Ernest tried to hurrah, but his voice stuck fast in his powder-dried throat. So he agreed by shaking hands hard. Suddenly he felt very tired.
X
AN APPEAL TO THE UNITED STATES
Now all firing from the Mexican forces had ceased; behind their brushy breastwork encircling the front of the bottom-land the Bowie and Fannin men might take breath, congratulate one another, and peer keenly through the smoke wreaths wafting away on the morning breeze. The brush was blackened and burned by powder; beyond, the green prairie was strewn with Mexican soldiers and horses, the majority killed outright—and the brass cannon stood alone hub-deep in bodies; further beyond, out of range of the deadly rifles and muskets, the Mexican cavalry and infantry were streaming in groups for the town of Bejar. Already some were refording the river.
“Get that cannon, boys,” ordered Colonel Bowie; and with wild cheers a score of the men scrambled to the prairie and raced for the abandoned field-piece. After them flocked the others—Ernest and Jim cheering as lustily as any.
“Give ’em a taste of their own medicine,” rose the cry. Around was nimbly whirled the cannon, and pointed at the fleeing enemy; but the caisson was almost empty of ammunition and Colonel Bowie bade that the few powder cartridges be saved.
Then arose another cry.
“More cavalry, boys! Watch out! Back to camp!” And, instantly: “No! They’re our own men. Hooray! It’s Travis! Travis!”
For, across and below, up the river course were galloping hard in broad column a troop of horsemen, by their rough-and-ready garb and the way they rode, Texans! Captain Travis led. Evidently they were bent upon cutting the Mexicans off; but they were too late. The Mexican cavalry and infantry hastened faster—occasionally faced and threatened—there were shots from both sides—and after pressing close on the rear and flanks the Travis men turned back and the harassed Cos and Ugartechea soldiers, cavalry last, hustled into the Alamo and Bejar. The dun walls swallowed them from sight.