“To get a blind widow and seven children, bedad!” yelled one of the riders—Irish, by his accent. “The gin’ral won’t be happy till he has ’em.”
So the march was delayed until the squad returned with the family, who lived off the road and had not been told of the retreat. The “Deaf Smith Spies,” as the Henry Karnes scouts were termed, came in also, from Gonzales. They reported that when they had left, no Mexican army was yet in sight.
About four o’clock in the afternoon of March 17, which was the fourth day out of Gonzales, camp was made, in the rain, at Burnam’s Crossing on the Colorado. During the march from Gonzales the general had been energy itself. Nothing escaped his attention. He was everywhere at once, from front to rear, encouraging the refugees, and scolding the volunteers when they lagged. His strong point was discipline. John Rhodes had been found asleep on sentry duty, and General Houston put him under arrest and vowed he should be shot.
The next day, on the march, while crossing a creek, John stopped, knee-deep, to get a drink. All the column behind him also stopped, obligingly, to wait for him.
Back galloped the general, like a whirlwind.
“What are you doing here? Why are you halting?”
“John Rhodes wants a drink, general.”
“Knock him down!” bawled the general, pretending a terrible rage. “Knock him down! Standing there and impeding the march of a whole army! Knock him down, I say!” And he almost rode right over Rhodes, who was so frightened that he did not take another swallow.
However, that evening the general called John, and told him that he would not be shot, after all. And when the widow and her family were to be rescued, he had halted the march himself and delayed it two hours!