Day after day this storm of war continued.  The walls of the citadel were strong, and the bombardment inflicted but little injury.  The sharpshooters within the fortress struck down many of the assailants at great distances.

“The bee-hunter,” writes Crockett, “is about the quickest on the trigger, and the best rifle-shot we have in the fort.  I have already seen him bring down eleven of the enemy, and at such a distance that we all thought that it would be a waste of ammunition to attempt it.”  Provisions were beginning to become scarce, and the citadel was so surrounded that it was impossible for the garrison to cut its way through the lines and escape.

Under date of February 28th, Crockett writes in his Journal: 

“Last night our hunters brought in some corn, and had a brush with a scout from the enemy beyond gunshot of the fort.  They put the scout to flight, and got in without injury.  They bring accounts that the settlers are flying in all quarters, in dismay, leaving their possessions to the mercy of the ruthless invader, who is literally engaged in a war of extermination more brutal than the untutored savage of the desert could be guilty of.  Slaughter is indiscriminate, sparing neither sex, age, nor condition.  Buildings have been burnt down, farms laid waste, and Santa Anna appears determined to verify his threat, and convert the blooming paradise into a howling wilderness.  For just one fair crack at that rascal, even at a hundred yards’ distance, I would bargain to break my Betsey, and never pull trigger again.  My name’s not Crockett if I wouldn’t get glory enough to appease my stomach for the remainder of my life.

“The scouts report that a settler by the name of Johnson, flying with his wife and three little children, when they reached the Colorado, left his family on the shore, and waded into the river to see whether it would be safe to ford with his wagon.  When about the middle of the river he was seized by an alligator, and after a struggle was dragged under the water, and perished.  The helpless woman and her babes were discovered, gazing in agony on the spot, by other fugitives, who happily passed that way, and relieved them.  Those who fight the battles experience but a small part of the privation, suffering, and anguish that follow in the train of ruthless war.  The cannonading continued at intervals throughout the day, and all hands were kept up to their work.”

The next day he writes:  “I had a little sport this morning before breakfast.  The enemy had planted a piece of ordnance within gunshot of the fort during the night, and the first thing in the morning they commenced a brisk cannonade, point blank against the spot where I was snoring.  I turned out pretty smart and mounted the rampart.  The gun was charged again; a fellow stepped forth to touch her off, but before he could apply the match, I let him have it, and he keeled over.  A second stepped up, snatched the match from the hand of the dying