We really like Texas History in our house, and it is especially fun this year since both Braden and Logan are learning about it in 4th and 7th grade. Plus, Steve teaches it. Every year the Daughters of the Republic of Texas sponsor a writing contest and a Social Studies Teacher of the Year contest. The Baird boys are right in the middle of all the contests. The writing topic this year was The Alamo. Both Braden and Logan entered the contests, and Steve entered the Teacher of the Year contest. We are crossing our fingers that soon we will have some winners in our house! Here is a picture of Steve "drawing a line in the sand" and the stories that the boys' submitted. 
The Fall of the Alamo by Braden Baird
As I sit here today on this cool, crisp, March morning, I can hear the sounds of laughing children and vendors selling hot dogs. There are tourists passing by me, some reaching out to touch me as they enter the grounds. It wasn’t always like this. Let me take you back 175 years when the sounds were much different. Before I go on, I will introduce myself. My name is Wallie, one of the main walls of the old mission known as the Alamo. If walls could talk, my story might go a little something like this…
It was March 6, 1836. I was the Texians’ eyes and ears, and the Mexicans with their leader, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, were sneaking up on us. I wondered how I could wake up those Texians so they could defend the mission. I wiggled and jiggled because I felt a loose adobe brick. I started to push as hard as you would push if you were trying to move a mountain. The adobe brick fell which snapped a stick, making a crackling sound. The snap was loud enough to wake David Crockett with his raccoon skin cap and his rifle, Betsy, lying beside him.
David went out into the palisade and saw all 2,400 Mexican troops lined up. He yelled, “The Mexicans are upon us!” David’s strong voice was loud enough to wake up all the others. The Mexicans charged, and the Texians defended the mission. The Mexicans fired their cannons. Boom! They fired one of their cannons and the cannonball hit me hard. It really hurt. I was as shaken up as a tree after a Texas twister. As I recovered, I heard another Boom! I cried out in pain begging them to stop, but they continued to bombard me.
As I watched the commander of the Alamo, William B. Travis, get shot by one of Santa Anna’s men, my heart filled with sorrow. I started to lose hope. The Alamo defenders fought back at Santa Anna’s army as hard as they could, but Santa Anna could just not be stopped. He walked around like a strutting peacock, his medals covering his jacket. Suddenly I heard a thud. I looked to see where the sound came from, and I knew it was all over.
I felt the ladders being propped up against me. It was so horrifying that I just closed my eyes. As I heard the scream of the last Alamo defender, I knew that the battle was over. As I watched the cruel Santa Anna burn the bodies of the Alamo defenders, I felt hatred and revenge because he didn’t even give them a proper burial…the worst shame a fallen soldier could have. I knew they deserved so much more. The battle was over almost before it ever started.
A lot has changed over the past 175 years. I still remain, but many of my friends are gone, torn down in front of my very eyes. The sounds of firing guns have been replaced by the laughter of children. But one thing remains…I can still hear the screams of the Alamo defenders, and I will always remember their courage and bravery.
Fall of the Alamo: As Seen Through the Eyes of Davy Crockett
by Logan Baird
It was 5:00 am, March 6, 1836. We’d been holding these old walls for 12 days and I knew the Mexican soldiers would attack soon. That was when I heard a twig snap. I woke up, looked beyond the walls, and saw a never ending meadow of Mexican soldiers on their stomachs ready to attack at any moment. I saw the moonbeams glinting off their bayonets.
Suddenly, I heard one of them yell “Viva Santa Anna!” and then all hell broke loose as they started charging toward our garrison like a pack of wolves chasing their prey.
At that moment, gunfire erupted signaling that the other Alamo defenders were awake. Almeron shouted orders to his men, and I could faintly hear Travis’s voice shouting, “The Mexicans are upon us men, Liberty or Death!” Ducking behind the sticks and mud we called the south wall, I thought of Bowie lying in his hospital bed.
As I loaded my gun ‘Ol’ Betsy, everything was chaos. Mexicans stampeded and shot one another in the confusion. I poked my gun through the sticks towards my running enemies and squeezed the trigger. Ol Betsy jumped in my hand as a musket ball flew out of the barrel. Darkness enveloped me making it impossible to see if I found my mark, but I felt confident in my accuracy.
My shot was not wasted; there were so many targets. I dumped another charge down the barrel and rammed the bullet home into another advancing enemy. The Mexicans battle cries rose like a howling wind from a spring Thunderstorm. The 18 pounder roared as a cannon ball exploded into dozens of soldiers carrying scaling ladders. Above it all, Santa Anna’s band triumphantly played the “Deguallo,” meaning slit throat. I fired again and this time the bullet hit an officer with his sword raised in one hand and a pistol in the other. His body remained entwined among the jagged sticks of the palisade.
Beyond the walls was confusion. The casualties were far greater than they expected, so the enemy retreated and regrouped. The Texians began to cheer behind the walls as the remaining scattered like a field of mice. The cheers reminded me of the crowds that welcomed me as my fame was growing in Washington.
There was a trace of dawn in the sky as the second wave of Mexican soldiers attacked. All the cannons on the south wall fired at the same time toward the dark shadows that were charging towards us. A hail of musket fire followed, and the attack began to falter. I saw soldiers heading towards the North wall to help reinforce the attack there. “Let’s give Colonel Travis some help,” I shouted and half my men started to follow me. While we were running to the North wall I heard several of the men shout “Don Benito,” my Spanish nickname. I had to get the men fired up so I ran up and down the line shouting words of encouragement. Suddenly, a head of a soldier appeared on a ladder. I swung my rifle with all my might. WHACK!!! The stock hit him right in the left temple. With a grunt, the man fell backwards and onto the soldiers below. One by one the Mexican soldiers were killed as they reached the top of their ladders.
As my breath quickened, I soon was gasping for breath. One, two, three….more ladders continued appearing along the wall. As quickly as possible we pushed them back onto the waiting soldiers below. I cheered with the rest of the Texians so they wouldn’t see my ever increasing doubts. Deep inside I knew the battle was far from won. One more time, I told myself. We stand a chance if we can hold them just one more time.
As I turned back towards the palisade I saw Travis standing proud against the surging tide. Then he fell backward dead from a single musket ball. I didn’t have time to grieve because Mexican soldiers were pouring through the breach in the north wall. I felt the ghostly fingers of a fired ball graze past my cheek and felt it strike Micajah behind me.
I fired one shot and quickly dumped more powder into my rifle. My last shot took the life of a screaming officer who had been running towards me with his bayonet. My friends were dying all around me. Some were old friends who had fought the Creek Indians with me and others had hunted the Tennessee woods. I swung my rifle like a club but I was quickly surrounded by the angry hordes. I felt pain ripple up my left arm as I saw soldiers pouring over every wall. Our flag, flying proudly just a second ago was now gone.
The smoke from the cannons and muskets made it hard to breathe. The light of the suns first rays reflected off the bright helmets and lances of the Mexican Calvary as they hurdled over the palisade. The sun had barely risen as I kneeled in the dirt. I was blackened from powder smoke and grim. My clothes were torn and stained with blood. I had a gash on my forehead from the soldier who bashed me with his rifle. General Cos had given me his word that I would not be killed. As I stared into Santa Anna’s cruel eyes, I heard him say, “Kill Him!” The last thing I saw was my reflection off of the soldiers’ bayonets as they charged me.
It was 5:00 am, March 6, 1836. We’d been holding these old walls for 12 days and I knew the Mexican soldiers would attack soon. That was when I heard a twig snap. I woke up, looked beyond the walls, and saw a never ending meadow of Mexican soldiers on their stomachs ready to attack at any moment. I saw the moonbeams glinting off their bayonets.
Suddenly, I heard one of them yell “Viva Santa Anna!” and then all hell broke loose as they started charging toward our garrison like a pack of wolves chasing their prey.
At that moment, gunfire erupted signaling that the other Alamo defenders were awake. Almeron shouted orders to his men, and I could faintly hear Travis’s voice shouting, “The Mexicans are upon us men, Liberty or Death!” Ducking behind the sticks and mud we called the south wall, I thought of Bowie lying in his hospital bed.
As I loaded my gun ‘Ol’ Betsy, everything was chaos. Mexicans stampeded and shot one another in the confusion. I poked my gun through the sticks towards my running enemies and squeezed the trigger. Ol Betsy jumped in my hand as a musket ball flew out of the barrel. Darkness enveloped me making it impossible to see if I found my mark, but I felt confident in my accuracy.
My shot was not wasted; there were so many targets. I dumped another charge down the barrel and rammed the bullet home into another advancing enemy. The Mexicans battle cries rose like a howling wind from a spring Thunderstorm. The 18 pounder roared as a cannon ball exploded into dozens of soldiers carrying scaling ladders. Above it all, Santa Anna’s band triumphantly played the “Deguallo,” meaning slit throat. I fired again and this time the bullet hit an officer with his sword raised in one hand and a pistol in the other. His body remained entwined among the jagged sticks of the palisade.
Beyond the walls was confusion. The casualties were far greater than they expected, so the enemy retreated and regrouped. The Texians began to cheer behind the walls as the remaining scattered like a field of mice. The cheers reminded me of the crowds that welcomed me as my fame was growing in Washington.
There was a trace of dawn in the sky as the second wave of Mexican soldiers attacked. All the cannons on the south wall fired at the same time toward the dark shadows that were charging towards us. A hail of musket fire followed, and the attack began to falter. I saw soldiers heading towards the North wall to help reinforce the attack there. “Let’s give Colonel Travis some help,” I shouted and half my men started to follow me. While we were running to the North wall I heard several of the men shout “Don Benito,” my Spanish nickname. I had to get the men fired up so I ran up and down the line shouting words of encouragement. Suddenly, a head of a soldier appeared on a ladder. I swung my rifle with all my might. WHACK!!! The stock hit him right in the left temple. With a grunt, the man fell backwards and onto the soldiers below. One by one the Mexican soldiers were killed as they reached the top of their ladders.
As my breath quickened, I soon was gasping for breath. One, two, three….more ladders continued appearing along the wall. As quickly as possible we pushed them back onto the waiting soldiers below. I cheered with the rest of the Texians so they wouldn’t see my ever increasing doubts. Deep inside I knew the battle was far from won. One more time, I told myself. We stand a chance if we can hold them just one more time.
As I turned back towards the palisade I saw Travis standing proud against the surging tide. Then he fell backward dead from a single musket ball. I didn’t have time to grieve because Mexican soldiers were pouring through the breach in the north wall. I felt the ghostly fingers of a fired ball graze past my cheek and felt it strike Micajah behind me.
I fired one shot and quickly dumped more powder into my rifle. My last shot took the life of a screaming officer who had been running towards me with his bayonet. My friends were dying all around me. Some were old friends who had fought the Creek Indians with me and others had hunted the Tennessee woods. I swung my rifle like a club but I was quickly surrounded by the angry hordes. I felt pain ripple up my left arm as I saw soldiers pouring over every wall. Our flag, flying proudly just a second ago was now gone.
The smoke from the cannons and muskets made it hard to breathe. The light of the suns first rays reflected off the bright helmets and lances of the Mexican Calvary as they hurdled over the palisade. The sun had barely risen as I kneeled in the dirt. I was blackened from powder smoke and grim. My clothes were torn and stained with blood. I had a gash on my forehead from the soldier who bashed me with his rifle. General Cos had given me his word that I would not be killed. As I stared into Santa Anna’s cruel eyes, I heard him say, “Kill Him!” The last thing I saw was my reflection off of the soldiers’ bayonets as they charged me.
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