Aaron Burr--The McGregor and his kingdom--Mina's expedition and
fate--The Alamo massacre--Travis, Bowie, and Crockett--The tragedy of
Goliad--Houston and Santa Ana--Victory of San Jacinto--The Santa Fe
and Mier expeditions.
While Miranda's ambitious schemes were drawing the notice of the State
department towards the seaboard, a more serious filibustering scheme
was quietly hatching in another quarter, in the brain of one of the
boldest and ablest adventurers known to American history. The imperial
crown of the Montezumas was the prize for which an ex-vice-president
of the United States risked fame, fortune, everything--and lost! The
story of Aaron Burr is a matter of familiar history. His demoralized
forces surrendered at Bayou Pierre, on the Mississippi, on January 17,
1807. Acquitted of the charge of treason, for which he was tried, but
condemned by the unanimous opinion of his contemporaries, the sober
judgment of history must pause before endorsing either verdict. The
relations of Spain and the United States were in a hopelessly tangled
state. Burr proposed to settle the disputed question of territorial
rights by conquering the whole of Spanish North America, a scheme
which his countrymen might not have severely rebuked or discouraged;
but, unfortunately for his fame, Burr's ambition was personal and
selfish. He would conquer, but not for his country's sake--a
distinction, even then, sufficient to constitute a grave offence
against the sovereign people.
What are now known as the Gulf States--Florida, Louisiana, and
Texas--were then held under the colonial sway of Spain. The first and
second became absorbed by purchase. Texas, as early as 1812, had begun
to invite the notice of the restless filibustering element, but its
more immediate importance lay in its convenience as a field of
operations for the Mexican revolutionists. Hidalgo and his compatriots
unfurled the standard of independence in September, 1810. Their first
attempt to enlist outside aid was made six months later, when Bernardo
Guttierez de Lara, a native Mexican, was sent as a commissioner to
Washington to invoke recognition for the new Republic. His mission
failing, Guttierez went to New Orleans and began recruiting
adventurers, with such success that he was able in February, 1812, to
lead a force of 450 men across the border into Texas.
His success was brilliant from the outset; and, in spite of some
serious reverses, he succeeded in making himself master of Leon and
Texas. Then came into play the unfailing ally of tyranny, corruption.
Alvarez de Toledo, who had been appointed the successor of Guttierez
as commissioner to Washington, made use of his position to negotiate
with the Spanish minister for the betrayal of his compatriot.
Returning to Texas, he incited mutiny among the troops of Guttierez,
who deposed their commander and appointed Alvarez to succeed him.
Personal ambition, rather than treason to his country, must have been
the motive influencing the latter; for when the Royalist general,
Arredondo, marched with an overwhelming force against the patriots at
San Antonio de Bexar, Alvarez boldly gave him battle. Guttierez, with
noble patriotism, fought in the ranks of his late command and did not
survive the defeat. His heroic devotion was imitated on the same spot
by Barrett Travis, twenty-two years afterwards. The defeat and death
of Guttierez occurred on March 15, 1814.
Among the Americans who took service under Guttierez was Augustus W.
Magee, of Massachusetts, who laid down his commission as a lieutenant
in the United States army to join the filibusters. His fate was
peculiar. After several successes he found himself, as he supposed, so
beset by Governor Salcedo that he made terms for the surrender of
himself and followers and their transportation to the United States.
But the men boldly refused to abide by the timid measures of their
leader, disavowed the contract, and actually assailed and routed the
enemy, who was awaiting their surrender. Magee, overcome with shame at
the success of those whom he had proved himself unworthy to lead, blew
out his brains on the night of the victory.
Reuben Kemper, of Virginia, was another of the American adventurers of
a widely different type. He is described as a man of gigantic
proportions, with a voice and a heart to match his stalwart frame, and
a profanity that attracted attention even on that Homeric field. As
early as 1808 he made an attempt to capture Baton Rouge, and was
kidnapped for his pains by the Spaniards, who would have cut short his
career summarily but for the intervention of the United States
commander at Pointe Coupée. On attaining his liberty, Kemper vowed to
devote his life to the extirpation of Spanish rule in America. In 1812
he led an abortive attempt to capture Mobile, but was more successful
on receiving from Guttierez the command of six hundred Americans with
whom he gained several victories. Dissensions in the patriot ranks at
last sent him home in disgust. He afterwards served with distinction
under Jackson at New Orleans, and survived to witness the final
extinction of Spanish rule on the American continent.
About this time occurred, like a burlesque injected into a tragedy,
the extraordinary episode of "Citizen Gregor McGregor", or Sir George
McGregor, which is said to have been his legitimate title in his
native Scotland, who claimed dominion over Florida, then a Spanish
possession. McGregor was the wearer of many titles, among them those
of "Brigadier General of the Armies of the United Provinces of New
Granada and Venezuela, and General-in-Chief of the armies of the Two
Floridas, Commissioned by the Supreme Directors of Mexico and South
America, and Cacique of Poyais, the last-named having been conferred
by His Majesty George Frederick Augustus, King of the Mosquito Coast."
Incidentally he claimed to be chief of the clan Alpin, or Gregor, of
Scotland. Mr. Alfred M. Williams, author of the admirable "Life of
General Houston," says of The McGregor:
He had taken a part in the South American revolution, and married a
woman who was, or professed to be, a sister of Simon Bolivar. Failing
to win fortune in South America, "Gen." McGregor sailed away in a
small schooner which he had obtained possession of, and appeared in
Baltimore in the winter of 1817. There, without attracting any
particular attention from the authorities, he enlisted a small number
of men for the conquest of Florida, and landed on Amelia Island in
June, where he issued a proclamation suitable to his titles of
distinction, and promised "to plant the Green Cross of Florida on the
proud walls of St. Augustine." Whatever is to be said of the other
Filibusters, they were not blatherskites and charlatans, and of this
class Gregor McGregor most distinctly was. Failing to gather any
recruits to his standard, McGregor was persuaded by one Woodbine, an
English adventurer, who figured a good deal in the troubles which led
to Jackson's summary execution of Arbuthnot and Ambrister, to sail for
New Providence, where a British regiment had recently been disbanded,
and where, as in former years, there was abundance of material in the
shape of broken men and the waifs and strays of adventure, in the hope
of enlisting a force, to be joined by one of 1500 Indians under
Woodbine for the conquest of Florida. McGregor sailed for New
Providence, but probably impressed with the idea that the conquest of
Florida would require something more than a proclamation, determined
"to arrange his private affairs," which it will be seen, that he
subsequently did to his great advantage. McGregor's Filibuster
expedition in Florida did not quite end with the withdrawal of the
leader to attend to his private affairs. One Commodore Aury of the
Mexican Liberal forces, appeared on the scene with some small vessels
and a motley crew of one hundred and fifty men, made up, as usual, of
land and water pirates, refugees and adventurers of every shade of
color and nationality, and set up a provisional Government, fortified
Fernandina and endeavored, without success, to get together a
Legislature representing the people of Florida. He was attacked at
Fernandina by the miserable, half mulatto, Spanish troops from St.
Augustine, and beat them off without much difficulty. But Aury's
troubles were more internal than external. Part of the Filibusters
were sincerely desirous of driving out the Spaniards and setting up a
free Government in Florida, as was Aury himself, but the majority were
simply desirous of making Fernandina a smuggling and piratical
headquarters, as Barataria Bay was, and an entrepot for landing slave
cargoes from Africa. They quarrelled and fought among themselves, and,
in the meantime, had made themselves such a pest and nuisance to
American commerce, by piracy and wrecking, and by stealing as well as
selling slaves, that President Monroe, probably also foreseeing that
Florida would soon fall into the lap of the United States, sent a land
and naval force to demand the surrender of Fernandina, which was
abandoned by the Filibusters early in the winter of 1818 and turned
over to the Spanish authorities. But in the meantime Sir Gregor
McGregor had conceived the safer and more profitable idea of founding
a kingdom by colonization, rather than by conquest. In 1822 he made
his appearance in Edinburgh and announced that he had become the
proprietor, by a grant from His Majesty, the King of the Mosquitos, of
an immense and valuable territory on the banks of the Black river,
which possessed all the advantages of the Garden of Eden in the way of
climate, soil and natural productiveness, and which only wanted
settlers to add thereto the luxuries, with none of the labors, of
civilization. This delectable country was named Poyais, and he himself
was the Cacique thereof, a title, which, so to speak, reeked with
barbaric richness and grandeur. He opened subscription books to the
amount of two hundred thousand pounds, the greater proportion of which
was actually paid in. In the meantime he transacted business in a
regal fashion, occupying a town house in the fashionable quarter,
besides a villa in the country, to which he occasionally retired when
fatigued by the affairs of State. He appointed a full set of
Government officers, including a Lord Chancellor, but himself, it is
to be presumed, retaining the office of Chancellor of the Exchequer,
and a military staff, clad in gorgeous green uniforms. He also
established an order of knighthood, and, like other wise monarchs, had
his historiographer and poet. The former produced a book dedicated to
His Highness the Cacique of Poyais, entitled "Sketch of the Mosquito
Shore, Including the Territory of Poyais; Description of the Country,
with Some Information as to its Productions, the Best Mode of Culture,
etc.; Chiefly Intended for the Use of Settlers. By Thomas Strangeways,
K.G.C., Captain First Native Poyais Infantry, and Aid-de-Camp to His
Highness Cacique of Poyais," in which the healthfulness and richness
of the country were set forth with all the force of an untrammeled
imagination; and the poet, a female relative of the Cacique, produced
a popular song entitled "The Poyais Emigrant," in which love and lucre
were attractively blended:
"Through smiling vales, 'neath lofty hills,
Through citron groves we'll stray together,
Our star of life will sweetly set,
When blessed in wealth and one another."
"With jewels rare, I'll busk your hair,
The fairest flowers for you I'll gather;
The rose's bloom, its rich perfume,
Is sweet as any Highland heather," etc.
When everything had been concluded, His Royal Highness, the Cacique of
Poyais, gave a regal reception to his court and faithful subjects,
when they were admitted to the presence of the Cacique and Caciquess,
who were seated on a dais, and graciously permitted to kiss their
hands. A collation was served, and as this was the only substantial
return obtained for their investments, it is to be hoped that they had
better appetite than the Kentucky Colonel, who, after an unsuccessful
night at the gaming table, was invited to stay and partake of some
refreshments, and responded with a vigorous negative, and the query:
"Do you suppose I can eat 1100 dollars worth of ham and get even?" A
party of unfortunate emigrants actually went out to the kingdom of
Poyais, where they found that the King of the Mosquitos did not
recognize any grant as having been made to the Cacique; but they were
graciously allowed to remain until the pestilential fevers carried off
most of them, and the remainder were rescued by a relief party. As for
Sir Gregor McGregor, he disappeared permanently from public view,
taking with him, it is presumed, the treasure chest of his Government.
Another stormy petrel blown from Europe to Mexican seas was Don
Francisco Javier Mina, who managed to compress a world of adventure
into his brief life. Born at Idocin in Spain in 1789, he won fame
while a mere youth by leading his hardy mountaineers in many a
guerrilla fight against the French. In his twenty-first year he had
gained the rank of colonel, and was on the high road to preferment
when the blind policy of King Ferdinand drove him into rebellion,
along with his uncle, the brave General Espoz y Mina. A well-planned
scheme of revolution having failed, he fled the country and made his
way to England, where he was warmly welcomed. His talents and courage
inspired the government of that country, which for reasons of its own
wished to foment insurrection in Spanish America, to equip him for a
renewal of warfare against Ferdinand on his transatlantic territory.
He arrived in the United States well supplied with money and letters
to the friends of the Mexican revolutionists, and on April 15, 1817,
he landed a force of 270 men from New Orleans at Soto la Marina.
Defeating a superior force of Royalists in several engagements, he
made a junction with the revolutionary army, and speedily drove the
enemy out of the Northern provinces.
It was a far harder task, however, to overcome the jealousy and
incompetence of Torres, then in chief command; and Mina, betrayed by
his allies, fell into the hands of Viceroy Apodaca, who had him
immediately executed, with twenty-five of his followers, on November
11, 1817. Mina was but twenty-eight years old when he ended his
career, but he had given proofs of rare worth as a soldier and a
patriot.
Among the Americans who shared his fortunes was Colonel Perry, of New
Orleans. Despairing of success, as soon as he discovered the
worthlessness of the native leaders, he abruptly withdrew from the
army and undertook, with only fifty followers, to cut his way back to
the United States by land. In this attempt they partially succeeded,
but were soon overtaken and surrounded by an overwhelming force. Perry
rejected all demands to surrender until, the last of his band having
fallen by his side, he put a pistol to his head and blew out his
brains.
When Mexico at last won her freedom, her most northerly state, Texas,
held an anomalous position. A large proportion of its people was made
up of Americans who had borne their share in the battle for liberty.
By birth and associations they were more closely allied with their
Northern than with their Southern neighbours. It did not take them
long to learn that Mexico, in changing her government had not changed
her nature. The intolerance of the new rulers differed little from
that of the old, while civil government was far less stable under the
Republic than it had been while swayed by the Spaniard.
Upon the declaration of Texan independence in September, 1835, General
Cos marched a large army into the rebellious state, determined to
drive the rash intruders out of the country. In the first engagement,
at Gonzales, the Texans routed their foes, and General Cos was forced
to take refuge behind the walls of the Alamo, in San Antonio de Bexar.
But the Texan blood was now fairly up, and General Burlison, with only
216 men, laid siege to the fortress. The garrison numbered 1,700, but
in spite of the fearful odds, the Texans stormed the place and sent
General Cos under parole to his astonished brother-in-law, the
redoubtable Santa Ana. Colonel James Bowie, who had just defeated
another large Mexican force, at the Mission Concepcion, joined Colonel
Travis at the Alamo.
Bowie was a Georgian, born in Burke County, about 1790. Not much is
known of his career until the year 1827, when he became famous
throughout the Southwest by his participation in a "difficulty"
between two citizens of Natchez, Mississippi. Several friends of both
combatants assisted at the duel and a general fight was the natural
and welcome result. During the melée, Bowie was wounded, but killed
one of his antagonists with a knife which a blacksmith had made for
him out of a large file or rasp. The fame of the new weapon spread
under the name of the "Bowie Knife", which still holds a high place in
the affections of those who love close fighting. Oliver Wendell Holmes
drily compares it to the short sword of the ancient Romans and says
that "nations which shorten their weapons lengthen their boundaries".
Bowie fought at San Saba in 1831 and at Nacogdoches and Concepcion in
1835 and commanded as Colonel at Grass Fight, on Oct. 25, 1835. There
is no doubt that Bowie was one of the bravest and coolest men that
ever lived, even in Texas. To the Alamo presently also came "Davy"
Crockett, of Tennessee, hunter, soldier, Congressman, unique in
history.
David Crockett was the fifth son of John Crockett, an Irish soldier of
the Revolutionary War. He was born on August 17, 1786, at the mouth of
Limestone on the Nolachuky River, Tennessee. The time and place were
suitable for the development of a hardy character. The father and
mother of John Crockett were murdered by the Creek Indians, a brother
was wounded and another captured and held by the savages for seventeen
years. Young "Davy" had slender opportunities of obtaining an
education. Such as they were he sedulously avoided them. He was sent
to school at the age of twelve, but spent only four days there,
playing "hookey" until discovered by his father who did not neglect
Solomon's advice. The youth thereupon ran away from home and had the
usual unromantic experience attending such an escapade. He found
employment with waggoners, farmers and others, some of whom cheated
him and others paid him but scantily. The young prodigal returned home
when he was fifteen years old and justified his forgiving welcome by
working a whole year to pay off some of his father's debts. Then of
his own accord and at his own expense he went to school for six
months, learning to read a little, to write less and to master some of
the first three rules of arithmetic. With that his book education was
completed. Not so, however, his more practical tuition. He became a
thorough woodsman, a mighty hunter and the crack rifle shot of the
neighborhood. Then, at the mature age of eighteen, he determined to
get married; the which he did by running away with a pretty Irish girl
whose parents had the bad taste to object to him as a son-in-law.
Then, as he says in his autobiography, "having gotten my wife, I
thought I was completely made up, and needed nothing more in the whole
world. But I soon found this was all a mistake--for now having a wife,
I wanted everything else; and, worse than all, I had nothing to give
for it."
However, the stern parents became reconciled to the situation; his
wife was a true helpmeet and their married life began happily. But the
country was too thickly populated, in Crockett's opinion, and so he
moved further into the wilderness.
The Creek War broke out shortly afterwards and he served gallantly in
that and in the Florida war under General Jackson, as also in the
brilliant campaign of that General against the British, culminating in
the victory of New Orleans. Politics next occupied his attention and
he was elected first a magistrate, next a member of the State
legislature and then to the national Congress, in which last he served
three terms. Being defeated in his next attempt at re-election, he
determined to abandon the ungrateful field of politics, and calling
his late constituents together told them in language more forcible
than elegant that they might all go to a warmer country and he would
go to Texas. In this resolve he believed that he was following his own
famous advice: "Be sure you're right, then go ahead."
Colonel Barrett Travis had 144 men with him in the Alamo when Santa
Ana and 4,000 Mexicans sat down before it, demanding an unconditional
surrender, on February 23, 1836. Cos, heedless of his parole, was with
the besiegers. Travis answered with a cannon shot, and the enemy
hoisted the red flag, signifying "no quarter." In no spirit of
bravado, but with a sincerity which the event only too fully
confirmed, the Texan commander issued the following proclamation:--
"_To the People of Texas and all Americans in the World._
"COMMANDANCY OF THE ALAMO, BEXAR,
"_February 24, 1836._
"FELLOW CITIZENS AND COMPATRIOTS,--I am besieged by a thousand or
more of the Mexicans under Santa Ana. I have sustained a continual
bombardment and cannonade for twenty-four hours and have not lost a
man. The enemy have demanded a surrender at discretion; otherwise
the garrison is to be put to the sword if the fort is taken. I have
answered the summons with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves
proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat. Then I
call on you in the name of liberty, patriotism, and everything dear
to the American character, to come to our aid with all despatch.
The enemy are receiving reinforcements daily, and will no doubt
increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. Though
this call may be neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as
long as possible, and die like a soldier who never forgets what is
due to his own honour and that of his country. Victory or death!
"(Signed)
"W. BARRETT TRAVIS,
"Lieut.-Col. Com't."
Houston, to whom Travis addressed an urgent call for reinforcements,
could do nothing. On the 3rd of March, with death staring the little
garrison in the face, Travis sent a despatch to the Revolutionary
committee, calmly stating his position, reiterating his determination
never to surrender, and dwelling with almost impersonal interest on
the beneficial effect to follow such determined resistance as he and
his men were making. "I will do the best I can under the circumstances,"
he says, "and I feel confident that the determined valour and desperate
courage heretofore evinced 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 for him than a defeat."
Day by day the toils were drawn closer around the doomed walls. Day by
day the little garrison was thinned by wounds and sickness. Vainly
they gazed northward across the plain for the invoked aid. The hungry
eye beheld only a long train of Mexican recruits hastening like
vultures to the feast of blood. Once they were gladdened by the sight
of a little band of countrymen spurring towards the walls. But they
were no forerunners of a relieving army. Thirty-two gallant Texans
threw themselves into the fort, cutting their way through the
besiegers, simply and solely that they might fight with their
comrades; that they might be found, living or dead, by the side of
David Crockett and Barrett Travis. Each morning a dwindling garrison
answered to the roll-call, and the thin ranks were stretched a little
wider apart along the crumbling ramparts which it had needed thrice
their numbers to defend. They husbanded their scanty stores. They
never wasted a shot. During that long and terrible fortnight it is
said that nearly ten victims fell to each American rifle. With a
thousand of his men shot down, and trembling in baffled wrath, Santa
Ana on the fourteenth day, ordered another general assault. His
officers drove their men to the breach at the sword's point.
When the smoke of battle had rolled away there was silence in the
Alamo. The dead and dying strewed the ground. Santa Ana entered the
fort. On the rampart, dead at his post, lay the commander, Travis,
shot through the head. Beside him was the body of a Mexican officer,
pierced to the heart by the sword still clutched in the dead hero's
hand. They found Bowie in his own room. He was sick in bed when they
broke into it, but his trusty rifle was with him, and four Mexicans
died before he was reached. A fifth fell across his dead body, pierced
through and through by the terrible knife. At the door of the magazine
they shot Evans, ere he could touch a match and wreak a Samson
vengeance on the foe.
Santa Ana stepped into the court-yard. There were six prisoners. His
orders were that none should be taken. Nevertheless, David Crockett
and five others had stoutly resisted, until his clubbed rifle broken
in his sinewy hands, the dauntless backwoodsman listened to the
promise of quarter. Santa Ana paused a moment before his unmoved
captives. It was but for a moment. The next his hand sought the hilt
of his sword. Crockett, divining his purpose, sprang at the traitor,
but he was too late; a dozen blades had flashed at the sign and the
hapless prisoners fell dead, the last of all the garrison.
These men of the Alamo were volunteers, simple citizens, bound by no
tie save that of fealty to cause and comrades. Unsung of poet, all but
unnamed in history, the brave men of the Alamo went to their certain
death, with a sublime fortitude, beside which the obedient immolation
of Balaklava's Six Hundred is but the triumph of disciplined machines.
A monument raised to their memory bears the magnificent inscription:--
"Thermopylæ had its messenger of defeat; the Alamo had none."
It needs more than judicial impartiality to question the right of the
Texan revolution while telling the story of the Alamo. Right and wrong
are barred from consideration in recalling the tragedy of Goliad.
Colonel Fannin and 330 of his men, who had surrendered to Santa Ana as
prisoners of war, under a solemn promise that they should be returned
to the United States, were marched out of the fort, on the morning of
Palm Sunday, March 27, 1836, and, without a moment's warning, fired
upon and murdered in cold blood. The outlaws to whom this fearful
penalty was dealt out, without even the mockery of a Spanish trial,
were all young men or lads, "the oldest not over thirty years of age."
The world, freely as its soil is saturated with human blood, stood
aghast at this horrible slaughter. Texas trembled at the Mexican's
vengeance. Houston alone, husbanding his scanty means, animating his
raw levies, working, planning, providing for all, laid his trap with
such shrewd forethought, that in less than two months he had sprung it
upon Santa Ana and all his army, and on the banks of the San Jacinto,
dictated terms of peace to his captive, the butcher of the Alamo and
Goliad. The victory was unstained by a single act of revenge.
Thenceforth the world knew that Texas was free. The men who could use
success with such forbearance were men worthy of self-government.
Texas striving for independence was to the nations of the world an
object of keener interest than Texas sending her heroic filibusters to
nameless graves. Lord Palmerston, anticipating with literal exactness
the policy of a later administration dealing with Central America,
threatened to send a ship of war to Texas "to demand payment of certain
claims against the republic." The United States, with a similar
foreshadowing of its future policy, at once took measures to insure the
independence of Texas against all European meddlers. As usual, the
people were in advance of their government, and Texas became a state of
the American union, Mexico's attempt to hold it costing her the fairest
part of her domain.
Before this happy end was reached, more than one bloody tragedy had
been added to the gloomy history of Texas. In June, 1841, General
McLeod led from Austin a party of 320 men, bound for Santa Fe, New
Mexico, upon the ostensibly peaceful mission of opening up trade with
that place. His real aim was to foment insurrection against the Mexican
Government and annex the territory to Texas. After a long and painful
journey through woods and desert, being attacked by Indians, and lost
on the then mysterious waste of the "Llanos Estacados," the expedition
reached the frontier in scattered parties which were promptly captured
by Governor Armijo. It was not, however, until after they had given up
their arms, under the false representations of a traitorous comrade and
the promise of friendly treatment from Armijo, that they found out how
grievous had been their error in trusting to the word of the Mexican.
The whole party, with the exception of three or four who had been put
to death in pure wantonness, were sent under a strong guard to the city
of Mexico, making the long and painful journey on foot, exposed to the
grossest outrages from their brutal guard. Many died on the way, and
the survivors were thrown into prison, where they lingered for months,
until the miserable remnant were at last set free at the motion of the
British and American ministers.
Liberty was granted at the same time to the survivors of the Mier
Expedition--an ill-starred band who, in December, 1842, had crossed the
Rio Grande in pursuit of Mexican raiders. Colonel William Fisher headed
the party, numbering about five hundred, their general, Somerville,
having declined to lead them over the border. At the town of Mier they
met and repulsed over two thousand Mexicans under General Ampudia, but
their leader was wounded in the fight, and, against the protests of his
chief officers, agreed to a conditional surrender. The terms, of
course, were broken by the victor, and the unfortunate prisoners were
hurried into the interior and buried in dungeons with the lowest
convicts. Captain Ewin Cameron, one of the boldest in the band,
foreseeing the fate before them, organized an attack on the guard
before reaching their prison. They overpowered their armed escort, and
made their way to the mountains, whence a few managed to reach Texas,
but the greater part were recaptured, including their courageous
leader. Santa Ana ordered them to be decimated. Cameron was lucky
enough to draw a white bean in the fatal lottery, but it did not avail
him. He was shot the next day. Few men would be found willing to
increase the risks against them in such a terrible game of hazard; but
there was one, a youth named George Bibb Crittenden, who, drawing a
white bean, gave it to a comrade, with the self-sacrificing words, "You
have a wife and children; I haven't, and I can afford to risk another
chance." He did so, and fortunately again drew a safe lot. Crittenden
survived to participate gallantly in the Mexican War, and attained the
rank of brigadier-general on the Southern side in the Civil War. He was
a son of the Kentucky statesman, John J. Crittenden.
The prisoners were scattered amongst various strongholds, where many
sank under disease, starvation, and cruelty. The survivors when freed
were turned adrift, penniless, to make the best of their way home to
the United States. General Thomas J. Green was one of those who escaped
by tunnelling the walls of the castle of Perote; the story of which
exploit, with his subsequent adventures, he has told in a book little
known but of vast interest.
It needs a Scott to tell to the world the story of our border romance,
though no fiction ever surpassed the thrilling facts which were then of
almost daily occurrence. Fame is a curious gift of the gods. Colonel
Crockett, the daring soldier, is all but forgotten, while the
whimsical, semi-fabulous "Davy" Crockett, hero of a hundred wild
stories, seems likely to live for ever. Few remember how heroically he
"went ahead," to the last extremity, after first making sure of what
was "right" and fit in a patriot. Knightly scutcheon never bore a
nobler device than that of the simple backwoodsman, nor lived there
ever a _preux chevalier_ who set a higher value upon his plighted word.
There were brave men, too, before Agamemnon. Mexier and Perry and
Nolan, names well known on the border, lived and fought, and died, alas
in vain, before the adopted son of an Indian, sturdy Sam Houston,
crowned the long struggle with victory. Filibusters all, if you will,
but every one a man, in an age when manliness is none too highly
prized, and a country which is belied as the chosen home of dollar
worshippers merely.