History That Doesn't Suck - 29: The Bank War, Whigs, & Revolution in Texas

Episode Date: December 10, 2018

"Come and take it!” This is the story of Andrew Jackson’s ongoing Administration and the Texas Revolution. Old Hickory is up for reelection, and his opponent, Henry Clay, bets the bank--the Bank of The United States--on his ability to beat Andrew. It’s not going to end well for him, but it will help those who dislike Andrew and his Democrats to form a party of their own: the Whigs. Welcome back to a fully partisan America. Meanwhile, trouble’s brewin’ in Tejas Mexicana. Mexican federalism is falling apart as authoritarian Presidente Santa Anna attempts to bend the country to his will. In Mexico’s mostly American immigrant populated region of Tejas, this means revolution! But that’s not the view of Mexican leaders. They’re convinced this is part of an American conspiracy to steal it! So who’s right? We’ll walk you through it all--the 1824 Mexican Constitution, the establishment of Anglo colonies, centralization, slavery, the Alamo, the Goliad Massacre, San Jacinto, and more--and hope to leave you with a nuanced understanding of how the Lone Star Republic came to be. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story.

It's a cold, misty, wet, and otherwise miserable winter afternoon as Washington, D.C.'s bitterly divided elite file out of the Capitol building. Yes, the era of good feelings is very much gone, and two new parties stand in its stead. One is President Andrew Jackson's Democrats, the other his opponents, who fuse together as the Whigs. But today, January 30, 1835, these two political households, both alike in dignity, have set aside their differences to accomplish a bipartisan achievement. Holding a funeral service for South Carolina Representative Warren R. Davis. Yeah, at least we can still agree on burying the dead. And among those present at the congressman's funeral is our tall, gangly, increasingly white-haired commander-in-chief, Andrew. He's not moving quite like he did back in

his military glory days. What can I say? 67 years of rough and tumble life is catching up with old Hickory. I imagine the sound of his cane tapping on the Capitol building's rotunda floor, piercing through the competing sounds emanating from countless other dignitaries as their conversations and shuffling footsteps echo across the neoclassical room. Though in truth, we can only wonder what these echoes sound like. The rotunda is so different now than it will be in the 21st century. Future remodeling will raise its ceilings far higher than the sandstone walls currently reach. We'll also remove the empty tomb built for George Washington. In keeping with George's wishes, the founding father's family refuses to move his remains here, which means all this would-be sepulcher does, apart from occupying the center of this circular room, is bring the cellar's dank, chilly air up into the building. And on a cold and clammy day like today,

the empty tomb only makes the rotunda that much colder and damp. Man, how dreary! Amid a funeral, no less! Let's get the president out of this cold, moist room andrew now steps out of the rotunda and onto the east portico it's about this moment when he locks eyes with a young well-dressed handsome man in the crowd outside he thinks nothing of it old hickory continues forward nearing the portico's large corinthian columns and is about to descend the long staircase to the street when suddenly, standing no more than 10 feet away, the young, well-dressed, handsome man shoots at the President of the United States. Or tries to at any rate. Despite sounding like it went off, the gun misfired, only exploding its cap. Miraculously, the black powder doesn't explode, so the ball doesn't fire. No matter. The killer came prepared.

Within those initial seconds, when everyone's still processing the shock of this attack, he drops his first pistol, brandishes another, and fires again. Incredibly, his second gun misfires in the exact same fashion as the first. Now, in the 20th century, the Secret Service would whisk a president off after an assassination attempt. But this isn't the 20th century. And Andrew ain't one for whisking off. Either just before or after the second gun's misfire,

the aging, ailing hero of New Orleans raises his cane, wielding it as a weapon, and charges straight at his armed attacker. Let me alone. Let me alone. I know where this came from. Andrew hollers as others restrain the president from beating his assailant to a bloody pulp. Meanwhile, the attempted murder is quickly subdued. Navy Lieutenant Thomas Gedney and a Tennessee congressman known as the King of the Wild Frontier, Davy Crockett, are among the first to grab the president's assailant, but there's

soon a throng of men roughly taking him away. Andrews ushered to a carriage and taken back to the White House. It turns out his attacker is an English-born house painter who's mentally ill named Richard Lawrence. In his state of mind, the hyperbole of party politics and partisan newspapers convinced the poor man that Andrew is a tyrant whose death would bring jobs to mechanics. That said, don't doubt his abilities because of his mental state. The only reason he failed today was the misty, cold weather. Well, that and perhaps George Washington's empty tomb, which upped the dampness of the air in and around the rotunda. Incredibly, the day's moist air dampened the powder in Richard's properly loaded pistol so thoroughly, both misfired.

The statistical probability of this outcome, and yes, I'm giving you an actual calculation, was 125,000 to 1. Damn. So thanks to poor weather and the deceased George Washington, sort of, America's first attempted presidential assassination is a failure. The first successful one won't happen for another 30 years. But that assassination, as you know, is another failure. The first successful one won't happen for another 30 years. But that assassination, as you know, is another story. And we're going to another story because today we're really focusing on Texas. I mean, we'll hang with Andrew Jackson in DC for a bit, covering more of his country

changing presidency, such as his throwdown with the Bank of the United States, and re-election. And then we'll finish creating America's second political party system, as Andrew's many political enemies form a legit opposition party, the Whigs. But once that's done, we're going to be GTT. Gone to Texas, that is.

Where a revolution's going on. We'll get into all the messiness of how Tejas Mexicana becomes the Lone Star Republic, then circle back to D.C. to see how Texan independence is impacting the U.S. Jam-packed as ever, right? Let's back up a few years from this assassination attempt in 1835 then, so we can get to the root of Jackson's so-called bank wars, which of course is wrapped up in party politics. With no further ado, here we go. Rewind. As 1831 winds down and the 1832 presidential election prep ramps up, two political factions

are crystallizing against the nascent, Jackson-supporting Democratic Party. Ready for them? First is the National Republican Party. Led by the capable, gangly Kentuckian Henry Clay and other proponents of what he likes to call the American system, the National Republicans are basically pushing for John Quincy's vision of America that I described last time. You know, a national bank, unified currency, a ton of federally funded infrastructure that benefits interstate trade. The other party opposing Democrats is the anti-Masonic party. Their name pretty much says it all. These guys just don't dig politicians who are free masons. Right now,

most federal office holders do belong to a Masonic lodge, including President Andrew Jackson himself. So these guys want Andrew and all his Masonic brethren out. Well, the two pseudo-party factions each hold separate national nominating conventions for the upcoming presidential election. The anti-Masons nominate William Wirt, a former attorney general and ironically a former Freemason himself, at their Baltimore convention in September 1831. Come December, the National Republicans nominate the former Secretary of State, corrupt bargain maker who's always wanted to be president,

Kentuckian skeletor lookalike Henry Clay. Since his boss John Quincy lost to Andrew back in 1828, Henry's been biding his time, serving as one of the bluegrass state's U.S. senators, itching for the chance to make a comeback as successful as the Backstreet Boys. And here it is. So Henry accepts the nomination and enters his second presidential election. Of course, the Democrats hold a convention too, but with Andrew the Hero Jackson running for a second term, it's the VP pick that's interesting.

Current VP John Calhoun gets booted so Martin Van Buren can take his place. Ouch. But that's what happens when you cross Andrew, as we saw him do in the last episode during both the petticoat affair and the nullification crisis besides he kind of bailed on John Quincy so karma am I right once the candidates take stock of one another it becomes apparent that this political fistfight is really going to be between the physically frail but iron-willed Andrew and the brilliant, desperate-to-be-the-comeback kid Henry. And at the

heart of their upcoming 1832 electoral showdown is one major issue, the Bank of the United States. We talked a lot about the bank in episode 27, but since it's been a while, let me give you a recap on how this financial institution works. The Bank of the United States circulates banknotes backed by specie, actual gold and silver. It has banks in almost every one of the 24 states, lends money, and sells shares to investors. Bank President Nicholas Biddle, who took over after the Panic of 1819, has done a pretty good job. His policies help the national economy stay on an even keel. But even though the bank plays a vital role in the stability of the economy, not everyone likes it. Such is President Andrew Jackson.

He and the majority of Americans distrust the national bank. The president argues that the institution is unconstitutional, stretching the necessary and proper clause to the breaking point, saying, It cannot be necessary or proper for Congress to barter away or divest themselves of any of the powers vested in them by the Constitution to be exercised for the public good. According to Andrew, Congress has bartered away control of the bank to wealthy private citizens. He's not wrong. Well over half of the bank's private shares are in the hands of only about 800 rich dudes. That means the major federal financial institution of the United States basically rests in their

hands, and Andrew sees this as a serious threat to the financial well-being of America's 13 million people. But Henry Clay disagrees. He sees the important role the Bank of the United States plays in the nation's economy and is going to make it the focus point of the presidential election. See, Henry has an uphill battle. Andrew is super popular. I mean, Gallup polls might not be a thing right now, but it's no secret that the hero's approval rating is through the roof. So in a Hail Mary play, the bank-supporting presidential candidate is going to gamble the bank. He'll prod Andrew into killing it, which Henry believes will expose old Hickory as a tyrant who acts against the will of the people. The Kentuckian will then unite Andrew's fractured enemies,

voters who dislike Andrew's position on nullification, Indian removal, and the National Bank, and garner enough votes to take the White House. Whew, cold and ruthless. To get his plan underway, sweet-talking Henry convinces his good friend, President of the Bank of the United States, Nicholas Biddle, to apply for the bank's recharter early. The current charter won't expire until 1836, but Henry explains to Nick that congressmen are ready to back the bank. To quote him, The friends of the bank here, with whom I have conversed, seem to expect the bank. To quote him, the friends of the bank here with whom I have conversed seem to expect the application to be made. My own belief is that if now called upon, he would not negative

the bill, but that if he should be re-elected, the event might and probably would be different. Close quote. Henry goes on arguing that if Nick waits until after the election of 1832, and if Andrew wins that election, the Democratic Andrew will have no incentive to keep voters happy and will veto the bank recharter application. Here's the thing. The Pennsylvania bank president has tried to keep the bank out of the political fray for 10 years now. He once told a friend, We believe that the prosperity of the bank and its usefulness to the country depend on its being entirely free from the control of the officers of the government, a control fatal to every bank which it ever influenced. Close quote. Nonetheless, Nick sees the logic in Henry's argument and, at the beginning of 1832,

applies for a recharter with the naive hope that his precious bank will stay out of the political melee of the upcoming election. Nope. The fierce debate in Congress, which Andrew watches from the White House

like it's a pay-per-view boxing match, brings out ambitious Henry's vicious side. The president gleefully quips, The storm in Congress is still raging, clay reckless, and as full of fury as a drunken man in a brothel. Okay, Andrew's probably exaggerating, but Henry's passionate defense of the bank pays off. The renewal bill passes in early July, 1832. Nick's sure the anti-bank Andrew will go along with the will of Congress and let his bank live another day. The financier even tells Henry, quote,

The bank has never had any concern in elections. It will not have any now. Even I, who do not feel the slightest interest in him, would be sorry to ascribe to a president of the United States a course much fitter for a humble demagogue than the chief magistrate of a great country. Close quote. But Andrew doesn't care if Nick calls him a demagogue or any other name in the book. He still thinks this, quote, mammoth of power and corruption must die. I have it chained.

The monster must perish. Close quote. When the bank bill lands on Andrew's desk, Andrew is too sick to even get out of bed to deal with the legislation. But he's determined to rid his country of the monster bank. Andrew's election running mate and friend, Martin Van Buren, finds the president laid up in bed on Saturday night, July 8th. Old Hickory boldly tells Martin, the bank, Mr. Van Buren, is trying to kill me, but I will kill it. And so he vetoes the bill on July 10th, 1832. Old Hickory sends a blistering

message to Congress explaining his reasons for rejecting the bank's recharter. And as a result, the bank issue now eclipses all others in the upcoming election. Ah, this is just what Henry wanted. Even bank president Nick sees how this turn of events can play in his favor. He writes to Henry predicting that now the American people will see Andrew for the tyrant and bully he is delivering Henry the White House. Quote, As to the veto message, I am delighted with it. It has all the fury of a chained panther biting the bars of his cage.

It is really a manifesto of anarchy, such as Marat or Robespierre might have issued to the mob of the Faubert Saint-Antoine. And my hope is that it will contribute to relieve the country from the dominion of these miserable people. Close quote. But Henry and Nick have it all wrong. Far from believing the National Republican message that Andrew is an American version of the French despot, most voters see Andrew as their savior

from the corrupt bank of the United States. At the polls, Americans reject Henry and his American banking system with its federally funded internal improvements and currency regulating national bank. In the fall of 1832, Andrew scores 16 states and 219 electoral votes, while Henry lands a meager six states and 49 electoral votes. The other candidates, William Wirt and a guy named John Floyd, they take one state apiece. Ouch. And bad gamble, Henry. That's what happens when you bet the bank. With old hickory secured in the White House for another four years, Nick's worst nightmare comes true. Andrew basically goes Ocean's Eleven Terry Benedict on the bank.

You know the line. He'll kill you and then he'll go to work on you. The bank can legally operate until its current charter runs out in 1836, but screw that. Andrew removes federal deposits from the bank in order to empty its coffers and run it into the ground. When current Treasury Secretary William Dwayne refuses to make the transfers, Andrew replaces the defiant man with loyal Democrat Roger Taney. Roger toes Andrew's line and starts the withdrawal process immediately. He sends the federal money to state banks that furious national Republicans begin to call pet banks. But Nick won't take Andrew's power play lying down.

The bank president plans to bribe every bank clerk and cashier that he can in order to block Andrew's bank transfers. Nick brags to a friend, quote, In half an hour, I can remove all of the constitutional scruples in the District of Columbia. Close quote. Damn, this is getting dirty. He also tells his bank staff to call in outstanding loans and refuse to lend money in order to boost the bank's bottom line. All of this money moving, Andrew's federal withdrawals, Nick's loan repayment demands, and tightening of credit induces a nationwide panic, which as you likely recall from episode 27 means recession.

A group of Baltimore business leaders even go to the White House to plead the cause of their livelihoods and the bank, presenting Andrew with a petition for financial relief. The intransigent president replies, I would rather undergo the tortures of 10 Spanish inquisitions than that the deposits should be restored or the monster bank be recharged. Okay, I think that means no. These petitioners won't see any relief from Andrew. He has a big plan for his federal funds, and it doesn't involve handing out cash to private businesses.

Andrew plans to pay off the national debt, and by 1833, he does. The hero is the only president ever to do so. The slow economy, bank war, and the presidential election of 1832 give Henry Clay's National Republican Party and the small anti-Masonic party a chance to bond. Literally. These two factions joined forces early in Democratic Party member Andrew's second term. By the 1834 midterm elections, the new group has well-organized leadership and runs candidates on the official Whig party ticket. Don't adjust your headphones,

that's Whig with an H. It's a terrible name, but the party members have put some thought into it. They borrow the name from the absolute monarchy opposing British Whigs and campaign against the powerful, my way or the highway president they call King Andrew I. Looks like American politics is officially back to a two-party system. We are far from done with Andrew, but we're going to leave DC for a bit. In Northeast Mexico, American immigrants to Texas, or Texians, along with a few Mexican Texans, or Tejanos, are rebelling against the Mexican government, and this will have consequences for the US. So saddle up, because to follow all of this, we need to go back a few years and head out west. Ready? Let's ride and rewind.

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curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. It's 1821, and Spain's 300 years of colonial rule in Central America are over. Yes, after a decade of revolution, New Spain is now the newly independent sovereign nation of Mexico. Felicidades, Mexico. But this isn't the Mexico you'll know in the 21st century. It's even bigger. Its south reaches down to Nicaragua.

Its north stretches to the southern edge of the British-U.S. disputed territory of Oregon country. And its northeast includes a region called Tejas, which is an indigenous word meaning ally or friendship. Anglicized, that's Texas. Of course, this successful revolution also means free-from-monarchy Mexicans have to sort out what form of government to use. There are two camps. One, the centralists, seeking strong, top-down rule that projects power and uniformity from Mexico City across the country. And two, Federalists, which, yes, just as you suspect, want regional governments to share power and sovereignty with a federal government.

Well, in 1824, the latter group wins out and Mexico's new constitution creates a Federalist Republic. But really, the struggle between the Centralists and Federalists for the soul of this massive nation is far from over. Now, as this political brouhaha is playing out, and keep that in the back of your mind, okay? We have Americans immigrating to Texas, starting with Stephen F. Austin. Spain had granted Stephen's father, Moses, permission to establish an Anglo colony in Texas, but that gets complicated by Moses' premature death and Mexican independence. The almost 30-year-old brown-haired Stephen is suddenly thrust into his father's shoes.

Ultimately, Mexico decides that bringing colonizers to virtually unpopulated Texas, so unpopulated it's been merged with its neighboring region, Coahuila, to form the Mexican state of Coahuila y Tejas, is the wiser path. Stephen becomes an empresario, think immigration agent and colony administrator, and by 1825, he's led 297 families, aka the Old 300, in setting up a colony with the town of San Felipe de Austin near the Brazos River as its capital. As the years pass, more Anglo immigrants from the U.S., dubbed Texians, arrive in Texas. Cheap land and the chance for a fresh start prove an irresistible siren's call, especially to Southerners.

In fact, so many go that the initials GTT, meaning Gone to Texas, become as popular and recognizable as YOLO will unfortunately become in the early 21st century. In the U.S., GTT gets scratched on trunks, cabin walls, etc. But alas, no hashtag precedes it. But as more Americans arrive, the Mexican government grows more distrusting. And that's understandable because some, like Hayden Edward, aren't playing nice. His colony declares itself the independent republic of Fredonia in 1826. Yeah, it's short-lived, but Texians in general aren't assimilating as agreed to by converting to Catholicism and learning Spanish. It's like they don't recognize they've moved to a

different country. Further, the Mexican government knows some Americans, including U.S. leaders, would like to annex Texas. Believing it to be a part of the 1803 Louisiana Purchase, Americans claimed the territory until the 1819 Adams-O'Neill Treaty officially gave Texas to Spain. But since then, the U.S. government has continued to try to buy it. In 1829, Old Hickory sends Kentucky lawyer Anthony Butler to Mexico with permission to offer up to $5 million. And about the time Anthony arrives, Mexican General Manuel Miery Teran tours Texas. He finds the situation alarming at best. Okay, that's it. The Mexican government is all but certain the U.S. is trying to steal Texas. A conspiracy must be at hand. Well, this view couldn't lead to an overreaction, now could it?

Yeah. So Mexican authorities issue 18 articles, or rather, the laws of April 6, 1830. Among other things, they make further emigration from the United States illegal, annul land contracts, end a 10-year tax exemption for immigrants, and say no more slaves can be brought to Texas. But this law doesn't stop the flow of American immigration. By 1835, Texas has a population of roughly 35,000. Some 30,000, in other words,

five out of six Texans, are Americans, or again, Texians. Wow. So now that we understand the perspective of the Mexican government, let's talk about these American immigrants, these Texians. As long as they're left alone, they're good. Many aren't grasping, they aren't in America anymore, but few are talking secession or whatever. I mean, maybe statehood, Breaking off from Kuwila,

that sounds good. But then these 1830 articles come out. It messes with land contracts. It's trying to end slavery. Whoa, and taxes. God knows how Americans feel when the taxman shows up. Now we're ruffling some Texian feathers. So in October 1832, Texians hold a convention. It's technically illegal. Remember, they are in Mexico, not America. But still, this convention generates some resolutions against the Mexican articles that manage to get into proper legal channels. But with the constant beef between centralists and federalists in the Mexican government, the Texians' wish list stalls out as federal shakeups and ineptitude continue. So they try again with a second convention in April 1833.

And now the Texians have an experienced lawmaker in their midst, Sam Houston. This Virginian-born, War of 1812 veteran, former congressman, former Tennessee governor, and protege of Andrew Jackson, seriously, Old Hickory coached him on dueling before his one and only victorious duel. Obviously has street cred. Or governing cred. So Sam leads the drafting of a state constitution while the convention sends Stephen Austin to Mexico City to air their grievances. But things don't go great for Stephen in the Capitol. He gets the ban on American immigration temporarily lifted, but little else. As Stephen gets word there's talk of organizing a third convention and prepares to head back to Texas, Vice President Farias has him arrested for suspected treason. Seriously, here's one of the

cooler-headed Texians who's trying to hold things together under Mexican rule, and the VP has him arrested? Stephen spends all of 1834 in jail, never getting a day in court. He writes, and I quote, I have been true and faithful to this government and nation, served them laboriously, and I am now meeting my reward. I expect to die in this prison. Close quote. But his end isn't in this cell. President Santa Anna releases the empresario.

He finally manages to return to Texas in August 1835. Now, while Stephen makes his way home, let me introduce you to El Presidente Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. The dark-featured, Spanish-descent, physically powerful general who can definitely rock a mustache is an opportunist. His politics change with the breeze. He was for Spanish rule, then independence. He was for federalism, now he's for a central government.

As he once put it to an American minister, quote, A hundred years to come, my people will not be fit for liberty. They do not know what it is, unenlightened as they are. And under the influence of a Catholic clergy, a despotism is the proper government for them. Close quote. Damn, Santa Ana. I guess your greatest lack of faith isn't in the Catholic church. And to this very point, he crushes the city of Zacatecas for opposing him.

Despite the central Mexican city's well-armed 4,000-man militia, Santa Ana's own 4,000-strong army makes short work of them in April 1835. He kills and captures thousands, and when the battle is through, a presidente lets his men pillage, rape, and otherwise sack the city for the next 48 hours. Undoubtedly, his message to the rest of Mexico in doing this is simply, behave. Yeah, that's not the message the Texians receive. Instead, they look at Zacatecas, see what Santa Ana is willing to do to Spanish-speaking native-born Catholic Mexicans, and figure they're screwed. So between this and other smaller run-ins with Mexican soldiers, Texians figure it's time to form militias and committees of safety. And in this atmosphere of mounting mutual distrust that's been building over the last

decade and a half, things finally snap. It's now late September 1835. A Mexican corporal with five men head to the Anglo town of Gonzales. Amid rising tensions, they've been sent to retrieve an old, ill-working, six-pounder cannon that the government gave the colony a few years back so it could protect itself against Tawakoni and Comanche raids. Funny thing is, this one-town colony, founded by empresario Green DeWitt, didn't have any interest in fighting for independence a few months back. Then they heard about Zacatecas. And then, earlier this month,

a Mexican soldier smashed his rifle into the face of Gonzales resident Jesse McCoy for no reason. So today, they won't be giving up the cannon. Instead, they disarm the soldiers and send them back to their commander, Colonel Domingo de Ugartechea at San Antonio. That's not gonna fly. The colonel now sends 100 dragoons

to take that broken crap cannon. They nearly arrive on September 29th, but find all the ferries needed to cross the Guadalupe River conveniently on the wrong side of the water. The Texians holler across the river that they'll need to wait for their leader to return. Left with no other choice, the dragoons make camp. But as they wait, Texians from other colonies

are coming to reinforce Gonzales. By the next day, 100 men are in the small town. Green's daughter, Naomi, volunteers her wedding dress to make a flag. The white cloth soon bears the silhouette of a cannon, along with the four words a Revolutionary War commander once defiantly sent to British troops threatening his fort. Come and take it. Seems like a better use of a wedding dress than sitting in a box at the top of your closet, right? Even more men arrive the next day. Then, at 4 a.m. on October 2nd, 1835,

this 168-man militia takes the fight to the Dragoons. And with that, the Texas Revolution has begun. The Battle of Gonzales is far more symbolic than eventful. Shots are fired, but the Dragoons pull back. They have orders not to engage if outnumbered. Still, for the Texians, this is a significant moment. They haven't been perfect immigrants. Let's not forget they're kicking up a fuss over assimilating to Mexican ways, being taxed, or losing their American constitutional rights when they chose to emigrate to another country. But this centralizing Mexican government under President

Santa Anna that violently crushed the city of Zacatecas isn't what they signed up for either. In fact, Texians see themselves following in the footsteps of their revolutionary forebears six decades ago. If we tell it from their perspective, they've tried reconciling with the Mexican government. They've only formed committees of safety and militias in response to government violence. And like the 1775 Battle of Lexington, the Texas Revolution's first battle broke out when an oppressive government unrighteously attempted to seize their arms. In fact, Texans will later refer to the Battle of Gonzales as the Lexington of the Texas Revolution. Well, this impromptu army at Gonzales quickly swells to around 300.

The self-proclaimed Army of the People get the original impresario, Stephen Austin, to be their leader. He's not a military man, unless you count a few weeks in the Missouri militia, which of course we don't, but he's universally respected. That matters. We've got a mixed crowd. One Texan will later describe them saying, quote, some were for independence, some for the constitution of 1824, and some for anything just so it was a row. Close quote. A motley crew indeed. By the way, this army isn't just Texians. Mexican Texans, Tejanos, join up too. 135 of them to be exact. They, like rebels in other Mexican states, are Federalists fighting against Santa Ana's authoritarianism in the name of the dying 1824 Constitution. And restoring the 1824 Constitution is the current stated goal of the Texas Revolution.

When Texan representatives meet in early November at the town of San Felipe to form what they call the consultation, they vote on what the hell this fight is even about. Some, like the War Party members, want independence straight up. Others, like the Peace Party members, say this is only about proper federal government. By a vote of 33 to 14, the Peace Party wins. They will not fight for independence, only for the restoration of the 1824 constitution. To be fair, some Texians only vote this way so as not to lose the support of Tejanos and other Mexicans. But still, independence isn't on the table. Yet. By the way, the consultation also names Sam Houston commander-in-chief of an army.

Not the army of the people that Stephen's leading, but of some other army they'll raise. Okay, whatever. But speaking of the army of the people, let's stay focused on that. Stephen's leading them to San Antonio, where there's a crumbling old mission lacking a roof. It's called the Alamo. Okay, you've heard of this battle, right? Maybe you saw one of the many movies depicting it. All due respect to John Wayne, I'm partial to Billy Bob Thornton's performance as Davy Crockett.

I love his last line. I'm warning you, boys. I'm partial to Billy Bob Thornton's performance as Davy Crockett. I love his last line. I'm warning you, boys. I'm a screamer. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's at least get these Texans there first. The day after his October 11th election as leader of the Army of the People, Stevens says they are marching to San Antonio. It's the capital of Texas, and the man whom Santa Ana has sent to crush this little Texan rebellion, General Martin Perfecto de Cos, is garrisoned here with an army. The march from Gonzales to San Antonio is a mere 70 miles, but the Texians don't attack the town for nearly two months.

Sam Houston visits in October and takes some of the men to San Felipe for that upcoming consultation we just talked about. Then on October 28th, the Battle of Concepcion happens just outside San Antonio. It's a skirmish really, but the Texans, who only lose one man, effectively use their Kentucky long rifles to inflict far heavier losses on the musket-bearing Mexican forces. After this victory, though, it's a waiting game. There is a change in leadership. The consultation asks Stephen to go to the U.S. and seek help, leaving his Lieutenant Colonel Edward Burleson to take over command of the army. But all through November, the 600-strong Texian army camps just outside San Antonio. The game changes though in early December when a Mexican officer gives himself up to the Texans. He says it's terrible in San Antonio. They lack medicine, food, water, morale is low. Ah, this is it. The opportunity. While many Texans lack morale themselves, 47-year-old War of 1812 veteran Ben

Millam refuses to let this moment pass. Who will follow old Ben Millam into San Antonio? He loudly hollers to the assembled 600 men. Only 300 agree. They'll be outnumbered by at least two to one, but good enough for old Ben. Colonel Burleson gives his blessing and Ben prepares to attack. Before sunrise on December 5th, Colonel James Neal's cannon rips through the early morning air and flies towards the Alamo. That's the signal. Moving in separate divisions, Ben's 300 soldiers now descend on San Antonio. The fighting is fierce as the Texan and Mexican armies battle it out in the houses and on the rooftops of little San Antonio's grid-like streets for days. Just like at the Battle of Concepcion, Kentucky long rifles

give the Texans an edge as they pick off Mexican artillerymen. But on December 7th, the Texans get a taste of their own medicine when a Mexican sniper kills Ben with a headshot. Things look even more dire the next day when Colonel Ugartechea arrives with roughly 600 Mexican reinforcements. But it's not as bad as that sounds for the Texans. Most of these reinforcements were conscripted from Mexican prisons and quickly desert. General Costa has one play left. He retreats into the old mission-turned-fort that is the Alamo. But by December 9th, the Mexican commander can see it's hopeless. He surrenders.

General Costa and his men are paroled and leave San Antonio a few days later. It's quite a victory. They've taken the capital of Texas. They've bested a Mexican army. Many Texians, including our commander, Ed Burleson, think the revolution's been won and go home. Most remaining soldiers are sent to other assignments, like this expedition force being organized to go farther south

and attack the Rio Grande port city of Matamoros. Despite San Antonio's political and strategic importance, a mere 100 men are left to defend it under the command of Colonel James Neal. Poor James. He's the guy who fired the cannon starting the siege, remember? Well, he knows he's screwed if a central government army comes at him. And that army is coming. That same December, Santa Ana gathers 6,000 men and heads north, ready to make an example of the Texians, Tejanos, and their American allies

who've dared to oppose his centralizing government. Oh, yeah, though not sanctioned by the U.S. government, hundreds of Americans have come to fight. It isn't helping that whole America's trying to jack Texas vibe down in Mexico City. Anyhow, since San Antonio is along one of the only two roads connecting the Mexican interior and Texas, el presidente heads that way.

When he learns en route that General Coase has lost the town, it's just another reason to crush the rebels there. But thanks to an unusually harsh winter, Indian raids, Oregon Trail-style dysentery, you're welcome my fellow children of the 80s, and the need to train his newly recruited army, it'll take him until late February to get there. Meanwhile, up north in San Antonio, Colonel James Neal is making do with what he can. He continues converting the old mission into a fort, moving about on the catwalk,

mounting more of his roughly 20 artillery pieces on the Alamo's 9 to 12 foot high adobe walls. He also sends word to General Sam Houston, he got his own army, and requests backup. In response, Sam sends 30 men with the well-built, knife-wielding Kentuckian adventurer Jim Bowie. And yeah, I'll call him Bowie because how can I not? Now depending on how you read the language of Sam's orders, he's commanded Bowie to demolish the Alamo and have everyone fall back, or Sam suggested Bowie demolish it, but is leaving the final decision to James Neal. Either way, when Bowie arrives on January 19th, 1836, he looks

around, digs what James has done with the place, and decides he and his men will stay to help defend it. A handful of other reinforcements arrive in the next few weeks, including two men who, alongside Bowie, will become the most famous defenders of the Alamo. The first one we caught a glimpse of in this episode's opening, the coonskin-capped Tennessean, the king of the wild frontier, who may or may not have killed a bear when he was only three, Davy Crockett. The other is a fierce 26-year-old officer named William B. Travis. Both bring some meager reinforcements with them. Between them and a few others, the Alamo now has 200 to 250 defenders. Ever wondered what it's like to be in the room with top al-Qaeda terrorists plotting their next move? Do you want to know how the history of Islamic fundamentalist thought informs the way the world

works today? Well then, dear listener, Conflicted is the podcast for you. I trace the epic battles between Muslims and the West. What are the Houthis' objectives in the Red Sea? It's a lesson to the rest of the Muslim world and the Arab world. Do not trust the Islamists. Hosted by me, Thomas Small, an author and filmmaker, and my good friend, Ayman Dean, an ex-Al-Qaeda jihadi turned MI6 spy, Conflicted tells stories of the Islamic past and present to help you make sense of the world today. And now Conflicted Season 5 is being cooked up,

coming to you very soon. And in the meantime, you can sign up to our Conflicted community to give you bonus episodes and access to our community hub on Discord. Subscribe to Conflicted wherever you get your podcasts. On February 14th, the Alamo's commander, James Neal, leaves. He gets word that his family is terribly ill and goes to check on them. James genuinely thinks he'll be back, but he won't. With fiery young William and Bowie as co-commanders, like co-managers Jim and Michael in the office, because that worked well,

the Alamos defenders watch as the first 1,500 of El Presidente's troops arrive in San Antonio on February 23rd. Santa Ana sends word to the Alamos defenders that he'll spare them if they surrender now. And how does William respond? He fires a cannon right at the forming Mexican camp. Message received. These brave Texians and Tejanos will hope for reinforcements, but are ready to fight to the last man. Santa Ana's men now begin to lay siege, entrenching themselves while firing artillery at the Alamo.

The old mission's three-foot-foot thick adobe walls weren't made for this. On February 24th, William writes a letter calling for aid. Quote, I call on you in the name of liberty, of patriotism, and everything dear to the American character to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his honor or that of his country. Victory or death. Close quote. Travis dispatches this letter addressed to the people of Texas and all Americans in the world with Albert Martin. Miraculously, he manages to sneak past Santa

Anna's men in the dead of night. And while the letter will be wide read, copied, and published, neither it nor the other pleas William sends during Santa Ana's 13-day siege will change the situation. The 32 reinforcements who do come will only increase the final body count. March 6th, 5.30 a.m. 1,800 of Santa Ana's men, including General Kos, whom the Texans paroled after defeating him right here in December, quietly surround the cracked, faltering adobe walls of the Alamo. But the surprise attack is spoiled by excited troops cheering at the sight of their president and general. Viva Santa Ana! Viva la Republica!

The roused Texans spring into action. The Mexicans are upon us! Give them hell! William calls to the Texans. No rendirse muchachos! He hollers to the Tejanos. It's a futile but valiant fight. The Texans fire scrap metal and cannonballs from their artillery, ripping Mexican soldiers to shreds. The Texans manage to repulse the Mexican army's initial attempts to scale the Alamo, but they lack the numbers to do so for long.

Soon, Mexican troops are on the catwalk. They turn the Texans' artillery on the Alamo's walls and doors. The violence only escalates as Santa Ana's innumerable men pour into the adobe hovel. To quote a Mexican soldier, The Texans fought like tigers. The proportion was 1 to 30, yet no quarter was asked, and each sold his life as dearly as possible.

The last moments of the conflict were terrible. The darkness of the rooms, the smoke of the battle, and the shrieks of the wounded and dying all added to the terror of the scene. The floor of the main building was nearly shewed deep in blood, and weltering there were hundreds of dead men, many still clenched together with one hand while the other hand held the sword, pistol, or knife,

which told how they had died in that last terrible struggle. Close quote. Man, by the time the almost two-hour battle is over, the 200 or so Texans, all of whom will die today, kill or wound approximately 600 of Santa Ana's men. Sold their lives dearly indeed. A very few Texan fighters survive the battle, and according to legend, one of them is Davy Crockett. This is how we get the dramatic scene at the end of the 2004 movie, The Alamo. But as much as I love Billy Bob Thornton's depiction, I'm afraid it's Hollywood magic. We don't know if Davy survived this long, let alone what he might have said.

Either way, it makes little difference in the long run. All remaining fighters are executed, after which the roughly 200 Texan corpses are stacked and burned. Damn. Now, I will give Santa Anna this. He spares the very few women, children, and slaves present at the Alamo. But that decent act is soon eclipsed by his order to massacre an entire army. Only two weeks after the Alamo, a very outnumbered and outgunned Colonel James W. Fannin surrenders outside of Goliad. This is a bit of a gamble. In an effort to deter American intervention, Santa Anna is treating all prisoners as pirates, not combatants, and simply executing them.

But the colonel has no real options. And Mexican General Urrea is a compassionate man who thoroughly believes Santa Anna will stand by the accord between himself and Colonel Fannin. After all, can you really execute some 300 men? Closer to 400 when the Georgia battalion is taken prisoner two days later. That's too much for General Urrea. He locks up Fannin and the other Texans at Fort Defiance and awaits word. Word is to slaughter them.

Urrea can do nothing to stop it. Santa Ana sends his orders straight to Lieutenant Colonel Portilla at Fort Defiance. On March 27th, Palm Sunday no less, the 300 healthy prisoners are marched out of the fort in three groups, and they have no idea what's happening until it's too late. On a given signal, Mexican soldiers fire at close range. The few survivors are quickly caught and beaten or bayoneted to death. Those too ill or injured to march out are executed as well, some laying in the chapel. Meanwhile, Colonel Fannin saved for last. Given three final requests, he asks, one,

not to be shot in the face, two, that his personal effects be given to his family, and three, to receive a Christian burial. What happens? The soldiers shoot him in the face, steal his belongings, and burn his corpse. Clearly, these men lack the heart and conscience of General Urrea. Between these losses, you'd be forgiven for thinking the Texas Revolution is a lost cause, yet there's a fast and furious battle the following month that turns it all around. After weeks of retreating and avoiding the larger Mexican army, Sam Houston's forces capture a Mexican messenger and learn that Santa Ana has divided his forces and is making camp by the junction of the Buffalo Bayou and the San Jacinto River. Perfect. Sam takes advantage of the situation on April 21st by attacking as Santa Ana's exhausted

army is taking a well-earned afternoon siesta. Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad! The 900 Texans cry while falling on the waking soldiers. In less than 30 minutes, the Texians and Tejanos kill 600 and take hundreds more prisoners while losing only nine of their own. As for El Presidente, he's found disguised in a common soldier's uniform the next day. Many Texan soldiers call for his death, but Santa Anna readily makes concessions to save his own skin. He sends orders to his vastly superior army, which could still crush the Texans, to retreat out of Texas, and on May 14th, he signs the Treaties of Velasco.

These treaties specify several things, but most important perhaps are that Santa Ana will not take up arms against Texas again, and that as Texas leaders have moved from fighting for the 1824 Constitution to claiming full-on independence, which was declared on March 2nd, 1836, Santa Ana will work to achieve recognition of Texan independence from the Mexican government. Santa Ana takes a circuitous path through the United States to get back to Mexico, but by the next year, he's home and Texas is independent. Now, what does an independent Texas mean for the United States? It's complicated. We've already established that the president, old Hickory, really wants to annex Texas. And though Texians like Stephen Austin made an honest

effort to stay a part of Mexico, at least at first, others like Sam Houston have been all about independence and U.S. annexation from the start. Mexico knows that. The world knows that. So if Andrew brings Texas into the Union, it'll look bad. It'll look like the Mexican government's conspiracy theories about the U.S. government trying to jack Mexico were right. Andrew can't have that. The hero loves his country and won't tarnish its honor. There's another complication too. Slavery. As we saw with the Missouri Compromise in episode 27, slavery is a touchy subject in the U.S. Texas is committed to slavery, and nothing gets the abolitionists riled up like talk of admitting a slave state. Slaves already make up one-tenth of the Texan population, and many of them are

working on cotton plantations. When convention reps wrote the Texas Constitution, which they did in March shortly after declaring independence, they protected the hell out of slavery. Let me read you section 9 of the 1836 Texas Constitution's general provisions. Quote, All persons of color who were slaves for life previous to their immigration to Texas, and who are now held in bondage, shall remain in the like state of servitude. Congress shall pass no laws to prohibit immigrants from the United States of America from bringing their slaves into the Republic with them. Nor shall Congress have power to emancipate

slaves. Nor shall any slaveholder be allowed to emancipate his or her slave or slaves without the consent of Congress. No free person of African descent, either in whole or in part, shall be permitted to reside permanently in the Republic. Close quote. Whoa. The slave-protecting Missouri Constitution has nothing on Texas. But the U.S. Congress wants to avoid another slave state versus free state mess. In fact, congressmen have practically turned avoiding discussions on slavery into an art form. When extreme Whig abolitionists inundate Congress with anti-slavery petitions and pamphlets, pro-slavery Democratic congressmen institute the gag rule, which means that they vote to table, ignore any anti-slavery petition that comes their way. This really pisses off ex-president anti-slavery Whig congressman John Quincy Adams. To quote him, one of the most

sacred duties of a congressman is to present the petitions committed to his charge, a duty which To quote him, every undercurrent, there's no way anyone in Washington is going to entertain the idea of admitting Texas into the Union. So for these very difficult reasons, Andrew's not going to move on annexation. Not until 1845 will the Lone Star Republic join the Union as the Lone Star State. When it comes to the Texas Revolution, people often line up on one of two sides. One sees Uncle Sam as the intervening, land-grabbing thief who, despite the nine-year delay, snatched Tejas away from innocent Mexico. The other sees Texians as the innocent, Republican-minded victims of an authoritarian Mexican government seeking to undermine their rights. There's a kernel of truth in both. To speak to the first of these views, American immigrants, those Texians, made little to no effort to assimilate, as agreed.

And while it's absolutely not true that the U.S. government had a conspiracy in the works to steal Texas, a number of individual American citizens totally wanted that to happen. On the other hand, the Mexican government wasn't without fault. I mean, beyond not working more with earnest Texians like Stephen Austin, bailing on the 1824 constitution was a huge mistake. After all, it didn't just drive the Texians to revolt. Some Tejanos joined them, and Mexicans in other regions say peace out to Mexico too. In 1840, we have the short-lived Republic of the Rio Grande. And from 1841 to 1848, there's the Republic of Yucatan. If these regions, which share a culture, language, and Catholic faith with Mexico City, are calling it quits,

well, it's not too surprising then that the English-speaking Protestant American immigrants would do so as well. So who's to blame for this revolution? Ugh, it's like a nasty love triangle. You know, Mexico and Texas are together, but then they split up. America kind of waits a while, but totally hooks up with Texas. All of Mexico's friends are like, dude, America was poisoning that relationship and just waiting to swoop in, while America's friends are like, whatever. Mexico and Texas split up because Mexico has problems. America wasn't even interested until years later,

but Mexico's friends are all, whatever. Canada showed us screenshots of text America was sending Texas back when it was with Mexico, and they were so flirtatious. I mean, no one uses that emoji if you're just friends. Okay, you see my point, right? Well, I guess you'll just have to decide what you think about this revolution for yourself. History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Research and writing, Greg Jackson and C.L. Salazar. Production and sound design, Josh Beatty of J.B. Audio Design.

Musical score, composed and performed by Greg Jackson and Diana Averill. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit historythatdoesntsuck.com. Join me in two weeks, where I'd like to tell you a story. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members, whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Andy Thompson, Anthony Pizzulo,

Art Lane, Beth Chris Jansen, Bob Drazovich, Brian Goodson, Bronwyn Cohen, Carrie Beggle, Charles and Shirley Clendenin, Charlie Magis, Chloe Tripp, Christopher Merchant, Christopher Pullman, David DeFazio, David Rifkin, Denki, Durante Spencer, Donald Moore, Donna Marie Jeffcoat, Ellen Stewart, Bernie Lowe, George Sherwood, Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brunges, Thank you.