Colonel José Enrique de la Peña (1807 to 1840) was an officer in the Mexican army during the Texas Revolution in 1836 and was present during the siege of the Alamo, participated in the Battle of the Alamo, and retreated from Texas after President/General Antonio López de Santa Anna was defeated and captured at the Battle of San Jacinto.

Peña kept a diary during the Texas Campaign of 1836 and continued it through 1838 when he was imprisoned after supporting a revolt by General José de Urrea, the officer who had won far more victories in the battles of the Texas Revolution than Santa Anna. Peña, like Urrea, blamed Santa Anna for the loss of Texas, which he makes quite clear in his diary. He served two years and was released from prison in 1840, in failing health, and seems to have died soon after.

Peña's diary was stored away after his death – no one knows where – and resurfaced in 1955 when it was self-published by one Jesús Sanchez Garza, who never disclosed where he had obtained the manuscript or where it might have been since circa 1840. Published in Spanish in Mexico in 1955, the work received no attention from English-speaking scholars, who did not even know it existed.

The work was translated into English in 1975 by Carmen Perry and published by Texas A&M University Press under the title With Santa Anna in Texas: A Personal Narrative of the Revolution. The book was instantly met with controversy, primarily because of its claim that David Crockett did not die fighting to the last on the walls of the Alamo but was captured and executed, by order of Santa Anna, immediately afterward.

Various scholars attempted to debunk the work as a hoax, but, in October 2001, Professor David B. Gracy II of the Graduate School of Library and Information Science at the University of Texas at Austin, along with his team, established its authenticity, declaring it "is, indeed, what it is purported to be" (Crisp 102).

The following is Peña's account of the Battle of the Alamo from the onset of the assault on the fort in the pre-dawn darkness of 6 March 1836 to the end of hostilities around an hour later. This section of the work comes just before de la Peña's account of the death of David Crockett at the Alamo (addressed in a separate article) and includes the death of William Barret Travis, commander of the garrison.

The passage provides a unique, first-person account of the Battle of the Alamo from the perspective of a soldier who was ordered to join the assault on a position that could have easily been taken with far less bloodshed. Santa Anna's officers had strongly urged their commander-in-chief to wait a few days for larger cannon to arrive, which would have reduced the Alamo's walls without risking the lives of the soldiers, but Santa Anna claimed a victory without bloodshed would have no honor.

Peña was highly critical of Santa Anna's conduct during the Texas Revolution, but especially of his decision to send his troops against the Alamo in an unnecessary assault. The Mexican forces lost between 400 and 600 in the attack, and more died later from their wounds since Santa Anna had provided little to no medical staff. Although Santa Anna congratulated himself on a stunning victory, his senior staff and others in the army, including de la Peña, considered it a tragic waste of life.

The following excerpt is taken from With Santa Anna in Texas: A Personal Narrative of the Revolution by José Enrique de la Peña, translated and edited by Carmen Perry, published by Texas A&M University Press, 1975, pp. 48 to 52. The narrative begins as the Mexican columns converge upon the Alamo early on 6 March 1836.

The columns, bravely storming the fort in the midst of a terrible shower of bullets and cannon-fire, had reached the base of the walls, with the exception of the third, which had been sorely punished on its left flank by a battery of three cannon on a barbette that cut a serious breach in the ranks; since it was being attacked frontally at the same time from the height of a position, it was forced to seek a less bloody entrance, and thus changed its course toward the right angle of the north front.

The few poor ladders that we were bringing had not arrived, because their bearers had either perished on the way or had escaped. Only one was seen of all those that were planned. General Cos, looking for a starting point from which to climb, had advanced frontally with his column to where the second and third were. All united at one point, mixing and forming a confused mass.

Fortunately, the wall reinforcement on this front was of lumber, its excavation was hardly begun, and the height of the parapet was eight or nine feet; there was therefore a starting point, and it could be climbed, though with some difficulty. But disorder had already begun; officers of all ranks shouted but were hardly heard.

The most daring of our veterans tried to be the first to climb, which they accomplished, yelling wildly so that room could be made for them, at times climbing over their own comrades. Others, jammed together, made useless efforts, obstructing each other, getting in the way of the more agile ones and pushing down those who were about to carry out their courageous effort.

A lively rifle fire coming from the roof of the barracks and other points caused painful havoc, increasing the confusion of our disorderly mass. The first to climb were thrown down by bayonets already waiting for them behind the parapet, or by pistol fire, but the courage of our soldiers was not diminished as they saw their comrades falling dead or wounded, and they hurried to occupy their places and to avenge them, climbing over their bleeding bodies.

The sharp reports of the rifles, the whistling of bullets, the groans of the wounded, the cursing of the men, the sighs and anguished cries of the dying, the arrogant harangues of the officers, the noise of the instruments of war, and the inordinate shouts of the attackers, who climbed vigorously, bewildered all and made of this moment a tremendous and critical one. The shouting of those being attacked was no less loud and from the beginning had pierced our ears with desperate, terrible cries of alarm in a language we did not understand.

From his point of observation, General Santa Anna viewed with concern this horrible scene and, misled by the difficulties encountered in the climbing of the walls and by the maneuver executed by the third column, believed we were being repulsed; he therefore ordered Colonel Amat to move in with the rest of the reserves; the Sapper Battalion, already ordered to move their column of attack, arrived and began to climb at the same time.

He then also ordered into battle his general staff and everyone at his side. The gallant reserve merely added to the noise and the victims, the more regrettable since there was no necessity for them to engage in the combat. Before the Sapper Battalion, advancing through a shower of bullets and volley of shrapnel, had a chance to reach the foot of the walls, half their officers had been wounded.

Another of these officers, young Torres, died within the fort at the very moment of taking a flag . He died at one blow without uttering a word, covered with glory and lamented by his comrades…

A quarter of an hour had elapsed, during which our soldiers remained in a terrible situation, wearing themselves out as they climbed in quest of a less obscure death than that visited on them, crowded in a single mass; later and after much effort, they were able in sufficient numbers to reach the parapet, without distinction of ranks.

The terrified defenders withdrew at once into quarters placed to the right and the left of the small area that constituted their second line of defense. They had bolted and reinforced the doors, but in order to form trenches, they had excavated some places inside that were now a hindrance to them. Not all of them took refuge, for some remained in the open, looking at us before firing, as if dumbfounded at our daring.

Travis was seen to hesitate, but not about the death that he would choose. He would take a few steps and stop, turning his proud face toward us to discharge his shots; he fought like a true soldier. Finally, he died, but he died after having traded his life very dearly. None of his men died with greater heroism, and they all died. Travis behaved as a hero; one must do him justice, for with a handful of men without discipline, he resolved to face men used to war and much superior in numbers, without supplies, with scarce munitions, and against the will of his subordinates. He was a handsome blond, with a physique as robust as his spirit was strong.

In the meantime, Colonel Morelos with his chasseurs, having carried out instructions received, was just in front of us at a distance of a few paces, and, rightly fearing that our fire would hurt him, he had taken refuge in the trenches he had overrun trying to inflict damage on the enemy without harming us. It was a good thing that other columns could come together in a single front, for because of the small area the destruction among ourselves could be partially avoided; nevertheless, some of our men suffered the pain of falling from shots fired by their comrades, a grievous wound indeed, and a death even more lamentable.

The soldiers had been overloaded with munition, for the reserves and all the select companies carried seven rounds apiece. It seems that the purpose of this was to convey the message to the soldier not to rely on his bayonet, which is the weapon generally employed in assault while some of the chasseurs support the attackers with their fire; however, there are always errors committed on these occasions, impossible to remedy. There remains no consolation other than regret for those responsible on this occasion, and there were many.

Our soldiers, some stimulated by courage and others by fury, burst into the quarters where the enemy had entrenched themselves, from which issued infernal fire. Behind these came others, who, nearing the doors and blind with fury and smoke, fired their shots against friends and enemies alike, and in this way our losses were most grievous. On the other hand, they turned the enemy's own cannon to bring down the doors to the rooms or the rooms themselves; a horrible carnage took place, and some were trampled to death.

The tumult was great, the disorder frightful; it seemed as if the furies had descended upon us; different groups of soldiers were firing in all directions, on their comrades and on their officers, so that one was as likely to die by a friendly hand as by an enemy's. In the midst of this thundering din, there was such confusion that orders could not be understood, although those in command would raise their voices when the opportunity occurred.

Some may believe that this narrative is exaggerated, but those who were witnesses will confess that this is exact, and in truth, any moderation in relating it would fall short.

It was thus time to end the confusion that was increasing the number of our victims, and on my advice and at my insistence, General Cos ordered the fire silenced; but the bugler, Tamayo of the sappers, blew his instrument in vain, for the fire did not cease until there was no one left to kill and around fifty thousand cartridges had been used up…

Among the defenders were thirty or more colonists; the rest were pirates, used to defying danger and to disdaining death, and who for that reason fought courageously; their courage, to my way of thinking, merited them the mercy for which, toward the last, some of them pleaded; others, not knowing the language, were unable to do so. In fact, when these men noted the loss of their leader and saw that they were being attacked by superior forces, they faltered.

Some, with an accent hardly intelligible, desperately cried, Mercy, Valiant Mexicans; others poked the points of their bayonets through a hole or a door with white cloth, the symbol of cease fire, and some even used their socks. Our trusting soldiers, seeing these demonstrations, would confidently enter their quarters, but those among the enemy who had not pleaded for mercy, who had no thought of surrendering, and who relied on no other recourse than selling their lives dearly, would meet them with pistol shots and bayonets.

Thus betrayed, our men rekindled their anger, and, at every moment, fresh skirmishes broke out with renewed fury. The order had been given to spare no one but the women and this was carried out, but such carnage was useless and, had we prevented it, we would have saved much blood on our part.

Those of the enemy who tried to escape fell victims to the sabers of the cavalry, which had been drawn up for this purpose, but even as they fled, they defended themselves. An unfortunate father, with a young son in his arms, was seen to hurl himself from a considerable height, both perishing at the same blow.

This scene of extermination went on for an hour before the curtain of death covered and ended it; shortly after six in the morning, it was all finished; the corps were beginning to reassemble and to identify themselves, their sorrowful countenances revealing the losses in the thinned ranks of their officers and comrades, when the commander in chief appeared.

He could see for himself the desolation among his battalions and that devastated area littered with corpses, with scattered limbs and bullets, with weapons and torn uniforms. Some of these were burning together with the corpses, which produced an unbearable and nauseating odor.

The bodies, with their blackened and bloody faces disfigured by a desperate death, their hair and uniforms burning at once, presented a dreadful and truly hellish sight. What trophies – those of the battlefield!

Quite soon, some of the bodies were left naked by fire, others by disgraceful rapacity, especially among our men. The enemy could be identified by their whiteness, by their robust and bulky shapes. What a sad spectacle, that of the dead and dying! What a horror, to inspect the area and find the remains of friends - ! With what anxiety did some seek others and with what ecstasy did they embrace each other! Questions followed one after the other, even while the bullets were still whistling around, in the midst of the groans of the wounded and the last breaths of the dying.