Kitobni o'qish: «The Lost Gold of the Montezumas: A Story of the Alamo», sahifa 10

CHAPTER XVIII.
CROCKETT'S ALARM GUN

February 24, 1836, and a splendid winter morning for a parade.

Altogether unmolested as they came, the Mexican army marched into position around the Alamo fort. Not a shot was fired at them. Not a man of the garrison was in sight. There was a sullen air about the whole concern. Upon the church wall, indeed, Colonel Travis with a field-glass studied and estimated the assailants he was to contend with.

"No heavy guns, Davy," he said to Crockett, standing near him. "Castro was right about everything else. We shall get a message from Santa Anna pretty soon. Hullo! There he comes now. Let's go down."

"You've only jest one thing to do," replied Crockett, dryly, at the head of the stairs they were to go down by.

"What's that?" said Travis, getting ready for a joke. "Out with it."

"Well," chuckled the bear hunter, one stair down, "you know what he's goin' to ask for. Just you demand the immediate, onconditional surrender of Santa Anna and all his chickens."

"Crockett!" exclaimed Travis, "I can tell you one thing. I know him. If we should surrender, no matter what conditions he might give, the old murderer would have every man of us shot before sunset."

"Not a doubt of it," said Crockett; "and between you and me and the gate-post, I'd ruther do a small chance of hard fighting first. That's about the way the men feel, too."

That was the kind of reputation the Mexican general had won for himself, and he was shortly to add to it by his conduct of his campaign in Texas.

By the time the two friends came out through the church door-way, the officer of the guard at the gate was loudly responding to a sonorous bugle summons. A mounted officer, attended by the bugler only, had halted outside.

"A cartel from His Excellency General de Santa Anna!" he shouted, in response to the hail of the sergeant. "I am accredited to Señor Travis."

"Colonel Travis, you mean!" shouted back the sergeant, angrily; but the clear, ringing tones of Bowie called out, —

"Let him in, Daly. Never mind his nonsense."

Open swung the gate, and in rode the very airy captain of lancers who had been sent to demand the surrender of the fort, but who had insolently neglected to acknowledge the military rank of its commander.

That was the sum and substance of the letter he shortly delivered to Travis, after dismounting and exchanging formal compliments. Added to it, however, was the grim assurance that, in case of resistance, the fort would be stormed at once and no quarter whatever would be shown to the garrison.

"Good!" said Travis, smilingly. "No use in my writing. Go back to the general and tell him to come on. We are ready."

"Is that all?" exclaimed the astonished captain. "Are you mad? Do you really intend to resist us?"

"Travis," whispered Crockett, "tell him to say that if they'll march right hum and agree to stay thar, we won't hurt a soul of 'em."

The captain heard him, and his astonishment showed itself more plainly, but the reply of Travis was strictly formal.

"That is all," he said. "He knows me. Tell him I am in command here. We shall hold the Alamo!"

Low bowed the captain, turning to his horse, and in a moment more he was spurring beyond the gate, and it closed clangingly behind him. There was really nothing more for the bugler to do, but he blew his horn furiously before he galloped away.

"It'll take something better'n bugle music to get the Greasers over those walls," remarked Crockett; but the long eighteen-pounder was now at one of the southerly embrasures, and, at a signal from Travis, a thunder of defiance rang out.

"That's the last blank cartridge we'll fire," said Travis. "Now let's see what they'll do next. The fools can't really mean to try to storm the works? I almost wish they would."

"If he'd said he'd do it to-day, he'll put it off till to-morrow," replied Crockett, sarcastically. "He never kept his word since he was born, – except about throat-cutting."

No other voice responded. Quiet, resolute, cheerful, the picked men who constituted that heroic garrison were at their stations, and not a quiver of fear showed itself among them. As for the enemy, Crockett had not been far out of the way. Postponement was second nature to Santa Anna. Besides, he was really possessed of considerable military education and ability. He could see that, as the rangers said among themselves, "he had a pretty hard nut to crack." He would therefore think about it during the rest of that day. All he was ready to do at once was to send his heaviest battery into position and order it to blaze away. It was composed of very handsomely polished brass nine-pounder guns. It swept into its place with a flourish of brass music from the bands and a sounding of many drums.

"There will be a breach in the wall before sunset," declared the general, confidently. "We can charge in to-morrow."

Loudly roared the guns, and they were good ones, but praise did not await the artillerymen. One shot struck the wall of the church. Another went over the fort. The remainder fell short and ploughed deep furrows in the sandy soil.

"Santa Maria!" exclaimed the colonel of artillery. "We must do better next time."

The six guns of the battery were reloaded. Every piece was aimed with care, and off they went again.

"How is it, Crockett?" shouted Travis to his friend, for the eccentric satirist was sitting on the wall, his legs dangling outside, and he was leaning forward.

"Two on 'em hit the wall," replied Crockett. "Dented it some. Tell Daly to come around and see the holes."

"Bowie," said Travis, "you and Daly. Don't let another man out. His next battery is nearly ready to open fire."

It was quite ready, but it was composed of lighter pieces. A minute or so later, Bowie and the sergeant were out in front talking to Crockett on the wall.

"They've damaged it a little," said Daly. "I don't like the looks of it."

"Could they punch a hole through," asked Davy, "if they hammered long enough?"

"Reckon they could," remarked Bowie. "I think that's our worst danger. But I want to hear from those other guns."

Two batteries sounded this time, and the three Texans stood still and watched with deep interest the effect of the shots. It did not seem to occur to either of them that a cannonball might possibly hurt a man.

"Right over my head," said Crockett, quietly. "Hit the roof of the convent."

"Hurrah!" shouted Daly. "Them nine-pound balls punch, but the sixes don't make a mark worth a cent. They can jest thunder away."

"Come on," said Bowie. "Let's go in. If they had heavier guns there'd be a breach in that wall pretty soon. Anything smaller'n sixes would be like pelting us with apples."

Santa Anna did not seem to be of that opinion. Or else he may have calculated that sharp cannonading would dishearten the garrison. His own troops evidently enjoyed it, but there was a severe shock awaiting the distinguished Mexican. Again and again his heaviest battery had spoken thunderously, and he felt sure that it must have accomplished something, but now before him stood General Castrillon, in command of all the artillery of the invading army. His face was red, his moustaches seemed to curl with wrath, and his first utterances were half choked with furious execrations upon the army commissary at Monterey.

"What is the matter, general?" sternly demanded the commander-in-chief.

"No more nine-pound shot!" roared General Castrillon. "The miscreant has loaded the other wagon with twelve-pound balls! They are useless!"

"Caramba!" almost screamed his chief. "I will have him shot! Let the cannonading cease. The fort must be taken by escalade. Have the ladders ready by nine o'clock to-morrow morning."

The fort was safer, but an admirable example had been given of the inefficiency, indolence, and general worthlessness of the Mexican officials. Not even the probability of being shot for their blunders could induce them to discharge their duties thoroughly.

"That battery's tired out," remarked Crockett, as the pause in the firing grew longer. "Reckon they're holdin' on while they can take a game of seven-up. They haven't hurt us any."

"Yes, they have," said Travis, quietly. "Don't you see? Or haven't you been up the church again? They're swinging their camps around to make a blockade."

"They can't choke us off that way," responded Crockett. "Thar ain't enough of 'em. If they'll string out in as long a line as would go' round, it 'll be thin all the way. I'd go a-gunning anywhar along that line."

"That isn't the point," said Travis. "He's arranging to cut off reinforcements. He knows how many men we have, you can bet on that. He doesn't mean to let any more in."

"The kind of men that are coming," growled Crockett, "are likely to find a way in or make one. But it's about time they were here."

"I'm going to send a despatch to Houston," said Travis. "Carson has volunteered to take it."

"Well," returned Crockett, "most likely he'll know without our tellin', but what if Carson doesn't get through?"

"We must take our chances," said Travis. "One man's all we can spare. I'm almost afraid Houston can't send any more to us just now."

"Every man in Texas owns a rifle!" exclaimed Crockett, with energy. "Not a livin' soul ought to stay at home."

"Pay and rations," said Travis, calmly. "I'm afraid Bowie's dollars didn't come in time. It isn't any fault of his, but all the gold in Mexico wouldn't save the Alamo."

Bowie was listening, but he turned away without speaking, for he was questioning himself. Was it any fault of his? Had it been his duty to return at once with the cash found in the adobe ruin instead of pushing on with Tetzcatl? It was a serious question, but at last he put it away.

"Come what may," he told himself, "I could not have done otherwise. I had no choice. I was driven. I was in one of those places where a man cannot decide for himself. The Comanches did it."

The movements of the several assignments of the Mexican army went on deliberately all through the day. The circle that was made was pretty long, however, and there were gaps between the camps which would require careful patrolling to make complete what Crockett described as "the corral of the Gringos."

"Anything like a provision-train, for instance," remarked Bowie, "couldn't get in without a battle. There isn't any American force yet gathered in Texas that could undertake to whip an army of five thousand men."

Night came at last, and with it came a moon instead of the darkness which Travis had been wishing for. It was not a good night for a secret messenger, and the mounted patrols of the enemy were going to and fro almost up to the walls of the fort.

"Their infantry outlooks are well out in advance of their lines," remarked Travis, standing in the gate-way. "I doubt if it's possible for Carson to get through."

"If I thought he couldn't I'd go myself," exclaimed Bowie. "I wish he were an Indian!"

"That's jest what I am," came from the brave ranger who had volunteered. "I've crept through a band of Chickasaws. My skelp isn't wuth as much as Bowie's is, anyhow. It's no use in talkin'. I'm off."

"You bet he is," quietly remarked a voice behind them, "and I'm goin' with him the first stretch."

There stood Davy Crockett, rifle in hand.

"I'd feel better if you would," said Bowie. "You're an older hand than he is. See him as far as their lines and take note of everything, – and come back."

"Come back?" chuckled Davy. "Of course I will. I'll have some fun, too. Get along, Carson. I'm goin' to take keer of ye. You're young."

Off they went, and Travis laughed aloud as they disappeared.

"You wait now," he said. "Davy's goin' to stir up the Greasers somehow before he gets done with 'em, but I can't guess what the sell is."

It would have been only a very sombre life-and-death affair to men of another kind, but these were hardly excited to any unusual feeling. They were in the daily habit of looking death in the face, and they could laugh at him. Nevertheless, during many minutes that followed, they and a changing group of rangers waited in the gate-way, listening silently to every sound that came to them from the hostile camps. A troop of horse went trampling by within a hundred yards of them and they heard the words of command. More minutes passed and the stillness seemed to increase.

"We'd have heard something if the Greasers had sighted 'em," whispered one of the men. "They're not took yet – "

"Hear that gun!" shouted Travis, the next instant. "That means something!"

Another cannon sounded, and another, and then they heard the rapid reports of musketry from a score of points all along the lines.

"Bad luck!" groaned a ranger.

"They've got 'em!" said another.

"It's good-by, Davy Crockett, I'm afraid," said Bowie, in a voice that was deep with emotion. "We ought not to have let him go."

The expressions of regret for him and Carson were many and sincere, all around, but the cunning old bear hunter had been doing a remarkable piece of what passed with him for fun.

Only about ten minutes before the first alarm gun sounded a pair of shadows had been gliding along on the ground, midway between the two camps that were nearest to the fort gate.

"So far, so good," whispered one of them. "What's best to do next?"

"Straight into the corral," was the reply. "I allers feel at hum among hosses. They're kind o' friendly. Besides, you've got to hev one to travel on."

A very large number of them, of all sorts, had been picketed there, a short distance in the rear of the camps. They were guarded, of course, but they were entirely out of the supposable reach of Gringo thieves from the fort, and the guards were taking things easily. So were the quadrupeds, and not one of them was at all disturbed in his mind when two men who might belong to the same army slipped silently in among them.

"No Greaser kin see through a hoss," remarked one of the adventurers, "but I'll tell you what, my boy, your tightest squeeze is goin' to be in gettin' out on the further side. They're guardin' thar rear more'n they are toward the fort. They're on the watch for anything Sam Houston may let loose on 'em."

That was in strict accordance with the military prudences of the situation, but for that very reason all the guards on duty were looking out instead of looking in. No patrol, for instance, beyond the camps, whether mounted or on foot, could at once imagine anything suspicious concerning a dim shape slowly tramping out from the horse corral. Only one did come, and he walked along leading with him a saddled and bridled mustang.

"Here comes the guard!" he suddenly exclaimed, aloud. "Now's my time. I'll signal to Davy."

He sprang upon the back of the mustang, turned and blew a short, sharp whistle, and galloped away. Hundreds of men may have heard the whistle, but only one understood it. Not a solitary Mexican at once followed the vanishing horseman, and he quickly was beyond successful following.

Hoarse shouts had gone after him, truly. Orders to halt, with Spanish inquiries and execrations, had sounded from all directions. It was understood that something or other had happened, and there were officers who at once began to investigate the matter.

The proper direction of their first efforts was plainly indicated by an extraordinary disturbance in the corral. Quite a large number of the horses were now loose and they were running around excitedly. It did not arise to the dignity of a stampede, but the guards who first rushed in came near being trampled down. These were joined at once by the too zealous sentries of a battery which had been stationed at the right of the corral, so that its guns were for the moment left to take care of themselves.

"Don't I wish I had some spikes?" inquired a very low, hoarse chuckle that was crawling along at the side of one of the guns. "If I had I'd spile every touch-hole of this 'ere battery. Hullo! Thar they are. I reckon I kin shew 'em a new p'int in the right way of handlin' artillery. That is, if ary one of these long fours is primed."

After that there came a clicking of flint and steel, and then a soft glow of fire close to the ground.

Louder grew the tumult in the corral, angrier and more numerously arose the shouts and commands of the officers.

"Jim Carson's got clean away from 'em, I reckon," was spoken more loudly, "but that lot of Greasers have marched to about the right spot. Wonder what this thing is shotted with. Here she goes!"

A hand went up to the breech of the gun and then the first booming alarm went out.

"Reckon 'twas a round shot," he said. "It fetched 'em. One more."

A second gun spoke out, and then a third, in quick succession, but to Mexican ears it seemed the correct thing for any of their own guns to do in case of a sudden alarm at night. It would show the garrison that its besiegers were awake.

Nevertheless, the iron missiles had been sent with deadly effect among the luckless detachment of infantry, and every man of it who was left unhurt fired off his musket at the space in front of him and the possible Gringos it might contain. Sentry after sentry, all along, in camp after camp, followed that example, front and rear. The very game-cocks in their coops crowed vigorously, and the general himself came out of his tent to see what was the matter with them and with his army.

The artillerymen who now came hurrying back to their guns found no one with them, – nothing but an entirely unexplainable mystery. There were now no soldiers in front of the battery, however. The coast was clear, and across the moonlit area from which he had driven his enemies Davy Crockett strode on to the Alamo.

"Who goes there?" greeted him from the sentry at the gate.

"I ain't a-goin' jest now; I'm comin'," shouted back the very grim old joker, with a fierce laugh. "Travis, I reckon Jim Carson's all right. We took him a good mount from thar own corral. But I fired them alarm guns myself. Wait till I git in and I'll tell jest how I did it, but I reckon the Greasers 'll think we've made a sortee."

Three cheers were given him, and these too were heard by the Mexicans to increase their perplexity. Something very like a sortie had really been made, and the entire Mexican army was getting under arms. One regiment marched a mile before it could be ordered back, but Santa Anna himself had preserved his military composure.

"Caramba!" he exclaimed, in reply to one of his officers. "Houston? No! He has no force that he can send. We have nothing to deal with but the desperadoes inside of yonder walls, and we shall slaughter them to-morrow."

CHAPTER XIX.
THE REINFORCEMENT

Away outside of the fort wall at sunrise stood Davy Crockett, all alone. He had been noting with evident interest the marks made upon the masonry by the cannon-balls fired the day before.

"All right," he said. "It amuses them and it doesn't hurt us. I'm only fifty, and my ha'r will be turnin' gray before they git in this way."

It was a satisfactory conclusion, and he turned to scan the Mexican lines.

"Jim Carson got away from them," he said. "Of course he did, but we can't wait for Sam Houston. We've got to depend on ourselves. Well, now! If this isn't curious! Whoever heard of Greasers gittin' up early? I didn't, but they're a-movin'. Reckon we're goin' to have some fun right away."

That was the opinion of Travis and two ranger officers up in the church tower.

The camps of the Mexican infantry were pouring forth their bayonets, and everywhere the cavalrymen stood beside their horses, ready to mount at the word of command. What was to be done with horsemen in an attack upon stone walls did not appear, but the telescope revealed much more ominous preparations. Already out in front of the southerly camps were parties of men who were provided with ladders. If the artillery as yet had made no breaches, the walls could be climbed over. The cannon were to have their share in the day's work nevertheless, and at a given signal every battery began to speak. A storm of iron pellets hurtled against the defences or flew over them.

That part of the fortress which was mainly composed of the church and of the convent did not promise well for a climbing adventure. The assaulting force was therefore massed for a rush against the lower walls around the plaza. These were pierced for musketry as well as for cannon. Every shot-hole had now its marksman, with two more standing behind him ready, each to take his place in turn while the others reloaded.

"Let 'em come close up," was the order of Colonel Travis. "Hit every man just below his belt."

"And ef you do," added Crockett, "that thar Greaser 'll sit right down."

Low voices passed from man to man, and the substance of the utterances was, —

"Hit, boys! Every shot is for life."

An iron calmness grew harder in all their faces as the fire of the batteries ceased and the Mexican masses began to move steadily forward to the sound of their drums. They came on as confidently as if the fort were already their own, for their officers were freely declaring the expectation that at the last moment the Gringos would give up so hopeless a defence and surrender.

That is, the nerves of the rangers or of their commander, proof against the thunders of the artillery, were to fail at the prospect of being crushed by overwhelming numbers. Perhaps the very silence that reigned around the fort did something to increase the delusion, and the foremost ranks advanced to within short rifle range.

"Ain't I glad the grape-shot and canister got here in time!" growled Sergeant Daly, squinting along his gun.

"Ready!" shouted Travis at that moment from the middle of the plaza. "All ready! Let 'em have it! Fire!"

Every cannon of the fort which bore upon the enemy went off as if one hand had fired them all. A storm of lead and iron swept through the advancing columns. Then as the smoke-clouds cleared away a little the cracking of the rifles began, and the astonished Mexicans dropped rapidly, only too many of them smitten "just below the belt" or a few inches above it.

The attempt to overawe the garrison by a sudden attack in force had signally failed. It had become little better than a disastrous reconnoitring party. Nothing had been really ready for so serious an undertaking as the storming of the Alamo. The Mexican troops were marched back to their camps, while their officers made up very disagreeable lists of killed and wounded.

The cannon of the fort had been very well handled and the accuracy of the rifle practice had been remarkable. At the same time, not a man of the garrison had received so much as a scratch. They could hardly believe that the battle was over.

"Jim Bowie," shouted Crockett, as he saw his friend coolly at work with a rifle-wiper, "none o' that jest now. Don't stop to clean your gun. Blaze away with it dirty and wipe it out by and by, after this butcher business is over. It hasn't been exactly a fight, not yit, but it's p'isonous fun for Santy Anny."

The Mexican general indeed was wild with rage and disappointment over the failure of his first ill-advised demonstration. For the first time in his varied military experience he had witnessed the effects of sharp-shooting.

He was not singular by any means. At that date the best infantry of Europe were still armed with smooth-bore muskets and depended mainly upon volley-firing when in action. The crack regiments of England, truly, had received a terrible lesson at New Orleans from the American riflemen under General Jackson, but neither the British nor any other military power had seemed willing to profit largely by it.

All military operations were over for the day. The batteries rested, and the commander-in-chief of the beaten army had not even the heart for his evening game of monte.

"Men!" said Colonel Travis to his gallant garrison, drawn up for a kind of triumphant review in the plaza, "I don't mean to say much, but this is the kind of work that is going to save Texas."

"You bet it is, and thar's got to be heaps of it done," came in a low-voiced snarl from Crockett. "What they need is killing."

"The enemy have received a sharp lesson," continued Travis, "but they won't give it up right away. They can't afford to retreat after only one battle. Santa Anna would be kicked out of power if he should fail to take the Alamo. So if we can beat him completely we shall be setting both Texas and Mexico free from the old gambler's tyranny."

A loud cheer responded, and on the heels of the last "hurrah" Crockett remarked, —

"And we'll save our own throats, too, if that's any object. Mine was feelin' a little kind o' sore this mornin', but it's all right jest now."

The men went to their quarters and stations in very full accord with the feelings of the old bear hunter.

"Bowie," said Travis, as soon as they were alone together, "it's almost better than I hoped for. What do you think?"

"There will be two or three days of cannonading," said Bowie. "Then there will be another attack. I reckon we can beat them off again. We haven't provisions for a long siege. They could starve us out."

"If they give Houston time enough," replied Travis, "he'll be operating on the outside of 'em somehow. They can't wait for too long a siege."

"We are not to die of starvation," said Bowie. "If it comes to that, we can walk out and die killing Mexicans. I will for one."

They were not at all deceived as to the desperate nature of their position. As for their patriotic commander-in-chief, he was struggling with a sea of troubles. Most of the money found in the old adobe had gone to New Orleans for arms and ammunition, but it might be weeks before there would be any important returns. He was using the remainder of the cash at home trying to get his hastily gathered volunteers into the shape of an army. He and Austin had several bodies of men at points distant from each other, but not one of them could be marched for the relief of the Alamo, nor would all of them together have been a third in number of the force under Santa Anna. Some of their commanders, to make the matter worse, seemed hardly to consider themselves under anybody's orders, so new and so unsettled was the authority of the Texan government.

It was toward the close of the day of that first attempt to storm the fort that a party of thirty-two mounted riflemen were somewhat leisurely pursuing their way along a road the western end of which was known to reach the town of San Antonio de Bexar. At their head rode a short, squarely built man, whose hat was pulled forward over his eyes. He was leaning a little, as if he were bent down by some weight or other.

"They are all there," he muttered. "The best men in Texas. They'll never give up. They'll die right whar they stand. Ye-es, sir! I'm goin'! I am! If it's only to go in and die alongside of Jim Bowie, and Travis, and old Davy!"

A shout rang out behind him, and it was instantly answered by an Indian war-whoop in front.

"Halt!" he promptly commanded as he raised his head, but he at once added, "Only one redskin. Who cares? What's up?"

The one redskin was trying in vain to urge an exhausted pony to a gallop.

"I'll ride forward and meet him," exclaimed the officer. "He's got something. I know Indians. Hold on, boys."

In a moment more he was listening to an eager voice that told him great news.

"Red Wolf," he said. "Heap Lipan. Son of Castro. Friend of Big Knife."

"But what are you here for?" interrupted the white leader. "I'm Colonel Smith."

"Travis heap want more Texan!" said Red Wolf. "Santa Anna come! All Mexican at fort. Heap big gun. More Texan come or all ranger lose hair. Castro great chief! Tell young brave ride heap! Bring many rifle! Ugh!"

"God bless you!" exclaimed Smith. "Bully for Castro! I know him."

Then he turned to his men and shouted, —

"Boys! It's all right! He's from the fort. Santa Anna's whole army is marching upon the Alamo. It's thar now!"

"We ought to ha' come quicker," was the first response that came from any of the men. Smith could speak Spanish, however, and Red Wolf was more at home in that tongue than in English. He now gave the colonel a full account of the scout he and his father had made; of the arrival of the supply-train; of the condition of things at the fort; and of the estimated strength of the Mexican army. All that he said was at once communicated to the men, but it did not seem to dismay them. On the contrary, not one of them faltered when at last their commander addressed them with, —

"Men! Now you know just how it is, how many of you are ready to push right on with me to the Alamo?"

"Git right along," came cheerily back from one of the riflemen. "Thar ain't any white feathers a-flyin' in this crowd. We're all with ye. Hurrah for Texas!"

"Forward, march!" shouted the colonel. "Every mile is worth blood. Boy, let 'em give you another mount. That thar mustang o' your'n is played out."

There was no more travel in him, at all events, and he was quickly turned loose to shift for himself, while all that had been on him was going westward upon a comparatively fresh and lively pony.

"It 'll be about two days' riding," remarked Smith, "at the rate we'll have to go. When we get thar, we'll have to take our chances for findin' our way into the fort."

"We'll get in," they all agreed, but just how they expected to do it did not appear. On they rode, and their camp that night had the appearance of a picnic rather than of the bivouac of a handful of adventurers who were on their way to cut a path for themselves through a hostile army to almost certain death.

The Mexican general held a council of war that evening, and its session lasted late into the night, for there were ample refreshments upon the table in his marquee.

It was not a cheerful council, for the reports of the army surgeons were rendered, and they were unpleasant reading. So appeared to be several despatches which had but just arrived.

"General," exclaimed General Cos, when his commander had announced their contents, "the sinking of that barge in the Nueces is a greater disaster to us than is to-day's repulse. With those two heavy guns we could have made a breach in the wall in an hour."