The parade was dismissed; but scarcely had the companies been marched to their quarters, and the horses of the cavalry been tethered along the picket ropes, to wait, saddled and bridled, when another wave of excitement flowed through the camp.
“Goliad’s been captured! We’ve taken Goliad!”
“How do you know?”
“An express just came in, from there.”
“Who took it? Smith and Allen?”
“No; they didn’t get there in time. George Collingsworth and about forty of the Caney and Matagorda men, from the Gulf coast, attacked it on the night of the ninth, broke into the commandant’s quarters with axes, seized him and the other officers, killed one Mexican and wounded three others, corralled all the supplies, captured twenty-five of the garrison, and had only one man wounded, themselves! And whom do you think they picked up, on the way? Ben Milam!”
“What! Old Ben? Thought he was in prison at Monterey?”
“So he was, but he didn’t stay. Bribed his jailor, got hold of a horse, and lit out. Travelled by night and by day, for six hundred miles, into Southeast Texas, aiming for the Gulf. On their way to Goliad the boys found him in the brush, and he went along in with ’em. Now he’s on his way here to join the army. Fetching some prisoners, too.”
All this was good news. Everybody liked and respected Colonel Ben Milam, and rejoiced that he would be on hand to help. The taking of Goliad had cut the route by which Mexico might wish to march more troops inland from the coast. And the supplies and arms taken were much needed.
“Hurray for old Ben Milam! And hurray for Collingsworth! Did they get many supplies and guns, I wonder?”