San Felipe was not behindhand in enthusiasm over the tidings from
Gonzales. Delegates to the General Consultation were coming in, and the
committee, on hearing the news, sent out a circular calling upon each
man in Texas to decide for himself whether or not he would submit to the
tyranny of Mexico, and if he would not submit, “let him answer by mouth
of his rifle.” This charge was not needed. Men poured in from every
quarter carrying their rifles, shot-pouches, and powder-horns; the look
of grim determination on their faces meant “liberty, or war to the
death.”
Austin, by permission of the convention, left San Felipe for Gonzales,
arriving there on the 10th of October. He was elected to the command of
the volunteers there assembled, about three hundred and fifty strong,
and marched almost immediately for San Antonio, hoping to capture and
hold that important post. He encamped on the 20th at the Mission of La
Espada on the San Antonio River. Recruits came in rapidly. Sam Houston,
who had given his last five-dollar bill to a messenger to spread the
call for volunteers, arrived with a detachment of men from East Texas.
Bowie and Travis, Crockett and Fannin, Milam, Burleson, “Deaf” Smith,
Rusk, Wharton,—these gathered in groups about the camp, little dreaming
that each man of them carried within his own breast something of which
the history of Texas was to be made.
[Illustration: Mission of La Espada.]
General Cos had arrived and had taken command at San Antonio. He
scornfully rejected Austin’s summons to surrender, even threatening to
fire upon his flag of truce. Austin, whose army now numbered about six
hundred men, did not feel himself strong enough to make an attack, but
decided to move nearer the enemy. Accordingly on the 27th he sent
Captains Bowie and Fannin with ninety-two men to reconnoiter and to
choose a suitable position. They marched up the riverbank and encamped
at nightfall in a bend of the river, near the old Mission of Concepcion.
The next morning at sunrise, through the mist that hung like a grey
curtain around the camp, they heard something like the wary tread of
horses’ hoofs. At the same time a sentinel[19] posted in the high tower
of the mission gave warning, and a shot echoed from the outer
picket-line.
The Texans sprang to arms; a slight lifting of the fog showed them a
solid phalanx of Mexican cavalry hemming in the camp on three sides.
There was a breathless interval of preparation, but no confusion; and by
the time the enemy’s infantry came in sight trailing their arms, the
Texans were ready for the fight. It was a short and sharp one.
The encampment had been well chosen; the triangular bottom land in which
it lay by the riverside was skirted by heavy timber, and the bluff
surrounding it made a sort of natural parapet.
In a few moments the Mexicans shoved forth their cannon,—a brass
six-pounder,—and their bugle sounded a cavalry charge. But one set of
gunners after another fell dead or wounded around the cannon, and the
cavalry was beaten back. Finally, by a sudden impulse, the whole body of
Texans rushed forward with the cry, “The cannon and victory!”
The battle had lasted thirty minutes. The Texan loss was one man
(Richard Andrews) killed; none wounded. The Mexicans, whose force
numbered four hundred, had sixty killed and about as many wounded.
These, in the pell-mell retreat of the attacking party, were left upon
the field. About noon a white flag was seen coming across the prairie.
It was carried by a priest sent by General Cos, who asked and obtained
permission to bury the dead.
The main army, which had marched from La Espada on hearing the cannon,
arrived after the battle was over.
Some days later Austin camped with his troops near San Antonio, and
prepared to hold his position until strong enough to storm the place.
But inaction, after the brilliant successes at Gonzales, Goliad, and
Concepcion, was galling to the volunteers. They clamored to be allowed
to throw themselves against Cos’ fortifications, and when they were held
back many of them grew dissatisfied and left the army. Those who
remained were cheered by the arrival of the Grays—two fine companies of
volunteers from New Orleans—and a company from Mississippi.
Another incident which revived their drooping spirits was a lively
skirmish on the morning of November 26. The approach of a train of mules
from Mexico, loaded with silver for General Cos, had been reported by
spies to General Edward Burleson, then in command of the army. Colonel
Bowie with a small scouting party was on the watch for its appearance.
A scout riding up reported about two hundred Mexican cavalry advancing
from the west, guarding a number of loaded pack-mules. Bowie sent the
scout on to Burleson for assistance, and dashed forward with his men to
cut off the train. On his approach the Mexican cavalry posted themselves
in a ravine about one mile from San Antonio. Bowie charged them, but at
that moment he was attacked in the rear by a body of Mexican soldiers,
who, seeing the situation, had come out from San Antonio, bringing two
cannon with them. Bowie wheeled and rode upon this new force, and
Burleson coming up with reinforcements, the Mexicans were put to flight,
abandoning pack-mules and packs, and leaving on the field fifty men
killed and several wounded.
When the Texans, who had come off without a scratch, threw themselves
upon the bulky packs ready to count out Mexican dollars, they found them
filled, instead, with fresh grass cut for the feed of General Cos’
horses. This skirmish was known as the Grass Fight.