Washington Sentinel

Death of Crockett.

The following is a graphic sketch of the last moments of a brave man:

"Colonel Crockett, wounded and closely pursued by a number of the enemy, retreated into the church, felling them as they approached. He stationed himself in a niche, in the corner, determined to face the foe to the last and sell his life dearly; with his rifle and a superabundance of side arms, he hewed and shot them down with the same awful certainty that was wont to characterize his indomitable spirit. His position rendered access to him utterly impossible, except by a direct and close approach in front; after some eight or ten of them were laid before him, a feeling of awe seemed to seize hold of the assailants. One of them who could speak a little broken English, probably preferring to have the signal honor of capturing so noble a specimen of American valor to present to his 'dear master,' said to Crockett, 'surrender! señor.' A flash of the most sovereign scorn darted from the fiery eye, and as it pierced that of the enemy, he seemed to be transfixed. In a voice of thunder Crockett answered, 'surrender! No! I am an American,' and as he spoke he sent a ball through the heart of the paralyzed foe. He appeared for a moment like a wounded tiger, strengthened and buoyed by each additional wound; now hewing them down with his well-tried sword—next dealing death with his fire-arms. His person was literally drenched with his own blood; his strength must soon yield to its loss. Yet such physical power wrought to the highest degree of excitement can perform incredible prodigies. This was the last concentrated energy of a powerful man, aroused, animated, and guided by one of the noblest attributes of man—love of liberty. He knew for what his life was about to be sacrificed; that devastation and butchery would follow the footsteps of his heartless foes, that woman would be sacrificed to satiate the desires of the conqueror: and, feeling the holy inspiration of a dying patriot, he fought manfully till the loss of blood and approach of death stayed his upraised arm; his rifle was broken to pieces, his pistols fell to the floor, and nothing but his faithful sword was left. In the agony of death, with a terrible grasp, he brought this last weapon upon the head of the nearest assailant, and fell victoriously across his body into the arms of death. In this corner of the church there were twenty-six dead Mexicans, and no other American having fought or fallen at that point, it is considered beyond all reasonable doubt, that all of them fell by the hand of Tennessee's favorite son! All were now dead, not a man left to relate the wonderful deeds of this illustrious band of heroes!—Not a companion left to rear a monument to their memory! But, ah! no monument is required to perpetuate their fame. So long as freedom has an abiding place in America, will their heroic deeds and proud names be held sacred!"