“What bunch is that?” demanded Jim, alert.
“A battalion under Colonel Neill. They’ll make a feint on the Alamo while we’re marching on the town. But they may have to do some fighting, just the same. Leo’d a heap rather be with us, though.”
That was too bad. Still, a soldier must obey orders.
Men continued to gather, until there were 301, from half a dozen of the Texas companies, and from the New Orleans Grays and Captain Peacock’s Mississippians. They were told off into two columns, one under Colonel Milam and the other under Adjutant-General Frank Johnson. Colonel Franks, of the artillery, and Major Morris, who had been captain of the Grays, were appointed aides to Colonel Milam; the General Johnson aides were Colonel James Grant, the doctor and land owner of Coahuila, and Colonel William T. Austin, who was a distant kin of Stephen Austin.
The Captain Dickinson men were assigned to the first column—and right glad was Ernest to follow Ben Milam, although Frank Johnson was a good fighter, too. After having been detailed off, the volunteers were dismissed, with instructions to fall in again an hour before daylight, without horses.
“Which column you fellows with?” queried Sion, as on the way back to their beds he joined his two chums.
“We’re under Milam,” informed Ernest.
“Shucks!” deplored Sion. “I’m under Johnson but he’s all right. We’ve got the Grays, and those Mississippians.”
“We’ve got English’s East Texans, and Henry Karnes, and the Gonzales company,” retorted Jim. “Who are your guides?”