A few days later a tall, grim-faced adventurer named Jim Bowie took out a patrol. Bowie, an old hand in Texas and Mexico, was already a legend for the huge knife he carried on his hip and for the many desperate fights he was reputed to have won with it. His patrol confronted a Mexican pack train, thought to be bringing fresh provisions to the besieged troops, or possibly even money to pay the men. In a brief, bloody battle, the Mexicans lost some fifty men and all the mules. The victorious Texans tore into the packs, expecting to find food and ammunition, or perhaps gold and silver. They found only grass, cut to sustain the Mexicans’ animals inside the city. But the skirmish aroused excitement in the encampment and gave James the resolve to stay a little longer.

The officers were still not sure. To storm the fortifications would result in a terrible slaughter on both sides, some said. The Mexicans were not good fighters and would quickly give up, others argued. They debated at length while the men waited, impatient and angry over the indecision. Burleson and James W. Fannin favored giving up the siege for the winter and retreating to La Bahía, also known as Goliad, to await reinforcements before hitting Cós again in the spring.

Then came a gangly old Texas veteran named Ben Milam, recently escaped from imprisonment in Mexico, embittered as Austin had been embittered, and out of patience with the long delay. He went about preaching a sermon of war and gathering a growing entourage. As Mexican patriots once had raised a grito against Spain, he raised a cry of his own. “Who,” he thundered, “will go with old Ben Milam into San Antonio?”

A great shout went up. James, caught in the momentum, surprised himself by adding his voice to it. The officers who had counseled caution were helpless to stop the pent-up energy that erupted in the wake of Ben Milam’s challenge.

The storming of Bexar began in the dark of a December early morning, sweeping past Cós’s pickets in a rattle of small-arms fire. In little groups the Texans pushed forward, battling at close range for house after house against a stubborn Mexican resistance. Once into it, James felt his blood running hot, and whatever fears he carried into the fight were drowned by his fevered excitement. He heard the exultant yelling of the Texas fighters on either side of him and the defiant shouts of the Mexican defenders, holding their ground until they were killed or swept over.

AS DAYLIGHT came, a pall of dark smoke hung over the edges of the town. Mexican artillery shook the walls with its thunder, and the high, flat rattle of musket fire showed the extent of the battle. James joined other Texans in gathering the spent Mexican cannonballs to be fired back into the fortifications from which they had come. Nearly exhausted, he took rest when he could, rousing himself to go again when the call came to advance.