The Mexican general indeed was wild with rage and disappointment over the failure of his first ill-advised demonstration. For the first time in his varied military experience he had witnessed the effects of sharp-shooting.
He was not singular by any means. At that date the best infantry of Europe were still armed with smooth-bore muskets and depended mainly upon volley-firing when in action. The crack regiments of England, truly, had received a terrible lesson at New Orleans from the American riflemen under General Jackson, but neither the British nor any other military power had seemed willing to profit largely by it.
All military operations were over for the day. The batteries rested, and the commander-in-chief of the beaten army had not even the heart for his evening game of monte.
"Men!" said Colonel Travis to his gallant garrison, drawn up for a kind of triumphant review in the plaza, "I don't mean to say much, but this is the kind of work that is going to save Texas."
"You bet it is, and thar's got to be heaps of it done," came in a low-voiced snarl from Crockett. "What they need is killing."
"The enemy have received a sharp lesson," continued Travis, "but they won't give it up right away. They can't afford to retreat after only one battle. Santa Anna would be kicked out of power if he should fail to take the Alamo. So if we can beat him completely we shall be setting both Texas and Mexico free from the old gambler's tyranny."
A loud cheer responded, and on the heels of the last "hurrah" Crockett remarked,—
"And we'll save our own throats, too, if that's any object. Mine was feelin' a little kind o' sore this mornin', but it's all right jest now."
The men went to their quarters and stations in very full accord with the feelings of the old bear hunter.
"Bowie," said Travis, as soon as they were alone together, "it's almost better than I hoped for. What do you think?"