“We are the rise of eight hundred strong,” he announced, as if to himself, but in a loud voice so that all might hear; “and with a good position we can whip ten to one of the enemy.” And he returned.
“Shucks!” remarked Jim. “That’s tall talk. We aren’t more than four hundred and fifty. He’s saying that to encourage us.”
“Every little helps,” asserted Ernest.
“He’s got a load to carry, that man,” vouchsafed Jim. “We Texans aren’t used to retreating, and look at us!”
Truly, the sight was not inspiring: the toiling, perspiring column, and the distressed, panicky citizens, all fleeing from the advancing host of the Mexican army flushed with victory.
That evening camp was made at the Lavaca River, near the ranch of Captain Daniels. The ranch was deserted, like the rest of the country. The general had no tent and all his baggage was a blanket and a pair of saddle-bags containing his papers. To-night his headquarters were an out-building of the ranch; and at dusk he could be seen through the open door, seated on a three-legged stool, and whittling splinters with which to feed a little fire in the fire-place, for light, while he dictated some orders to Colonel Hockley, his chief aide. Soon after supper Major William T. Austin rode away—with dispatches to the lower Brazos, southeast, it was said. The general had sent word to Colonel John A. Wharton to hurry up cannon, mules and ammunition.
In the morning word was passed that Colonel Fannin was still at Goliad, and might not be able to retire. General Houston was heard to say to Colonel Hockley:
“Hockley, here is the last hope of Texas. We shall never see Fannin or his men. With these soldiers we must achieve our independence, or perish in the attempt.”
Nevertheless, about ten o’clock the whole column was suddenly halted, and a large squad of horsemen went galloping on the back trail.
“Where you going, boys?”