The next morning (22nd) General Houston was lying under an oak somewhat
apart from the camp. The pain of his wound had kept him awake during the
night, and he was sleeping lightly. Suddenly an excited murmur ran
through the camp, a clamor of Mexican voices arose: “El Presidente! El
Presidente!” and some soldiers approached, having in their midst a man
dressed in soiled linen trousers, a blue jacket, a soldier’s cap, and
red worsted slippers. His linen, however, was of the finest, and he wore
jeweled studs in his shirt front.
Houston, awakened by the noise, looked up. His visitor bowed. “I am,” he
said in Spanish, “General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, and a prisoner of
war, at your service.” He had just been captured, hiding, miserable and
forlorn, in the long grass on the further side of the bayou. Houston
waved his hand to a tool-chest near by, and Santa Anna sat down.
A greater physical contrast can hardly be imagined than that between
these two men now gazing steadily and silently at each other.
The Dictator of Mexico was small and thin and not above five feet five
inches in height. His swarthy face was ill-favored almost to
repulsiveness; his small black eyes were cold and cruel. Houston was
tall and finely proportioned, with fair complexion, open forehead, and
fine blue eyes. Perhaps the one point of resemblance between the two
generals lay in a certain foppishness in dress. But on this occasion
this appeared in neither. Santa Anna had exchanged his gaudy uniform for
the disguise he wore, and Houston was ill-kempt and shabby in his old
campaign uniform.
Almonte, who had been sent for to act as interpreter, now came up and
the interview began. Santa Anna was at first very humble; he even wept
copiously. But after swallowing some opium he recovered his arrogance,
and demanded to be treated as a prisoner of war. He wished to arrange
for his immediate release.
When Houston dryly asked what consideration he could expect after the
bloody scenes at the Alamo and Goliad, he pleaded the usage of war for
the carnage at the Alamo. As for Goliad, he declared that Urrea had
deceived him with regard to Fannin’s surrender, and pretended to
denounce his subordinate officer in bitter terms. “Urrea told me Fannin
was vanquished,” he said, “and I was ordered by my government to shoot
every man found with a weapon in his hand.”
“You are yourself the government,” Houston replied curtly. “A Dictator
has no superior.”
“I have the order of Congress,” Santa Anna insisted, “and that compels
me to treat as pirates all who are found under arms. Urrea had no
authority to make an agreement with Fannin. He has deceived me, and when
I am free he shall suffer for it.”
Houston listened to this bluster, but declined to make terms with his
prisoner, that power belonging alone to the Texan Congress.
He treated the unfortunate general with generous courtesy, returning to
him his tents and personal effects, and permitting him to be waited upon
by his own servants.
An order signed by Santa Anna was carried by Deaf Smith and Henry Karnes
to General Filisola, the second in command, who was encamped near San
Felipe, to conduct the Mexican troops to the Rio Grande.
The Texan soldiers could not understand the mercy shown to the Mexican
prisoners, particularly to Santa Anna, the cruel and heartless foe who
had tortured and put to death so many of their brave countrymen. With
dark and angry looks and open threats they swarmed about the place of
the interview. Some of the officers were in favor of a drumhead
court-martial and an immediate execution. But better counsels prevailed,
and Santa Anna was allowed to retire to his camp-bed and rest in peace.
The night which followed the victory was one of wild and grotesque
rejoicing in the Texan camp. Huge bonfires were lighted, and by the red
glow of their flames, the soldiers danced and sang and told over and
over again the story of the great day and its triumphs. The Mexican camp
was overhauled; the victors decked themselves with the arms of their
foes, buckling about their waists two, three, or four brace of pistols,
with powder-horns, shot-pouches, sabers, and bowie knives. They rigged
out the captured mules with the gold epaulets of the Mexican officers,
and the green and red cap-cords of the grenadiers. Then, lighting
hundreds of wax candles found among the spoils, they paraded gayly
about, waking the echoes of the night with their shouts of laughter. All
this was not in very good taste, and it naturally made the prisoners
very angry. But they might well have reflected that at least it was a
better way of rejoicing over a victory than shooting prisoners in cold
blood and setting fire to their naked corpses.
The military stores taken in the battle, the cannon, small arms,
ammunition, and mules, were kept by the government. The camp baggage was
sold at auction, and the proceeds, with the contents of the military
money-chest, were divided among the soldiers. This money, which amounted
to about seven dollars and a half to each man, was all that they
received for their service during the whole war.
General Santa Anna’s handsome silver-mounted saddle was purchased and
presented to General Houston. The jeweled dagger handed to his captors
by the Mexican General was also given to Houston.