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.
General Houston was still behind the centre――he was waving his old
whitish hat and shouting, as if still bidding the infantry to hold
their fire.
“Hold your fire, confound you! Hold your fire!” he roared.
The fluter was playing. “Will You Come to the Bower?” piped the notes,
as waist high in the grass the long line swept on, with never a shout,
and with the gold-fringed, glove-capped flag of the Newport Volunteers
streaming in the breeze. The Twin Sisters spoke again, and advanced,
their horses at a gallop.
There was a thud of hoofs close by Ernest. The horseman from the west
had arrived. He was Deaf Smith. His horse was lathered with sweat, his
swarthy face was dripping, he was blackened and muddy. Past Ernest he
sped, struck the right of the line, flourishing his ax.
“Vince’s Bridge is down!” he screamed. “Fight for your lives, and
remember the Alamo!”
Along the line he raced, reiterating his message. General Houston had
spurred through the gap left by the artillery and was to the front,
himself.
“Vince’s Bridge is down!” he repeated louder than Deaf Smith. “Charge!
Charge! Remember the Alamo!”
A blare of voices which seemed to rock the prairie answered him.
“Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!”
The piping of the flute and the booms of the Twin Sisters alike were
drowned by that tremendous yell. The line broke into a run. It was now
not 100 yards from the Mexican breastworks――General Houston leading the
centre. The Twin Sisters could not fire again, for the gap had closed
before them, as the Millard musketeers and the Burleson riflemen joined
flanks.
Bugles had sounded from the Mexican camp――all appeared in turmoil
there; but suddenly a bloom of white smoke enveloped the front of the
breastworks, and a volley of musketry and cannon shot crashed through
the soft air. Bullets whined by, overhead. Ernest’s eyes leaped to the
Texan line again. It had not fallen――it was surging on――the general
sat upright――but his horse staggered――no, kept its feet. Was it hit?
Why didn’t the army shoot? Ah――the line had abruptly halted, with the
Mexican breastworks only sixty yards away; the rifles and muskets
were levelled, and veiled in smoke. Back to the breastworks reeled
the first Mexican soldiery. It looked as if every bullet had found a
mark. See! The line did not wait even to reload. It raced on, shouting,
“Remember the Alamo! Remember Travis! Remember Fannin!” What a medley
of savage cheers! The men had drawn their pistols; they had reversed
their rifles, to club with them. General Houston’s horse was swallowed
up――maybe it was down――as right against the breastworks burst the
line――burst, breaker-like, into a high spray of pistol and musket
shots, lunging knives and bayonets, rifle butts rising and falling,
horses leaping――and poured over!
Back from the breastworks, into the swamp at the rear, streamed
rivulets of fleeing men――the Mexican soldiers. But the Texans were
after them. There went Deaf Smith, on foot, alone――he had lost his
horse, but no matter. He was shooting with a gun――shooting at the
Mexicans. Some of the Mexicans were in the swamp to their knees. The
officers’ horses had bogged. From the timber at the east end of the
breastworks scampered the Mexicans posted there, with Colonel Sherman’s
riflemen pursuing furiously. A Mexican officer remained standing on
the ammunition boxes behind the field piece. He shouted in vain to his
artillerymen. He folded his arms defiantly; then he got down and slowly
walked away, as if challenging the Texan rifles. He was a brave man,
but it was no use. He fell, crumpled.
But a battalion of the Mexicans did rally. They levelled their bayonets
and charged, behind the breastworks; charged so violently that the
Texans before them wavered and recoiled. Here came General Houston――on
his horse, waving his hat. The Texans there stiffened, the guns spoke
all together――and away melted the Mexicans, into dead, wounded and
fleeing.