The HARK Journal recognizes student talent from elementary-to-university level.
Enjoy the student contributions below.
High School Division
My travel here wasn’t simple or thought-out. But, I made it and am ready to tell my tale.
I was just an average man, cutting and hauling logs five days a week, and operating as a messenger between Natchitoches, Louisiana and my home in Nacogdoches, Texas. However, my life came to a halt when I served as a soldier of fortune at the Battle of the Alamo. If you are ill-informed, this was the battle for Texas to stand as its own country, independent from Mexico.
For the first few days, it was straight ambush. I wondered what I was doing out at war? Where were all the able-bodied sixteen-year-olds? I was fifty-one, and my body didn’t move like it used to when I was a young man. I was old enough to be the other soldiers’ grandfather. They recognized this and began calling me Moses. I fought ten days at the Alamo and knew it was time to go. My body ached all over. I was not going to make it if I stayed much longer.
Night fell, and I knew it was my time to scram. I found the nearest window and opened it. My fellow soldiers helped me get out safely. When my feet hit the ground, I waved at my comrades and then ran with all I had in me. No more looking back. The Alamo was extremely dangerous. The Mexicans didn’t want Texans to gain independence.
I ran through many dark woods with nothing but the stars to guide me. I couldn’t go out in the open or I’d get caught. I had to run through enemy lines, west through San Antonio. Grass rubbed up against my leg, and I was fearful some creature would get me. Though this was risky, I continued south down the San Antonio River. After traveling three miles downriver, I reached an open prairie which led to the Guadalupe River. Still avoiding roads, though this was very difficult on my body and I felt like I was going to fall apart, I made it to the Zuber Ranch in Grimes County.
The ranch was beautiful and had tons of cattle covering the fields. As I wandered around, a man came outside and introduced himself as William Zuber. He seemed to be a very friendly individual. Noticing the scars that covered my body, he quickly helped me inside his house.
In the guest room, Zuber examined my wounds and asked what had happened. I told him I had escaped the Alamo because I was going to die if I didn’t. He nodded his head and told me that he was willing to help me.
Soon, I relocated to Nacogdoches and worked in a butcher shop. Additionally, I served as a witness for heirs of the Alamo defenders who had earned land for their service.
Although my Nacogdoches living was fun and beneficial for my fellow comrades, I felt out of place and had the urge to go do something for myself. I boarded Logan’s Ferry in 1842 and traveled to Logansport, Louisiana. When I got here, I was overtaken by how bland and empty the place was.
I got out of the boat and headed towards what looked to be a semi-developed area. The few people that were walking around were cowboy-like individuals who made me feel uncomfortable after leaving the Alamo. As I passed them, they began to stare me down and watched me as I walked away, holding their holstered guns the entire time. Fearful for my life, I picked up speed and got out of sight.
From the Author: Moses Rose was a significant individual in DeSoto Parish. As the only survivor to escape the Alamo, he was an incredibly intelligent and rare individual. Though he did desert the Alamo, earning himself a cowardly reputation, he was able to bring his account of the Alamo to Logansport, Louisiana. Rose wanted to escape Texas completely, and the Ferguson family offered refuge in Logansport. Without this safe haven for Rose, there is a great chance he wouldn't have been able to share his Alamo experience with the world. Rose represents a historical figure for Logansport where he is buried in the Ferguson family cemetery.