake.[2]

Other Spanish sources suggest from 2,000-3,000 men were to join. These modest and fanciful numbers, respectively, were likely projections of hoped-for strength, not reality. In any event, the proclamation of Gov. William C.C. Claiborne on August 11 outlawing the affair, may have deterred many of these.

Nacogdoches: September, 1812: 240 men. Whatever the numbers which turned back after the proclamation, significant numbers, possibly several hundred, continued on, but took time to augment the force. Around this time, William Shaler, a close observer, estimated the total number of Americans at 240. This includes the first Tejano/Mexican contingents of the army began to be formed in Nacogdoches. These were likely small as some soldiers chose to “serve” in their hometown. The total number who joined the army itself (mostly Spanish deserters) was probably only around 50.[3]

Trinidad de Salcedo, October 1812: 450-500 men. This is where the numbers get confusing. William Shaler would say he didn’t know how many men were in the republican force within 300 men! But this appears to be the time that the bulk of the follow-on recruits arrived, although they appear to have trickled in rather than arrived in large masses. The percentage was likely around 3 Anglos to every 1 Mexican. The army had at least three four pounder cannon and one other of unknown size.[4]

La Bahía, November 1812-Febuary 1813: 450-800 men. At La Bahía, the army occupied the presidio and was then besieged. The numbers of fighters swayed somewhat, with the additions and subtractions being almost entirely from local Tejanos or captured royalists. Some deserted to and from the republicans, making the nature of this change impossible to determine.

Battle of Rosillo, March 29, 1813: 400-800 men. After the Siege of La Bahía was lifted, Reuben Ross and James Gaines arrived with additional reinforcements of Anglo-Americans and Indians, respectively. Gaines places the number at about 600, and another member of the army gave the same number. Other sources suggest a higher number, but these may include troops not classified as “effective” – including, for example, wounded or sick. Coming off a siege of nearly four months, it would be understandable if large numbers were ill. Additionally, more Mexican residents of La Bahía likely joined them, along with a small number of citizens of San Antonio, who had filtered past the retreating Spaniards. As for the Spanish numbers they faced, Hall places it at 2,500, which is virtually impossible, given the available manpower. The number is likely slightly in excess of the Republican numbers, possibly 1,000-1,500.[5]

San Antonio, April 9, 1813: Approximately 650-700 men. This is the only “good” datapoint we have on the army, courtesy of a document recently discovered in the US National Archives. This is the only known muster roll of the army, not including names, but aggregates named by company. The total, which includes Anglo-Americans only, is 439. This shows remarkable consistency with some of the numbers in previous accounts, and extrapolating Mexicans and Indians from those, we get around 650-700 men. This is about the time of the desertions caused by the massacre of the Spanish royalists, but most evidence points to those desertions being made good if not augmented, by new arrivals.







Battle of Alazán, June 20, 1813: 900 men. This is another key, good datapoint, from the Alazán order of march document also discovered in the National Archives. This lists 250 Anglo-Americans - a significant drop in the forces from the April 9 document. This likely represents the desertions having finally run their course, but also likely does not include the sick, which the April 9 document does. What we do see is a significant growth in the Mexican/Tejano contingent, to around 200 on foot and 300 mounted. Around 150 Indians are counted, rounding out the number. This represents the turning point in which the army finally has a majority native Mexican contingent, though the leadership in the field is still Anglo-American. However, this comes with a caveat. As the document states, "About 600 only of the 900 can be depended [on] as about 1/2 of the Indians and many Mexicans are without firearms & some lack spirit."

Battle of Medina, August 18, 1813: 1,500-1,800. The numbers of the Republican Army of the North at the Battle of Medina are, like most other numbers, uncertain. But we can make an educated guess.

Subsequent republican sources give the following size of the army: Joseph Wilkinson, 1,200; Bullard, 1,500 and Beltrán, 1,800 (consisting of 1,000 Mexicans and 800 Americans). After the battle, Kemper and Toledo told an American newspaper editor that there were about 450 Americans and between 600-700 Mexicans, for just under 1,000 (almost certainly downplayed). The source for Kemper and Toledo’s numbers is the following article: “We have No further Particulars of the affair of the 18th ult. near San Antonio…” Daily National Intelligencer, October 18, 1813. Joseph Wilkinson to Shaler, June 25, 1813. CSA. [Bullard] “A Visit to Texas.” Hunter, “The Battle of Medina,” 10.

There are two documents, both captured by Arredondo, which outline the Republican Army’s order of battle. The first is a letter from Guadiana to Henry Perry on August 5 and the second is Guadiana’s order of march on August 13. The former lays out Perry’s regiment, which consists of the Washington and Madison Battalions. Each has 4 companies of 126 men, giving the regimental strength as 8 companies and 504 men (including staff). There is additionally a second American regiment, which will be placed under Kemper. Notably, the size of Kemper’s regiment is not given, nor is its structure.

If the two American regiments were equal in size (2 battalions of 4 companies each) and the battalions at full strength, that would give the Anglo contingent alone over 1,000 men, not even counting artillerists. As this is nearly four times the size of the Anglo force at Alazán and twice Shaler’s estimate, it is certainly inflated. Multiple sources suggest that Toledo inherited an army that was ethnically mixed and then broke them into separate divisions, and one is tempted to suspect this is the source of the large number of 1,000 in the Perry letter, for if the Mexican contingent was within the regimental structure on April 5, but separated from it before April 13, that would account for the high number. Yet the Alazán order of battle document shows that the army was already operating in separate contingents in that earlier battle. All sources suggest the Mexican troops outnumbered the Anglos at the Battle of Medina. Given 1,000 Anglos, the army would have to be 2,200-2,500 men, far above any republican estimate.

The order of march document, additionally, suggests that the names “Washington” and “Madison” denote not two battalions within one regiment, but separate regiments themselves. This document also clearly shows the Mexican contingent as separate, since they march between the Washington and Madison regiments or battalions. But this later document gives no numbers for any contingent.

There is an interpretation that this author feels accounts for both the naming discrepancy and what appears to be the inflated size of the army that the two-regiment structure suggests. When Guadiana wrote his letter to Perry on August 5, shortly after Toledo’s arrival, Samuel Kemper had not yet returned from the United States. His regiment, undescribed in the letter, was to be led in the interim by a Sergeant Major (who was probably Josiah Taylor given his later role). Guadiana expected that Kemper would bring a significant reinforcement along with him.

This, and perhaps a small contingent already awaiting him under Taylor, would stand up the second regiment. This is given credence by the fact that the 8 companies (4 per battalion) reflected in the Perry regiment alone exactly mirrors the 8 companies at Alazán. Thus, Perry’s regiment likely was the bulk of the veteran army, and Kemper’s regiment in waiting a mere skeleton force to be filled out by reinforcements.

But, as Beltrán wrote, “Toledo expected to leave the Sabine with an army of at least 2,000 men…but in this, he was sorely disappointed.” Whatever men Kemper brought with him were much smaller than needed. Had Kemper’s reinforcement been more than 200, the sources undoubtably would have recalled its arrival, but it passed unremarked upon.

It seems likely that after Kemper’s arrival with a smaller force, this fanciful structure was then altered, and the Washington and Madison battalions themselves became regiments, suggesting the final number was something close to the 504 listed in the August 5 document, plus Kemper’s reinforcement and whatever other troops were available. These were then all effectively placed under the command of Kemper, with possibly one regiment under Perry the other one under Taylor.

Historically, the Anglo contingent had been 422 before the desertions caused by the execution of the Royalists, then 250 at Alazán. It had likely grown to 500-600 by August 5. Thus, the likely Anglo contingent was probably in the 600-800 range when all is said and done. Adding in a very plausible Mexican contingent of 1,000, this puts the numbers in line with Bullard and Beltrán’s estimates (1,500/1,800). This then is the structure and numbers this author assumes in the book.










[1] Sibley to Eustis, August 5, 1812 in Garrett, “Dr. John Sibley,” Vol. 49, No. 3.


[2] Bernardino Montero to Manuel Salcedo, July 23, 1813. “Texas History Research, Neutral Territory” Folder, Karle Wilson Baker Papers, Ralph W. Steen Library, Stephen F. Austin State University.


[3] Shaler to Monroe, August 18, 1812, Shaler Letterbooks. Henry P. Walker, “William McLane’s Narrative,” Vol. 66, No. 2 (Oct. 1962), 243. Baker, 224-9. Henry P. Walker, “William McLane’s Narrative,” SWHQ, Vol. 66, No. 2 (Oct. 1962), 243-5. RBB Vol.70: 244.


[4] Hall account in Lamar papers, Gulick 4(1):279. Gulick, 6:146. Shaler to Monroe, October 1, 1812, Shaler to Monroe, October 6, 1812, Shaler to Monroe, November 10, 1812, Shaler Letterbooks.


[5] Gulick 1:45. Baker, 227. Reuben Ross to William Shaler, April 15, 1813, CSA. Gulick, 5:365. Walker, “McLane's Narrative,” 66, No. 3 (Jan. 1963), 460. “1813 Letter from Bart Fleming to Levin Wailes, Esq.,” June 7, 1813, in Gutiérrez de Lara collection, Eugene C. Barker Texas History Center, The University of Texas at Austin, cited in I. Waynne Cox, “Field Survey and Archival Research for the Rosillo Creek Battleground Area, Southeast San Antonio, Texas,” Index of Texas Archaeology: Open Access Gray Literature from the Lone Star State: Vol. 1990 , Article 1, available at: https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/ita/vol1990/iss1/1 (accessed August 24, 2021), 3.

Henry Adams Bullard

On July 26, 1813, in the midst of the Mexican War of Independence against Spain, an unlikely event occurred during a meeting of the revolutionary junta of San Antonio, when a 24-year-old youth from Massachusetts stepped forward, and began to address the body in perfect Spanish. What he would say would transform the revolution and dramatically reshape the history of North America. Who was this young New Englander who would so radically shape Texas history?

His name was Henry Adams Bullard. Born in 1788 in Pepperell, Massachusetts, he attended Harvard, where he graduated at age nineteen with both bachelor’s and master’s degrees, staying on and working at the university for two years after graduating to pay his expenses. Relocating to Philadelphia, he began studying the law. Bullard circulated in elite circles, becoming acquainted with Matthew Tilghman, a former member of the Continental Congress, and young George Dallas (later vice president).[1]

He had a passion for languages; having studied French at Harvard, he wanted to learn others. A memorial written at the time of his death indicates this interest as one of the key reasons he chose vibrant, cosmopolitan Philadelphia over Puritan Boston to start his career, noting that while he pursued his legal studies, he “acquired the Spanish, Italian and German, all of which he critically understood and appreciated.” But even before Bullard came to Philadelphia, he had developed a profound interest in the revolutions surging through Spanish America.[2]

In the early fall of 1808, he had just passed his 20^th birthday strode up the steps of the publishing house of Oliver and Monroe at No. 70, State Street in Boston and delivered a manuscript for the printers. It was a political tract defending revolution, and like many books of the era, began with a stirring quotation from Shakespeare. Fittingly, the line came from Richard II, a story of revolution from centuries before, and its words would ultimately come to encapsulate the young man’s life:

Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot unlikely wonders.

The book was a spirited defense of a filibuster attempt by the Venezuelan rebel Francisco de Miranda, who had come to America and recruited a force of 200 men for an invasion of his homeland. His force was defeated, and though Miranda himself escaped, several Americans were hung, beheaded and quartered by the Spanish.[3] American authorities attempted to try their citizens who had participated for violating the Neutrality Act. Bullard’s book amounted to a defense of the men – and the filibuster concept in general. The 300-page manuscript he completed – to be published anonymously – was entitled The History of Don Francisco de Miranda’s Attempt to Effect a Revolution in South America, In a Series of Letters.[4]

Moving a few years later to Philadelphia, Bullard began his legal career and continued to explore his fascination with the Spanish world. He probably took Spanish lessons at this time with a tutor, possibly a Spanish exile. Eventually, he met the revolutionary he had always been waiting for, José Alvarez de Toledo, a Cuban who was attempting to rally support for a filibuster into Texas. The rebel had initially been a co-conspirator of José Bernardo Gutiérrez de Lara, a Mexican rebel who entered Texas alongside a former American military officer, Augustus Magee, in August, 1812. The Gutiérrez-Magee Filibuster which resulted, had opened a rebel front in Texas. Toledo, failing in efforts to raise an independent force, began to make his way to Texas to join this invasion. For Bullard, this was the perfect opportunity to live up to his ideals. A subsequent biographer recalled:

We now find him, at that most critical period of his life, a young man of vigorous mind, with a liberal education…full of the high hopes and aspirations which the fame and example of such men would excite; and yet, without influential relations and friends to give him the first impulse, without which so many of the noblest and best so frequently fall into despair. About this time Mexico was in revolution against Spain…He was fascinated with the splendid pictures painted by the imaginative mind of the Spanish revolutionary soldier [Toledo]. Can we wonder what was his course?[5]

 

And so the 24-year-old Bullard, just having passed the bar, abandoned a potentially lucrative legal career to accompany Toledo to the revolution, signing up as an aide and military secretary.[6] He, along with Toledo’s printers, a long-time revolutionary from South America named Juan Picornell and several Frenchmen formed an entourage that began to grow as Toledo moved west towards Texas. Toledo, in fact, was not coming to Texas to join Gutiérrez anymore. He was coming to replace him. Arriving in Nacogdoches, Toledo, Bullard and their company prepared for their final move to San Antonio.

But in that city, the rebel leader Gutiérrez, fueled by a smear campaign led by a former Toledo acolyte, Nathaniel Cogswell, who alleged that Toledo was a spy, jealously ordered the Cuban revolutionary out of the country. Toledo complied, but the order did not apply to Bullard, who made his way to Texas, where he found out, to his stunned surprise, that Gutiérrez was in desperate need of a man fluent in English, French and Spanish to serve as his revolutionary secretary of state. Bullard fit the bill perfectly, and Gutiérrez, unaware of the young New Englander’s connection to Toledo, appointed him. Thus did Toledo and his company gain not only a mole within Gutiérrez’s inner circle, but one perfectly positioned for their planned coup.

Bullard, as Toledo’s de-facto spy, helped persuade American special agent William Shaler to leverage his authority to oust Gutiérrez in favor of Toledo, writing with unbridled criticism that Gutiérrez should be replaced because he did little in San Antonio beyond “lolling on his sofa and catching flies.”[7]

But it was at the meeting of the Béxar Junta that July 26, that Bullard made his fateful move that dramatically altered the history of Texas. The American contingent of the Republican Army of the North had already made it clear they wanted Gutiérrez gone, but the Mexican rebels were wary of Toledo, first because he was a Cuban and too much like a peninsular Spaniard in temperament, secondly because he was rumored to be a mason, and lastly, because they believed the allegations of Cogswell, which Gutiérrez had shared with them.

This was the impediment that Bullard faced, but he found his opening and made his move. At a moment when Gutiérrez had briefly left the Junta, Bullard brought up the Mexican rebel’s failings and launched into a spirited defense of Toledo. Bullard, who knew Cogswell closely, attacked his allegations as a calumny against Toledo, the only commander, Bullard said, who the Spanish truly feared. He mocked the allegations of freemasonry and asserted the only way to regain the support of key American leaders like Shaler was to replace Gutiérrez with Toledo instantly. This impromptu address broke the logjam, and the Junta at last sided with the American contingent against Gutiérrez. Toledo was sent for and Gutiérrez was pushed out of the army and into exile. And it had been Bullard who had made the difference.

Toledo arrived on August 1, 1813, and within two weeks, he was marching at the head of the Republican Army of the North towards the fateful Battle of Medina – and to ultimate defeat. There is no actual evidence that Toledo was a traitor, and in fact, as the battle unfolded, he had little control of the army at all, as the Mexican and American contingents followed their own commanders, who ignored Toledo’s instructions on the day of battle. The army was defeated, and the revolution in Texas had failed.

Henry Adams Bullard survived the Battle of Medina and fled back to the U.S. The defeat would leave him “destitute and worn down with fatigue and sickness” in Louisiana, unable to return home. He turned back to the legal profession and soon found dramatic success, owing to his fluency in Spanish and French, which brought him into high demand in Louisiana.[8] He was appointed a district judge in 1822, elected to Congress in 1831, appointed to the Louisiana Supreme Court, served as Louisiana Secretary of State, and taught as a law professor at the Law School of Louisiana (today’s Tulane University Law School).[9]

Bullard, as a justice of the Louisiana Supreme Court

The post-expedition Bullard’s erudite personality comes through via his voluminous library, which was cataloged after his death and offered for sale, the titles preserved in court records. He had great interest in foreign cultures and their systems of law, though he believed America’s democratic legal tradition superior. He was a profound believer in natural law theory, and his library “revealed him to be both a practical man and a scholarly one.”[10] Bullard also served as president of the Historical Society of Louisiana, and in a speech to the organization on January 13, 1836, he told the members their purpose: “Each generation, as it passes away, is under obligations to its successors to furnish them those authentic materials for which alone its true character can be known to posterity.”[11]  Although Bullard never penned any works under his own name on the Gutiérrez-Magee Expedition, he is the author of an unsigned 1836 article in the North American Review. The piece, published shortly after the Battle of San Jacinto, is part history lesson, part current affairs for its readers. It shows Bullard to be well-read in Mexican history, and despite 25 years residence in the South, and at the time a sitting justice on the Louisiana Supreme Court, still possessing a New England bias against slavery.[12] In the article, Bullard denies any government inclination to “take possession of the country as soon as it should have been wrested from the dominion of Spain,” though he does note Shaler’s presence as an agent for the government observing and assisting the rebellion. As for the filibusters themselves, Bullard gives as the prime motive the disputed boundary of the Louisiana Purchase:

At that time, the American people and government were wearied with the protracted negotiation with Spain, its interminable delays, and the evident reluctance of the cabinet of Madrid, to do justice to the United States; and there was a strong disposition among the people to seize upon that part of the territory which was still in dispute.[13]

Bullard, driven by youthful idealism in 1812, was considerably less idealistic by 1836. He expressed skepticism of whether Mexicans could ever understand democracy as the Americans did, writing “The great mass of the population of Mexico were absolutely ignorant of the simplest elements of popular self-government,” a condition he blamed on the legacy of Spanish authority. In the January, 1836 speech, he laid out a vision of history in which Spain’s colonization is depicted as brutal and oppressive compared to the English and French models.[14]

Another source of Bullard’s character comes from a historical novel written about the Gutiérrez-Magee Expedition. Francis Berrian; or, The Mexican Patriot, was a novel by Timothy Flint, a friend of Bullard’s who used the latter’s remembrances as told to him as his prime source for the expedition and patterned his swashbuckling lead character on the young Bullard. The novel, written in 1823, is historically confused and was generally panned as horrible by the press of the time, but provides detailed insights into how the filibusters – or at least Bullard, speaking through Flint – wanted their motivations to be interpreted. As James Weldon Long writes of the book, “If we read Berrian as a prototypical filibuster, then Flint’s novel registers as a representative national narrative conveying an exceptionalist vision of the United States and its position in the Age of Revolutions.”[15]  While one must avoid conclusions based on a work of fiction, the close connection between Bullard and Flint – and corresponding information in Bullard’s background – makes the work relevant to Bullard’s viewpoint – at least the viewpoint he held in the years after the expedition.

In the novel, Berrian, the hero/lawyer claims of his fellow filibusters, “Their avowed object was to aid the Patriot natives in communicating to this oppressed and beautiful country, the entire freedom of their own.” These, the author contends, are “gallant and high-minded men.” He contrasts them with “self-denominated patriots,” of one of whom he writes, “it was difficult to ascertain which element preponderated in him, revenge, or a love of liberty, cupidity and ambition, or a desire to liberate his country.”[16] The latter is a reference to a fictional character clearly based on Gutiérrez, and exposes the strong bias to be expected from Bullard, a committed partisan of Toledo.

Just as Bullard exhibited a bias in his speech, Flint shows a conceit of the Spanish as inherently hostile to liberty. They are “instinctive enemies to every form of republican government...[are] contemplating with horror and disgust the development of republican principles.” Long notes, “As ‘the Mexican Patriot,’ Berrian remains indelibly a U.S. citizen, devoted to the nation’s foundational principles, a characterization that literalizes the cultural assumption that the American Revolution was in fact a global rebellion against tyranny that could spread its influence to any oppressed group.”[17] This second-hand portrayal completes a picture of Bullard as an idealist who at once loves Spanish culture, language, and people – or at least the cosmopolitan variants he found in Philadelphia – but who ultimately maintains a paternalistic view of the Spanish struggle for liberty.

And that, ultimately was Bullard, and in this way, he represented the evolution of the American attitude towards Mexicans. As he himself had done in his early writings, many Americans saw Mexicans in 1812 as brothers in arms, much like themselves, struggling against tyranny, who when liberated, would stand alongside Americans as examples of the new man of the New World.

But by 1836, American attitudes were moving in a different direction. For some, the new attitude began to bear the hallmarks of racism, but for many others, it was the slightly less rabid, but still contemptuous form known as paternalism. The Mexicans, for Bullard, had ceased to be the object of liberation themselves, but merely the background scenery in a liberation of the land, not for the benefit of the native inhabitants, but for that of the straining, expanding movement of American citizens known by this time as Manifest Destiny.

 

 

The author of this blog, in front of the old columns
that are all that remains of Henry Adams Bullard's
home in Natchitoches, Louisiana. 

 

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[1] B.F. French, “Memoir of Hon. Henry A. Bullard, LL.D., president of the Louisiana Historical Society, and late judge of Supreme Court of Louisiana,” in Historical Collections of Louisiana...Compiled with Historical and Biographical Notes (New York: B.F. French, 1851), 6.

[2] C. Little and James Brown, ed. “American Obituary for 1851” in The American Almanac and Repository of Useful Knowledge, 1852 (Cambridge: Metcalf and Company, 1852), 334.

[3] Filibusters as a rule generally crossed class lines, far more so than most other activities in the nineteenth century. As Robert E. May notes, “Sons of planters, merchants, and prominent politicians joined clerks, apprentices, and immigrants in filibuster invasions. Some college students dropped out of their institutions to participate.” Schakenbach, 268. Robert E. May “Young American Males and Filibustering in the Age of Manifest Destiny: The United States Army as a Cultural Mirror,” The Journal of American History 78, No. 3 (Dec., 1991), pp. 864. Margaret S. Henson, “Burnet, David Gouverneur,” HOTO, https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/burnet-david-gouverneur (accessed July 03, 2021).

[4] Two sources have attributed the book to Bullard. The account claims to be a series of letters by a “Gentleman who was an officer under that General, to his friend in the United States.” The book was published anonymously in its first printing, then in later printings attributed to a James Biggs, who is unknown, and likely Bullard’s pseudonym. Bullard never went to Venezuela personally, though he evidently interviewed a source with first-hand knowledge of the affair. Credence to Bullard’s authorship is also given by the fact that he subsequently wrote additional histories, also under the cloak of anonymity. Pierce Welch Gaines, ed. Political Works of Concealed Authorship During the Administrations of Washington, Adams, and Jefferson (New Haven: Yale University Library, 1959), 116.

[5] V.H. Ivy, “The Late Henry A. Bullard,” In Debow’s Southern and Western Review 12 (1852): 51-52.

[6] Little and Brown, 334.

[7] William Shaler to James Monroe, 14 July 1813, Founders Online, National Archives http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Madison/03-06-02-0411 [Source: The Papers of James Madison, Presidential Series, vol. 6, 8 February–24 October 1813, ed. Angela Kreider, et all. (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2008), 439–440.

[8] Ivy, 52.

[9] U.S. Congress, “Biographical Dictionary of Congress,” http://bioguide.congress.gov/scripts/biodisplay.pl?index=B001049 (accessed March 13, 2016).

[10] Robert Feikema Karachuk, “A Workman’s Tools: The Law Library of Henry Adams Bullard,” The American Journal of Legal History 42, No. 2 (Apr., 1998): 188.

[11] Henry Adams Bullard, “A discourse delivered before the Historical Society of Louisiana” (speech, New Orleans, LA, January 13, 1836.), in North American Review Vol 43 (Cambridge: Folsom, Wells, and Thurston, 1836): 281.

[12] “Mexico and Texas” North American Review Vol 43 (Cambridge: Folsom, Wells, and Thurston, 1836). While the published article does not have an attributed author, the original draft of the document is attributed to Bullard. Notably, Bullard’s comments negative to slavery were redacted by the publishers before printing. Bullard was a Whig, but found respect in Southern society despite his views. Ivy’s editors state in their biography that “Neither Mr. Ivy nor ourselves agree with the political tenets held by Judge Bullard; but find nothing in that to militate against our high appreciation of his learning, his talents, and his constant and unwavering services to the state.” Ivy, 50.

[13] Henry Adams Bullard, “Mexico and Texas” [Original Manuscript] North American Review Papers, 1831-1843. Houghton Library, Harvard University.

[14] Henry Adams Bullard, “A discourse delivered before the Historical Society of Louisiana.”

[15] James Weldon Long, “Revolutionary Republics: U.S. National Narratives and the Independence of Latin America, 1810–1846” (Ph.D. diss., Louisiana State University, 2011), 13.

[16]Long, 88.

[17]Ibid., 93.

Republican Army Veterans at New Orleans

  The Republican Army of the North, the filibuster army of the Gutiérrez-Magee Expedition, was defeated in August, 1813 at the Battle of Medina, with terrible loss. Most of the survivors escaped to Louisiana, where both Anglo and Mexican/Tejano veterans were soon swept up in another war - the War of 1812.

   For the American citizens, militia service was mandatory, as they were subject to a draft. Large numbers of them were brought into the forces converging on New Orleans for the defense of that city in what would be the war's climactic battle. Josiah Stoddard Johnston, the “Col. Johnson” who had been Adairs deputy in the organization of the Gutiérrez-Magee Filibuster, was appointed commander of the 17^th, 18^th, and 19^th Consolidated Regiment, consisting of militia from Avoyelles, Rapides, Natchitoches, Catahoula, and Ouachita Parishes. 

   Fittingly, the unit became a veritable who’s who of Texas veterans, with a dozen verifiable and several more probable fighters, including Ross, William Murray, Warren D.C. Hall and others. John Durst, the illegitimate son of Samuel Davenport joined as well. When one includes other regiments at New Orleans, the bulk of the known Republican Army survivors (and likely many of the unknown ones too) fought in the pivotal battle. Serving alongside the Anglo veterans from Texas were many of their Hispanic colleagues, including both Toledo – who had not yet taken his pardon – and Gutiérrez, as well as other Mexican exiles.

The full list of rebels in the militia forces includes Ross, Murray, the two Halls, William Brown, James Busseuil (spelled Bushel in the records), John Cannon, Joshua Childs, Alexander Gerneuil, William Utrage, William Custard, Robert Daughty, and possibly John Gladden King (listed only as John King) and John Gormley (who may have been one of the two unknown Gormleys mentioned in the expedition accounts). The regiment also included many others who were siblings or likely of Texas veterans. 

 Also joining the American army at New Orleans, but in other regiments were Samuel Barber, the former enlisted deserter who had suffered so much in army life before the expedition, Anthony Dubois, Isaac Foster, Elisha Roberts, William Richmond Anderson, Benjamin Bradley, and possibly Peter Foster and William Walker. The latter is not to be confused with the later filibusterer of the same name. 

Source:  U.S. National Parks Service, Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and Preserve, Battle of New Orleans, War of 1812 American Muster and Troop Roster List, www.nps.gov/jela/learn/historyculture/upload/Battle-of-New-Orleans-Muster-Lists-final-copy-01062015.pdf (accessed May 14, 2020). 

All of the names appear in War of 1812 Muster rolls, but Foster and Walker have no other substantiating records. The Gormley in the expedition records is not identified with a first name, but there is a John Gormley who fought at New Orleans.

 

Arsene Lacarriere LaTour

  Among the men associated with the Republican Army of the North is a shadowy Frenchman who traveled with José Álvarez de Toledo and his party as they traveled from Philadelphia to Texas. He was  identified by Henry Adams Bullard only as “LaTour,” a native of New Orleans and had changed his name from Calinette. In fact, he was almost certainly deceiving Bullard and Toledo. This man was Arsène Lacarrière-Latour, not a Louisiana native but a French-born military architect who studied at the Paris Academy of Fine Arts and likely participated in the French Revolution before settling in New Orleans. 

Arsene Lacarriere LaTour

Latour moved to Haiti in 1793, but around 1802 he established himself in New Orleans, where he opened an architectural design firm and drafting school in 1810. The firm appeared to prosper with several important contracts over the next year, but Latour for some unknown reason traveled to Philadelphia, where he established a friendship with Don Juan Mariano Picornell, an old Spanish revolutionary. It was certainly through him was brought into Toledo’s scheme. He may have been a mere architect traveling for business, but his behavior shows a suspicious consistency of deception. Latour throughout his travels “adopted many personas” including an advance agent for Napoleon’s new empire in the Caribbean, businessman and engineer, according to historian Gene A. Smith, who added, “[Latour] wore many social masks and spoke in a variety of cultural dialects,” a man of shifting loyalties, but for whom the ultimate loyalty was to himself. “Propelled by the same self-interest that obsessed the sober-minded, this French adventurer exploited the competing empires and rival nationalities in the Gulf Coast to achieve personal success if not eternal glory. The evidence that Arsène Latour is Bullard’s “LaTour” is that Smith notes that he frequently traveled to the North and became associated with Picornell on one of his journeys.

In the end, though, Latour appears to have departed the group in Louisiana and returned home, where he would serve two years later on the staff of Gen. Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans, and wrote a book about the campaign. [1]  

 

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[1] Edwin H. Carpenter, Jr. “Arsène Lacarrière Latour” The Hispanic American Historical Review, Vol. 18, No. 2 (May, 1938), 222. Gene A. Smith, “Arsène Lacarrière-Latour: Immigrant, Patriot-Historian, and Foreign Agent,” in Michael A. Morrison, ed., The Human Tradition in Antebellum America. (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources Inc., 2000), 83. Latour’s book was Historical memoir of the War in West Florida and Louisiana in 1814-15, Published in 1816.

The Murder of the Spanish Royalists

After the Republican Army of the North took San Antonio in April, 1813, fourteen royalist officers, including Governors Manuel Salcedo and Simon Herrera, were tried. Found guilty, they were sentenced by the court to death, but after vociferous complaints by the Anglo-American contingent of the army, the sentences were commuted to banishment. 

Nonetheless, in the early morning hours of April 4, the officers were marched out under heavy guard to the site of the recent Battle of Rosillo and executed. I take up the story with the account of Carlos Beltran, the Mexicanized American:

Beltrán, the American who had lived so long amongst the Mexicans, had been chilled by his fellow Bexareños’ stony silence upon hearing of the captives’ reprieve. On the evening of April 3, he left the city to go visit a friend and relative of his adoptive Tejano family, José Sánchez, just outside of town. The latter, who had been among the Tejano troops at Rosillo, was severely wounded in the battle. Beltrán and another friend, Pablo Rodríguez, spent the evening nursing their injured comrade. They returned just before dawn and were surprised to see a large body of Mexican cavalry waiting outside the Alamo. Out of curiosity, the two young men walked up to them and saw the prisoners being placed on horses for their journey. To their surprise, the men were bound securely with ropes to their horses. Ominously, the commander of the guard was the same Antonio Delgado who had threatened the royalists before.[1]

I knew Captain Delgado quite well – we had always been on the most friendly terms – and, observing me closely watching his movements, he brusquely asked what I was doing there, and who had sent me to spy on his actions. I answered by saying that I was there on my own volition and that considering the high station held by these prisoners, I thought it a shameful humiliation to their dignity and manhood to tie them on their horses when there was absolutely no occasion for such brutal treatment, and that I would immediately report the matter to Colonel Kemper. This seemed to nettle the captain, and he ordered us away.[2]

Beltrán and Sánchez rushed over the river and entered the town, where they tracked down Kemper and Ross. The American commanders were appalled at what they heard. They had known of the transport – indeed, Kemper had even signed a letter authorizing it. But they had expected humane treatment and certainly would not have agreed to the troop being led by Delgado. Upon discovery that Delgado’s party had already departed, Kemper and Ross “went straightway to the quarters of Gutiérrez and demanded the return of the prisoners without delay,” Beltrán wrote. “They told Gutiérrez that they had pledged their honor, as American soldiers, for the safety of those men...” Gutiérrez insisted that the Spaniards were safe, that Delgado was a reliable and honorable soldier, and if anything happened to the prisoners, Gutiérrez would have Delgado shot immediately upon his return.[3]

Delgado and his prisoners, with an escort of 100 men on foot, had left in the early morning hours of April 4, leading a group of 14 royalists, including nine native-born Spaniards and five Creoles. It had been four and a half years since Manuel Salcedo had trekked across the United States, dined with Natchitoches Indian Agent John Sibley, then entered Texas on the heels of the French revolutionary general Octaviano D’Alvimar. He had sought in that time to do his job dutiful to his king and country. His enemies, of course would counter with charges of cruelty. Nonetheless, he had weathered storm after storm with few resources, while enduring the many slights and petty tyrannies of his uncle. During the Casas revolt, he had pathetically attempted to demote himself to ordinary soldier rather than go into captivity. Then, there was imprisonment, liberation and the masterminding of the victory at the Wells of Bajan, where he no doubt felt he had helped save the empire he loved so much. Now, it seemed, this was the end.[4]

Simón de Herrera y Leyva was older than Salcedo by 20 years. He had been the governor of Nuevo León, fought bravely for his country in an expedition against the Portuguese in South America, helped besiege Gibraltar, then fought alongside Bernardo de Gálvez in the Spanish army in 1782-83. He even led a highly successful attack against a force of Apaches and Comanches. He had faced off with General Wilkinson in what had almost been an American-Spanish war in 1806, before the two had negotiated the Neutral Ground Agreement, preventing conflict, but ultimately fueling the insurgency that had now brought him to the very brink. Herrera’s fate was the most tragic. With his good command of English and friendly disposition, he had won over the sympathy first of Dr. Robinson, then Augustus Magee, and finally Samuel Kemper. There are hints that Herrera may have been a closet supporter of the revolution. If he had switched to the rebel cause, he could have brought much of his own state of Nuevo León into the rebel fold. But it was not to be.[5]

Riding alongside Herrera that day was his younger brother, Geronimo Herrera and six fellow Spaniards. Three native-born, but loyal, Mexicans accompanied them: Captain Miguel Arcos, who had been the judge who condemned Gutiérrez’s messengers Bergara and Grande, along with his two sons. A civilian from San Antonio who had assisted in the arrest of Colonel Delgado was also with them. Now this party was led by Colonel Delgado’s father Antonio, and they were not going to La Bahia or Matagorda, and certainly not to Cuba. It is doubtful that the ship Gutiérrez had conjured up in his speech in the plaza in San Antonio had ever existed.[6]

A few miles out of San Antonio, and not far from the Rosillo battlefield, was a place called La Tablita. It lay near where the Salado creek flowed into the San Antonio River, and here the party halted. The prisoners were untied from their horses and made to dismount. Their guards then proceeded to tie them to trees. The royalists, knowing what was about to happen, begged their captors to at least delay the execution until a priest could be brought down from the city to give them last rites, but this was refused. “You sent my father into eternity, denying him the consolation of religion in his last extremity,” Delgado allegedly sneered to Salcedo’s face. One of the governors, probably Salcedo, was the third man to be tied up, and in Beltran’s account called to one of the republicans, a Lieutenant Santos. He handed him his watch and his ring and asked that they be given to Dr. Orramel Johnston – the Anglo-American doctor and brother of their would-be lawyer – to be delivered on to his family.[7]

The rebels stripped the men of their clothing then finished tying their victims. Lieutenant Col. Herrera, according to Beltrán, “warned Delgado of the day of signal retribution and defied him to do his worst.” Another account says of him, “It is said Herrera prayed earnestly to be that shot instead of being butchered like a dog.” A third account says it was Salcedo who made the request. The sources differ on whether the request was granted, but given the level of brutality, one suspects it was not. According to one witness, the governor’s tongue was cut out, ending these requests. José Antonio Navarro, who was not a witness, but reported the event second-hand, said Delgado’s men had no swords, only the dull knives they kept on their belts for camp use. “With inhuman irony, some of the assassins sharpened their knives on the soles of their shoes in the presence of their defenseless victims.” They hurled insults upon the prisoners, then cut their throats. When this was done, Delgado’s men left them tied to the trees, where they drowned in their own frothing blood. After they expired, the bodies were taken down and tossed into the creek.[8]

There were 14 royalists executed. The actual list of names varies from source to source, but the names listed as in the presumably accurate burial records were: Manuel Salcedo, Simon Herrera, Geronimo Herrera, José Goseachocea, Juan Ignacio Arrambide, Lieutenant Juan Caso, José Amador, Francisco Pereira, Joaquín Ugarte, Antonio López, José Mateos, Captain Miguel Arcos, along with his two sons, Francisco and Luis.

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[1] Navarro said Delgado’s escort was 60 men. Hunter, “San Antonio’s First Great Tragedy,” 47. Anonymous [Navarro] account in Gulick, 4(2):7.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Hunter, “San Antonio’s First Great Tragedy,” 47. Baker, 228-9. “Deposition of Guillermo Navarro,” April 8, 1813, in I. Wayne Cox, 21.

[4] Salcedo’s wife and daughter appear to have remained in New Orleans. It is possible they never even entered Texas. Samuel Davenport, who visited the town periodically on business, kept Salcedo informed about his family’s situation. Presumably, Gen. Herrera’s family was still in Mexico. La Vere, 114.

[5] Harris Gaylord Warren and Jack D. L. Homes, “Herrera, Simon de,” HOTO, http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fhe33 accessed May 12, 2018.

[6] There were 14 royalists executed. The actual list of names varies from source to source, but the names listed as in the presumably accurate burial records were: Salcedo, Herrera, Geronimo Herrera, José Goseachocea, Juan Ignacio Arrambide, Lieutenant Juan Caso, José Amador, Francisco Pereira, Joaquín Ugarte, Antonio López, José Mateos, Captain Miguel Arcos, along with his two sons, Francisco and Luis. Along with the governors, five of these had been among the royalists initially sent to Mexico by Casas two years before.

Of five sources reporting the names, the closest, with 12 of 14 names correct (and each with one additional incorrect name), are Carlos Beltrán and José Antonio Navarro. The fact that Beltrán is so accurate, and includes a name that Navarro does not, is alongside other verifiable facts in his account, definitive proof that his narrative is at least partially authentic. The other accounts are Spanish soldier Guillermo Navarro (discussed later in this chapter), Antonio Menchaca, and an unknown republican soldier writing an account reported by John Sibley. Burial records from San Fernando Church Burial Book 3, 1802-1817, Archives of the Archdiocese of San Antonio, Texas. This is reprinted in Waynne, 27-34, available at: https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/ita/vol1990/iss1/1. Hunter, “San Antonio’s First Great Tragedy,” 47. Anonymous [Navarro] account in Gulick, 4(2):8. “Deposition of Guillermo Navarro,” April 8, 1813, in I. Wayne Cox, 21. Sibley to Secretary of War, May 7, 1813, in Garrett, “Dr. John Sibley,” 49, no. 3 (Jan., 1946), 425. Chabot, Texas in 1811, 82.

[7] In Beltrán’s account, the prisoner who hands over his possessions is identified as Governor Antonio Cordero, but this is impossible, since Cordero was not in Texas and indeed lived until the 1820s. Beltrán was likely confused; elsewhere in the account, he admits that he’s not sure of all the details because of the lapse of the decades between the event and the recording of it. Orramel Johnston’s connection to the prisoners is unknown, though his brother was their legal counsel. It is possible Orramel, a doctor, attended the prisoners. Hunter, “San Antonio’s First Great Tragedy,” 48. “Deposition of Guillermo Navarro,” April 8, 1813, in I. Wayne Cox, 21.

[8] Mexican Historian Lúcas Alaman placed the blame for the murder on Captain Pedro Prado as the commander of the execution squad, though American sources all identify Delgado as the commander of the executioners and Prado as merely a deputy. Delgado, based on other references, would have been senior. Alaman, 484.

Hall and Beltrán both mention the one man who begged to be shot, as does Natchitoches Indian Factor Thomas Linnard. Beltrán identifies this man as Salcedo, Linnard as Herrera. Schwartz, 31. Hunter, “San Antonio’s First Great Tragedy,” 48. Linnard to Mason, May 7, 1813, Letterbook of the Natchitoches Sulphur Fork Factory, National Archives, T1029. McDonald, 26. Anonymous [Navarro] account in Gulick, 4(2):7.