“Why didn’t you catch your horse and come on?” demanded Jim, hot and jubilant. “What you got there? Another hombre [man]? Are you hurt? Seen any more Mexicans in the grass? Gosh, didn’t we-all whip ’em? That wasn’t a battle; it was a massacre. Wait a minute. Keep your bead on that fellow till I catch your pony.”

“But they were killing them! Our soldiers were killing them!” cried Ernest, half in a sob, his cheek still against his rifle stock, the rifle bead wavering against the miserable Mexican’s twitching shoulders.

Jim sobered as he rode for Duke.

“I know. It was awful. The general or anybody couldn’t hold the men in at all. They were crazy mad. They remembered Travis and Fannin. So did the Mexicans. That yelling scared ’em worse than the guns did. When our men tore into ’em they fell down on their knees and said ‘Me no Alamo! Me no Goliad!’ but that didn’t make much difference, at first. Our men didn’t wait to argue. There was too much to do. But they’ve about quit, now. That swamp’s just choked with Mexicans and horses, where they tried to cross. Here’s your pony,” and having easily caught Duke he led him back. “Take your rope and put it on your hombre, while I cover him, and we’ll take him in between us. We can’t stay out here. They’re done fighting, and you’ve struck one blow for liberty, anyhow, even if you missed the big scrimmage.”

That was so. And Ernest felt satisfied to have captured an enemy soldier instead of having tried to kill one. He unfastened the hair picket-rope from Duke’s saddle, and approached his prisoner.

“Put down your arms,” he ordered, gruffly. “I am going to tie you.”

The man obeyed; he started nervously as the noose slipped over his arms and around his cold wet waist. Ernest drew the noose tight and keeping the rope taut, mounted Duke. “March!” he commanded.

With the soldier trotting at the fore, between them, the two boys jogged for the battle-field.

Yes, the fighting was about over with. Riders on their own or on Mexican horses were ranging the prairie, heading off fugitives and turning them back. In the timber and at the swamp a few rifles were occasionally cracking. On a timber island in the swamp, a considerable body of Mexican infantry, some 300 or 400, had rallied together, and were cowering, under their officers, as if not knowing exactly what to do. Behind the breastworks General Houston could be seen riding slowly about, gesticulating and bidding the Texans to cease shooting, and indicating where prisoners should be taken. A guard was stationed over the late camp, and the baggage piled there.

“The whole Mexican army were having their siesta [mid-day rest] after dinner,” explained Jim. “Officers were asleep, cavalry horses were being watered bareback, muskets were stacked, and all the soldiers were either lying down or playing cards. They never knew we were coming till we were clear out on the prairie, and the Sherman men were flanking ’em in that timber, on their right. We didn’t do at all what they expected us to do. I reckon General Houston knew what he was about, even when he let Cos come in. He says he waited to make one bite of the cherry! We licked ’em in fifteen minutes! They didn’t have time to reload after that first volley!”

“Did the cavalry do much, Jim?”

“Naw, except to chase around. We were sent out to make a feint and draw attention while the infantry came on. But their dragoons didn’t stand. I popped once or twice, but don’t think I hit anything. I’m no good shooting at a man’s back. So I corralled a few ‘Me no Alamo’s and turned ’em in. All Texans looked alike to those Mexicans. Then I came out after you. I sure would admire to have captured Santa Anna, though.”

“Isn’t he there?”

“Uh, uh; not, the last time I heard. He and Cos are gone—vamoosed—skadoodled. The fellows are looking for ’em, over toward Vince’s Bayou.”

When they arrived (Ernest with his soldier prisoner in leash), the field behind the breastworks was a scene of wild confusion; of huddling Mexican soldiers and of cheering, grimy Texans almost beside themselves with joy. The breastworks, of baggage and branches, were battered and crimson, and the ground far and near, and the swamp, were not pleasing to look upon. The general had fallen from his horse—no, his horse had sunk under him, lifeless from several bullets received in the charge; and he himself was being supported by Colonel Hockley, his boot bloody. He was wounded in the ankle—ankle shattered, they said—by the volley from the breastworks.

Colonel Wharton and other officers were hurrying about, restoring order among the elated Texans. The prisoners were rapidly being herded together where the Mexican camp had been, near the timber. Sion and Leo were swaggering around, wearing Mexican sabers and grenadier shakoes or tall caps. They seemed to be as crazed as the others. But their sabers and shakoes were wrested from them, and they were put at work helping collect the plunder and pile it up. Jim and Ernest, having delivered the prisoner, were added to the guard over the camp, a more agreeable task than searching the battle-field.

The principal body of Mexicans had now surrendered to Colonel Rusk. The sun set. General Houston was on another horse, and shouting the order for the men to fall in. But they were still shaking hands and capering and cheering. Three times he shouted, as he rode among them; nobody paid attention, though companies did begin to form. So he gave up, starting out, with Colonel Hockley and another aide or two, for the camp at Buffalo Bayou.

“Men, I can gain victories with you, but confound your manners!” he rumbled, as he rode away.

However, this set the pace, and the men prepared to follow him. Colonel Rusk was conducting his captives slowly across the prairie. Through the twilight most of the horsemen who had pursued the Mexican remnants clear to Vince’s Bayou had come in again, some with prisoners. Henry Karnes reported that the officer whom he had chased, on the black horse, had leaped, horse and all, into the bayou at Vince’s Bridge, and had escaped. He might have been Santa Anna, and he might not. At any rate, Santa Anna and General Cos both were gone.

It had been a great victory. As General Houston had promised, less than a dozen “of my brave men” was the price; for only eight Texans were killed, and twenty-three wounded. But 630 Mexican dead were counted, on the ground, and more may have been lost in the grass and timber, and swallowed by the swamp. There were 208 wounded, and several hundred prisoners; a large quantity of muskets and pistols and sabers, 300 mules, 100 horses, tents, bedding, ammunition, food, clothing, the twelve-pound cannon, General Santa Anna’s silver-mounted saddle, his military chest containing $12,000; and other money besides. Leo picked up a belt, full of dollars, that had dropped from a soldier, and he added it to the common fund, for nobody was yet permitted to keep anything.

The Mexican officer who had stood by the cannon so long, and then had walked away so defiantly, was General Castrillon, a brave man. Not a Texan but was sorry that he was counted among the 630.

Now the Texan army, save for a guard left at the Mexican camp, took their prisoners and set out for their own camp in the live-oaks of Buffalo Bayou. The general had ridden weakly, with shattered ankle dangling, and the advance overtook him. There was no order about this return, and men, passing the general, slapped him on well leg or wounded leg, it didn’t matter to them which, asking:

“Do you like our work to-day, general?”

The general needs must wince at the slaps, but he answered good-naturedly:

“Boys, you have covered yourselves with glory, and I decree to you the spoils of victory. I wish none of them. Valor shall be rewarded. I only claim a share in the honors of your triumph.”

Then on reaching camp he fainted. Colonel Hockley caught him from his horse just in time, and laid him under the big live-oak that had been his headquarters before. His boot was cut from his swollen foot, and Dr. N. B. Labadie, the surgeon, dressed the wound, which looked to be a pretty bad one. A heavy musket ball had passed clear through, just above the ankle joint.

This was a night of celebration. The Mexican troops who had surrendered in a body were brought in by Colonel Rusk. There were 400 of them, in command of General Juan N. Almonte. This made over 700 prisoners! Now very few of the Santa Anna column were unaccounted for. By the close of the next day only forty, of the 1300, were known to have escaped.

General Almonte was familiar, by name or person, to many in the Texan army. He had once taken a census of Texas, for the Mexican government. Ernest had seen him at Gonzales. He seemed to be light-hearted, for a prisoner, talked in good English with officers and men, and accepted his fortune of war.

“Nobody but Americans would have thought of attacking in the afternoon, during the siesta period,” he declared, laughing. “Especially after we received reinforcements. Had you come yesterday, or in the morning, we would have been ready for you.”

After supper the camp fires were heaped high with wood and by their flames the army held a regular carnival. The whiskered men donned the captured pistols and knives and uniforms, and put gold epaulets on the very mules; they danced and pranced, shouted “Independence!” sang “Will You Come to the Bower?” and “Texas Shall be Free,” and pestered the Mexican officers by capering up to them and demanding, in their faces: “Santa Anna? Santa Anna? You Santa Anna?” until the officers grew so tired of it that they tore off their shoulder-straps, to avoid the tormentors.

Several hundred candles from the Mexican supplies were distributed and lighted; torch-light processions were formed, and parades given, while the whoops and songs shook the mosses hanging from the oaks.

Even Dick Carroll (who was unharmed, Ernest soon had learned) cut up as roundly as the others.

“We told ’em about the general, didn’t we!” he hailed, as arm in arm with a squad of cronies he pranced by.

“We sure did,” responded Ernest, who, with Jim and Leo and Sion, was waving his candle and prancing also.

“Biggest general that ever lived,” voiced Jim.

“And some smart man,” added Sion. “The top of the heap. It took nerve to manage this army but he had it.”

“Reckon we’ll make him president, now,” quoth Leo. “President of the Republic of Texas. He wouldn’t let the men shoot those ravens; did you hear? The ravens were flying over the battle-field, and he said not to hurt ’em. They were his bird and their heads were pointing westward. Maybe he’ll be president of Mexico, too, if we go on and take it.”

“The Raven’s his Indian name,” reminded Ernest, staunchly. “Of course he wouldn’t want one killed.”

“Well, General Sam Houston, hero of San Jacinto, is good enough name for me,” proclaimed Sion. “And any man who wears that name can take me through the mud wherever he pleases, after this.”

Yes, in the frolicking camp among the illuminated live-oaks the men were cheering for Sam Houston as much as they were for “Texas” and “Independence.” They seemed to forget they had complained of him and nagged him and called him a coward and threatened to leave him. They remembered only that he had struck at the right moment and had led them to a glorious victory.

There was not much sleep for anybody in camp this night—and particularly for the general, who tossed on his blanket, suffering from his wounded ankle.

But Santa Anna was one of the first thoughts in the morning. To make the victory complete he must be seized, at all hazards. Squads were dispatched to search the grass and timber for him—and for General Cos, also. And even before announcing his victory to the government, the general sent out couriers to gladden the refugees with the great news.

With several men of the Captain Moseley Baker company Sion rode gaily forth on a captured Mexican horse.

“General Sam says if we find a Mexican hombre on all fours in the grass, dressed worse than a private, to be sure and fetch him in,” he called, as he passed.

“That boy certainly has luck. He’s liable to capture Santa Anna all by himself,” complained Jim. He and Ernest were ordered on guard detail over prisoners, Leo having been sent to help bury the bodies on the battle-field.

The morning wore away. By noon most of the searching squads had returned. A few more prisoners were brought in, but none was General Santa Anna.

Then about three o’clock, while the camp was taking its siesta, and Ernest and Jim, off duty with Leo, were idly watching him plait a rope from white and black horsehair that he had collected, Leo suddenly pointed.

“There come Sion and the Baker squad. With another prisoner—isn’t it? One horse is carrying double.”

“Or else somebody’s been hurt, or lost his mount,” added Jim.

“I know Sion’s long pea-shooter, anyhow,” said Leo.

Yes, Sion it was; and Jim Sylvester and Joel Robinson, also of the Captain Baker command. Jim had a man behind his saddle. Sion was guarding on one side, and Joel at the rear on the other.

A prisoner that was, then: a little man, with black side-whiskers, in private’s uniform of enamel leather flat cap, blue striped cotton blouse, dirty white cotton pants, and heavy coarse socks. He looked well frightened.

“Shucks! No Santa Anna, again,” deplored Leo.

“Sion’ll have some big story,” chuckled Ernest.

But as the three horsemen reached the guard line before the camp, a stir sounded from amidst those 700 prisoners herded by the picket ropes stretched among the oaks, and an awed murmur and clapping of hands spread.

“El general! (the general!)”

“El presidente! (the president!)”

“Santa Anna!”

“That’s he!” the men exclaimed, springing to their feet.

The captors heard the explosive words. Jim Sylvester, halted by the officer of the day, Colonel Forbes, waved his hand triumphantly; the little man with the side-whiskers and the shabby clothes visibly paled and shrank. Sion spurred eagerly to his chums.

“That’s he!” asserted Sion, excited. “Hear what those other hombres say? Watch them salute him! We didn’t know, but we suspected something. He’s got on pointed shoes, high-class, and under his coat’s a mighty fine white shirt with gold studs in it!”

“Where’d you find him, Sion?”

“Off yonder about ten miles, across Vince’s Bayou. Jim and Joel and I were scouting along, and Jim started to stalk a deer in a bunch; but something scared ’em all off, and when we rode over to see the why, this SeÑor Whiskers was lying there in the brush, trying to hide under a blanket. He said he was only a private soldier, and we began to walk him to camp, but he petered out, so Joel took him up for a piece, and then Jim took him. The rest of the fellows are still looking for Santa Anna.”

“The general told you you’d find him on all fours, dressed common.”

“Come on. He’s going to talk with General Houston. Let’s hear,” urged Leo. Off from his horse tumbled Sion, and away they trudged.

Colonel Forbes was conducting the captive to General Houston’s oak tree headquarters. Already a curious, vengeful crowd were gathering there, and through the camp was swelling an angry cry of “Shoot him!” “Hang him!” “Remember the Alamo!” No wonder that the little man’s knees trembled as he walked. How could he, who had hoisted the red no-quarter flag, and had ordered more than 400 Texas soldiers shot down when defenseless, expect anything but speedy death?

General Houston evidently had been asleep, at last, but was awakened by Colonel Hockley. He turned, raising himself on one elbow, as General Santa Anna arrived with Colonel Forbes. He surveyed Santa Anna silently.

Halted, at the general’s couch in the centre of a rapidly increasing throng, General Santa Anna bowed, with his right hand on his heart (Mexican fashion), and said, in quavering Spanish:

“I am General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, president of the Mexican republic, and I claim to be your prisoner of war.”

“Sit down, sir,” answered General Houston, motioning to an ammunition box. “Summon General Almonte,” he bade, to Colonel Hockley. “I need an interpreter.”

Santa Anna started to seat himself, with an appealing glance around the scowling circle—but instead took an impulsive step aside, and smiled invitingly. Colonel Rusk had just pressed through, with young de Zavala, son of Don Lorenzo de Zavala, the Texas vice-president.

“Ah, amigo mio, amigo mio! [my friend, my friend!]” exclaimed Santa Anna. “The son of my early friend!” And put his arms about young de Zavala’s shoulders.

But that did not work; for young de Zavala released himself, and looked the general in the face without a smile.

“It has been so, seÑor,” he replied, clearly.

General Santa Anna sat down on the box, as if much disappointed. He held his hands against his sides, and groaned for sympathy. But he did not get much.

“A little late, wasn’t he!” whispered Leo, to Ernest. “After he’d put a price on de Zavala’s head and driven him and his family out of Mexico!”

Colonel Hockley returned with General Almonte. The crowd parted for their passage through. General Almonte saluted, and he and General Santa Anna embraced one another, by the shoulders. The presence of a friend appeared to encourage Santa Anna. He braced up, smiled upon General Houston, and began to talk.

“That man may consider himself born to no common destiny, who has conquered the Napoleon of the West,” he complimented—General Almonte translating into English. “And it now remains for him to be generous to the vanquished.”

“Will you listen to that!” gasped Sion. “‘Napoleon of the West’! Now he asks us to be ‘generous’ to him, because he’s only murdered a few hundred of us!”

“You should have remembered that at the Alamo, sir,” was responding General Houston.

“I was justified there by the customs of war, general,” answered Santa Anna. “Those men had refused to surrender, and when the place was taken by storm the customs of war authorized that they be killed.”

“So you killed ’em!” rose the indignant growl from the crowd. “Bah! You’re wuss’n a savage Injun!”

“That is not the custom among civilized nations, sir,” accused General Houston. “It is not the custom of humanity.”

“I was acting under the orders of my government,” retorted Santa Anna. “I have orders in my possession commanding me so to act.”

“Why,” roared the general, beginning to grow angry, himself, “you are the government, yourself. You are dictator, and a dictator has no superior officers!”

That was a corker, and a hum of approval permeated the spectators and listeners. Santa Anna heard, and paled.

“But I have orders, general,” he argued, “commanding me to exterminate every man found in arms in the province of Texas; to treat them as pirates. They have no government and no recognized flag.”

This was almost an insult. The crowd uttered a furious shout, and lifting himself further on his elbow General Houston shook his finger at the cowering Santa Anna. He looked like a lion. His eyes glaring, his brow wet with sudden perspiration, he tried to control himself.

“Sir, the Texans flatter themselves that they have a government, and they probably will be able to support a flag. Now if you feel excused for your conduct at San Antonio, what do you say about your massacre of Colonel Fannin’s command, at Goliad? They had surrendered, on terms offered by your general. And then they were shot, unarmed! Helpless!”

“Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!” shouted the crowd, surging and threatening.

Santa Anna fairly quailed. He laid his hand on his heart, again, and declared that General Urrea had not told him that the Fannin men had surrendered. He said that General Urrea should be punished. And all that. He seemed about to faint, and asked for medicine.

General Almonte here struck in, on his own account.

“By the way, why did you delay so, in your attack on us yesterday?” he queried. “You knew that we would be reinforced. We expected your attack before the reinforcements came, and we were all ready for you.”

“I knew that, sir,” replied General Houston. “That was just the reason I did not fight! And besides, I wished to settle the matter for all time. There was no use in making two bites at one cherry.”

“You were a long time getting at it. Only good luck saved you,” asserted General Almonte, rather uncivilly.

This made the general angry again.

“As for you, sir,” he returned, “you came far to give us a great deal of trouble, and caused the sacrifice of the lives of a great many brave men.”

General Almonte only laughed.

“What of six or eight hundred men!” he answered. “You lost only half a dozen, yourself.”

“Sir,” rebuked General Houston, “we evidently estimate the lives of men somewhat higher than you do.” He struggled to sit up. “You talk about reinforcements! It matters not how many reinforcements you might have, sir; you never can conquer freemen.” With that he painfully extracted from his trousers pocket an old half-gnawed ear of dried corn. “There, sir! Do you ever expect to conquer men who fight for freedom, when their general himself marches four days with one ear of corn for his rations?”

That capped the climax. From the crowd around rang a tremendous cheer, and a score of hands were extended.

“That’s right, general! Give us that ear, and we’ll divide it up and plant it. Houston corn! Houston corn! Hurrah! We’ll call it ‘Houston corn’!”

This pleased the general. A tender smile overspread his haggard face. He passed forward the ear.

“Very well,” he said. “Take it, if you want it, and divide it up kernel by kernel, and every man plant his kernel at home. You have won independence; now see if you can’t be as good farmers as you were soldiers. But don’t call it ‘Houston corn’; call it ‘San Jacinto corn,’ so that it will remind you of your own bravery.”

This appeared to impress General Santa Anna, who had recovered when Dr. Labadie had given him some medicine. He remarked afterward to General Almonte that now he understood American spirit; he saw by the ear of corn that Americans never could be conquered. They could fight too well on too little!