DUANE
Duane's take
The official marker's the word on this one, and here's how Duane tells it. June the twentieth, 1813, just about five hundred yards west of the Alazan Creek on the outskirts of San Antonio. That's where we find ourselves — right in the middle of one of the bloodiest chapters in a stretch of fighting that had been tearing through Coahuila and Texas since 1811.
This was no isolated scrap. It was one in a chain of clashes between Spanish Royalists and insurgent forces, and by the time we reach 1813, the tension had been building for two hard years. Now.
Let me tell you about a man who couldn't leave well enough alone. Colonel Ygnacio Elizondo had his orders. March to the Frio River — and no further.
That was the command. Clear as the Texas sky. But Elizondo, see, had changed sides twice since hostilities opened in 1810.
Twice. A man carrying that kind of history on his back has something to prove, and Elizondo was burning to redeem his honor by reconquering the whole province of Texas for Spanish rule. So he ignored the orders and came all the way to San Antonio.
And then — and this is where the story really gets away from him — he made every mistake a military man can make. He pitched camp without precaution. Neglected to post scouts or pickets.
Out of six artillery pieces, only two bastions were set up to protect the camp. Women and children were allowed to mingle freely with the troops. The man who had charged in against his orders, who had ridden past the Frio River on a mission of personal redemption, settled in like he was at a Sunday gathering.
He underestimated his enemy completely. Now, the Republican Army of the North had been watching all of this. By sunrise on the twentieth, they were already in position surrounding that camp.
And waiting in the shadows beyond them — bounty-collecting Indians, ready to chase, capture, and scalp any troops who tried to run. The trap was set on every side. And then — the men went to Mass.
Right there, while Elizondo's soldiers bowed their heads, the two-hour battle began. Bernardo Gutierrez de Lara raised a solid green banner — that was the insurgent flag — and led his men straight through the very center of the Spanish camp. Not around it.
Through it. The chaos was total. Only those mounted on the fastest horses got out alive.
As for Elizondo himself? He had two horses shot out from under him. Two.
But he survived, caught his footing, and eventually caught up with the remnants of his army — some fifteen miles from the battlefield, those men hurrying hard for the Rio Grande. He'd ridden past his orders looking to reclaim his honor, and he rode away from the Alazan with nothing but fifteen miles of dust and a long road to the river.
What the marker says
Fought in this vicinity June 20, 1813. One in chain of clashes between Spanish Royalists and insurgent elements in Coahuila and Texas, 1811-1813. Col. Ygnacio Elizondo was ordered to lead his Spanish Royalists force to Frio River -- but no further. Instead, the colonel, having changed sides twice since opening of hostilities in 1810 and wanting to redeem his honor by reconquering province of Texas for Spanish rule, came to the outskirts of San Antonio some 500 yards west of the Alazan. Underestimating enemy ability, he pitched camp without precaution, neglected to post scouts for pickets. Only 2 bastions of 6 artillery pieces protected camp. Women, children were allowed to mingle with troops. The republican army of the north was in position about camp at sunrise; bounty-collecting Indians were waiting to chase, capture, scalp runaway troops. Then, while Elizondo's men were at Mass, the 2-hour battle began. With a solid green banner for flag, the insurgent leader, Bernardo Gutierrez de Lara, led his men through the very center of Spanish camp. Only those mounted on fleet horses escaped. Elizondo, who had 2 horses shot from under him, managed to catch up with remnants of his army some 15 miles from the battlefield as they hurried to the Rio Grande. (1967)