15 San Jacinto

Ned did not sleep long. His emotions had been keyed to too great a pitch. He wished to rise at dawn, and strangely enough it was the song of birds that awoke him then. Many of them, some colored brightly, were flying among the boughs of the live oaks above him, careless of soldiers and battle.

He threw off the blanket and stood erect, fully clothed and eager. The sun was rising a brilliant globe in a cloudless sky. The early beams sparkled on the waters, and touched the tall grass of the prairie which waved gently under the soft wind. There were no human beings yet upon that expanse, but beyond he saw lights still burning in the camp of Santa Anna.

Ned glanced around. Already he heard the hum and murmur, the sign of preparation. He saw General Houston asleep on the grass, his head resting on a coil of rope used for dragging the Twin Sisters. He had taken only two hours of sleep, just before morning. Now he arose, and, with all his faculties alert, began to look to his army.

“We’re goin’ to have a fine day for a fight,” said the Panther, looking up at the sun, and not meaning to be either humorous or ironic.

“No, there’ll be no rain to-day,” said Stump. “We can’t put off the battle.”

“The long lane has come to its turning,” said Obed White.

The whole army now awoke and stood up. Every pair of eyes was turned toward the far edge of the prairie, but neither horse nor foot came from the forest there, and nothing indicated that they would come. Santa Anna was still afraid, the Texans said, but surely he would gather his courage and advance.

Houston and his officers walked among their men, telling them to cook breakfast, make coffee and eat and drink. Rarely has such another band been gathered together and they went about everything with coolness and deliberation. They dragged up more fallen wood, lighted the fires, and began the day as if they were in their own homes.

The sun went up, very slowly it seemed to the two boys, but it was fulfilling its early promise. Not a cloud yet appeared in the sky. The waving grass was a shimmer of gold. Nothing stirred in the Mexican camp. For all the Texans could see, their foes were yet asleep. The men began to grow impatient at last. If the Mexicans would not come to them they would go to the Mexicans. The murmurs grew loud. Why would not Houston lead them forth? But he was walking up and down the edge of the grove, looking through his glasses and he paid no attention. Ned shared the impatience of the men, but he said nothing, guessing much that lay in Houston’s mind and knowing the tremendous weight of his responsibility.

On went the sun, and the tall grass on the prairie still waved in peace. The Texans, while growing more and more impatient, were now moving about but little, and the birds were singing wonderful songs among the live oaks over their heads. The singing of the birds was one of the details that impressed themselves so deeply upon Ned’s memory. It seemed so strange at such a time, and yet it seemed natural, too.

A man suddenly uttered an exclamation, and pointed to the north. A long file of men had come from under the horizon, and were marching toward the Mexican camp. Ned knew very well that it was the army of Cos, coming to the help of Santa Anna and so did the Panther, who stood beside him. But Houston, who knew too, put down his glasses and said in a casual tone:

“Clever trick that of Santa Anna to march part of his men around a rise of the prairie and then march them back again, in order to make us think he is receiving reinforcements. But he won’t fool us that way, will he, boys?”

He spoke loudly and most of them heard. One, a grizzled hunter, replied for them all in dry tones:

“No, General, he won’t fool us.”

Houston looked sharply at him, but the man’s face expressed nothing.

“They know,” whispered Ned to the Panther. “Their eyes have told them that those are new troops coming for Santa Anna. It’s Houston who has failed to fool them.”

“They know, but they don’t care,” the Panther whispered back. “Not a man has batted an eyelash. They are ready to meet Santa Anna whether he has one army, two armies or three. I reckon nobody was ever more willin’ to fight than this little band of ours.”

Ned looked along the lines again, and he could not doubt the full truth of the Panther’s words. Every face showed the desire to rush forward.

The long line of Cos’ army filed across the plain and into the camp of Santa Anna, where it disappeared from the view of the Texans. And still there was no movement on the part of the armies. The plain was once more clear of human beings, and the high sun showed that the morning was far on the wane. Even the Panther growled.

“Waitin’s good enough,” he said. “It ain’t wise to be in such a hurry that you fall over your own feet, but you can’t wait forever.”

“I’d like to get it over an’ be done with it,” said Stump. “I can’t tremble all day long.”

But Santa Anna was still immovable. Ned expected that with the army of Cos joined to his own he would now march out and engage the Texans, but he seemed to be as peaceable with Cos as he was without him. Houston, apparently showed the same temper. They were unlike Mahomet and the mountain. If Santa Anna would not come to him he would not go to Santa Anna. The murmurs among the men rose again, and now they were louder than before. They demanded battle.

Ned, who had been watching the prairie, stepped back among the live oaks. He saw Houston there, walking back and forth under the shade of a great tree. He had taken off his old white hat and was fanning his face with it, but he showed no sign of nervousness or impatience. Houston beckoned to Ned.

“Call Major Forbes for me,” he said.

Ned quickly brought the officer.

“Major,” said Houston, “you have in your command axes for cutting firewood and for other uses; now I want you to bring me two of the heaviest and sharpest of them, and, if, on the way, anybody asks you what you are going to do with them tell him you don’t know, which will be the truth.”

The Major departed instantly on his errand, and Houston beckoned again to Ned.

“Find Deaf Smith,” he said, “and bring him here.”

Smith was lying down under one of the live oaks, apparently asleep, but he sprang to his feet before Ned had spoken three words.

“I think this means something,” he said.

Forbes arrived with the axes just a few moments after Ned came with Smith.

“Smith,” said the general, “I want you to choose a good comrade for an errand of importance, somebody who is quick, skillful and brave like yourself.”

“Will the task take long, General?”

“Two or three hours.”

“I know a lot of good men. There’s the Panther, Obed White, an’ Hank Karnes, but they wouldn’t want to go away from here for fear of missin’ the fight.”

He stopped a moment and glanced at Houston, as if the word “fight” might bring an expression of his intentions, but the face of the general was impenetrable.

“I think,” continued Smith, “that I’ll choose Denmore Reeves. Him an’ me have scouted together often, an’ he’s the true metal.”

“Very well, then,” said Houston. “You and he are to take these axes an’ keep yourselves and your horses near, in order that you may obey any command I may give you, without a moment’s delay.”

Smith stared at him, mystified, but Houston walked to the edge of the grove, and began to look again through his glasses at the enemy. Ned rejoined the Panther and his friends, but he did not say anything about the axes. Yet he felt that some important thought was stirring in Houston’s mind. He must have reached at least a tentative decision.

But there was yet no movement. The sun, poised almost directly overhead, was pouring down showers of golden beams. It was now noon and the democratic little army which had its own opinions, and which was not afraid to speak them even to its commander, could conceal its impatience no longer. The rebellion against waiting communicated itself to the officers, and they began to gather and talk about it. Ned stood with them, and listened with their full consent. They decided to go to Houston at once, and try to come to some decision.

One of the officers went to the General with the request for the conference and he consented. It was composed of Houston and Rusk, the secretary of war; Burleson and Sherman, colonels; Bennett and Millard, lieutenant colonels; and Major Wells. Houston told Ned to stand by as a sort of secretary. At a little distance, many of the men stood watching, although they were too far away to hear. Others at farther points in the grove did not know that the conference had been called.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Houston with the formality of a presiding officer, “will you put the question which you wish to discuss?”

“It is quite simple,” replied Rusk. “We take it for granted that sooner or later there is to be a battle here. Shall we attack the enemy in his position or shall we await his attack in ours?”

His comrades nodded.

“Yes, that is the question, that and no other,” said Houston, gravely, “and I wish to hear the opinion of every one of you. Mr. Rusk, will you speak first?”

Ned glanced at Rusk. He was one of the older men, and naturally he turned to conservatism.

“We must wait here for Santa Anna,” he said. “We have a strong position, and, since we are the last hope of Texas it would be foolish to go out of it. Santa Anna has veteran troops. Ours are not men used to discipline, but are farmers, hunters and trappers gathered together hastily. They know nothing about military rules. It is an unheard of thing for militia to charge seasoned veterans. It is also an unheard of thing to charge over an open prairie without bayonets against a fortified enemy. Our position is strong. Let us remain in it. Here, we can whip all Mexico.”

He spoke with great earnestness, and Ned was deeply impressed. All the older officers supported him, asserting that they could not afford to yield anything to impatience, and, since they carried the fortunes of Texas in their hands, they must secure every advantage for this last chance. These were solemn words and there was much reason for saying them. Ned was bound to admit it, although he longed for the attack.

But the younger officers favored an immediate assault upon Santa Anna in his own position. They pointed out the eagerness and impatience of the men. They said that neither the numbers nor fortifications of their foe mattered. So great were the ardor and courage of the Texans that they would triumph over everything. The speakers showed all the fire and zeal of youth, and Ned swung back to their side, which was his own side.

While the men were talking, giving their reasons why a charge should or should not be made, Ned attentively watched the face of Houston. Whatever the officers might say the decision rested with him. But his expression never changed. He neither nodded nor shook his head at anything. They talked until every one in his turn had told what he thought and then Houston said:

“I have heard you, gentlemen, and now we will dissolve the council.”

The officers looked at him inquiringly, but, as he said nothing more, they walked reluctantly away. When they were beyond earshot, Houston beckoned to Ned.

“Bring Deaf Smith,” said the general.

Ned ran for the scout and brought him within a minute, Smith still holding in his hand the axe that had been given to him. Houston said to him in sharp, rapid tones:

“Smith, you and Reeves ride at full speed and cut down the bridge over Vince’s Bayou!”

A deep smile overspread the weatherbeaten face of the scout.

“This looks a good deal like a fight, General,” he said.

The stern face of Houston also was illuminated by a smile.

“Ride, Smith, ride!” he said.

Ned’s heart gave a great leap. He too knew what this meant. What he and all the men wished with all their hearts was surely coming to pass. Vince’s bridge was the only bridge over a bayou eight miles to the north, and running into Buffalo Bayou which was at their backs. Texans and Mexicans in turn had crossed it as they came into the peninsula between the San Jacinto and Buffalo Bayou. When the bridge went down the two armies would be held in by deep unfordable waters and like angry lions in a cage must fight.

Smith and Reeves leaped upon their horses, and held the great shining axes at their saddle bows.

“You must hurry, boys, if you would get back in time for what is about to happen,” said Houston.

Smith and Reeves struck their horses sharply, and galloped away to the north. Ned saw them urging their mounts to greater speed, and, in a few minutes, they were lost beyond the swells of the prairie. He turned away, and met the Panther, in whose eyes shone an eager light.

“What does it mean, Ned?” asked the giant.

“They are to cut down the bridge over Vince’s Bayou and there is no getting out for either Texans or Mexicans.”

The light of curiosity in the Panther’s eyes turned to the light of battle. Clenching his mighty fist he shook it at the far woods.

“We’re comin’, Santa Anna, we’re comin’, an’ we’ll remember the Alamo and Goliad!” he said between his teeth.

A sharp eager cry resounded through the wood. It was the single note of welcome from the men. They had heard. Now they began to make the last preparations, to take the final look at rifle and pistol, to see that the ammunition was there. They loosened the big bowie knives in their belts, the terrific weapon, that every Texan carried for close quarters. The Twin Sisters were dragged from the edge of the wood, and their crews stood beside them.

Ned felt an extraordinary thrill. His head and his feet alike seemed light, and tiny red motes in myriads danced before his eyes. The voice of his comrades sounded far away, and yet, despite the strangeness of everything, it seemed to him that the most vivid, the most real moment of his life had come.

“To the saddle, boys!” cried the Panther, leaping upon his powerful horse.

Ned, the Panther, Obed White, Stump, Will Allen and Stephen Larkin were in the little body of cavalry, the command of which was given to Colonel Lamar, because of his gallant exploit the day before. Less than a hundred in number, they formed on the extreme right of the line. Next to them were the Twin Sisters under the command of Hockley. Then came the infantry of Millard. The regiment of Burleson occupied the center, and that of Sherman formed the left wing. Houston was in the center with Burleson’s men, and Rusk was on the left with Sherman’s.

All faced the prairie. The preparations had been deliberate, and it was now a long time since Smith and Reeves had gone with their axes. It was more than mid-afternoon, and the sun, declining from the zenith, was shining with uncommon splendor. In the east, great terraces of rose and pink were heaped, one upon another. The red motes had gone from Ned’s eyes and he saw a glowing golden world. His heart was beating very hard, but he felt a mighty impulse to go on, the same impulse that was driving up the whole army, ready to launch it like a thunderbolt.

Ned felt Will’s knee touching his. Will’s face was glowing a deep red with tension and excitement, but his hands were steady on the reins.

“There’s no turning back, Ned,” he said.

“No, Will, there’s no turning back now.”

Ned shaded his eyes with his hand, but he could see no movement on the other side of the prairie. What were the Mexicans doing? Would the Texan army rush into an ambush? It seemed strange that no Mexicans should appear when their foe was about to attack. There was a deep breathless silence in the Texan lines, which was at last broken by Houston, who said:

“Begin the music, boys!”

Two odd figures stepped forward. One was that of a tall thin man and the other that of a boy. The man carried a fife, and the boy an ordinary drum. Both were dressed in ragged homespun, but they were the band.

“Play, boys, play!” shouted Houston.

Then the drum and fife began a quaint old tune: “Will you come to the bower?” None who heard the song played that day by a single drum and fife could ever again hear it without emotion. Now, for a few moments, the steady roll of the drum and the wild wailing notes of the fife above it were the only sounds heard on the prairie. Then Houston shouted:

“Forward!”

The little army lifted itself up and marched out upon the prairie into the tall grass. On it went, the horsemen holding down their horses to the pace of the infantry, while over and above everything the shrill voice of the fife wailed and wailed. That piercing note cut into the drums of Ned’s ears. He felt it putting a new and sharper tang into his blood, quickening the leap of his pulse, and making him eager to rush on. The myriads of red motes began to dance again before his eyes. The hoofs of the horses beat regularly, and the weapons of the infantry often rattled together, but Ned heard nothing save the insistent tune: “Will you come to the bower?”

It was hard for the horsemen to keep back in line with the infantry. The song of drum and fife and the supreme tension of the moment seemed to have communicated themselves to the horses, which quivered under their riders and tugged at the bits. But the front of the Texan force remained an even line, and they could not yet see any movement in the camp of their enemy.

“It’s not possible that Santa Anna has gone away?” said Will.

“No, there is no way for him to go,” replied Ned,

Further and still further and yet no sign in the Mexican camp. No horsemen charged on either flank to meet them. Where was Almonte? Where was Urrea? Ned was amazed, but he had little time to think about it. The piercing note of the fife incessantly urged him on.

Now they were coming close to the hostile camp, and the men quickened their pace. They were almost in a run, and the stocks of rifles were leaping to shoulders. Houston ran up and down the lines. His old white hat was clutched in his right hand and as he waved it about he shouted continually to his men:

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Wait till we are closer! Wait till we are closer!”

Ned heard the thunder of swift hoofs behind, and he saw Smith and Reeves galloping toward them, their horses covered with foam.

“Fight for your lives!” shouted Smith. “Vince’s bridge has been cut down, and there is no retreat!”

“An’ now, boys, up an’ at ’em!” roared the Panther, unable to contain himself any longer. “There’s livin’ fire behind us, an’ deep water before us. Come on, you sons of battle!”

A tremendous shout burst from the Texan army. Up went the rifles, and then a sheet of fire blazed along the whole front. Before the smoke of that deadly volley could lift the Texans rushed forward shouting their terrible battle cry:

“Remember the Alamo! Remember the Alamo! Remember the Alamo!”

It is likely that no other body of men ever charged with more zeal and fire. Every human emotion and passion which can rouse the desire for victory drove them on. It is but truth to say that the ghosts of the Alamo and Goliad rode with them at their saddle bows.

And the god of battles was with them. The vigilant, the energetic Santa Anna had expected no combat that day. Perhaps he had not dreamed that the Texans would march across the prairie, and attack him in his own camp, when his army outnumbered theirs more than two to one and was led by the greatest captain in the world, His enormous egotism overcame his strong intelligence. At three o’clock he had entered his tent and gone to sleep. He was still sound asleep when the Texans began their charge across the prairie. The whole Mexican army was relaxed. Some of his best officers were sleeping like himself. Many men were lazily cooking supper for the army, others were cutting wood to feed the fires. Cavalrymen were watering their horses, muskets and rifles stood in stacks and three or four strummed upon mandolin and guitar, singing at the same time sentimental love songs of the south. Upon such a camp burst the flaming front of the Texans, and, in a moment there was a scene of wild and terrible confusion.

The Twin Sisters were wheeled at short range and fired point blank into the Mexican mass, smashing down the weak barricades. Then the Texans, reloading and firing another volley, closed in and were upon their foe. The Mexicans were not yet in line of battle. General Castrillon on the right flank was striving to get them into order, Colonel Almonte on the left was seeking to do the same. Santa Anna had rushed from his tent, and, standing near the center, was shouting to his men to lie down and avoid the Texan fire. Other Mexican officers gave contradictory orders. Castrillon succeeded in getting up the gunners for a cannon, but half of them were shot down at once by the Texan riflemen, and the rest fled.

The Texan army was like a tornado. Hurled forth by the fiercest of human passions its very speed made it the more deadly to the Mexicans, and caused it to suffer less harm itself. Ned, when the charge broke into a run, leaned far forward on his horse and fired beside his head. The rifles and pistols were crashing fast, and lines of light ran continually along the front of the Texan force. He heard the heavy breathing of the men about him, and he saw the manes of the horses tossed backward as they galloped toward the Mexican camp.

The steady roll of the single drum and the shrill wailing of the fife went on all the time, still heating the blood and adding fresh fire to the passions of the men. “Will you come to the bower?” “Will you come to the bower?” rang in Ned’s ears through all the roar of the battle, the shouts of men, the beat of horses’ hoofs, and the fire of cannon and rifles.

They were almost in the Mexican camp, when Ned felt his horse stagger, then stop suddenly and shiver all over. He had been hit in a mortal spot by a Mexican bullet and Ned, holding his rifle, sprang clear, as the good mustang fell dead upon his side. The cavalry passed on in an instant, but he was in the thick of the infantry. Behind the remnants of the earthwork was the dark and confused mass of the Mexicans, and in an instant the Texans, clubbing their rifles and drawing their huge bowie knives, were among them like a thunderbolt. Castrillon, still struggling to get his men in line, was killed by a rifle bullet. Some of Santa Anna’s veteran regulars tried to use the bayonet, but the clubbed rifles dashed them down, and the Texans rushed over them.

Ned could never recall more than a few details of that dark and awful fifteen minutes. The red motes before his eyes fused into a solid red blaze, dimmed now and then by the clouds of smoke and vapor which were rising fast. He still heard the wailing of the fife, driving him on to action, but whether real or fancied he never knew. He saw the dark avenging faces of the Texans, the great knives uplifted by bare and brawny right arms, and the huddled mass of the Mexicans, yellow with fear, while over everything swelled the shout in a sort of terrible measured beat: “Remember the Alamo! Remember the Alamo!”

Ned’s own brain was heated. He struck fiercely with his clubbed rifle at heads showing through the smoke. The Alamo and Goliad came back to him once more in a red vision, and he struck again and again. The Texans were now pressing body to body against the great mass of the Mexicans. The huge knives were flashing fast, and still the Texans pushed harder and harder. There was no longer any firing. The clubbed rifles and the bowie knives were doing the work. The Texan officers ceased to give orders, and rushed in with the rest.

The smaller but far more terrible force was swiftly destroying the larger. The Mexican army, merely a confused mass, now was doubled up and hurled back upon itself. All the time those terrible knives were flashing along the whole front, and the Mexicans were falling so fast that the survivors hearing that terrible and incessant battle cry began to shout in terror: “Me no Alamo! Me no Alamo!”

Ned collided in the smoke with a huge figure. It was Stump, also on foot now and fighting shoulder to shoulder with the Panther, dismounted, too, the only man whom he considered his equal in strength. Nothing could resist them. They drove like a wedge into the solid Mexican mass and split it apart.

What was left of the Mexican army—half had been slain in that awful quarter of an hour—broke up and dissolved. Officers and men fled. Some rushed upon the prairie, but the bullets overtook them in the long grass. A portion fled northward for Vince’s bridge, which they did not know had been cut down, and were destroyed by the cavalry.

The bravest of the Mexicans were appalled by the Texan fury which, burning within so long, now burst forth with the most awful force. It seemed to them that they were attacked by demons rather than men. The chosen veterans of Santa Anna, who had been with him in all his victories, threw away their weapons, and ran as they had never run before. Even then they did not escape. The Texans reloaded their rifles, and shot them as they ran.

In this crisis Almonte, ever the bravest and most gallant of the Mexican officers, strove to get some of the men together, not to make effective resistance, but in order that they might make a formal surrender before all were killed. He succeeded in gathering at last a frightened crowd of about three hundred, and they hoisted not one but a dozen white flags.

Ned was still driving with his comrades at the main mass of the Mexicans, which was now melting fast away. Soon, only scattered clumps of Mexicans were left standing in what had been their camp. Now, Ned saw General Houston who had ridden on horseback in the charge with the front line of the army, galloping about the field, and calling upon his men to show mercy when quarter was asked.

He noticed that one of the General’s ankles was stained with blood, and that his horse also was bleeding in several places. The horse suddenly staggered and fell to the prairie. Ned rushed forward and dragged the General clear. Houston was white with pain.

“So it’s you, young Fulton,” he said. “Always at the right place! Was there ever such another victory?”

“Are you badly hurt, General?” exclaimed Ned, tense with anxiety.

“A ball in the ankle. I received it when we were charging the breastwork, but what difference does that make on a day like this! Tell them to give the Mexicans quarter. The victory is complete, and we are not mere slaughterers.”

Other Texans ran up. They assisted Houston to a place, where he might recline and yet see the battlefield, which was now covered with the bodies of the fallen and with running men. But the Texan fury which in fifteen minutes had destroyed an army more than double their own force was abating. The surrender of Almonte and his men was received. Prisoners were brought in from the prairie, the woods and the morasses of the San Jacinto. Most of them were stupefied with terror, and made not the slightest resistance. Among many of them the legend persisted years afterward that they had been attacked at San Jacinto not by men, but by devils in human form.

Ned saw a young Mexican officer standing alone with drawn sword, and a Texan rushing at him with clubbed rifle. He caught one glimpse of the Mexican’s face and he sprang between.

“Stop!” he cried to the Texan. “This man is my prisoner!”

The man swerved without a word and rushed off in pursuit of others.

“Montez,” exclaimed Ned, “don’t you know me? At last I’m able to repay you!”

“Fulton!” cried the young Mexican. He handed Ned his sword and then suddenly burst into tears.

“Oh, my God, what a rout!” he exclaimed.

The firing now died to scattered rifle shots, and soon ceased altogether. The clouds of smoke and vapor rose, disclosing the whole battlefield. Ned was appalled at the sight. The Mexican dead lay upon the prairie in hundreds and hundreds. Most of them had been slain at close quarters, and with the bowie knives. The Texan loss was almost nothing, and, so sudden and terrible had been their rush, that the Mexicans had not been able to fire a single cannon shot.

The prisoners were gathered at one edge of the field under heavy guard, and Ned sent Montez in with the others, sure now that he was safe. The Texans, just beginning to realize the immensity of this triumph and its meaning, spared the prisoners. Their fierceness did not continue after victory, yet many could not keep from flinging taunts at the dark and huddled mass of Mexicans.

“Do you remember the Alamo? Do you remember Goliad?” they shouted at the terrified men. “Where is Santa Anna? Where are your Generals? Where is your army?”

Ned looked for his friends. Not one of them was hurt, but Deaf Smith had escaped narrowly. His horse had stumbled so violently at the breastwork that he had been hurled over his head. A Mexican soldier rushed forward to thrust him through with the bayonet. Smith, while still lying on the ground drew a pistol and pulled the trigger. The cap snapped but Smith, quick as lightning, threw the pistol into his face. As the Mexican staggered back the Texan leaped up, wrenched musket and bayonet from his hands and charged with the rushing infantry into the Mexican camp.

Now the Texan officers began to institute order for the coming night and to gather up the spoil. The Texans collected a thousand good rifles and muskets which the Mexicans had thrown away in their flight, besides hundreds of sabers. They also took five or six hundred horses and mules, besides great quantities of ammunition, clothing, provisions, all sorts of camp equipage, and a treasure of $12,000 in silver, a great sum in a region in which money was so scarce.

Ned and Will Allen had been helping to heap the spoil together. Now they rested and were joined by the Panther.

“I saw your horse fall when he was shot, Ned,” said the Panther, “but I knowed that nothin’ would happen to you.”

“How did you know that?” asked Ned, astonished.

“I just knowed it,” replied the Panther in a tone of deep conviction.

The twilight was now at hand. The Texans lighted many fires and rejoiced hugely. They did things that may seem wild to those who sit safely in their homes. But they were in the darkness of a wilderness prairie, and they had just released themselves with their own valor from the apparently immutable threat of desolation and death that had hung over them so long. The rebound was tremendous.

They joined hands and danced in circles around the fires. They brought out the fifer and the drummer again and they sang: “Will you come to the bower?” and the other songs they knew. The twilight passed into the night. Thick darkness crept over forest and prairie, but the whirling forms were outlined clearly against the fires. Some one discovered a great store of candles in the Mexican camp. They were brought out quickly, distributed among the men, and the wild dance was resumed, every one holding aloft in his hands a blazing candle, as he whirled and whirled about his fire. Occasionally they uttered all together a tremendous war whoop, and now and then they shouted for Santa Anna, who was not there, and who could not be found, dead or alive.

“He is running away on his hands and feet like a dog and dressed like a common soldier,” said Houston as he lay on a blanket, his leg bandaged tightly.

The dancing ceased by and by and the Texans returned to their sober selves. They ate and spread their blankets. The heavy guards were kept about the prisoners, but the rest of the victors lay down and slept. Quiet and deep night settled over the epochal field of San Jacinto.

About the middle of that terrible fifteen minutes, a little man in a gorgeous uniform who had been rushing about among the Mexicans, shouting orders, and then other orders that contradicted them, stopped suddenly and looked once more at the bristling front of the Texans. Dazed at first, he was now recovering his judgment. But no one noticed amid the crashing of rifles and shouts and all the vast turmoil of smoke and noise that he was the great, the unconquerable Santa Anna, dictator of Mexico and Texas, the Napoleon of the West.

He saw that the battle was lost, and terror, invincible terror, was the king of his soul. These men rushing down upon him with terrible shouts and far more terrible knives in their hands were the Texans, all of whom he had sentenced to one common death, when taken. He, too, remembered the Alamo and Goliad, and he had no wish now but to be gone.

He fled through the press and turmoil to the rear. He was not noticed, because others were fleeing also and the smoke was everywhere. He paused an instant, snatched out the little gold box, took from it the last of the drug, and thrust it into his mouth. Then he flung the gold box from him, sprang upon a powerful horse and galloped northward, incessantly urging the horse on with shouts and blow of fist and heel. Terror was still his ruler. Brave at times, he was in a complete panic now, and judging the Texans by his own standards he had great cause for fear.

He regretted now his brilliant uniform. He wrenched off his gold epaulets and threw them upon the ground, and he tore at the lace on coat and trousers. But merciful darkness was coming down. He heard more than once the sound of pursuit to find it only fancy. The shadows of his foes that made him tremble so violently were only those of trees and bushes.

He stopped at last. His horse was panting and covered with foam. The rider still quivered. He felt in his pocket for the gold box, but it was gone and he remembered. A part of his terror disappeared. He could hear no sound about him, but the light rustle of the wind among grass and leaves, and the mournful call of a night bird. He had left them all behind him. His men had perished, but he, Santa Anna, the illustrious and invincible, had escaped.

He urged his horse anew, more confident now and made straight for Vince’s bridge. He had noticed the country well in coming down and he knew the way. Confidence grew.

He rode from the bushes and approached the bridge. Then he stopped aghast. There was no bridge. It was fallen in and only the piers remained, between which flowed the deep waters of the bayou. He divined instantly that the Texans had done this, and even now they might be lying there in wait for him. He began to tremble again. He was shut up on that narrow triangle and the Texans would surely find him on the morrow.

Terror grew and this very terror itself made him act. He drove his horse at the bayou, through the deep mud of its bank. The animal’s weight sank him in the thick mire, and he struggled in vain to go on. Santa Anna shouted at him and cursed him, but the poor horse only sank deeper. The dictator sprang from his back, and although he sank in mud to his knees, reached the water, swam it, and climbed to the prairie above, never looking back at the lost animal.

Santa Anna stood a while on the bank of the bayou, sunk in the depths of the blackest despair. His army was destroyed, and he was alone, and on foot in the depths of a vast wilderness, where any man whom he might meet was sure to prove a foe. It was incredible, impossible, but it was true. He, Santa Anna, a few hours before a dictator, a triumphant commander, a ruler over a territory half the size of Europe, was a solitary fugitive from a foe to whom he had set the example of no mercy.

The false strength that had come from the drug was going, but he walked slowly over the prairie, until he discerned in the darkness the outline of a forest, which he entered, feeling more secure among the trees. He went a few hundred yards further, and saw a little clearing in which stood a house. The march of his army had passed near, and he surmised, with good cause, that the house was abandoned.

But he approached very cautiously, and it was some time before he dared to enter. The house was dark and silent, and by the moonlight at the windows he saw that it was in disorder. Evidently its owner had left in haste. He found scraps of food in the kitchen, and he devoured them eagerly, but in another room he discovered what he wanted most. Some old clothing hung on hooks in the wall, and quickly he took off his muddy but gorgeous uniform, rolling it in a bundle and tossing it into a corner. He even got rid of his cavalry boots.

He put on a rough cloth cap, a blue cotton jacket, yellow linen trousers and a pair of red worsted slippers, made by some thrifty Texan housewife. Now he felt a gleam of satisfaction. Surely his star was favoring him again. No one would detect in this poorly-clad Mexican peon the great Santa Anna.

He would have been glad to stay in the house for the rest of the night, but he was afraid. The owners or the Texan soldiers might come and he went out into the thickets. There he wandered around for a while, and then, lying down near the edge of a ravine, tried to sleep.

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