Davy's Last Stand

On this day in 1836, Colonel David Crockett met his fate at the Alamo, cementing his place in the pantheon of great American heroes. Precisely how Davy died is the subject of much debate, and will likely remain so. Here are a few of the many artiistic interpretations of his last moments. The oldest illustrations - the woodcuts - are from early issues of the original Davy Crockett Almanacks.



Flashback: 1836

Over the last 175 years, some of the Almanack’s old files, including copies of many past issues, have been destroyed due to fire, flood, earthquake, Indian attack and other minor disturbances. We are therefore indebted to Mr. Bill Crider of Brownsville, Texas for photographs such as this, depicting the cover of our second issue, which he purchased as a child from the local trading post.

In case you are unable to decipher the caption beneath the illustration, it reads, “Col. Crockett’s Method of Wading the Mississippi.” When I asked Davy why he seemed to be wearing a skirt, he bristled and insisted this is merely a long-tailed coat. I suppose that’s true, as a good deal of squinting reveals a row of buttons extending down to the hem.

What follows are Davy’s introductory remarks to that second issue and an explanatory note regarding his most recent session in Congress.

“Go Ahead” Reader

My printer tells me how my Almanack has gone ahead like a steamboat and has been introduced into the first semicircles in the United States. I had no idee when I first begun to write for the public that I should have such luck. I begin to think I’ve hit on the right track, and so I keep on. I don’t doubt that I shall not only be able to tree a little change, but also a little fame into the bargain. It isn’t every member of Congress that knows how to authorise as well as to speechify. And it remains to be larnt whether I shall go down to posteriors with the most credit as a Congressman, or a writer.

Although I like moony nights for hunting yet I’ll be shot if I node how to calculate the time of the moon’s rising and setting. So I got a very good Gastronomer to do it for me. I spose my readers want to know how I’ve passed my time the last year when at home. I’ve built a new tan-yard, near my house for the purpose of tanning alligator’s skins, which my wife is making up into under shirts for the young ladies. Reader I must now bid you good-bye, and may God bless you, for I can’t.

The Reasons I Didn’t Speechify in Congress the Last Winter

I spose I owe some apology for not making more stir in Congress last winter, but the fact is that I had treed a confounded cold by sleeping in the same room with a damp traveler, while in Washington. My throat and jaws were so exflunctoficated with the influenza that I even snored hoarse. I was also suffering from a bite that I received from a tame bear which my wife keeps in her dressing room to scratch her back when it itches.

Flashback: 1835

Like any pennywise publication, the Almanack will occasionally feature “encore presentations” (yeah, okay, they’re reprints) from our illustrious history. Think of it as recycling.

Pictured here is the cover of our special Collector’s Item 1st Issue. This particular run of Almanacks is called the Nashville Series because it claimed to be published there. Was it really? Historians don’t know, and neither do I. Davy knows, of course, but he’s not telling.

What follows is the introduction to that first issue, purportedly written by old Davy himself. Did he really write it? Again, he won't say. But by the twinkle in his eye, I can tell he likes it.

“Go Ahead” Reader

Arter the great fuss the public have made about an individual of my humble pretensions, and the mighty deal of attention and good cheer which I have received in all sections of the country, where I have been ahead, my heart has swelled as big as a Bison’s, with pure gratitude. To repay all this, I mean to amuse them with some of my adventures with the wild varments and colts of the West, and with the adventures of the backwoodsmen generally.

Owing to the partiality of my fellow citizens, I have been made a Congressman, and am from home (at Washington) half the year; but should any of my readers find me “at home” on the Big Clover Creek, Tennessee, they shall be treated with a good raccoon pie, and bush eels (i.e. rattlesnakes) fried in butter—which are dishes my wife cooks to parfection. They shall have the softest white-oak log to sit on, and the best bearskin to sleep on, which my house affords. I will take them out on a coon hunt, show ‘em how to tree a catamount, and take a blizzard at a bear. They can take a walk in my crab-apple orchard, and see the alligator pear trees. And as a plain matter of fact, I will convince them that I can run faster, —jump higher, —squat lower, —dive deeper, —stay under longer, —and come out drier, than any man in the whole country.