crossed the Colorado at Moore’s Retreat, north of Burnam’s, and then
through the prairie to Washington. Travis was all right when I left;
still holding out. He had about one hundred eighty men. Bonham managed
to break back from Fannin, and arrived just as I left. He could have
stayed away, but he didn’t. He said he’d bring word from Fannin or die.
He’s a great friend of Travis and Bowie, you know. There were about a
hundred and fifty volunteers at Gonzales when I passed through.”

“Isn’t Fannin going?”

“He sent word by Bonham that he’d try, but we think the Mexicans have
cut him off. He’ll certainly come if he can. There’s no braver man
alive than Jim Fannin.”

“Why don’t the men at Gonzales march?”

“Why don’t _you_ men march? It isn’t a question of a hundred or two,
now. The Mexican lines are drawn too close. I doubt if even another
dispatch will get out; the country around Bejar is thick with Mexican
patrols. Santa Anna’s there, remember; and so is Cos, who broke his
parole just to get a revenge for the licking we gave him.”

“How’s the Alamo? Shot up much? Many killed? What does Travis say now?”

“Nobody’s been hurt, except Mexicans. We were short of ammunition,
though. Bowie’s sick in bed. The men are fighting night and day,
and they’ll never surrender. I fetched two dispatches: one for the
convention, and the other a letter to a friend of Travis. Travis says:
‘Take care of my little boy. If the country should be saved, I may make
him a splendid fortune; but if the country should be lost, and I should
perish, he will have nothing but the proud recollection that he is the
son of a man who died for his country.’ Travis told me to say to the
people that as long as he held out he’d fire a signal gun every morning
at sunrise.”

“Everybody to the convention hall!” was the sudden hail. “Delegates
and everybody to the convention hall. Special meeting.”

Men were already pushing in through the doorway; the group about
Captain Smith dissolved quickly. He staggered stiffly in the rear of
the hurrying procession; Ernest nimbly darted ahead, and squeezed in
with the crowd.

Most of the delegates were in their seats. President Richard Ellis
and Secretary Kimball were in their places, waiting. Mr. Ellis held a
piece of soiled paper in his hand. He arose, and amidst a tense silence
looked over the assemblage. His face was pale and haggard, and Ernest
could barely hear his words.

“I have just received by special courier, who has ridden the one
hundred and eighty miles in less than four days, another message from
Colonel Travis in the Alamo, addressed to this convention,” he said.
“It is of such importance that I feel it should be communicated at
once. The date is March 3――or only last Thursday.”

He proceeded to read; but amidst the confusion of shuffling feet
and twisting bodies, as the listeners strained to hear, and amidst
the interruptions by cheers and other exclamations, Ernest missed a
sentence now and then. But he heard enough.

    I am still here in fine spirits and well-to-do [wrote the
    gallant Colonel Travis]. With one hundred and forty-five men,
    I have held the place against a force variously estimated from
    between fifteen hundred to six thousand, and I shall continue
    to hold it until I get relief from my countrymen, or I will
    perish in its defense. We have had a shower of bombs and cannon
    balls continually falling among us the whole time; yet none of
    us have fallen. We have been miraculously preserved. [“Hurrah!”
    cheered voices, drowning the voice of Mr. Ellis.] Again,
    I feel confident that the determined spirit and desperate
    courage heretofore exhibited by my men will not fail them in
    the last struggle; and although they may be sacrificed to the
    vengeance of a Gothic enemy, the victory will cost the enemy
    so dear that it will be worse than a defeat. [“Hurrah!”] A
    blood-red flag waves from the church of Bexar and in the camp
    above us, in token that the war is one of vengeance against
    rebels. [“Texas and liberty! Down with tyranny! Hurrah!”] These
    threats have had no influence upon my men but to make all
    fight with desperation and with that high-souled courage which
    characterize the patriot who is willing to die in defense of
    his country; liberty and his own honor; God and Texas; victory
    or death!

                                          WILLIAM BARRET TRAVIS,
                                              Lt.-Col. Commanding.

President Ellis had finished, and all the hall was in an uproar.
This last despairing but noble appeal from Colonel Travis in the
hard-fighting Alamo, had stirred every heart and rocked every form. Men
were shouting, crying, gesticulating. A score of the delegates were on
their feet. Delegate Robert Potter made himself heard.

“I now move that this convention do immediately adjourn, arm, and march
to the relief of the Alamo,” he excitedly proposed.

“To the Alamo! To the Alamo!” And the crowd began to surge.

“No! No! Wait!” It was the deep, ringing voice of General Houston. He
had risen, his hand extended commandingly; and at the summons of his
powerful tones and his massive figure every eye was turned and every
tongue was stilled. “Hear me,” he bade. “I have gathered that there is
a sentiment we do immediately adjourn and proceed, armed, to the Alamo.
I have heard the gentleman’s motion, and know that it springs from a
natural impulse, common to brave men, to succor one’s fellow patriots
beleaguered by a ruthless enemy. No one would be more prompt to obey
that impulse than I. But I must oppose the motion. Such an adjournment
of this body would be a madness worse than treason to the people.
We are met here to form a government. We must have a government, in
organic form; for without an organized government Mexico would be
entitled to regard us as outlaws, and to the world outside we would
be only rebels, and we would fail to obtain the sympathy and the
respect of mankind. What can fifty, or one hundred men do against six
thousand? The delegates to this convention were elected by the people
of Texas to establish a firm and stable government. We have declared
our independence, but the work must not stop there. The declaration
will be nothing without measures of law that will give it due weight
among the other nations of the world. The perils of the republic
cannot be averted by arms alone――and never has Texas faced a greater
crisis than she faces now. I entreat the convention to be both wise
and patriotic. Let it sit calmly, even amidst war, and with firmness
pursue its deliberations. Feel no alarm, gentlemen. We have already
a small but brave force at Gonzales. I will proceed there at once,
interpose a barrier of patriotic citizens between the enemy and this
hall, and while the convention chooses to sit in session no foreign foe
shall approach except over my dead body. Meanwhile, if mortal power can
avail, our brave countrymen in the Alamo shall be relieved.”

More General Houston said, speaking vehemently. The hall listened
eager and convinced. Never had such an inspiring address been there
delivered, and none to equal it ever followed. Truly, the general was a
great orator.

At the conclusion he bowed, and strode rapidly out. The delegates
remained, and so did most of the crowd; but Dick Carroll clapped Ernest
on the shoulder. Ernest had not known that Dick was so near.

“Come,” said Dick. And Ernest dived through, after him, to the outside.
“Get your horse and fixin’s,” bade Dick. “And meet me yonder as quick
as you can.”

“Where are we going, Dick?”

“We’re going with the general,” and Dick nodded toward the large figure
in the whitish hat, rapidly making his way toward his headquarters.
“When he starts we start――and I reckon ’twon’t be long, either.”

“To Gonzales, Dick?” queried Ernest, over his shoulder as he turned.

“Yes. To Gonzales, and wherever else we’re needed. When Sam Houston
leaves it’s time for us to leave. We aren’t delegates.”

Ernest hastened for his horse and gun and blanket, his heart beating
gladly. Nothing loth was he to go, not even if General Houston led into
the Alamo itself. He could help at Gonzales, anyway. Perhaps Jim and
Sion were there, with the volunteers. And Leo was liable to turn up,
too.

When he had bridled and saddled, and rode back, Dick was ready and
waiting; and several saddled horses had been tethered in front of the
general’s headquarters. Presently the general issued; with him Colonel
Hockley, his chief of staff. They were armed with pistols, and the
general wore a heavy sword, in its scabbard, belted around his buckskin
hunting coat. They stuffed some things into their saddle-bags, and tied
their blanket rolls behind their saddles a little tighter.

Dick pricked his horse, and followed by Ernest rode forward. By this
time two other men had joined, and were sitting their horses near.

“All ready, general?” queried Dick, saluting.

The general glanced up.

“All ready, sir.” He gazed inquiringly about. His eyes rested a moment
upon Ernest (who tried to sit as manlike as he could), and his face
softened into the glimmer of a smile. “This, then, is the force that
proposes to accompany a general to his army?”

“I reckon it is,” answered one of the first two men.

The general climbed into his saddle and gathered the lines; Colonel
Hockley did the same.

“Very well,” spoke the general. “Gentlemen, I thank you and shall be
glad of your society. A dispatch will go to Goliad, directing Colonel
Fannin to march at all speed and unite his troops with ours on the
Cibolo beyond Gonzales. We may yet rescue Travis. The result is in the
hands of an all-wise God, and I rely confidently upon His Providence.
Texas shall be free.”

He touched his horse with the spur, and rode off at a smart canter.
Colonel Hockley fell in beside him. The two other men followed, and
Dick and Ernest closed the rear. Less than an hour had passed since
the great speech in the convention hall. But no cheers sent them off.
Scarcely anybody paid attention. It seemed to Ernest rather a forlorn
start.

All day they steadily rode on the trail that conducted westward across
a wide fertile prairie of high grass and flowers broken by tree islands
and by bottom-lands where grew the wild rye and the cane. Sixty-five
miles was it from Washington on the Brazos to the Colorado at Moore’s
Retreat, or Moore’s Ferry, as it was also called. From Moore’s to
Gonzales was forty-five miles. From Gonzales to Bejar was seventy or
seventy-five.

They passed a number of ranches. Most of the men were at Washington
or at Gonzales; and those who were left at home, and the women-folk,
appeared terror-stricken by the rumors that they had heard. At dusk
the general halted for camp, amidst the luxuriant grasses, by a little
stream; the horses were turned out on their picket ropes to graze,
a cold supper was eaten, and blankets were spread. Only a few words
were spoken. The general seemed depressed and anxious; heavy care had
settled on him.

In the morning Ernest was aroused before sunrise. Dick and the other
men were astir, and were standing watching the general. He had walked
aside, to a clear spot, and was stooping, with his ear against the
ground.

“Listening, Injun fashion, for the signal guns of the Alamo,” spoke
Dick, in a low voice. “Sound travels far along the earth――you can feel
the shaking there when you can’t feel a thing, upright. Smith said he
heard the guns when he was a hundred miles away; but we’re too far, too
far――a hundred and fifty, at least.”

The sun rose, suddenly flooding the green prairie with golden beams,
and illuminating the slight fog which hung in patches over the bottoms.
Everybody held himself tense, watching the general. It was the moment
for the signal guns. For five minutes――yes, for ten minutes, a long,
long space――there was utter silence broken only by the twitter of
birds. The general abruptly straightened, shook his head, replaced his
big whitish hat, and returned to the camp.

“No go,” remarked Dick. “But,” he hopefully added, “we’re too far, yet,
general.”

General Houston did not reply. They snatched a hasty breakfast,
saddled, and rode. This day they approached the Colorado. The next day
they crossed it at Moore’s Ferry, but the Moore house was deserted. Jim
Hill lived a short distance below, and Ernest thought of him――wondered
where he was. Good old Jim! And Sion, too, twenty-five miles further
down.

Nobody had joined them on the road. All the settlers and their families
appeared to be in great alarm, but reported that 300 volunteers were
waiting at Gonzales. Each morning at sunrise the general had listened
for the signal guns; they all had listened; and they had felt not a
tremor, heard not a boom. The horses proved to be of poor average. The
general plainly was vexed at the slow progress necessary.

Here between the Colorado and the Guadalupe settlers were already on
the move, taking their households out of threatened danger. Wagons
and carts were met, loaded with furniture and supplies and women and
children, travelling eastward. But no news of the Alamo was obtained.

Now on the morning of the sixth day out of Washington, Gonzales was
only twenty miles westward, and the Alamo was but ninety――less than
that, in a straight line. For the last time, they listened again at
sunrise. The general stood, his head bare.

“Gentlemen,” he solemnly said, “the Alamo has fallen. We would hear the
cannon, at this point――unless, of course, Colonel Travis is short of
ammunition. Possibly, as we ride on, the sound of the bombardment will
reach us. Let us hope so.”

They had struck into the main road between Gonzales and the Colorado,
from which other trails forked: the road on which Ernest had twice
ridden as courier――but that seemed to him very long ago. At the McClure
ranch on Peach Creek, ten miles from town, the general reined in to
inquire, of Mrs. McClure, who looked out upon them:

“What news from the Alamo, lady?” He always addressed a woman as “lady.”

She, too, was packed up, as for flight. She recognized Dick and Ernest,
but did not smile.

“Not a thing for several days. Even the guns have stopped. We used to
hear them in still weather. We haven’t heard them since Sunday morning
early. Do you think there’s danger, sir? Ought we to move out?”

“My advice is for the settlers to be prepared to move east of the
Colorado on a moment’s notice, lady,” responded the general. “With the
small army at its disposal Texas may not be able to hold the enemy
back, and this section will be overrun. Let all supplies that cannot be
taken be destroyed.” And he rode on with head bowed.

At the Berry ranch, six miles further, the same conversation resulted.
And at four o’clock in the afternoon of this March 11 they entered
Gonzales.

XVI

MESSENGERS OF DISTRESS

Gonzales appeared to be safe, and alive with people. As the
travel-stained little squad rode up broad East Avenue which led into
the centre of the town, they saw, along the river bank below town, the
smoke of camp fires and the glimmer of several tents; and on before,
toward the main plaza and Market Square, many persons were standing or
moving about.

The first house seemed to be abandoned in confusion. In the window of
the next was a woman who evidently had been crying. From other houses
women with white strained faces looked upon them silently, and even the
men made no sign. Household goods cluttered the yards. In the principal
part of town, at Market Square, and the plaza, were many men――mostly
strangers, bearing shot-guns and rifles and yagers, and clad in settler
clothing, but with here and there a figure in a blue uniform of short
blouse and straight trousers. These all were volunteers.

There were frightened-faced women, too. Some of them Ernest knew well;
but he searched almost in vain for a familiar countenance among the men.

It seemed as though the little party were to dismount without having
been greeted; the women said not a word, and the strange volunteers
likewise only glanced aside, either carelessly or curiously. But as the
general reined his horse in, at the plaza, now a scattered cry rose,
of “Houston! Sam Houston! Here’s the general, boys,” and as Ernest was
sitting, halted, waiting for the general or Dick to say what next was
to be done, he heard his own name shouted.

“Hurrah! Ernest Merrill! Hello, there, pardner!”

Jim Hill was running across the plaza, making for him, and waving his
hat.

Off tumbled Ernest, and he and Jim shook hands and grinned at one
another.

“Where’ve you been, anyhow?” demanded Jim――who carried his little
rifle, and looked just about as when Ernest had last seen him, after
the capture of San Antonio.

“At the convention at Washington.”

“All this time? Pshaw! I’ve been here nigh a week. Aren’t you going to
enlist?”

“I sure am,” asserted Ernest.

“Whom did you come over with? Houston? We need him, or somebody as
good.”

“Why, Jim? How’s the Alamo? Anybody heard? Is Travis still there? Where
are the Mexicans?”

Jim sobered.

“I don’t know. Nobody knows. We haven’t heard a shot since early Sunday
morning. I got in here with the Bastrop company (went up there from
home and enlisted) on the fifth. The morning of the fifth, at sunrise,
on the march over, we heard Travis’s signal guns; and all that day
there was a little cannon shooting yonder in the west. The people here
at Gonzales said they’d been hearing the cannonading for more than a
week, especially when the wind was right. But before sun-up of Sunday
morning, the sixth, there was a tremendous lot of firing――you could
almost hear the Mexican muskets in big volleys; sounded like an awful
battle, and lasted till long after breakfast. Then, about an hour by
the sun, it died down, and suddenly it quit, and we haven’t heard a
single shot since.”

“That was the day we left Washington, right after Captain Smith brought
the message,” said Ernest. “This is Friday, isn’t it! Things look bad.”

“Yes, they do,” agreed Jim, thoughtfully. “I tell you, this town is
mighty blue. Thirty of your Gonzales folks went out with Smith and
Captain Martin and broke through to Travis before daylight of the
first; and Captain Dickinson and several others are there, too. Of
course, maybe Travis and Bowie are holding out, and the Mexicans are
just sitting round. But we can’t get a word; the scouts we’ve sent out
don’t dare go near. Say,” he added, “your pony’s here. Some of the
crowd fetched him and Dick Carroll’s horse back from Burnam’s.”

“Good,” exclaimed Ernest. He would be glad to have Duke again. “Where’s
Sion?”

“I saw Sion about a month ago, at San Felipe. He’d been putting in his
crops down home. But we’ll meet up with him, all right, before this
war’s much older. He’s game. Haven’t heard from Leo at all. He may be
with Fannin or Johnson in the south. Hope not. They’re liable to be cut
off, if Houston doesn’t hurry. He’s been re-elected general, hasn’t he?”

“Yes; fifty-five votes to one.”

“That’s good; but I’d rather have had Ben Milam. Houston will do,
though. We need a military man, right bad. Most of the volunteers
in this camp haven’t ever drilled; we’ve got only a few of the old
bunch. Most of the veterans seem to have stayed at home to move their
families. Everybody’s getting ready to light out for the east. But
Burleson’s here, and Neill, and Karnes and Deaf Smith, and there’s
one company of United States volunteers――the Newport Volunteers, from
Kentucky――those fellows you see in uniform. Sidney Sherman’s their
captain――that’s he, the slim man in a blue round-about trimmed with
silver lace, with a sword on, talking to General Houston. He’s fine. We
haven’t guns enough, and only two or three wagons, and three cannon.
But we’ve got a flag――a new one. Sort of a cross between the American
flag and the British flag, with the red and white stripes at the end,
and the upper quarter next to the pole the British Union Jack and the
lower quarter the Lone Star on a green ground; green instead of blue,
for Mexico. Shows we’re Texans of Mexico from the United States, of
English descent! Huh! Some flag, that! The motto says: ‘Our Country’s
Rights or Death’! It belongs to Captain Moseley Baker’s company of
militia from San Felipe. The Newport Volunteers brought a flag, too.
It’s of heavy white silk, with the Goddess of Liberty in the middle and
a gold fringe round the edge. The Newport ladies made it and Captain
Sherman’s bride presented it. She gave him her glove, and told the
company to carry it as a battle charm, and they’ve got it fastened to
the top of the staff.”

Here Jim paused for lack of breath.

“Where are you camped, Jim?”

“Across the river, on outpost duty. Only two companies of us――the
Bastrop company and the Newport Volunteers. The main crowd are camped
on this side, half a mile below the ferry. Captain Baker’s in command
till Houston or some other high officer takes things over. Colonel
Neill and General Burleson are helping him. Well, I’ll see you later.
Expect you want to get washed up and fed. Come over to camp this
evening.” He turned away, but hesitated. “You did good work, carrying
that Travis dispatch,” he praised, generously. “But you weren’t the
only lad riding courier. When you went on up to Washington there was a
copy sent down river to Columbia, and a fifteen-year-old by name of Guy
Bryan rode with it on to Brazoria and clear to Velasco at the mouth of
the Brazos. Used up one horse and had to find another.”

“Bully for him,” answered Ernest. “I didn’t do anything special.”

“You did your work, just the same,” asserted Jim. “Well, so long. See
you later.”

“See you later, sure,” agreed Ernest. But he did not see Jim again that
evening or night.

Jim strode away. By this time Dick had exchanged greetings with a
number of friends. Everybody was rather solemn. A little crowd had
collected around the general. He was talking and listening. There
was Deaf Smith, and Henry Karnes, and General Ed. Burleson in blue
homespun citizen clothes with a pair of pistols in his belt, and
Captain Sidney Sherman (a nice-looking, smooth-faced young man) in
close-buttoned, short blue jacket trimmed with silver lace, at his side
a handsome sword. Conferring with them, General Houston occasionally
nodded his large head.

“Let’s go and eat, Ernest,” bade Dick. “We’ll pick up our own horses on
the way and turn these other critters into the corral for the public
use. They’ll be needed.”

This was done. Duke appeared to be as glad to see Ernest as Ernest was
to see him. During the hasty supper of pork and corn-bread and coffee
in the house, Dick ventured his opinion.

“Colonel Neill says there are three hundred and seventy-four men here,
part militia and part just volunteers unattached, and most of ’em plumb
ignorant how to act. Houston’ll have to whip ’em into some sort of
military shape. We’ve got plenty food in Gonzales, but it won’t last
long, and we need guns and ammunition and wagons and clothing and all
that. The people living here are panicky; some have left already for
the east and the rest are packing up. Nobody knows what’s happening
at the Alamo. Karnes and Deaf Smith think Travis has been wiped out;
Burleson thinks not. What we can do with this mob ag’in a big Mexican
army is a problem. Fannin’s got a force of four hundred down at Goliad;
mainly United States men and well outfitted. If he can join us on the
Cibolo, maybe we can go through. But――――.”

“Listen, Dick!” interrupted Ernest.

Dusk had fallen, and through it suddenly sounded hurrying feet, shouts,
and the shrill cries of women and children.

“News from the west!” uttered Dick. “Bad news, too. The Mexicans must
be coming!” He sprang up; his stool went spinning. He seized gun and
pistols and followed by Ernest bolted out.

The clamor had swelled. In the dimness men and women were running;
doors slammed; voices called wildly.

“The Alamo’s gone――every man massacred, and Santa Anna’s on his way!”
was the quick, panting reply to Dick’s query of a figure passing in
headlong haste.

In the plaza a crowd of citizens and soldiers had collected. Two
Mexicans of Bejar had arrived, was the story on many lips: Anselmo
Bogarro and a companion, they were. They had said that the Alamo
had been captured last Sunday morning, and not a man in it had been
left alive! Two thousand soldiers were on their way to attack the
settlements.

The two Mexicans were being examined by General Houston, at his
quarters. Reports continued. Perhaps the two Mexicans had lied. They
had now been arrested as spies. The general issued a proclamation
stating that he believed the story to be false; and the people
gradually dispersed. But all night the town was awake, while families
packed their goods, and the women and children wept as they worked. The
troops were kept under arms, and out-posts were stationed a mile to the
west.

Through the uneasy, fear-smitten night Ernest managed to catch a little
sleep, in his own bed once more. The morning dawned amidst confusion.
General Houston (who, rumor declared, had not slept at all) ordered
the troops across the river to be changed to the east side; and there
was a parade of all the troops and an election of regimental officers.
General Ed. Burleson was elected colonel, Captain Sidney Sherman was
elected lieutenant colonel, and Alex. Somervell was elected major. The
general made a stirring address, assuring the army that if they would
keep cool there would be no danger. The camp was moved up-river a short
distance, to a better spot on the prairie, and was reformed in two
long lines of tents and bed rolls, surmounted by the flag of the San
Felipe militia and of the Newport Volunteers. Most of the men preferred
the Kentucky flag and Mrs. Sherman’s glove. The other flag was too
complicated――had too much in it; and what was the use in mixing the
British Union Jack with the American stripes?

Evidently General Houston was not so certain that the two Mexicans’
report was false, for he had sent off a dispatch to Colonel Fannin to
destroy the fortifications at Goliad, to bring off the settlers, and
to retire northeast to Victoria on the Guadalupe instead of marching
toward Bejar. The dispatch, it was thought, would reach Colonel Fannin
within thirty hours at the most, and catch him before he had gone far.

The day passed uneventfully, except for the fears of the Gonzales
people. As for Ernest, he and Dick enlisted in Robert Calder’s company,
which was composed partly of men from along the Guadalupe. Dick’s horse
was in poor shape, so he joined afoot. The regiment were almost all
infantry, anyway. But Ernest clung to Duke. He and Jim agreed that
they’d hold out for a cavalry assignment.

The two Mexicans were closely guarded, and no one was permitted to
speak with them. Nothing more was heard from the Alamo. That was queer.
After breakfast the next morning, which was March 13, it was rumored
that the general had ordered Henry Karnes, Deaf Smith and Richard
Handy, another scout, to ride toward Bejar and find exactly how things
stood. They were to be back with their news within three days.

A few additional volunteers arrived, the majority afoot, until by night
the 374 had increased to 400. Now all were waiting for the report of
the scouts.

That same night, about half-past eight o’clock, Henry Karnes returned
alone. The camp had finished supper, and the men were sitting around
visiting, when he rode rapidly in. As he loped past where Jim and
Ernest were confabbing together, somebody called to him, sharply:

“What’s the news, Henry?”

“The wust,” answered Henry, without stopping. “All gone under;
wiped out complete.” And he continued straight for General Houston’s
headquarters tent. He had been riding hard.

Ernest and Jim stared at one another.

“That was true, then,” faltered Jim.

Ernest nodded. He could not speak. The picture was too horrible. Think
of it――a hundred and eighty men, brave men, half of whom he knew, and
had fought beside, killed――probably slaughtered!

“Come on,” bade Jim. “We’ll go where we can hear.”

Weak in his knees, his feet leaden, Ernest kept up with him. So swiftly
had spread the tidings that almost instantly the camp was in a buzz;
some of the men remained sitting, as if stunned; others sprang to their
feet, and made, like Jim and Ernest, for headquarters, to stand before
the tent flaps, murmurous and waiting.

Henry Karnes was talking inside. Colonel Burleson hastily entered.
Colonel Hockley, the chief of staff, was there. Presently Henry Karnes
emerged, pale through his freckled tan. Now it was no use to conceal
matters, and he spoke freely, his voice shaking.

He and Deaf Smith and Richard Handy had ridden only twenty miles out of
Gonzales (cautiously, on the watch for danger) when they had sighted a
little party coming toward them on the road――a woman on a horse and two
men afoot. It was Mrs. Dickinson, carrying her baby, and accompanied by
Colonel Travis’s negro boy, Sam, and Ben, another negro who had escaped
from Colonel Almonte of the Mexican army.

Mrs. Dickinson said that she and her baby, and Sam, and a Mexican
sister-in-law of Colonel Bowie with her little sister, and another
Mexican woman, were the only persons left alive who had been in the
Alamo. General Santa Anna had sent her with a proclamation from him
to tell Texas that the Alamo had fallen, and that now if Texas would
submit and lay down its arms he would pardon its rebels. If not――――!
But imagine a pardon from Santa Anna!

The last attack on the Alamo had begun before daylight on last Sunday
morning――just as had been suspected by Jim and the others who had
listened from Gonzales. Two thousand five hundred soldiers had attacked
on four sides at once, with cannon and scaling ladders. The Mexican
bands had played the tune of Cut-Throat――no quarter! The attacks on
three of the sides failed; and the attack on the fourth side, by all
the soldiers together, had been driven back three times! But the
soldiers were so many that the Alamo men could not shoot fast enough to
keep them down. They had planted their ladders and had simply poured
over the wall. Then there was terrible hand-to-hand fighting, through
the buildings. Knives, pistols, and butts of guns! Captain Dickinson
(who had been a lieutenant in charge of a cannon) had rushed into Mrs.
Dickinson’s room in the Alamo church, and saying: “All is lost. If
they spare you, save my child,” had rushed out, and she never saw him
again. But he was killed. Colonel Travis was killed. Colonel Bowie
was shot in his bed――the Mexican soldiers had been afraid to bayonet
him. Davy Crockett had used his rifle as a club until he, too, fell.
Colonel Bonham was dead. A man by the name of Walters had been driven
right into Mrs. Dickinson’s room and there before her eyes had been
tossed on bayonets by half a dozen Mexicans at once. Only five of the
men survived the fight――and they had immediately been shot by orders
of Santa Anna himself. After that General Santa Anna had all the Texan
bodies collected in a pile and heaped with brush and burned. Now
General Sesma was on his way with 2000 soldiers to seize Gonzales; and
the remainder of the army would follow.

Henry Karnes explained that he had galloped ahead, and had left Mrs.
Dickinson’s party to come on with the help of Deaf Smith and Richard
Handy.

Look! Listen! To Gonzales town also the dreadful word had travelled.
Lights were gleaming in the houses and on the streets; shrieks and
screams and hoarse shouts cut through the damp night air: cries of
fear and rage and grief――grief for nearly 200 Texans pent up and
slaughtered, and especially for the thirty-one of the thirty-two
Gonzales citizens who two weeks before had ridden away to help Travis
in the Alamo, and would never return. Bluff Captain Albert Martin, who
had gone back with his comrades; middle-aged Jacob Darst, Claib Wright,
George Cottle, George Tumlinson, Jesse McCoy, Galb Fuqua, and the rest;
and young Captain Dickinson――gone, leaving wives and children and
brothers and sisters. Travis, Jim Bowie, James Bonham――Davy Crockett!

What a loss Texas had suffered!

The camp was in an uproar of excitement and uncertainty. The Mexicans
under General Sesma were rumored to be already at the Cibolo, halfway
for Gonzales! Horses thudded away into the darkness, bearing volunteers
on the home trail to protect their families. But from his headquarters
General Houston was acting――and no time was to be lost. Officers who
had been summoned ran hither-thither, shouting orders.

“Companies fall in! This way, men!”

Ernest and Jim separated, to tend to business. Every man was to pack
for a march, taking only what he could carry. Don’t delay for stray
horses. Hook up those teams! Burn the extra baggage and supplies.

Great bonfires began to crackle and leap, as down came the tents, and
armful after armful of canvas and clothing and bacon and flour and
coffee were dumped upon the blaze. Figures half in ruddy light and half
in gloom bustled to and fro. The wailing in the town never ceased.
General Houston’s tent still stood, as a centre, and from it rang his
voice, imperative, through all the tumult.

“No, sir! Wait! Don’t be in haste. Wait till all are ready, and let us
retreat in good order.”

“Somebody’s getting in too big a hurry and the general’s calling him
down,” remarked a man near Ernest.

So retreat it was to be! But nobody objected. Four hundred undrilled
men, no matter how brave, could not hold the frontier, here in the
open, against an army of several thousand regulars with cannon and
cavalry.

About eleven o’clock the companies all were packed and in line. The
general had sent word advising the Gonzales people to move out, and had
given them two army wagons. A number of the horses at the camp had not
been caught yet. But Ernest had made certain of Duke, and he rather
guessed that Jim was in the saddle, too. Trust Jim for that!

The general’s tent had vanished. How the bonfires flamed! “Forward,
march!” sounded the orders; and in a weaving column four abreast
the little army headed from the blaze-lighted camp. There were six
companies of infantry, with fifty or sixty men in a company, forming
the centre; the sixty horsemen rode on either flank; the three
cannon――one iron nine-pounder and two four-pounders――had been thrown
into the river, for they could not be taken. One baggage-wagon, hauled
by four oxen, brought up the rear.

The general and his staff――Colonel Hockley, Colonel Burleson,
Lieutenant-Colonel Sherman and Major Somervell――led, on their horses.
A detachment under Captain Handy and Captain John Sharp formed a rear
guard. The march to the main road for the east passed through Gonzales.
The houses all were lighted, and inside and in the yards the men and
women were toiling desperately, packing their valuables and bedding,
for flight. The two wagons, piled high, and with women and children
atop the loads, joined the march for protection; so did a number of
other outfits――on horses, oxen, or afoot, mothers carrying the smallest
children, fathers, who had left the ranks, carrying others――whole
families trudging and sobbing, but the men grim. Mrs. Dickinson was
said to be somewhere in the procession.

General Houston’s voice could be heard, exhorting.

“None must be left behind,” he was saying. “Go to the interior. Keep
ahead of the army. That’s the only safe way.”

“Before morning there won’t be a soul in Gonzales,” spoke a rider near
Ernest. “This is war, all right.”

Ernest could not see the speaker; the march had proceeded into
darkness, and Gonzales and its lights, shining for the last time from
those homely casements, were behind.

“Yes,” responded another voice. “And by the time those fellows who’ve
skipped out have spread the news, all West Texas will be on the move.”

“When we join Fannin, I reckon we’ll do something.”

“We’ll try hard.”

The enshrouded road became sandy, making bad going for the people
afoot. Children whimpered, women panted, and even the volunteers
trudged more and more slowly. The air was warm and lifeless.

On a sudden, after the march had continued for two hours, along the
straggling column welled a cry, passing on lip to lip from rear to
front. Ernest quickly turned his head. He had been half asleep. The
western horizon was redly aglow.

“Gonzales! It’s a fire!”

“They’re burning the town!”

“Who’s doing that?”

“Did the rear guard have those orders?”

“There goes the only bit of property I have in the world.”

“Well, let the Mexicans come now. They’ll find nothing.”

Ernest gazed dumbly. Higher mounted the glow, as fiercer waxed the
flames. There went his and Dick’s little home, then; all the buildings
were of thin oak siding――they’d burn furiously. Ho-hum! That was pretty
tough. What were the people to do, if they ever went back?

False dawn, which precedes real dawn by an hour, was in the air, and
sleepy birds were twittering, when the exhausted column struggled
across Peach Creek, at the abandoned McClure ranch, and welcome orders
were given for the soldiers to rest on their arms. But many of the
refugees from Gonzales pressed right on.

No fires were made. Some of the footmen simply fell upon their
knapsacks and lay there. Ernest loosened Duke’s cinches and tethered
him out; and was spreading his blanket when Jim found him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Jim. “There doesn’t seem to be much
order, anyhow. I reckon we’ll just spread our blankets together after
this till the cavalry’s formed. I’ll ride with you to-morrow.”

“Good,” replied Ernest, briefly.

In silence they rolled up, side by side, in their blankets. Jim spoke:

“Pretty tough, isn’t it!”

“That’s right,” agreed Ernest.

The fire was brighter, and the refugees continued to pass.

XVII

RETREAT, AND EVER RETREAT

It seemed to Ernest that he scarcely had closed his eyes, at last,
when he was forced to unclose them. Men were passing among the prone
figures, waking them. Dawn had broken grayly, under a clouded sky.
Fires were being kindled; and the wearied refugees scattered through
the oak grove were arousing――the women to get the breakfasts. In the
west hung the smoke from the burning town.

“Well,” yawned Jim, pulling on his boots, “here we are, with all Texas
before us.”

“Wonder where we go to-day,” invited Ernest.

“Keep right on till we reach the Colorado, I reckon,” answered Jim.
“That’s the tell. We’ll join with Fannin somewhere on the Colorado and
hold the Mexicans there till we lick ’em.”

Coffee was being made――and it tasted very good, although there was no
sugar for it. From the direction of Gonzales sounded several heavy
explosions, rumbling through the damp air. Mexican cannon? If so, then
Henry Karnes and Deaf Smith and the other scouts would best light out
of there in a hurry. No――as like as not the explosions were from some
powder that had been forgotten, or from barrels of brandy. Rumor said
that the brandy had been poisoned, for the Mexicans, and that General
Houston was angry, when he heard.

Now General Houston was walking among the refugees (who had been
alarmed by the explosions) and telling them, in a loud, confident
voice, that to poison the liquor had been the act of savages, and that
it had now been safely disposed of.

Orders were issued to fall in. The footmen stiffly obeyed; most of them
were not used to walking, but the general (so ’twas said) thought
that he could hold the army together better if they were afoot. Ernest
saw Dick limping to his place. He and Jim, however, saddled up and in
partnership rode with the flanking cavalry.

After the first halt, to rest a moment, the general came slowly ambling
back along the column. He wore an old, thread-bare, closely buttoned
black coat, similar to a Prince Albert of to-day――a dress-coat, as it
was called. Probably he had given his buckskin coat to some refugee. He
appeared to be counting the men with his finger. He looked tired out,
and constantly sniffed at a little bottle of ammonia salts, to ward off
malaria. He made rather an odd figure, in his big hat, and long black
coat, with his bottle and his pointing finger.

“We are the rise of eight hundred strong,” he announced, as if to
himself, but in a loud voice so that all might hear; “and with a good
position we can whip ten to one of the enemy.” And he returned.

“Shucks!” remarked Jim. “That’s tall talk. We aren’t more than four
hundred and fifty. He’s saying that to encourage us.”

“Every little helps,” asserted Ernest.

“He’s got a load to carry, that man,” vouchsafed Jim. “We Texans aren’t
used to retreating, and look at us!”

Truly, the sight was not inspiring: the toiling, perspiring column, and
the distressed, panicky citizens, all fleeing from the advancing host
of the Mexican army flushed with victory.

That evening camp was made at the Lavaca River, near the ranch of
Captain Daniels. The ranch was deserted, like the rest of the country.
The general had no tent and all his baggage was a blanket and a pair
of saddle-bags containing his papers. To-night his headquarters were
an out-building of the ranch; and at dusk he could be seen through the
open door, seated on a three-legged stool, and whittling splinters with
which to feed a little fire in the fire-place, for light, while he
dictated some orders to Colonel Hockley, his chief aide. Soon after
supper Major William T. Austin rode away――with dispatches to the lower
Brazos, southeast, it was said. The general had sent word to Colonel
John A. Wharton to hurry up cannon, mules and ammunition.

In the morning word was passed that Colonel Fannin was still at Goliad,
and might not be able to retire. General Houston was heard to say to
Colonel Hockley:

“Hockley, here is the last hope of Texas. We shall never see Fannin
or his men. With these soldiers we must achieve our independence, or
perish in the attempt.”

Nevertheless, about ten o’clock the whole column was suddenly halted,
and a large squad of horsemen went galloping on the back trail.

“Where you going, boys?”

“To get a blind widow and seven children, bedad!” yelled one of the
riders――Irish, by his accent. “The gin’ral won’t be happy till he has
’em.”

So the march was delayed until the squad returned with the family, who
lived off the road and had not been told of the retreat. The “Deaf
Smith Spies,” as the Henry Karnes scouts were termed, came in also,
from Gonzales. They reported that when they had left, no Mexican army
was yet in sight.

About four o’clock in the afternoon of March 17, which was the fourth
day out of Gonzales, camp was made, in the rain, at Burnam’s Crossing
on the Colorado. During the march from Gonzales the general had been
energy itself. Nothing escaped his attention. He was everywhere at
once, from front to rear, encouraging the refugees, and scolding the
volunteers when they lagged. His strong point was discipline. John
Rhodes had been found asleep on sentry duty, and General Houston put
him under arrest and vowed he should be shot.

The next day, on the march, while crossing a creek, John stopped,
knee-deep, to get a drink. All the column behind him also stopped,
obligingly, to wait for him.

Back galloped the general, like a whirlwind.

“What are you doing here? Why are you halting?”

“John Rhodes wants a drink, general.”

“Knock him down!” bawled the general, pretending a terrible rage.
“Knock him down! Standing there and impeding the march of a whole army!
Knock him down, I say!” And he almost rode right over Rhodes, who was
so frightened that he did not take another swallow.

However, that evening the general called John, and told him that he
would not be shot, after all. And when the widow and her family were to
be rescued, he had halted the march himself and delayed it two hours!

From Burnam’s the general sent a dispatch to the government Military
Committee, at Washington on the Brazos. He dictated, from his quarters,
in such a loud voice, as if he were making a speech, that anybody near
at hand could hear.

    It pains me to the heart [he said] that such consternation
    should be spread by a few deserters from the camp, but we are
    here, and if only three hundred men remain on this side of the
    Brazos, I will die with them or conquer our enemies. Our own
    people, if they would act, are enough to expel every Mexican
    from Texas. Do let it be known that, on close examination,
    and upon reflection, the force of Santa Anna has been greatly
    overrated. If you can, by any means, soothe the people, and get
    them to remain, they shall have notice, if I deem it necessary.
    Let them entertain no fears for the present. We can raise three
    thousand men in Texas, and fifteen hundred can defeat all that
    Santa Anna can send to the Colorado.

    Send agents to the United States [he said]. Appeal to them in
    the holy names of Liberty and Humanity. Let the men from the
    east of the Trinity rush to us. Let all the disposable force of
    Texas fly to arms.

“The general’s certainly working hard,” quoth Jim, as he and Ernest
held a little council of war of their own. “But those fellows who
skipped out ahead of the army when they heard about the Alamo are
making him a heap of trouble. They’ve spread all kinds of stories.
Shucks, we’re not getting any at all from east Texas. Not more’n a
hundred and fifty men have met us since we left Gonzales――and part of
them vamoosed” (by which Jim meant “skipped”) “again.”

“Those last settlers we took up say it’s reported Santa Anna’s bringing
a lot of women along with his soldiers, and they’re to marry and settle
on the American ranches, and all Americans are to be driven out,” said
Ernest.

“If Fannin only gets away, we can hold the Mexicans at the Colorado,”
spoke Jim, confidently. “We lost one gun to-day. Did you hear?”

“No. What?”

“Musket. A sentry busted it over the head of a fellow by name of
Garner, who was bound to cross the line, whether or no. He didn’t
cross. Reckon the general’ll give that sentry a medal. This army needs
considerable disciplining.”

“Well, it’s got _some_ discipline,” argued Ernest. “The general tried
to cross the sentry line himself, and the sentinel made him sit on a
stump and wait for a written order from the officer of the day.”

“That tickled the general, I bet,” chuckled Jim. “What’s sauce for the
goose is sauce for the gander.”

Two days were spent in the mud, crossing the Colorado. All the refugees
were ferried over first, so as to be ahead of the column. One woman
was found by the general sitting on a log, refusing to move. She was
hopeless and crying. Her husband had been killed with Travis in the
Alamo, and her things had been burned in Gonzales. The general gave her
fifty dollars out of his $200, and told her that she need never pay him
back.

Wet and mudded, down the east bank of the Colorado the little army
marched until opposite Beason’s place, twelve miles below. This was
Beason’s Crossing. Sion lived here, across the river, near the new town
of Columbus. And that very evening he appeared in camp, with some
recruits.

Jim saw him first, and let out a wild whoop of joy.

“What do you think you’re going to do?” he demanded of Sion――he and
Ernest pumping Sion’s hand. “Still got that old pea-shooter, haven’t
you!” For Sion was equipped for war.

“Going to do? Fight, of course!” retorted Sion, as pugnacious as ever.
“What are you fellows going to do? Keep on running away?”

“No. As soon as we meet up with Fannin or get those cannon from the
mouth of the Brazos we’ll capture Santa Anna and go back to ploughing.
We’re here to stick. We’re stuck already, in the mud!”

“Have you enlisted, Sion?” queried Ernest.

“Sure. I’ve just been waiting till you came down. I’m in Captain
Moseley Baker’s San Felipe company, and I’m here to stick, too. He’s a
fighter. We fellows reckon Sam Houston’s gone about far enough.”

“Any news from Leo?”

“No.”

“Any news from Fannin?”

“No. But the convention’s quit. Elected David Burnet president of the
Republic of Texas and Lorenzo de Zavala [that was the Mexican patriot]
vice-president; and on the seventeenth, as soon as they heard about the
Alamo, they all moved out, down to Harrisburg, near Buffalo Bayou, in
the Galveston Bay country of the coast. Wasn’t that awful, about the
Alamo, though?”

“It certainly was,” agreed Jim and Ernest, sobering.

“All Texas acts scared out of its boots,” complained Sion. “The
government’s as bad as the rest――retreating like that. If half the men
who are tending to their families would join the army their families
would be a great deal safer. We’ve got to do something pretty quick.
The Mexicans are close.”

“How do you know?”

“Because some of their patrols are right west of here. People saw ’em
yesterday. Old Sesma’s behind ’em with six hundred men.”

That was true. The scouts under Henry Karnes, who had been stationed
across the river, above, brought in a Mexican soldier and three horses,
and Scout Secrest showed the sword and pistols of another soldier whom
he had killed. Three more prisoners were captured, by a detachment
under Lieutenant-Colonel Sherman. They said that General Sesma and
General Woll were now on the west bank of the Colorado, only three
miles above Beason’s. The Deaf Smith Spies, on falling back from
Burnam’s, had set fire to the ranch buildings and to the Dewees place,
below.

General Houston posted strong guards up along the river; and according
to reports there would be a battle. If Generals Sesma and Woll had only
600 men, the Texan army ought to be able to thresh them. Sherman, it
was said, would have ambushed them――only that one of his men disobeyed
orders and fired too soon, and spoiled the whole plan. If the artillery
only would come from the mouth of the Brazos! The little army were in
great excitement――although some of the men managed to leave, in spite
of the sentries. They reasoned that if there was a fight and the army
was whipped by the Mexican artillery and cavalry, they ought to be at
home with their families.

General Houston looked ill. He was carrying a great load. The news
that the government had fled also, as if it did not trust him or the
army, worried him. He said to one of the officers: “That removal from
Washington to Harrisburg has done more to increase the panic than
anything else that has occurred in Texas, except the fall of the Alamo,
sir.” And from Beason’s he wrote to Colonel Rusk, the secretary of war:

    You know I am not easily depressed, but since we parted at the
    convention I have found the darkest hours of my past life! My
    excitement has been so great that for forty-eight hours I
    have not eaten an ounce, nor have I slept. I was in a constant
    apprehension of a rout; a constant panic existed in the lines,
    yet I managed so well, or such was my good luck, that not a gun
    was fired in or near the camp, or on the march (except to kill
    beef) from the Guadalupe to the Colorado.

    It was a poor compliment to me [he said] to suppose that I
    would not advise the convention of any necessity which might
    arise for their removal.

    I had to advise troops and persons of my falling back, and had
    to send one guard thirty miles for a poor blind widow (and
    six children) whose husband had been killed in the Alamo. The
    families now are all on this side of the Guadalupe. These
    things pained me infinitely, and with the responsibility of my
    command, weighed upon me to an agonizing extent.

    In a few days [he added] my force will be highly respectable. I
    am writing in the open air. I have no tent, and am not looking
    out for the luxuries of life. Do devise some plan to send back
    the rascals who have gone from the army and service of the
    country with guns. Oh, why did the cabinet leave Washington?
    We must act now, and with great promptness. The country must
    be saved. This morning I hear of men from the mouth of the
    river――they are on the march――you will hear from us.

The general wrote most of his dispatches at night, when he sat and
whittled a stick (he was a great whittler) while dictating, or while
thinking what to write.

But reinforcements were on the way; and word came that Colonel Rusk,
the secretary of war, had stationed a guard over the ferry across the
Brazos at Washington, with orders to stop all men going eastward with
arms.

General Houston was not saying much, but the belief was that a
battle would be fought on the 27th: for by this time Fannin or the
reinforcements would have arrived――particularly the cannon for which
Major Austin had been sent. He had promised to report in twelve days,
sure. Fight! That was what the army wanted to do: fight! By the way
Sion stormed about, one would have thought that he would do all the
fighting alone.

Then, in the evening of March 25, a new commotion swept the camp. Jim,
and Ernest, and Sion, sitting together, heard the shouts and saw the
running; and together they scampered for the centre of the disturbance.
A man had been brought in, by the corporal of the guard, and had been
immediately assailed by questions.

“Fannin! Fannin’s been whipped!” were the cries. “He and all his men
killed or captured! Refugio taken, too. All the lower Guadalupe wiped
out――a lot of the prisoners tied to oak trees and shot!”

By the time that the three boys breathlessly arrived, the messenger,
who was a Mexican countryman named Peter Kerr, was being hustled along
by the corporal. But he had answered enough questions so that his story
was clear.

Colonel Fannin had waited for the little garrisons at San Patricio to
collect the women and children and join him. But the advance of the
Mexican soldiers sent by Santa Anna into the south had been too rapid,
and the Texan troops had been cut off. Then on the morning of March
19 he had begun his retreat to Victoria, with 350 men and ten cannon.
But that same day, on a grassy prairie, he had been surrounded by
General Urrea and 900 cavalry and infantry, with cannon and about 100
Indians. Colonel Fannin formed a hollow square, and beat them off all
day long. Early the next morning 400 more Mexicans arrived, with more
cannon, and with 100 pack mules bearing new supplies. Sixty Texans had
been wounded, and there was no water, and very little food, and the
ammunition was almost gone. So before noon Colonel Fannin had agreed
to surrender. He and his men were to be treated as prisoners of war.
The outside volunteers were to be sent back to New Orleans and the few
Texas citizens were to go home, on parole, not to fight again in the
war.

But this was bad news indeed. Jim indignantly hurled his hat on the
ground.

“Think of it!” he exclaimed. “Gee whiz! Think of it! Right at this time
when we needed that crowd! The Mexican says if Fannin had marched only
three miles further ’stead of camping in the open he’d have been in the
timber and all Mexico couldn’t have cut him off!”

“We can fight without him, anyhow,” blurted Sion. “We’ve got enough
to lick Sesma and Woll. And I reckon we’ll do it, about day after
to-morrow.”

“Don’t know whether we will or not,” retorted Jim. “And supposing we
do. They’re just an advance guard. There’s Urrea, now, down south, with
twelve or fifteen hundred regulars, and nobody to hold him; and there’s
Santa Anna coming, with a few thousand more. And who’s helping _us_?
Half of us are down with the measles, anyway. Where are those East
Texas militia we’ve been hearing about? Where are those reinforcements
and those cannon from the mouth of the Brazos? And look what we’ve
lost! All those companies from the United States, except the Newport
Volunteers that are in this camp. The New Orleans Grays, the Mobile
Grays, the Kentucky Mustangs, the Alabama Red Rovers, the Georgia and
Tennessee companies, and all the rest――the best armed troops we had;
and one of the best officers――Jim Fannin.”

“Well,” said Ernest, determined to make the best of it, “they weren’t
all shot. They just surrendered. Only half a dozen were killed and they
wiped out about three hundred Mexicans.”

“They all are paroled, though; they can’t fight any more. They won’t
break their parole; they’re not like Cos,” insisted Jim. “And remember
the Alamo. Every man massacred whether he’d surrendered or not. And
remember how those other men were tied to oak trees and shot. We’re
liable to hear the same kind of news from Fannin yet.”

“Can’t help it,” declared Sion, doggedly. “I’m here to fight, and so
are the other men.”

“You talk as if you were as tall as that gun you’re lugging round,”
scoffed Jim. “Sounds as if you were going to account for the whole
Mexican army.”

“This gun shoots just as hard as if I was as big as General Houston,”
stoutly answered Sion. “That Mexican said there was a boy named Harry
Ripley with Fannin; from Louisiana. He got wounded, and asked a woman
named Mrs. Cash, from Goliad, to prop him up so he could shoot. He
popped four more Mexicans before a bullet broke his steadying arm; and
then with a broken arm and a broken thigh he had to quit. Said he’d
made the Mexicans pay double for what they gave him. I reckon I can do
as well as any boy from the United States.”

“I reckon you can, Sion,” agreed Jim.

General Houston ordered the Mexican, Peter Kerr, under close arrest;
would not even talk with him, and claimed that he was only a miserable
spy, and should be shot, the first thing in the morning. But nobody
believed that this would be done; they all knew the general too
well――and Peter evidently had spoken the truth. Late that evening the
general was seen talking to him, and examining him. The next day there
was no execution; instead, when the army was paraded, they listened to
the adjutant, Colonel Ben Fort Smith, read a general order:

    FELLOW-SOLDIERS: The only army in Texas is now present. Travis
    has fallen with his men at the Alamo; Fannin’s troops have been
    massacred at La Bahia [which was Goliad]. There are none to aid
    us. There is here but a small force, and yet it is all that
    Texas has. We might cross the river and attack the enemy. We
    might be victorious――but we might be overcome. There are but
    few of us, and if we fall the fate of Texas is sealed. For this
    reason, and until I feel able to meet the enemy in battle, I
    shall retreat.

                             SAM HOUSTON,
                                        Major-General Commanding.

Not a cheer greeted the order. Instead, from angry men welled sullen
murmurs.

XVIII

TO FACE THE ENEMY AT LAST

The camp was divided in opinion. Sion ruffled like an angry turkey-cock,
and the majority of the men were almost as indignant. Some even called
General Houston a coward――afraid to stand and fight. Only a few took a
calmer view and stood up for him, pointing out that Sesma and Woll were
being reinforced and that General Urrea was likely to come up at any
moment, from below, with a new attack.

“As for Sam Houston being a coward,” spoke Dick Carroll, “you gentlemen
misjudge him. No man who fought like he did under General Jackson,
and had that arrow jerked out from him, flesh and all, is a coward.
He charged those Creek breastworks away in front of his men. If he
retreats now, he’s simply playing for time.”

Ernest glowed to hear such words. _He_ knew that Sam Houston could be
no coward.

“Well, boys,” spoke another in the group, “I’ve women and children
between the Colorado and the Brazos, and I’m going to them this very
evening and move ’em eastward, orders or no orders.”

A number of men did leave, to move their families. The general gave
furloughs for this purpose to all who asked.

Camp was struck a little before dusk, and the march eastward toward
the Brazos was begun. Passing back along the column, and eying it, the
general turned and rode a short distance with Captain Robert Calder,
near Ernest and Jim.

“I should be glad to have your views on this retirement, sir,” invited
the general.

“I am willing to obey the orders of the commander-in-chief, general,”
replied Captain Calder. “We could have whipped the enemy there at the
Colorado. Our men all agree to that. But I suppose your idea is to draw
the Mexicans further into the country, until you can do the job slick
and clean.”

“This retirement is a necessity of war,” declared the general. “Yes,
sir; we could have whipped the enemy, back at the Colorado; but we
can’t fight battles without having men killed and wounded. We haven’t
the means of conveying ammunition and baggage, not to speak of the
wounded. A battle would handicap us fatally. Besides, a defeat of the
enemy at the Colorado would inevitably have united all the Mexican
columns against us. We will choose some good position on the Brazos
near San Felipe, where by means of boats we can drop down or up, and
give the enemy battle to our own advantage. I will do the best I can;
but be assured, the fame of Jackson can never repay me for my anxiety
and pain.”

The timber skirting the Colorado had been left behind when through the
column spread an alarm. A body of troops were sighted, approaching
across the prairie, from the south. Mexicans! A Mexican patrol――General
Urrea’s advance guard? No! Scouts galloped out, to investigate, and
scurrying back reported. Texans! More Texans! Reinforcements from the
mouth of the Brazos!

The column was halted, to wait.

“Listen to the drum!” exclaimed Jim, as he and Ernest sat their
saddles, watching. “They’ve got a drum!――and a fife!”

To brave beat of drum and piping of fife, amidst welcoming cheers the
new troops arrived. Three companies they proved to be――numbering only
130 men in all――under command of Major John Forbes: Captain Amasa
Turner’s company of regular infantry, and two companies of volunteers.
They brought no cannon, and few horses; but, of great importance to Jim
and Ernest, and Sion, they brought Leo Roark! From the wearied ranks he
gaily waved response to his cavalry friends, and Sion also called his
attention with a series of loud whoops.

The three companies fell into the place assigned to them by General
Houston, and marched on, the drum rattling merrily and the fife tooting
lustily. Music for the army!

That night at camp the four veterans of San Antonio had a reunion.

“What’s the meaning of this march, anyhow?” demanded Leo. “You-all are
heading the wrong way.”

“We’re going to retreat till we can lick the Mexicans one bunch at a
time,” answered Ernest.

“One man at a time, he ought to say,” growled Sion.

“Where are all your men, from your part of the country?” accused Jim of
Leo. “We counted on five hundred of you. You’d better have left your
drum and fife at home and brought cannon and mules.”

“Fetched in what men we could,” retorted Leo. “If you keep on
retreating you won’t get anybody! The people want their homes
protected. They aren’t going to fall back and leave their families.
First they heard of the Alamo massacre, and now they’re hearing about
Fannin’s defeat. When I left home my mother and the family were all
packed up, ready to light out.”

“My folks have gone――took only the little they could carry,” said Jim,
soberly.

“So have mine,” said Sion.

Ernest, hearing, was glad, for once, that _his_ mother was in
Cincinnati.

Leo had enrolled in the company from Velasco, near where he lived. He’d
traded his shot-gun for a musket, but otherwise he was the same manly
Leo of the campaign against Bejar.

On the next day, which was Palm Sunday, March 27, the timber along the
Brazos River was reached. And when the march crossed the San Felipe
road, from the Colorado to the Brazos, rain had begun to fall, so that
all the bottom-lands were heavy with black mud.

Scores of settler families were pressing through the mud, for safety in
the east. Carts filled with the feeble and the children and household
goods were stuck fast in boggy places, and people, young and old,
mainly women and children, were trudging ankle deep――many with no
shoes, all wet and miserable.

“That’s sure a runaway scrape,” remarked Jim. And as the Runaway Scrape
is the frenzied flight still known. “An awful pity, too. Expect my
mother is out in the rain and mud, just like the rest. And Sion’s and
Leo’s.”

Morning dawned damply upon a muddy camp. When orders to march were
given, Captain Moseley Baker’s company refused to retreat any further;
and the wagon oxen of the Captain Wiley Martin company could not be
found. These two companies stayed behind; but the general, to avoid any
quarrel, ordered Captain Baker to remain at San Felipe and guard the
river crossing against the Mexicans, and for Captain Martin to guard
the Fort Bend crossing below. So for a little time Jim and Leo and
Ernest did without the pugnacious Sion.

In torrents of rain, Monday, the retreat continued, plastered with mud
and drenched with water. Creeks were forded. The wheels of the baggage
wagons that had been collected bogged to their axles, and several
times General Houston clambered off his horse and impatiently put his
shoulders to the tires, helping the men and oxen. His thin black coat
was soaked through and through.

“The general of the army has no blanket,” Ernest and Jim heard him
proclaim loudly, as he rode along with two or three of the officers.
“I had a very good one; it might shelter me from this pitiless storm,
but some scoundrel stole it. I am told,” he added, “that evilly
disposed persons have reported that I am going to march you clear to
the Redlands border of Texas. This is false. I am going to march you up
into the Brazos bottoms to a position where you can whip the enemy ten
to one, and where we can get an abundant supply of corn.”

It rained hard all that night――and a miserable night it was. Several
beeves were driven in and killed for food. The army huddled around huge
fires, cooking slices of beef and trying to dry their feet. The ground
was too wet to lie on. General Houston sat on his saddle, his feet on a
block of wood, and a borrowed blanket over his shoulders. Somebody at
one of the messes started a song, in a pleasant tenor voice.

    Will you come to the bow’r I have shaded for you?
    Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew.
        Will you, will you, will you, will you,
        Come to the bow’r?

That was the way it began. The words drifted from fire to fire,
in a plaintive melody. Jim, squatted beside Ernest――both of them
soaked――grunted.

“That’s surely a fine song,” he said. “Talk about a bed of roses!”

“I’ll take a good hard plank for mine,” quoth Ernest. “Without dew. Am
wet enough already!”

He nodded off, into a dose, but was awakened by Jim nudging him.

“Look at the fire,” bade Jim, in low tones. “San Felipe’s burning!”

The sky in the south was red, and growing redder. The rain had ceased,
and upon the overcast sky the lurid glow mounted high and higher. All
the camp was awake, watching, in a state of fresh alarm.

General Houston had arisen from his saddle seat, and was stalking from
mess to mess.

“I gave no orders for this,” he repeated. “The citizens have done it.
It is a military measure, to anticipate the enemy. But there is no
battle. We hear no guns. The enemy shall not cross the Brazos. It is
well defended. Should they reach the west bank at San Felipe they will
find no shelter and supplies.”

However, the burning of the town――the first American town in Texas,
located by Stephen Austin――put the army in the dumps again, and the
song of “Will You Come to the Bower” was not renewed when the men
prepared for another dismal march. Three taps of the drum, by the
general himself, as the reveille, fell flatly on the heavy atmosphere.
Some of the men had left families on the Brazos near San Felipe――some
owned houses in San Felipe itself; and they hated to move further on,
while behind them the smoke pall hung. Where were the Mexicans? Henry
Karnes and the “Deaf Smith Spy Company” were constantly out, on the
scout, but they brought in no definite news.

On March 31, which was Thursday, camp was made in the bottom-lands near
Groce’s Ferry, of the Brazos between San Felipe and Washington. It
looked as though this was to be a camp for several days, at least, for
the general set everybody at work clearing away the brush on the margin
of a large pond back from the river.

What next? Nobody seemed to know. The army had retreated over 200
miles from Gonzales, and now had dwindled down from the 1300 men at
the Colorado to only a little more than 500 men. But the general was
energy itself. He never quit for a minute. The steamboat Yellowstone,
commanded by Captain Ross, was found at Groce’s Ferry loading with
cotton for the Gulf. The general ordered this seized and held, to be
used should the army cross to the east bank.

He formed the little army into regiments. General Burleson commanded
the first, and Lieutenant-Colonel Sidney Sherman of the Kentucky
volunteers (the company with the beautiful flag) was promoted to
command the second. The cavalry were attached to this regiment, and now
for the first time Jim and Ernest were under a settled officer. Leo
remained in the infantry, under Colonel Burleson, and Sion was still
down opposite the ruins of San Felipe, with the Captain Baker company.

The camp was aroused each morning by the three taps of the drum at
the general’s quarters, and there were daily drills. There also was
rain――rain, rain, rain, until the camp was a mud island, for the river
Brazos overflowed and surrounded it. Rain, mud, and measles, and bad
water; half the men ill with one disease or another, and the general
laid up, part of the time, in a tent that he had procured.

Then, on the second of April, came bad news. It permeated the
discontented camp like wild-fire. Colonel Fannin and his men had not
been paroled, but had been killed: shot down, or bayoneted, on Palm
Sunday, March 27, at Goliad, by the Mexican companies! Three hundred
and twenty――think of it――320 of the rank and file, marched out upon the
prairie, and slain by the Mexican soldiers! Santa Anna himself had sent
the orders.

The New Orleans Grays, the Red Rovers of Alabama, the Mustangs of
Kentucky, and all――all except twenty-six or twenty-seven who had dodged
the bullets and had escaped in the brush. Colonel Fannin and Colonel
Ward of the Georgians had been shot separately. It was worse than even
the Alamo.

Now news was received, at last, from the Mexican army. The Deaf Smith
Spy Company, who had been out on a long scout, returned with the word.
The army were coming in three separate columns. Santa Anna was leading
the centre column, from Gonzales straight eastward for Beason’s on the
Colorado and thence to San Felipe. A southern column under General
Urrea was marching from Goliad northeast for the coast. A northern
column under General Gaona was marching by way of Bastrop (or Mina), on
the Colorado above Moore’s Retreat for Nacogdoches in the far east. Six
thousand soldiers in all was given, by the spies, as the number――and
they were sweeping Texas with orders to shoot every Texan caught
bearing arms. All the country was in full flight; the roads from the
Brazos east were crowded with panic-stricken settlers.

Lorenzo de Zavala, the vice-president, joined the camp, with a company
of eighty men from the Red Lands. He reported that Thomas J. Rusk, the
secretary of war, was on his way to help in the fighting; and that two
cannon from Cincinnati had been landed at the coast and were being
hurried forward.

The general sent the Redlanders down river to reinforce Captain Baker’s
company opposite San Felipe at the San Felipe crossing, and gave strict
orders that no man was to leave the camp without permission. Secretary
Rusk arrived on April 4; but even he could not calm the discontent.
Were the army to stay here while the republic was being ravaged by
Santa Anna? What was the matter with that Sam Houston, anyhow? Leo
raged, Jim was sarcastic, and even Ernest felt his courage ebbing.

On April 7 the general issued an army order:

    The moment for which we have waited with anxiety and interest
    is fast approaching [he said]. The victims of the Alamo and
    the spirits of those who were murdered at Goliad call for
    cool, deliberate vengeance. Strict discipline, order, and
    subordination will ensure us the victory. The army will be in
    readiness for action at a moment’s warning. The field officers
    have the immediate execution of this order in charge for their
    respective commands.

“Big words,” fumed Jim. “But what do they mean? Here we are, squatting
in the mud and growing web feet. Couldn’t get off this island if the
Mexicans were right opposite. Oh, yes; _we’re_ safe; but what of the
rest of Texas? What of _our_ folks? Next thing, we’ll hear of some more
massacres, down the river. I’m sick; I’ve had the measles and now I’ve
got a cold. What we need is another general.”

That day cannon shots were heard, from down the river. A battle!
The Mexicans were trying to cross at San Felipe. Now the camp was
in a fever, indeed. Would Captain Baker and the Redlanders hold the
crossing? The three boys listened with anxious hearts, for Sion was
there in the fight.

The firing continued for two days, on and off. Then it ceased. Colonel
Alex. Somervell came in with the report that the Mexican advance guard
had retired without crossing. But there was considerable talk about
making Colonel Sidney Sherman the commander-in-chief. However, in the
morning notices, signed by General Houston, were stuck up with wooden
pegs on the trees, saying that any man who attempted to organize
volunteers from the army would be “court-martialed and shot.” This
stopped much of the talk.

More recruits joined from East Texas. Among them was one especially
nice-looking man, with the high-sounding name of Mirabeau Buonaparte
Lamar. He was from a famous Georgia family; had been a newspaper
editor, and could write poetry. He had walked almost all the way up
from Velasco to join the Texan army as a private. The men agreed that
he would not remain a private long.

Colonel Rusk, the secretary of war, was reported to have been sent by
the government on purpose to urge General Houston to fight. And a tart
dispatch was received from the president.

    To GEN. SAM HOUSTON.

    SIR: The enemy are laughing you to scorn. You must fight them.
    You must retreat no further. The country expects you to fight.
    The salvation of the country depends on your doing so.

                                                 DAVID G. BURNET.

The general appeared to pay no attention to this interference, as if
he were bent upon pursuing his own plans. But it was rumored that one
column of the Mexican army had crossed the Brazos, at last, and was
heading eastward. This might be so, for on the morning of April 12
orders were issued to break camp and prepare to leave. All that day and
half of the next day the steamboat Yellowstone and a ferry flat-boat
were busy carrying the 523 men, the wagons and the horses and oxen,
from the west bank to the east bank.

Affairs looked brighter. At Groce’s, on the east bank, the two cannon
from Cincinnati were found waiting. They were iron six-pounders and had
been presented by the citizens of Cincinnati to the Republic of Texas.
It seemed good to Ernest to see something that had been in Cincinnati.
He rather believed that his mother had looked upon these cannon. He
wondered if she had guessed that they were coming straight to him――and
why she had not thought to put a note in them!

No cannon shot accompanied them; all had been lost on the long way.
But blacksmiths were set at work cutting up horseshoes and chains and
other iron, to be tied in cotton bags, as canister. Colonel Hockley was
placed in charge of the cannon.

Yes, one column of the Mexican army had crossed the Brazos. A dispatch
from Captain Wiley Martin told this. A portion of the column had
threatened him at Fort Bend, while the rest of the column had gone
below and seized a ferry kept by an old negro. They had yelled to the
negro in English, and he had thought that they were some Texans wanting
the ferry.

The general promptly issued a proclamation, to reassure the people of
Eastern Texas. He said:

    You have suffered panic to seize you, and idle rumors to
    guide you. You will now be told that the enemy have crossed
    the Brazos, and that Texas is conquered. Reflect, reason with
    yourselves, and you cannot believe a part of it. The enemy have
    crossed the Brazos, but they are treading the soil on which
    they are to be conquered.

    If you wish your country saved [he continued], join her
    standard! protect your wives, your children and your homes, by
    repairing to the field where alone, by discipline and concert
    of action, you can be effective.

But the Mexicans were marching on!

[Illustration: TEXAS IN 1835–1836 AND MARCH OF THE TWO ARMIES EASTWARD
TO SAN JACINTO

    Route of Texan Army under Houston: ― ― ― ― ―
    Route of Mexican Column under Santa Anna: + + + +]

That night, tired of the nagging from Jim and Leo, who sided with the
men who thought that they knew more than the general did, about a
campaign, Ernest sought out Dick Carroll for comfort. He and Dick, at
least, would stand by the general. There were others, too.

“Don’t you worry about the general, boy,” assured Dick. “He’ll hoe
his row, in spite of the stones. And some day this army, and all
Texas, will thank him. It takes a big man to manage a retreat. Anybody
can fight, but few have the nerve to hold off till the proper time
to fight. A lot of these complainers aren’t reasonable. Hyar we
are, porely armed, porely drilled, porely provisioned, pulling all
ways――some of us skipping off home without staying to fight――and we’re
expected to stop right in their tracks an army ten times our size,
veteran soldiers, the best in Mexico, and commanded by a general who’s
never known defeat. We’ve got to oppose strategy to force. This one
army is up ag’in really three armies, all bigger; and we can’t fight
and run away to fight in another place, on account of the floods.
Besides, we’ve got the Injuns to look out for. These East Texas
settlements are open to attack from the prairies, and that northern
column of Gaona is liable to fetch along Injuns. The Comanches and
Cherokees are ready for the warpath, I hear tell.”

“But the general’s letting the centre column get ahead of us,” hazarded
Ernest.

“No, he isn’t. He’s letting it get in front of us, and that means we’re
behind it. It’s got to look two ways, now. And it’s marching further
and further, and separating more and more from the other columns. Sam
Houston wants it to run on the rope a bit longer; then he’ll lick it,
and have time to tend to the others. That’s my notion of what Sam
Houston is up to.”

“Where do you think they’re going, Dick?”

“Who? The centre column that crossed the Brazos? To Harrisburg, I
reckon, and try to capture the government cabinet.”

“Is Santa Anna with them?”

“Don’t know. Nobody seems to know yet. But we’ll find out. About twenty
miles beyond here the road forks: one fork continues on east to the
Trinity and Nacogdoches, the other fork bends south for Harrisburg. And
if we don’t take the south fork I miss my guess.”

It was generally known that all the companies down the Brazos had been
ordered to meet the main body at Donoho’s Ranch, five miles east. This
looked like business. To-night the camp was more cheerful. The fife
played the tune “Will You Come to the Bower,” some of the men sang, and
even Jim and Leo sought their blankets less disgruntled.

The next noon, of April 14, camp was made at Donoho’s, to await the
companies that had been ordered up from below. This camp was rather
hard on the Donoho place, for most of the fence rails were torn down to
feed the camp fires. A number of refugee families were collected here
on their flight to the Trinity River and eastward still. Jim looked in
vain for his “folks.” The wearied outfits with their carts and oxen
hastened onward, fearful lest the army pass them and leave them exposed
to the enemy.

Captain Baker arrived to report that his company were on hand, camped
by the road about three miles further on. Captain Martin also came in.
He said, very distinctly:

“General, I have brought but my sword. On hearing that you are
retreating to Nacogdoches my company refuse to remain with you, and
declare that they must protect their families.”

“Are you and your men willing to retreat beyond the Trinity to
Nacogdoches, captain?” asked one of the men, of Captain Baker.

“Never, never!” answered the captain, determinedly. “If General Houston
will not take us to meet the enemy, we will elect a commander who
will!”

The general was standing talking with Captain Martin only a few feet
away, and heard. But he replied not a single word.

An old negro also arrived from below. He said that he had been the
ferry-man near Fort Bend, whom the Mexicans had bamboozled. They had
held him several days.

“Dey gwine straight on to Harrisburg to ketch the gubberment,” he
proclaimed. “Santa Anna wif ’um. Yessuh, he wif ’um. I done saw him.
He say: ‘You tell Sam Houston I know he up dere in de bushes, an’ when
I get done wif dese land-robbers down hyar I’se comin’ up to smoke him
out,’ Yessuh; dat’s what he say.”

Camp was made the next evening at Mr. McCurley’s ranch, thirteen miles
east. More refugees were here. The Martin company had been ordered by
the general to proceed on and to protect the settlers crossing the
Trinity from the Indians. That suited the company better. But the Baker
company were picked up, and Sion joined his three comrades again. He
was gleeful, but also critical.

“We drove those Mexicans back from the river, all right,” he asserted.
“We got fooled, though, once. Thought we saw a thundering big lot of
cavalry coming full tilt, and after we’d set fire to the town, against
’em, we found out they were only a bunch of cattle. Anyway, here we all
are, now. And if Sam Houston doesn’t let us take the Harrisburg road
to-morrow, to meet up with Santa Anna, we’re going to elect a general
who will.”

“Colonel Rusk says we’re going to Harrisburg,” spoke Ernest, hopefully.

“He does, does he?” responded Sion. “Huh! Maybe he’s the boss and maybe
he isn’t. We’ll mighty soon find out, to-morrow.”

The march was resumed in a driving rain. The men trudged heavily, and
even the horses seemed to share in the rebellious feeling. But General
Houston had given no indication of what he had decided, and rather a
pathetic figure he made, as he rode along in the pelting storm. He
still wore his thin old black coat; his whitish hat flopped on his
head, his legs were clad in baggy snuff-colored trousers and cowhide
boots; and his sword was tied around his waist by buckskin thongs. A
month’s beard covered his face.

The fife and drum had played a tune at the beginning; but when the
Roberts ranch, where the road forked, was reached, the music stopped,
and the rear of the column crowded up against the hesitating van.
General Houston had spurred ahead. Mr. Roberts the rancher was standing
at his gate, talking with several officers, as the general arrived.
With the cavalry, in the advance, Ernest heard the words plainly.

“Is that the road to Harrisburg?” demanded the officers.

“Yes, sir,” answered Mr. Roberts; and he pointed. “This right-hand road
will carry you down to Harrisburg as straight as a compass.”

“To the right, boys! To the right!” shouted the officers, galloping
away.

As the word passed, a great cheer arose. The head of the column
promptly turned into the south, on the right-hand trail. The music
struck up blithely. The general sat his horse, watching, with a little
smile on his haggard face.

And down the Harrisburg road briskly marched the column, to find Santa
Anna, now fifty miles in the lead.

XIX

FINDING SANTA ANNA

Harrisburg was only about twenty miles inland from Galveston Bay of
the coast. So Santa Anna had marched clear across Texas, with General
Houston at first before him, and now behind him. On the bay shore east
of Harrisburg was the town of New Washington; and a few miles north
of New Washington was Lynch’s Ferry and Lynchburg, of the San Jacinto
River――just above where the river, flowing southward, widens into San
Jacinto Bay in the upper part of Galveston Bay.

From the west, Buffalo Bayou (near whose mouth is to-day located
the city of Houston) joined the San Jacinto River at Lynch’s Ferry.
Somewhere to the south of the angle formed by the Bayou, and the San
Jacinto River and bay, were the Santa Anna army. They could not go much
further east, that was certain. They would go north, for East Texas.
Urrea was taking care of the south.

To-day’s march from McCurley’s ranch was a hard one. The prairie road
was soft with bogs and with mud from the rain, and everybody was
in a hurry. The “Twin Sisters,” as the Cincinnati cannon had been
christened, were dragged with long ropes――a score of volunteers lending
their hands. The cannon wheels and the wheels of the wagons sank deeply
into the mushy sod. The general frequently dismounted and helped push
and pull. There were so many sloughs and creeks, also, that it took
until dark to go twelve miles, and even then camp was made on wet
ground at the edge of a sluggish creek.

Buffalo Bayou, curving into the south as it reached back from the San
Jacinto, sent out many branches; and Jim and Ernest and all were well
fagged out when, before noon of April 18, the third day from McCurley’s
and the forking of the trails, the toiling army at last reached the
main channel of the bayou, almost opposite Harrisburg.

Not a Mexican soldier had been sighted; but now, slightly to the
southeast, across the bayou, lay Harrisburg. It had been burned, for
a veil of smoke from its smouldering rafters hung low over the bayou
timber, marking the site.

So there, between the bayou and the coast, a short stretch of
timber-dotted prairie and swamp country, was Santa Anna with his army.

However, the other army were almost too tired to talk. During the
forced march of fifty-five miles from McCurley’s, in two and a half
days of rain and mud, Jim and Ernest had scarcely seen Leo and Sion.
As soon as the camps had been located, and supper eaten, everybody had
gone to sleep. Now the word was passed that a half day’s rest would be
given, to freshen the army up for a battle.

Deaf Smith and Henry Karnes, the chief scouts, took two or three of the
Deaf Smith Spies, and swimming their horses, crossed the rapid bayou on
a raft, to reconnoitre. Otherwise it was a lazy afternoon. But about
dusk Deaf Smith returned, driving two prisoners before them. He made
them row the raft, and followed them in to camp, a pair of leather
saddle-bags in his hand, his rifle in the other. There was no use
yelling questions. But――――

“I know that one fellow, and so do you!” exclaimed Ernest, to Jim.
“That little fellow. Remember him? He’s a _paisano_ from Bejar. He was
in Captain Seguin’s Mexican company, too, before San Antonio.”

“Well, you never know which way those _paisanos_ are going to jump,”
quoth Jim.

The two prisoners were conducted to headquarters by Deaf Smith. The
“little fellow” proved to be a guide for Santa Anna; and the other
prisoner was a captain in the Mexican army, who had been carrying
dispatches from General Filisola the Italian to Santa Anna. Deaf Smith
had caught both of the men on the main road for Harrisburg.

The guide told General Houston that the Santa Anna army numbered 500
infantry and 100 cavalry. As for the dispatches in the leather bags――――

“Jiminy!” cried Sion, who with Leo sought out the other boys, after
having skirmished for the true news. “Deaf Smith says those dispatches
were so fresh that the ink on ’em was hardly dry yet. Those were
Travis’s deerhide saddle-bags――had his name on ’em. The dispatches
told us just what we want to know. Santa Anna’s ahead, all alone, with
only six hundred men. Urrea’s clear down at Matagorda. Gaona’s away
back up north, toward Bastrop. He got lost. Filisola and Sesma are at
the Brazos, near Fort Bend below San Felipe; and the only thing that’s
liable to interfere is Cos the parole-breaker. Filisola’s hurrying him
forward with five hundred men.”

“Yes,” put in Leo, “and Deaf Smith says Harrisburg was burned on
the fifteenth, and the Mexicans got to the bay just in time to see
President Burnet setting out in a skiff for Galveston Island. Only
three printers were left in the town. Then Santa Anna started on for
New Washington and Lynch’s Ferry, to cut us off if we retreated east.
But when he finds we’re here to fight him, and have cut _him_ off, in a
pocket, he’ll have to get out either over the bayou again, or else by
Lynch’s Ferry. He doesn’t know we’re here――he thinks we’re retreating
to the Trinity and Nacogdoches. That’s what all the settlers have told
him. And if we hurry we can beat him to the San Jacinto, and he’s _our
meat_!”

“He sure is!” exulted Jim. “This army can lick any six hundred Mexicans
that ever were born.”

“I reckon Sam Houston knew his business, after all,” admitted Sion.

That night the camp was impatient for the dawn. Deaf Smith estimated
that the Mexican army were less than a day’s march away. If they
weren’t overhauled before they crossed the juncture of Buffalo Bayou
and the San Jacinto River they’d have a clear lead again, and could go
on up to Nacogdoches, and summon the Indians of the northern prairies,
and perhaps unite with the Gaona column.

General Houston and Colonel Rusk, the secretary of war, had had a
conference.

“We don’t need to talk,” the general was reported to have said. “You
think we ought to fight, and so do I.”

There still were some men who feared that the general might wait.
Colonel Sherman promised his regiment that _if_ the general would _not_
fight, they could follow him and he’d soon give them enough. But an
aide summoned him and Colonel Burleson to headquarters and when Colonel
Sherman returned, everything was all right.

The general had asked him and Colonel Burleson if they had beef on hand
for three days.

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

“Very well,” had said General Houston. “You will see then that each
man is supplied with cooked rations for three days, and hold the camp
in readiness to march. We will see if we can find Santa Anna. Good
evening, gentlemen.”

The morning dawned for a day of energy. The army ate a hasty breakfast
of beef strips wound around green sticks and held in the blaze, and
orders were given to fall in. General Houston rode in front of the
lines, and from his horse made a speech. It was a short speech, but it
was enough.

“The army will cross, and we will meet the enemy,” he declared. “Some
of us may be killed, and must be killed. But, soldiers, remember the
Alamo, the Alamo, _the Alamo_!”

“By thunder, after that speech there’ll be mighty few prisoners taken;
I know that!” exclaimed Major Somervell.

Colonel Rusk began an address. He had proceeded only a few words, when
he stopped, amidst the cheering, and bowed, and said, simply: “I am
done.” He evidently saw that no more words were necessary.

First, the bayou was to be crossed. It was fifty yards wide, and
running swiftly. The old ferryboat――a scow――had been found, but it was
leaky, and the general fumed angrily when he saw that it had not been
repaired according to orders. There was no time to repair it now. If
Cos or Santa Anna should come while the army were crossing――whew!

The boat had no oars, even. General Houston flung off his black coat,
grabbed an ax, and began to hew an oar from a piece of fence rail.
He delivered orders right and left, while he hewed. A second oar
was needed. Men were set at work tying rawhide ropes and horsehair
_cabrestas_ or picket lines together. Only the saddle-horses, the “Twin
Sisters” teams, and one baggage wagon were to be taken. The rest of the
baggage and animals, and the sick men, were to be left here on the west
bank.

Thirty pioneers or trail-makers were sent over first, while four men
bailed. They carried an end of the rope, and made it fast to a tree;
and the rope, thus stretched from bank to bank, formed a guide for
the boat. When the boat was returned, rowed and paddled, the general
himself leaped aboard, afoot, with the next detachment. His horse
whinnied, and sprang into the water and swam after. Colonel Rusk stayed
on the west bank. Running between them, guided by the rope, the boat
made passage after passage. To help out, the raft which had served Deaf
Smith was called into service.

The infantry and cannon and wagon were transferred before the cavalry
moved. The boat soon was leaking much worse, and threatened to sink or
capsize. The four men bailing furiously could scarcely keep it afloat.

Noon passed, and still the cavalry waited, and still the infantry were
being ferried by scow and raft, urged from either bank by the shouts of
the general and Colonel Rusk.

Somebody in Ernest and Jim’s company had picked up, on the ground where
the general’s quarters had been located, a piece of paper which he had
thrown aside. It was the first part of a note, written in lead pencil
to Mr. Henry Raguet, of the Committee of Safety in Nacogdoches. The
fragment said:

                             CAMP AT HARRISBURG, April 19, 1836.

    SIR: This morning we are in preparation to meet Santa Anna. It
    is the only chance of saving Texas. From time to time I have
    looked for reinforcements in vain. The convention adjourning to
    Harrisburg struck _panic_ throughout the country. Texas could
    have started at least four thousand men. We will only have
    about seven hundred to march with, besides the camp guard. We
    go to conquer. It is wisdom, growing out of necessity, to meet
    the enemy now; every consideration enforces it. No previous
    occasion would justify it....

“Sounds like business,” approved one of the men, as the note was
circulated.

Toward sunset only one boatload of the infantry remained to be ferried.
Sion and Leo had gone――they had waved to Jim and Ernest; and balancing,
Sion had grinned with glee at the adventure.

“Cavalry’s turn, now, gentlemen,” called Colonel Rusk. “Swim your
horses well below the ferry, and don’t crowd.”

“Come on, boys,” bade Colonel Sherman. “Tie up your bridles.”

The bridle lines were tied loosely about the horses’ necks, so that the
animals would not entangle their feet, and by companies the horses were
led to the water’s edge. Then the men fell back, forming a half circle,
to shout and wave their arms and hats, and crowd the horses forward. In
plunged the gallant Colonel Sherman, to head his own horse across, and
slipping from the saddle, to swim alongside, holding by the mane.

On the bank the front rank of horses were pressed forward by their
comrades behind, jostling and snorting to the shouting and waving of
the men. Presently in splashed one horse, and another, and another,
to launch in the wake of the Colonel Sherman horse. Some disappeared
entirely as they took the plunge into the deep water. In went Jim’s
horse; in went Duke――practically heels over head; and Ernest watched
anxiously for him to break the surface again, for it was well known
that if a horse got water in his ears, while swimming, he would drown.
But up bobbed Duke’s yellow head; he blew the water from his nostrils,
and bravely stuck out along with the procession.

Every horse of the sixty reached the opposite bank without mishap;
scrambling out, shook himself violently, and joined his fellows, herded
together by the first of the cavalrymen ferried across.

The baggage wagon and the Twin Sisters had been rafted over. Twilight
was gathering when the last boatload of men was landed. Colonel Rusk
accompanied it. He stepped ashore, and he and General Houston gripped
each other’s hands. The camp guard left at the other side cheered.

“Thank God,” uttered the general. And, to the colonels commanding:
“Form the ranks.”

Now across Buffalo Bayou, on the Harrisburg and Santa Anna side toiled
the little army, at best pace. In the darkness they clattered over a
bridge which crossed a branch bayou running north into Buffalo Bayou.

Vince’s Bayou, was this, by report along the column, and Vince’s Bridge
of the road from Harrisburg: the road taken by the Mexican army. But
presently the column left the main road and diverged to the left,
following closer the timber down Buffalo Bayou.

“Great Cæsar!” murmured Jim, dimly seen as he rode at Ernest’s right
hand. “If this keeps up all night we’ll reach the mouth at the San
Jacinto, and Lynch’s. Can’t go any further then without more ferrying.”

By midnight the infantry were staggering and stumbling, and even the
horses moved on leaden feet. But nobody complained. Seven hundred
fighting Texans were hot on the hunt for 600 hateful invading Mexicans,
and the two trails would meet somewhere close ahead.

At one o’clock by the stars (for the sky had cleared at last) the
order to rest for two hours was given. The infantry dropped in their
tracks, Ernest and Jim and the other horsemen simply tumbled from their
saddles. And here concealed in the fragrant evergreens the little army
panted and shivered and dozed.

“After this war’s over,” mused Jim, drowsily, huddling under his wet
blanket beside Ernest, “I’m going to change my clothes. A fellow likes
a clean shirt and dry socks _once_ in a while! Maybe to-morrow I’ll
capture an officer and take his. Those Mexican officers dress fine.”

“Guess Sion and Leo are getting all the action they want, this time,”
stammered Ernest, with teeth chattering. “But we’re lucky that none of
us had to stay with that camp guard, back at the bayou crossing.”

“Those fellows certainly did hate to stay,” agreed Jim. “They’re liable
to have to fight the whole Mexican army, though, if there’s a retreat.
Or Cos may attack ’em on his way in.”

Ernest dropped into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed that he was home and
that his mother was trying to tuck him in bed with covers which were
too short!

The easternmost stars were just paling when the camp was aroused
by orders to fall in again. Stiffly all obeyed. Ernest had faint
recollection of the usual three taps of the drum, from the general’s
quarters, as first signal――but he had found it very hard to obey them.
However, now the officers were urging――the general’s voice was echoing
through the grayness――somebody said that he had slept with the coil
of cannon rope for a pillow――and into the cold saddles on the hunched
horses must the cavalry climb.

“Hee-yaw!” yawned Jim. “We’re riding, anyhow. Only the cavalry and the
high-up officers have horses. That’s tough on some of the officers
who’ve been a-straddle all the way from the Colorado.”

“Wonder if we ever eat again,” responded Ernest, who had a woefully
hollow feeling.

“Sure thing,” asserted Jim. “The general, he’ll just take us in sight
of those Mexicans cooking breakfast――so we can smell the coffee, you
know; then he won’t have to give a single order, but you’ll see us
charge a-whooping, for the kettles!”

Camp had been made without supper. The march was made without
breakfast. Nobody could accuse the general, now, of dilly-dallying!

Away galloped the Deaf Smith Spy Company, commanded by Henry Karnes the
red-head, to scout in advance. The army could always depend upon the
Deaf Smith Spies. At slower pace the column followed, plodding wearily
and hungrily through the damp timber and the tall prairie grass,
cloaked in the chillness of early dawn.

After a march of seven miles, halt was ordered for breakfast at last,
in the sunrise. Rations had given out, but several cattle were sighted
near, and were driven in and killed. Speedily the soldiers, horse and
foot, were grouped about fires, toasting the fresh meat on sticks,
regular buccaneer fashion. The cannon horses were unfastened from the
traces, and they and the mounts of the cavalry and the field officers
industriously grazed. It was a wild and picturesque sight: 700 ragged,
bedraggled, whiskered men (not to speak of the boys) squatting around
fires, their guns in their laps, and all intently toasting bloody meat.
The sun, which had risen above the timber of the crooked Buffalo Bayou,
shone peacefully upon them, through the magnolias and live-oaks, and
upon the prairie beyond.

This process of breakfast-getting was very slow; and Ernest, with eyes
smarting and mouth watering, was manipulating his meat on his stick,
trying to hurry it, when an exclamation from Jim interrupted him.

“Aw, shucks! Here come those scouts, lickity-split, as if they had some
sort of a big tell! Why can’t they wait till a fellow’s eaten?”

Along the timber edge from the east a squad of the scouts, led by Deaf
Smith, were racing back to the army.

“What’s the matter now?” hailed voices, impatiently.

“Saw the enemy. They’re on ahead a short piece. You-all’ll have to
hurry.”

Up sprang the camp. The cannoneers leaped for their team, the cavalry
for their saddles. Having listened shortly to the report of Deaf Smith,
the general roared his orders――repeated briskly by Colonel Burleson and
Colonel Sherman, and by the company captains.

“Fall in, men! Fall in!”

“By gravy, I don’t leave my meat, you can bet,” scolded Jim, running,
with his laden, smoking stick, for his horse. Ernest followed his
example. Men were doing the same. The army “chawed” as they went.

The scouts reported that a few miles before they had encountered an
advance guard of the Mexican army――had been chased but had escaped.
Nobody killed. By all appearances the Mexican army were marching from
New Washington north to cross the San Jacinto and the mouth of the
bayou at Lynch’s Ferry. Washington had been burned.

Throughout the ranks, afoot and mounted, rifles began to crack. Jim
promptly shot into the air, and swiftly reloaded.

“Go ahead. Clean out your gun,” he bade, to Ernest; and Ernest likewise
pulled harmless trigger. His little rifle spoke smartly.

The general came riding furiously down the column.

“Stop that firing!” he fairly bellowed.

“No, we won’t, general,” replied somebody, good-naturedly. “Our guns
have been loaded over two weeks and we don’t intend to meet the enemy
with our powder wet.”

The general drew his sword.

“I’ll run the next man through who fires without orders,” he declared.

“Bang!”

“It won’t do for you to try that game, now, general,” warned the
shooter. The ranks laughed. General Houston glared around him for an
instant, and with a shrug of his great shoulders clapped his sword back
and rode to the front again.

The column lunged forward at best speed. Now indeed it was a race to
see which army would be the first to reach the crossing. Colonel John
A. Wharton, of the staff, took thirty of the cavalry and dashed away,
to reconnoitre the crossing and keep the enemy in play until the army
could arrive. Jim and Ernest regretfully watched the advance disappear
in the margin of the timber. Only men had been picked, mainly from one
company.

“I always knew I ought to have joined that company, in the first
place,” deplored Jim. “Now they’ll find Santa Anna and get all the best
clothes!”

But no sounds of a battle were heard――ah, yes, there echoed a rifle
shot! And another. The shooting ceased. And when, breathless, dripping,
men and horses alike, with perspiration, the army rounded a shoulder of
timber, they saw, before, an expanse of flat, marshy ground, inhabited
by myriads of piping, screaming wild fowl; eastward still was flashing
San Jacinto Bay, with the juncture of the Buffalo Bayou and the San
Jacinto River above its upper end――the few scattered houses at Lynch’s
Ferry, and the waiting horsemen of Colonel Wharton’s command. Not a
Mexican soldier was in sight.

The Colonel Wharton detachment were found at the ferry landing in
possession of a fine new flatboat equipped with a sail and loaded with
foodstuffs. They said that Captain Hancock and Lieutenant Crain and
four others had arrived before the rest, and that a guard of twenty
Mexican soldiers had fled south without firing a shot. Had left the
flatboat, of course――for which, much obliged to them! Santa Anna had
shipped the boat up the bay from New Washington, to be ready for him.
Now he could come and get it.

“We won. Hurrah!” cheered Ernest, excitedly. “We beat Santa Anna to the
crossing.”

“Yes, sir; and we corralled a flatboat full of breakfast, too,”
reminded Jim. “Do you see that big house yonder, across the San
Jacinto? That’s Lorenzo de Zavala’s house. He lives here. He and
Colonel Lynch and the rest of the bay fellows are right at home.”

General Houston immediately ordered the boat taken up the bayou about
three-quarters of a mile, and the army to follow along the bank, out of
the flat to the timber.

Camp was made on high ground in the shade of great live-oaks, whose
branches were festooned with the drooping Spanish moss. It was a
beautiful spot. The bayou, wide, and sluggishly flowing in a curve
between green banks, was behind. On the left the San Jacinto River
rippled past the bayou’s mouth, and widened into San Jacinto Bay,
bordered by salty marshes. On the right, distant about six miles,
Vince’s Bayou extended down to Vince’s Bridge in the southwest, at the
Harrisburg road. Before, a rolling prairie stretched two miles to the
swamps of the inward curving bay. A timbered rise jutted out before the
camp; and several hundred yards out on the prairie, were two timber
“islands,” or motts; one in front of the camp, the other to the left.

The general lost no time in getting ready for Santa Anna, who could not
be more than a couple of miles distant. He planted the Twin Sisters in
the edge of the trees on the little rise. Colonel John Neill commanded
the battery. Two hundred infantry, including Leo’s company, armed
with muskets and commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Millard of the Texas
Regulars, were stationed behind the cannon. Sion and the other riflemen
of the First Volunteers under Colonel Edward Burleson were placed on
the right wing, the Second Volunteers under Colonel Sidney Sherman
on the left wing. The cavalry were back of the Millard musketeers or
regulars. The gold and white flag, surmounted by the glove of Colonel
Sherman’s bride, floated over the centre.

Now it was noon.

“I reckon if nobody’s coming we might as well eat,” quoth Jim, while
for a brief space the army waited, and peered across the prairie beyond
the timber. “What do we call it, anyway? Last night’s supper? We’ve got
three meals due us. De Zavala ought to invite us all over to his house
for a snack.”

De Zavala the patriot did not quite do this; but, as the prairie
remained apparently peaceful, presently orders were issued for the men
to go ahead with their three meals in one. Fires were lighted, beef was
toasted once more――when on a sudden back through the high grass along
the timber came galloping once more the Deaf Smith Spies. They had
sighted the Mexican army advancing. The camp left its beef and seized
its arms.

“Seems as if we didn’t get time for anything any more,” complained
Ernest, as he and Jim ran for their saddles. “It’s just up and down, up
and down.”

“That’s right,” concurred Jim. “We’ve been wanting to fight, and now we
have to fight even to eat!”

XX

“WILL YOU COME TO THE BOWER?”

Almost an hour passed, with the Texan army waiting and ready, and the
gold-fringed flag lazily flapping in the sea breeze.

“There they come,” announced a man sitting his horse at Ernest’s left.
“If we don’t lick ’em Peggy McCormick will. She lives yonder on the bay
and owns a square league of this prairie. They’re treading down her
grass.”

It was two o’clock. The Mexican army were in sight at last, advancing
from the left, along the marsh of the bay. Their colors flew, bayonets
and scabbards occasionally glistened, the officers’ trappings sparkled.
Infantry and cavalry they were――yes, and artillery, for there was a
cannon drawn by mules.

On they marched, steadily――and their drums were heard beating in
cadence. They made a compact mass, as if they did not intend to stop
but to proceed right ahead to the ferry crossing.

Ernest’s heart thumped rapidly. No orders issued from the general,
who was composedly standing with Colonel Hockley and Colonel Rusk and
others of his staff, between the Twin Sisters battery and the Colonel
Burleson regiment, and watching the Mexican advance.

“By cracky, they’ll have to fight or swim――or do both!” exclaimed Jim.
“What are we here for, anyway, do they think?”

At this moment a bugle call shrilled gaily from the Mexican ranks.
Out galloped the artillery mules, dragging the one cannon to the
furthest of the timber islands, opposite the Millard infantry. It was a
challenge! From the trees puffed a cloud of smoke, and accompanying the
heavy report, in among the live-oak branches along the bayou rattled a
storm of grape-shot.

But the Twin Sisters were answering. How Colonel Neill and his
artillerymen hustled!

“Lie down, men! Lie down!” shouted the regular and riflemen officers.
The cavalry, well back in the shelter of the festooned live-oaks, were
safe. General Houston still stood erect. The Twin Sisters and the
Mexican piece were booming back and forth.

Again sounded the bugle, and again. The Mexican infantry deployed a
long line, and ran forward through the grass, firing――halting, firing,
loading and running again, making for Colonel Burleson’s regiment. The
Twin Sisters were turned on them――the regiment began to fire, “Crack!
Crackity crack! Crack-crack-crack!”――and the Mexican soldiers scurried
back.

“Neill’s hit! Look at him!” cried Jim. “Thunder!”

Colonel Neill was staggering; down he sank. A grape-shot had struck
him in the thigh. But the Mexican troops were charging. They swept out
gallantly, along the front of Colonel Sherman’s regiment, and entered
some timber curving to the right.

The Mexican skirmish line had retired, though. How the Burleson men
yelled!

Colonel Sherman spurred to the general. He talked a few moments, and
back he galloped to the cavalry.

“Forward, cavalry!” he shouted. “Follow me. Let’s drive those
_vaqueros_ [cowherds] out of that timber.”

Around to the right he dashed, and glad of the chance the cavalry
pressed after him――Ernest bending low on Duke’s neck, to avoid the moss
and branches, and Jim keeping with him, stride for stride. But the
Mexican troops were scarcely sighted. Mexican sharpshooters were there,
though, among the trees, and without any fight the cavalry must return
again before being cut off. Nobody was hurt.

The army were cheering. All the Mexicans had retired; all but the
artillery and cavalry were marching back, toward the mouth of the San
Jacinto; the field-piece had been withdrawn further into the timber
island. The Twin Sisters were peppering the island, and the rear of the
Mexican army, but it was rather blind shooting.

Having arrived at the marshy timber stretch southward against the San
Jacinto bay, the Mexican army halted, and appeared to be making camp
there, three-quarters of a mile away, on other rising ground.

“Our turn now!” shouted a score of voices, along the Texan lines.
“Let’s smoke ’em out.”

Everybody, except the general, was eager to charge, and finish the
battle then and there. Some of the officers approached the general and
asked him either to lead out or else appoint a leader. The men were
wild to avenge the Alamo and Goliad. They did not mind being hungry,
and worn with the forced marches by day and by night.

“Santa Anna first, then Cos!” was the cry.

But the general turned a deaf ear. To the officers he shook his head
under its big whitish hat.

“No, gentlemen; not yet,” he opposed. “This is not the moment. The loss
would be too heavy. I intend to conquer, slay and put to flight the
entire Mexican army, and it shall not cost me a dozen of my brave men.”

“That’s right,” sung out a private. “Make it an easy-going fight,
general.”

The cannon piece was still in the timber island; and Colonel Sherman
begged for permission to go out and take it, with cavalry. The general
finally consented that the cavalry should reconnoitre the timber, but
not fight.

However, the fiery Colonel Sherman led straight to the island in the
prairie. Suddenly the Mexican dragoons issued into the prairie, and out
came the Mexican sharpshooters, too.

“Charge those dragoons, boys!” ordered Colonel Sherman. “Empty their
saddles for them!”

“It’s a fight!” yelped Jim, gleefully, as the column half wheeled and
in company front charged for the dragoons.

Chief Scout Handy was here, spurring on well to the front. So was Mr.
Lamar. He had borrowed a horse and joined for the fun of the thing.
A number of other riflemen had borrowed horses and volunteered. The
dragoons stood their ground. Captain Handy fired; Jim fired; Ernest
fired. All the men fired, and dragoons fell. The dragoons charged. The
Texas rifles were empty and the long Kentucky rifles of the volunteer
horsemen were hard to reload, on horseback. The Mexican infantry were
double-quicking forward, and shooting. Alwyn Trask was knocked from his
saddle with a broken thigh; Woodliffe was wounded; Walter Lane was cut
off and almost surrounded――he was gone――no――see Lamar――see Lamar! He
has sped for Lane, shoots a Mexican foot-soldier dead, rides right over
a second, reaches Lane’s side, wrests the gun from the hand of another
Mexican, and with Lane unharmed gallops back to the troop!

Hurrah! But there are too many Mexican soldiers. Isn’t the general
sending reinforcements? No.

“Back to the camp, boys,” shouted Colonel Sherman; and just in nick of
time they skirted the timber island and cleared the fast approaching
Mexicans.

General Houston was furious. He asserted that Colonel Sherman had tried
to bring on a fight, against orders. Colonel Sherman was angry, also.
He claimed that the general had left him out there in danger of being
cut off.

“That Lamar sure can ride, though, can’t he!” declared Jim. “He’s
afraid of nothing, that man!”

“We lost two good men, just the same,” replied Ernest. “Trask will die,
the doctor says; and Woodliffe can’t fight any more.”

This night the camp fires of the two armies twinkled at each other in
the low mist across the dip of prairie. General Houston posted double
pickets, beyond the timber of the bayou, to guard against any surprise.

After a good supper――the first square meal in thirty-six hours――there
was a short interval of liberty. Sion and Leo strolled over to the
cavalry. The four comrades had not met for several days.

“Hello,” greeted Sion. “Say――why didn’t we fight to a finish to-day?
Those Mexicans are fortifying. From our end of the line you can see
breastworks going up.”

“Yes; and to-morrow Cos is liable to get here,” added Leo. “To-day
we’re about even match.”

He and Sion were thin and ragged, but still game.

“I don’t know,” retorted Ernest, rather irritated, for men were putting
the same question, one to another, and again the army were indignant
with General Houston. “I suppose he wants to rest us up.”

“Shucks! I’m never too tired out to fight a Santa Anna Mexican,”
proclaimed Sion. “That was a toler’bly smart march he put us through,
anyway. And you fellows had a nice little scrimmage, while it lasted.”

“It’d have lasted longer if some of you other fellows had come out and
backed us up,” accused Jim. “Then we could have gone on and taken Santa
Anna and his whole bunch――just like Sherman intended.”

“How could we go out and back you up, when we didn’t have orders?”
answered Leo. “One thing’s sure, though: we don’t retreat any more. If
Houston wants to retreat, he’ll go alone. We’ve got Santa Anna pocketed
and we’re going to put our hands on him while we can.”

But Ernest _knew_ that General Houston had no notion of retreating.

“Young de Zavala’s come into camp,” remarked Leo, as if to end the
discussion. “The colonel’s boy. Have you seen him?”

“No,” said Jim. “What’s his kind?”

“He’s all right,” assured Sion. “Smart little lad. He says he could see
the battle from the house, but he wants to get a little closer. Brought
his gun and fixin’s, and thinks maybe he’ll shoot Santa Anna――if Sam
Houston lets us get close enough!”

“You wait till to-morrow. We’ll all be close enough,” prophesied Ernest.

“Listen to that flute,” bade Jim. “Same old tune.”

The flute was piping, and some of the men joined with tenor voices.

    Will you come to the bow’r I have shaded for you?
    Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew.
        Will you, will you, will you, will you,
        Come to the bow’r?

The song drifted sweetly through the great oaks and their drooping
mosses.

“Special invitation to General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna,” quoth
Leo. “Well, think I’ll go to bed. We musketeers have orders to turn
in early. I’ll see you to-morrow, after we-all finish our easy-going
fight.”

“Good-night.”

Sion and Leo left. The flute ceased, and the song ceased, and everybody
went to bed. The companies slept in ranks, on their arms, ready for any
sudden call. As Ernest, rolled in his blanket, was about to close his
eyes, a large figure, blanket-draped, moved past, in the gloom of the
trees. He recognized it at once. It was the general, alone, exploring
around as if to see that his army were safely tucked in bed. Current
opinion had it that the general himself never went to bed until about
four in the morning――when he went to bed at all; and between drum-taps
and breakfast usually slept about an hour while the men were being
prepared for the day’s duties. So now here he was, inspecting his
weary, resting soldiers, and perhaps thinking upon to-morrow’s battle.
Big and silent and broody, he was rather a comforting sight.

Strangely enough, almost everybody slept late, this morning of April
21; that proved how tired the army really were. General Houston did not
appear until after the sun had risen. He had again used the coil of
cannon rope for a pillow. He looked happy and confident for the first
time in a long while. The report came from his staff that on opening
his eyes to the sunshine he had sprung up alertly with the words:

“The sun of Austerlitz has risen again!”

“Now, what did he mean by that?” demanded Jim.

“I don’t know,” confessed Ernest.

“Austerlitz was a big battle won by Napoleon, in Europe,” said Mr.
Lamar, overhearing. “Napoleon thought that the sunshine brought him
good luck for the day.”

All eyes were searching the Mexican camp. Santa Anna had completed his
fortifications, by extending a low breastwork, broken in the middle,
from the timber on his right into the prairie on his left, along the
crest of a gentle slope. Spy-glasses showed the field-piece in the
break.

No order to advance to the attack was given, and, waiting, the men
began to growl and murmur again. Little indignation meetings were held.
Rumor claimed that a floating bridge was to be built, over the bayou,
to be used in a retreat. Then there was the report that the general had
discussed tearing down the de Zavala house, for bridge timber, and had
decided against it.

About nine o’clock the Deaf Smith Spies, who were out reconnoitring,
returned in haste. Deaf Smith said, in passing, from his saddle: “The
enemy is increasing.”

Presently a file of pack mules, escorted by soldiers, were seen
crossing the prairie to the south, as if they had come from Vince’s
bridge. They disappeared around a swell in the middle of the prairie.

“There’s Cos!” exclaimed Jim. “He’s joining Santa Anna!”

“We ought to have cut down Vince’s bridge,” spoke Ernest, aghast,
wondering why the general hadn’t ordered so.

But the general now rode along the front, saying, loudly:

“Those are not additional troops. It is a ruse, men. Santa Anna is
simply marching a detachment around the hill, to deceive us.”

However, Deaf Smith and a small party went galloping away, again, to
the west, as if to investigate; and from the Mexican army sounded a
tremendous cheering and rolling of drums.

While Deaf Smith was gone, Colonel Wharton walked among the lines. He
clapped his hands briskly, saying, from group to group:

“Boys, there is no other word to-day but fight, fight! Now is the time!”

That was encouraging. Still the morning wore away without orders. It
was hard waiting. Some of the men formed a parade, inviting the general
to act. That did no good.

About eleven o’clock a council of war was held. General Houston sat
on the ground under a live-oak, and his field officers gathered
around him. After the council was over Mr. Lamar talked with
Lieutenant-Colonel Bennet, and returning to the cavalry reported
that the Deaf Smith Spies had reconnoitred the last camp of the mule
and soldier column which had been seen, and had found “sign” of 500
men――Mexicans. So the Cos reinforcements they were. Then General
Houston had called the council of war, and put the question to vote:
“Shall we attack the enemy in his position, or await an attack from him
in ours?”

Colonels Burleson and Sherman, and Lieutenant-Colonels Millard and
Alex. Somervell, and Secretary Rusk voted to wait an attack. Colonel
Rusk declared:

“To attack veteran troops with raw militia is a thing unheard of; to
charge the enemy without bayonets, in an open prairie, has never been
known. Our situation is strong; in it we can whip all Mexico.”

Only the two juniors, Lieutenant-Colonel Bennet and Major Wells, had
voted to go forward.

“I didn’t think that of Burleson and Sherman and Rusk and Somervell,”
exclaimed Jim. “Did you? They’ve been wanting to fight, all the time.”

“Look at the general,” bade Ernest. “What’s up?”

For Deaf Smith and Moses Lapham, another scout, were sitting their
saddles, each with an ax in hand, and listening to the general. Deaf
Smith held his palm behind his ear, the better to catch the words. He
nodded, understandingly, and wheeled his horse.

“Fly back like eagles,” directed the general, “or that beautiful
prairie grass will be crimsoned before your return.”

Deaf Smiths leathery face broke into a wrinkled smile.

“Looks a good deal like a fight, general,” he called, over his shoulder.

Out he and Moses Lapham galloped, for the west, followed by four other
scouts.

“I know!” blurted Jim. “They’re going to cut down Vince’s Bridge and
pocket Santa Anna and Cos complete!”

“And stop any more reinforcements,” added Ernest.

“Santa Anna’s got near twelve hundred men, already,” answered Jim. “But
now we’ll all be in here together. It’ll be a fight to a finish. Here
comes the general.”

General Houston, in his whitish hat, his ragged stained black coat and
snuff-colored trousers, cowhide boots and sword dangling in its rusted
scabbard from his thong belt, was striding from cook fire to cook fire,
among the messes.

“Do you want to fight, men?” he was inquiring, right and left. “Shall
we fight, or wait? I know the opinion of the officers; but what do
_you_ say?”

Shrill cheers and hoarse shouts volleyed at him. Impulsive hands
slapped him on the shoulder.

“Fight! Fight!”

“Hurrah!”

“Lead us out, general!”

Jim and Ernest joined in the uproar. The general was now smiling
grimly.

“All right,” he announced, repeatedly. “Very well. Get your dinners and
I will lead you into the fight, and if you whip them every one of you
shall be a captain.”

“Golly!” grinned Jim. “I can hear Sion yell clear here. See those
fellows yonder cutting capers, though!”

“Mr. Lamar’s been promoted colonel!” said Ernest, hearing a chance
remark. “For what he did yesterday! He’s to lead _us_!”

“He’s some Napoleon himself, for this Austerlitz,” babbled Jim,
joyously. “His middle name’s Bonaparte.”

Now all was elation and excitement, but dinner was eaten with a good
appetite. The general seemed to be in no hurry. After dinner, time was
given for the men to inspect their rifles and muskets.

“How many men have we, anyhow?” queried a soldier in Ernest’s squad.

“Seven hundred eighty-three, by last count.”

“That makes less than two to one against us.”

“No odds at all.”

The army were ready. Word passed that the general was thinking of
postponing the attack until daybreak to-morrow. The men were on edge.

“Wonder what we _are_ waiting for?” asked Jim.

“For Deaf Smith maybe,” hazarded Ernest.

“Why doesn’t he come, then? He had to go only eight miles.”

All talk was nervous and disjointed. The Mexican camp seemed very
quiet; not a movement could be described in the portion visible around
the timber island on the left. The sun had long crossed the zenith, and
was declining toward the west. It was after two o’clock.

The general had been in consultation with his field officers. They
separated――Secretary Rusk nodding as if in approval. Orders came for
the men to form ranks. Colonel Lamar vaulted into his saddle, and there
was a rush for horses. The Twin Sisters, at the edge of the timber on
the high tongue, were being attached to their teams.

The lines were straightened under covert of the oaks: the cavalry,
westernmost, first on the right; next Colonel Millard’s regular
infantry with their muskets――and Leo, next the Twin Sisters, a little
in advance; next Colonel Burleson’s First Regiment of riflemen,
with Sion in it; next, on the extreme left end of the line, Colonel
Sherman’s Second Regiment of riflemen. All this took considerable time,
and three o’clock had passed.

General Houston rode in the rear of the line saying:

“Hold your fire, men! Hold your fire, for close quarters!”

An aide galloped to Colonel Lamar. Colonel Lamar drew his sword and
turned:

“Forward, march!” he shouted. He led off, to the right, at an amble,
to circuit between the two timber islands. The flute, in the Colonel
Burleson regiment, was playing “Will You Come to the Bower?” and the
drum was softly keeping time.

“We’re coming, all right,” remarked Jim, to Ernest.

Ernest glanced back. The whole Texas line, two deep, was advancing,
the cannon tugged lustily by the straining teams, Colonel Hockley
urging with his sword. General Houston was pressing behind, his head
bare. The fifer was tooting, the drummer drumming. Before, on the
left or southeast, the Mexican camp seemed all unsuspecting, and the
breastworks of branches and baggage basked in the warm sunshine.

“Trot!” shouted Colonel Lamar. The little squadron of sixty riders
rushed on, through the prairie, the grass brushing their stirrups. Now
there were tokens of excitement in the Santa Anna camp. Officers and
men were running and gesturing. In the distance their faces looked
white with alarm, where the sun shone full upon them.

“We’re surprising ’em!” gasped Jim.

As the cavalry, beginning to loosen bridle reins for swifter pace,
preparing to charge, Ernest glimpsed, with the corner of his eye, a
speck on the prairie to the westward. A horseman.

[Illustration: BATTLE GROUND OF SAN JACINTO

Texan Charge: ― ― ― ― ―>]

“Gallop!” shouted Colonel Lamar, raising his sword-blade. The horses
leaped to the spur――and at that instant Duke, good little yellow Duke,
plunged head-first, his leg in a hole amidst the grass. Over his nose
dived Ernest――lighting sprawled and helpless. His rifle flew from his
grasp, and his head was full of stars.

For a moment or two he lay, half stunned. Then he struggled to his
feet, and gazed about him dizzily. The squadron had galloped on and
were before. Of course they would not stop. Duke had attempted to
follow, and now was standing, uneasily, head up, snorting. The rifle
was buried somewhere in the grasses. Ernest took hasty but wavering
steps to look for it. He must have that rifle, by all means. His head
still swam with his fall.

But see――here was the Texan line, almost parallel with him. How rapidly
it had come. The men were beginning to double-quick, through the
prairie dip, with guns trailed. Their faces stared before, hard-set
and eager under their flaring hat-brims. They had deployed, to
wider intervals, so that the men of the rear rank should have space
through which to aim. The Twin Sisters were in the advance――no, they
had halted, were whirling around――the gunners applied match――Boom!
Boom!――and the canister hissed for the Mexican breastworks.