General Houston disposed his forces in battle order at about 3:30 in the afternoon. Over on the Mexican side all was quiet; many of the foemen were enjoying their customary siesta. The Texans’ movements were screened by the trees and the rising ground, and evidently Santa Anna had no lookouts posted.
Big, shaggy and commanding in his mud-stained unmilitary garb, the Chieftain rode his horse up and down the line. “Now hold your fire, men,” he warned in his deep voice, “until you get the order!”
At the command, “Advance,” the patriots, 910 strong, moved quickly out of the woods and over the rise, deploying.[4] Bearded and ragged from forty days in the field, they were a fierce-looking band. But their long rifles were clean and well oiled. Only one company, Captain William Wood’s “Kentucky Rifles,” originally recruited by Sidney Sherman, wore uniforms.
The battle line was formed with Edward Burleson’s regiment in the center; Sherman’s on the left wing; the artillery, under George W. Hockley, on Burleson’s right; the infantry, under Henry Millard, on the right of the artillery; and the cavalry, led by Lamar, on the extreme right.
Silently and tensely the Texas battle line swept across the prairie and swale that was No Man’s land, the men bending low. A soldier’s fife piped up with “Will You Come to the Bower,”[5] a popular tune of the day. That was the only music of the battle.
As the troops advanced, “Deaf” Smith galloped up and told Houston, “Vince’s bridge has been cut down.” The General announced it to the men. Now both armies were cut off from retreat in all directions but one, by a roughly circular moat formed by Vince’s and Buffalo Bayous to the west and north, San Jacinto River to the north and east, and by the marshes and the bay to the east and southeast.
At close range, the two little cannon, drawn by rawhide thongs, were wheeled into position and belched their charges of iron slugs into the enemy barricade. Then the whole line, led by Sherman’s men, sprang forward on the run, yelling, “Remember the Alamo!” “Remember Goliad!” All together they opened fire, blazing away practically point-blank at the surprised and panic-stricken Mexicans. They stormed over the breastworks, seized the enemy’s artillery, and joined in hand-to-hand combat, emptying their pistols, swinging their guns as clubs, slashing right and left with their knives. Mexicans fell by the scores under the impact of the savage assault.
General Manuel Fernandez Castrillon, a brave Mexican, tried to rally the swarthy Latins, but he was killed and his men became crazed with fright. Many threw down their guns and ran; many wailed, “Me no Alamo!” “Me no Goliad!” But their pleas won no mercy. The enraged revolutionists reloaded and chased after the stampeding enemy, shooting them, stabbing them, clubbing them to death.
From the moment of the first collision the battle was a slaughter, frightful to behold. The fugitives ran in wild terror over the prairie and into the boggy marshes, but the avengers of the Alamo and Goliad followed and slew them, or drove them into the waters to drown. Men and horses, dead and dying, in the morass in the rear and right of the Mexican camp, formed a bridge for the pursuing Texans. Blood reddened the water. General Houston tried to check the execution but the fury of his men was beyond restraint.
