The Mexican army officer who documented the Battle of the Alamo from inside Santa Anna’s ranks left behind an account that challenges the familiar version of events. His name is often misspelled in English-language sources as de Laena or Paya, but historians know him as José Enrique de la Peña. His diary survived and became one of the most cited Mexican sources on the battle, particularly for its claim that several defenders, including possibly Davy Crockett, were captured and executed after the fighting. CONTENT:
Long before sunrise on March 6, 1836, Mexican soldiers crossed the San Antonio River and took positions in the darkness near the walls of the Alamo.
Every man knew that by morning many of them would be dead. A single bugle call, which one Mexican officer later described as the call of death, signaled the assault. That officer was José Enrique de la Peña. He served under General Antonio López de Santa Anna during the Texas campaign, took part in the attack on the Alamo, and wrote a detailed account of what he witnessed.
His diary was not written as propaganda. It was not meant to justify the campaign or stir patriotic feeling. It was a personal record of events as he saw them, including decisions he believed were serious mistakes. For Santa Anna, the conflict in Texas was not a war between nations.
He treated it as a rebellion that had to be crushed. He wanted to restore Mexico’s authority and send a clear message that defiance would not be tolerated. That mindset shaped the entire campaign. On February 17, 1836, Santa Anna assembled his troops and addressed them directly.
De la Peña recorded the speech. Santa Anna told his soldiers that a sacred duty had brought them to Texas. He described the Texian defenders not as legitimate soldiers but as foreign adventurers who had taken advantage of Mexico’s internal weakness to seize land. He reminded the army of Mexican blood already shed at Anahuac, Goliad, and Bexar.
The coming battle, he said, was not only necessary but just. The speech had an immediate effect. According to de la Peña, officers congratulated one another when the order to advance was given. Many feared they might miss the chance to be among the first to face the enemy.
Battle was seen as an honor, and dying in combat was considered a cost worth bearing. There was confidence in numbers, trust in their leaders, and a prevailing belief that victory was certain. Inside the Alamo, the defenders heard an equally determined message. Texian leaders warned that Santa Anna’s forces represented tyranny.
They spoke of destroyed homes, violated families, and liberty under threat. The word liberty appeared constantly in letters and speeches until it carried the weight of a moral obligation. De la Peña noted that both sides were fully convinced of the righteousness of their cause, and both regarded the enemy as dangerous. That mutual conviction left little room for moderation.
On February 23, Mexican cavalry approached San Antonio de Bexar before dawn. The defenders were caught off guard and withdrew into the Alamo complex. Santa Anna initially assumed the chapel was empty and ordered it taken. That assumption vanished when an 18-pounder cannon fired from the Alamo walls and broke the silence of the plaza.
Mexican artillery was brought forward. Grenades were thrown. Smoke drifted across the open ground between the two sides. At one point, a white flag appeared from the fort.
James Bowie sent a written message suggesting negotiations. Santa Anna’s reply was blunt. He refused to negotiate. He refused to recognize the defenders as legitimate combatants.
He offered only unconditional surrender. The reply was meant to frighten the defenders, but it hardened their resistance instead. When William B. Travis received the message, de la Peña observed a change in him.
Travis understood what it meant. From that moment, surrender no longer seemed an honorable option. For Travis, the Alamo became a place where he would either hold his ground or die. De la Peña recorded a detail rarely found in mainstream retellings.
During the early stage of the siege, the Mexican encirclement was not complete. Vigilance was inconsistent, and there were gaps. Travis had a chance to slip out at night. De la Peña was clear that this opportunity existed.
Travis chose not to take it. Only a small group of reinforcements, about 60 men, managed to enter the Alamo during the siege. No relief force followed. No supply convoy arrived.
Food ran low, and ammunition was carefully rationed. Every shot mattered. For 12 days, the defenders endured constant bombardment without suffering a single casualty. Travis noted that the flag continued to fly above the walls, clearly visible to the Mexican forces surrounding them.
It was a symbol of defiance, but it also gave away their position. Tension grew inside the fort. Several defenders urged Travis to surrender or try to escape. Hunger, exhaustion, and uncertainty weighed heavily.
On March 5, Travis said that if no help arrived that day, they would surrender the next day or attempt to break out during the night. Word of these discussions apparently reached the Mexican command. De la Peña believed Santa Anna accelerated the assault because he wanted a decisive and dramatic victory. A quiet surrender would bring no glory.
In the thinking of some commanders, blood was the currency of fame. A war council met on March 4. Several officers strongly opposed an immediate assault and argued for patience. Heavy artillery was already on its way, they said, and with it the Alamo could be taken quickly and with far fewer casualties.
De la Peña agreed with this view, believing the fort could have been captured systematically. Santa Anna rejected their advice. The assault was ordered for the morning of March 6. Preparations continued through March 5.
Four assault columns were formed, supported by reserves. Orders were strict. Silence was mandatory. Smoking was forbidden.
As night fell, the army crossed the San Antonio River and moved into the shadows near the walls. The tension was suffocating. De la Peña described a silence that pressed down on every soldier. Some men wrote final letters.
Others sat quietly, gripping their weapons and listening to the sounds of the night. Just before dawn, a single bugle sounded. The columns moved forward. The defenders reacted immediately.
Because Travis had positioned several rifles beside each soldier to compensate for their small numbers, the defenders produced a continuous stream of fire far more intense than the attackers had expected. Mexican soldiers fell in waves. Cannon fire tore through the advancing ranks. Officers were struck down early.
The ladders were few, poorly made, or too short to reach the top of the walls. Confusion spread as units collided and commands were lost in the noise. Still, the attack continued. Men pushed forward through smoke and gunfire, climbing over the wounded and the dead.
Bayonets met flesh along the parapets. Pistols fired at close range. The noise became unbearable. Rifle shots, cannon blasts, shouted orders, screams, and the cries of the wounded merged into a single chaotic roar.
Numbers eventually decided the fight. Mexican forces broke through the walls and poured into the compound. Resistance inside collapsed quickly. Some defenders retreated into buildings and barricaded themselves inside.
Others remained in the open, firing until they were shot down where they stood. De la Peña wrote that he witnessed Travis in the final moments. Travis did not retreat. He advanced, paused, turned, and fired again and again.
He was killed in combat. De la Peña gave him full credit, describing him as brave and steadfast, a man who chose to stand with a small, poorly supplied force against heavily superior numbers. He did not try to minimize the courage of the defenders. With Travis dead, organized resistance ended.
Most of the defenders died during the assault. De la Peña recorded that a small number survived the initial attack and were taken prisoner. These men were brought before Santa Anna. Several Mexican officers objected and argued for mercy, appealing to honor and humanity.
De la Peña named these officers and praised their courage, noting that speaking out carried risk when the commander had already made his decision. Santa Anna refused. The prisoners were executed. De la Peña’s claim that some defenders, including a man believed to be Davy Crockett, were captured alive remains a subject of debate among historians.
He had little reason to invent the story. His account condemns the decision, criticizes the commander, and mourns the unnecessary loss of life. He considered the victory hollow. More than 300 Mexican soldiers died, men de la Peña believed should never have been lost at all.
The Alamo could have fallen through patience and artillery, he argued. Instead, it fell through bloodshed. The consequences were immediate. News of the fall of the Alamo spread quickly, stunned the Texas settlements, and intensified resistance.
It gave Sam Houston time to organize his forces. The phrase Remember the Alamo became more than a slogan. It became a unifying rallying cry that shaped the next phase of the war. De la Peña argued that the assault weakened Santa Anna’s campaign rather than strengthened it.
What looked like a victory planted the seeds of later defeat. The Alamo remains a powerful historical subject not simply because of its ending, but because of the decisions that led to it. De la Peña’s account forces a confrontation with an uncomfortable reality. Courage existed on both sides.
Yet pride and ambition influenced the outcome more than necessity did. The fall of the Alamo did not end the conflict. It set in motion the events that led to Goliad and, later, to San Jacinto, where Santa Anna’s moment of triumph turned to downfall. History did not stop at the Alamo.
In many ways, it only began there.