“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.