“Powerful thin and peaked,” responded Leo. “I reckon he near died. They took twenty pieces of bone out of his ankle, down at New Orleans, before they could start the wound to healing.”
General Houston was sworn into office at four o’clock that afternoon of October 22, and immediately delivered his inauguration address. The senators and representatives of the Republic of Texas sat before him. On the platform were the cabinet officers and the Speaker of the House, and several distinguished guests. The crowd of other citizens and soldiers reached into the street.
When he arose and advanced with a slight limp, a rousing round of cheers and yells and hand-clapping hailed him. He wore a suit of black broadcloth, with his sword belted about his waist. He was indeed thin, his face was seamed by suffering, but his great blue eyes flashed, and his voice pealed strong and vibrant as of yore.
The address was rendered without notes, for he had been given only a few hours’ notice of when it would be expected. Meantime he had been kept busy greeting friends and comrades. Nevertheless, a wonderful address it was. How the words rang through the hall! He spoke of the position now occupied by Texas before the eyes of the world; of the fight for liberty, and of the necessity of being still vigilant against Mexico. He said that the Indians should be treated justly, and their friendship gained. And he thanked the people of the United States for the aid they had sent, in men and money and guns, and hoped that Texas would soon be welcomed into the Union of American freemen.
A thousand considerations press upon me; each claims my attention [he said]. But the shortness of the notice of this emergency [by which he meant his address] will not enable me to do justice to those subjects, and will necessarily induce their postponement for the present.
Here the general hesitated.
“Pshaw! He’s taking off his sword!” whispered Sion. And so he was. He was fumbling at the buckle of the belt, in front, until he had unclasped it.
It now, sir [he continued to the Speaker of the House], becomes my painful duty to make a presentation of this sword—this emblem of my past office.
The general choked. His voice failed. He held the scabbard in one hand and drew the sword from it, with the other. He gazed upon the blade, and his eyes filled. Throughout the hall sounded a deep sigh of suspense and sympathy. Suddenly the general slipped the sword back into the scabbard, and with both hands extended the hilt to the Speaker.