The old man died without speaking, as soon as we entered the fort. We bore my young friend to his bed, dressed his wounds, and I watched beside him. He lay without complaint or manifesting pain until about midnight, when he spoke, and I asked him if he wanted anything. “‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘Poor Kate!’ His eyes filled with tears as he continued: ‘Her words were prophetic, Colonel,’ and then he sang in a low voice. “‘But toom’ cam’ the saddle, all bluidy to see, And hame cam’ the steed, but hame never cam’ he.’ “He spoke no more, and a few minutes after, died. Poor Kate! who will tell this to thee?” March fifth: “Pop, pop, pop! Bom, bom, bom! throughout the day--no time for memorandums now--go ahead. Liberty and independence forever!” [Illustration: DAVID CROCKETT] * * * * * So ends Davy’s journal. Before dawn of the sixth a final assault of the Mexican force carried the lost Alamo, and at sunrise there were only six of the defenders left alive. Colonel Crockett was found with his back to the wall, with his broken rifle and his bloody knife. Before him lay Thimblerig, his dagger to the hilt in a Mexican’s throat, his death grip fastened in the dead man’s hair. The six prisoners were brought before Santa Anna, who stood surrounded by his staff amid the ruins. General Castrillon saluted the president. “Sir, here are six prisoners I have taken alive; how shall I dispose to them?” “Have I not told you before how to dispose of them--why do you bring them to me?” The officers of the staff fell upon the prisoners with their swords, but like a tiger Davy sprang at Santa Anna’s throat. Then he fell with a dozen swords through his body. Up with your banner, Freedom. Thy champions cling to thee. They’ll follow where’er you lead ’em-- To death or victory. Up with your banner, Freedom! Tyrants and slaves are rushing To tread thee in the dust; Their blood will soon be gushing And stain our knives with rust, But not thy banner, Freedom! While Stars and Stripes are flying Our blood we’ll freely shed; No groan will ’scape the dying, Seeing thee o’er his head. Up with your banner, Freedom! Let us return to Sam Houston. His life of cyclone passions and whirling change--a white boy turned Indian, then hero of a war against the redskins; lawyer, commander-in-chief and governor of a state, a drunken savage, a broken man begging a job at Washington, an obscure conspirator in Texas--had made him leader of the liberators.