The Texan Scouts: A Story of the Alamo and Goliad

THE HERALD OF ATTACK

About midnight they rode into the thickest part of the woods that they could find, and slept there until day.  Then they continued their course toward the west, and before night they saw afar small bands of horsemen.

“What do you say they are?” asked the Panther of Ned when they beheld the first group.  “Seems to me they are Mexican.”

Ned looked long before returning an answer.  Then he replied with confidence: 

“Yes, they are Mexicans.  The two men in the rear have lances, and no Texan ever carried such a weapon.”

“Then,” said Obed White, “it behooves us to have a care.  We’re scouts now and we’re not looking for a battle.  He who dodges the fight and runs away may live to scout another day.”

The Mexican horsemen were on their right, and the four continued their steady course to the west.  They were reassured by the fact that the Mexicans were likely to take them in the distance for other Mexicans.  It became evident now that Santa Anna was taking every precaution.  He was sending forward scouts and skirmishers in force, and the task of the four was likely to become one of great danger.

Toward night an uncommonly raw and cold wind began to blow.  That winter was one of great severity in Northern Mexico and Southern Texas, noted also for its frequent Northers.  Although the time for the Texan spring was near at hand, there was little sign of it.  Not knowing what else to do they sought the shelter of timber again and remained there a while.  By and by they saw for the second time a red glow in the south, and they knew that it came from the camp fires of Santa Anna.  But it was now many miles north of the Rio Grande.  Santa Anna was advancing.

“He’s pressin’ forward fast,” said the Panther, “an’ his skirmishers are scourin’ the plain ahead of him.  We’ve got to keep a sharp lookout, because we may run into ’em at any time.  I think we’d better agree that if by any luck we get separated an’ can’t reunite, every fellow should ride hard for San Antonio with the news.”

The plan seemed good to all, and, after a long wait, they rode to another clump of trees four or five hundred yards further south.  Here they saw the red glow more plainly.  It could not be more than two miles away, and they believed that to approach any nearer was to imperil their task.  Before the first light appeared the next day they would turn back on San Antonio as the heralds of Santa Anna’s advance.

The four sat on their horses among the trees, darker shadows in the shadow.  Beyond the little grove they saw the plain rolling away on every side bare to the horizon, except in the south, where the red glow always threatened.  Ned rode to the western edge of the grove in order to get a better view.  He searched the plain carefully with his keen vision, but he could find no sign of life there in the west.

He turned Old Jack in order to rejoin his comrades, when he suddenly heard a low sound from the east.  He listened a moment, and then, hearing it distinctly, he knew it.  It was the thud of hoofs, and the horsemen were coming straight toward the grove, which was two or three hundred yards in width.

Owing to the darkness and the foliage Ned could not see his comrades, but he started toward them at once.  Then came a sudden cry, the rapid beat of hoofs, the crack of shots, and a Mexican body of cavalry dashed into the wood directly between the boy and his comrades.  He heard once the tremendous shout of the Panther and the wild Mexican yells.  Two horsemen fired at him and a third rode at him with extended lance.

It was Old Jack that saved Ned’s life.  The boy was so startled that his brain was in a paralysis for a moment.  But the horse shied suddenly away from the head of the lance, which was flashing in the moonlight.  Ned retained both his seat and his rifle.  He fired at the nearest of the Mexicans, who fell from his saddle, and then, seeing that but one alternative was left him he gave Old Jack the rein and galloped from the grove into the west.

Amid all the rush and terrific excitement of the moment, Ned thought of his comrades.  It was not possible for him to join them now, but they were three together and they might escape.  The Panther was a wonderful borderer, and Obed White was not far behind him.  He turned his attention to his own escape.  Two more shots were fired at him, but in both cases the bullets went wide.  Then he heard only the thud of hoofs, but the pursuing horsemen were very near.

Something whizzed through the air and instinctively he bent forward almost flat on the neck of Old Jack.  A coiling shape struck him on the head, slipped along his back, then along the quarters of his horse and fell to the ground.  He felt as if a deadly snake had struck at him, and then had drawn its cold body across him.  But he knew that it was a lasso.  The Mexicans would wish to take him alive, as they might secure valuable information from him.  Now he heard them shouting to one another, every one boasting that his would be the successful throw.  As Ned’s rifle was empty, and he could not reload it at such speed, they seemed to fear nothing for themselves.

He looked back.  They numbered seven or eight, and they were certainly very near.  They had spread out a little and whenever Old Jack veered a yard or two from the pursuers some one gained.  He saw a coil of rope fly through the air and he bent forward again.  It struck Old Jack on the saddle and fell to the ground.  Ned wondered why they did not fire now, but he remembered that their rifles or muskets, too, might be empty, and suddenly he felt a strange exultation.  He was still lying forward on his horse’s neck, and now he began to talk to him.

“On!  On!  Old Jack,” he said, “show ’em the cleanest heels that were ever seen in Texas!  On!  On! my beauty of a horse, my jewel of a horse!  Would you let miserable Mexican ponies overtake you?  You who were never beaten!  Ah, now we gain!  But faster! faster!”

It seemed that Old Jack understood.  He stretched out his long neck and became a streak in the darkness.  A third Mexican threw his lasso, but the noose only touched his flying tail.  A fourth threw, and the noose did not reach him at all.

They were far out on the plain now, where the moonlight revealed everything, and the horse’s sure instinct would guide.  Ned felt Old Jack beneath him, running strong and true without a jar like the most perfect piece of machinery.  He stole a glance over his shoulder.  All the Mexicans were there, too far away now for a throw of the lasso, but several of them were trying to reload their weapons.  Ned knew that if they succeeded he would be in great danger.  No matter how badly they shot a chance bullet might hit him or his horse.  And he could afford for neither himself nor Old Jack to be wounded.

Once more the boy leaned far over on his horse’s neck and cried in his ear: 

“On, Old Jack, on!  Look, we gain now, but we must gain more.  Show to them what a horse you are!”

And again the great horse responded.  Fast as he was going it seemed to Ned that he now lengthened his stride.  His long head was thrust out almost straight, and his great body fairly skimmed the earth.  But the Mexicans hung on with grim tenacity.  Their ponies were tough and enduring, and, spread out like the arc of a bow, they continually profited by some divergence that Old Jack made from the straight line.  Aware of this danger Ned himself, nevertheless, was unable to tell whether the horse was going in a direct course, and he let him have his head.

“Crack!” went a musket, and a bullet sang past Ned’s face.  It grazed Old Jack’s ear, drawing blood.  The horse uttered an angry snort and fairly leaped forward.  Ned looked back again.  Another man had succeeded in loading his musket and was about to fire.  Then the boy remembered the pistol at his belt.  Snatching it out he fired at the fellow with the loaded musket.

The Mexican reeled forward on his horse’s neck and his weapon dropped to the ground.  Whether the man himself fell also Ned never knew, because he quickly thrust the pistol back in his belt and once more was looking straight ahead.  Now confidence swelled again in his heart.  He had escaped all their bullets so far, and he was still gaining.  He would escape all the others and he would continue to gain.

He saw just ahead of him one of the clumps of trees that dotted the plain, but, although it might give momentary protection from the bullets he was afraid to gallop into it, lest he be swept from his horse’s back by the boughs or bushes.  But his direct course would run close to the left side of it, and once more he sought to urge Old Jack to greater speed.

The horse was still running without a jar.  Ned could not feel a single rough movement in the perfect machinery beneath him.  Unless wounded Old Jack would not fail him.  He stole another of those fleeting glances backward.

Several of the Mexicans, their ponies spent, were dropping out of the race, but enough were left to make the odds far too great.  Ned now skimmed along the edge of the grove, and when he passed it he turned his horse a little, so the trees were between him and his nearest pursuers.  Then he urged Old Jack to his last ounce of speed.  The plain raced behind him, and fortunate clouds, too, now came, veiling the moon and turning the dusk into deeper darkness.  Ned heard one disappointed cry behind him, and then no sound but the flying beat of his own horse’s hoofs.

When he pulled rein and brought Old Jack to a walk he could see or hear nothing of the Mexicans.  The great horse was a lather of foam, his sides heaving and panting, and Ned sprang to the ground.  He reloaded his rifle and pistol and then walked toward the west, leading Old Jack by the bridle.  He reckoned that the Mexicans would go toward the north, thinking that he would naturally ride for San Antonio, and hence he chose the opposite direction.

He walked a long time and presently he felt the horse rubbing his nose gently against his arm.  Ned stroked the soft muzzle.

“You’ve saved my life.  Old Jack,” he said, “and not for the first time.  You responded to every call.”

The horse whinnied ever so softly, and Ned felt that he was not alone.  Now he threw the bridle reins back over the horse’s head, and then the two walked on, side by side, man and beast.

They stopped at times, and it may be that the horse as well as the boy then looked and listened for a foe.  But the Mexicans had melted away completely in the night.  It was likely now that they were going in the opposite direction, and assured that he was safe from them for the time Ned collapsed, both physically and mentally.  Such tremendous exertions and such terrible excitement were bound to bring reaction.  He began to tremble violently, and he became so weak that he could scarcely stand.  The horse seemed to be affected in much the same way and walked slowly and painfully.

Ned saw another little grove, and he and the horse walked straight toward it.  It was fairly dense, and when he was in the center of it he wrapped his rifle and himself in his serape and lay down.  The horse sank on his side near him.  He did not care for anything now except to secure rest.  Mexicans or Comanches or Lipans might be on the plain only a few hundred yards away.  It did not matter to him.  He responded to no emotion save the desire for rest, and in five minutes he was in a deep sleep.

Ned slept until long after daylight.  He was so much exhausted that he scarcely moved during all that time.  Nor did the horse.  Old Jack had run his good race and won the victory, and he, too, cared for nothing but to rest.

Before morning some Lipan buffalo hunters passed, but they took no notice of the grove and soon disappeared in the west.  After the dawn a detachment of Mexican lancers riding to the east to join the force of Santa Anna also passed the clump of trees, but the horse and man lay in the densest part of it, and no pair of Mexican eyes was keen enough to see them there.  They were answering the call of Santa Anna, and they rode on at a trot, the grove soon sinking out of sight behind them.

Ned was awakened at last by the sun shining in his face.  He stirred, recalled in a vague sort of way where he was and why he was there, and then rose slowly to his feet.  His joints were stiff like those of an old man, and he rubbed them to acquire ease.  A great bay horse, saddle on his back, was searching here and there for the young stems of grass.  Ned rubbed his eyes.  It seemed to him that he knew that horse.  And a fine big horse he was, too, worth knowing and owning.  Yes, it was Old Jack, the horse that had carried him to safety.

His little store of provisions was still tied to the saddle and he ate hungrily.  At the end of the grove was a small pool formed by the winter’s rains, and though the water was far from clear he drank his fill.  He flexed and tensed his muscles again until all the stiffness and soreness were gone.  Then he made ready for his departure.

He could direct his course by the sun, and he intended to go straight to San Antonio.  He only hoped that he might get there before the arrival of Santa Anna and his army.  He could not spare the time to seek his comrades, and he felt much apprehension for them, but he yet had the utmost confidence in the skill of the Panther and Obed White.

It was about two hours before noon when Ned set out across the plain.  Usually in this region antelope were to be seen on the horizon, but they were all gone now.  The boy considered it a sure sign that Mexican detachments had passed that way.  It was altogether likely, too, so he calculated, that the Mexican army was now nearer than he to San Antonio.  His flight had taken him to the west while Santa Anna was moving straight toward the Texan outworks.  But he believed that by steady riding he could reach San Antonio within twenty-four hours.

The afternoon passed without event.  Ned saw neither human beings nor game on the vast prairie.  He had hoped that by some chance he might meet with his comrades, but there was no sign of them, and he fell back on his belief that their skill and great courage had saved them.  Seeking to dismiss them from his thoughts for the time in order that he might concentrate all his energies on San Antonio, he rode on.  The horse had recovered completely from his great efforts of the preceding night, and once more that magnificent piece of machinery worked without a jar.  Old Jack moved over the prairie with long, easy strides.  It seemed to Ned that he could never grow weary.  He patted the sinewy and powerful neck.

“Gallant comrade,” he said, “you have done your duty and more.  You, at least, will never fail.”

Twilight came down, but Ned kept on.  By and by he saw in the east, and for the third time, that fatal red glow extending far along the dusky horizon.  All that he had feared of Santa Anna was true.  The dictator was marching fast, whipping his army forward with the fierce energy that was a part of his nature.  It was likely, too, that squadrons of his cavalry were much further on.  A daring leader like Urrea would certainly be miles ahead of the main army, and it was more than probable that bands of Mexican horsemen were now directly between him and San Antonio.

Ned knew that he would need all his strength and courage to finish his task.  So he gave Old Jack a little rest, although he did not seem to need it, and drew once more upon his rations.

When he remounted he was conscious that the air had grown much colder.  A chill wind began to cut him across the cheek.  Snow, rain and wind have played a great part in the fate of armies, and they had much to do with the struggle between Texas and Mexico in that fateful February.  Ned’s experience told him that another Norther was about to begin, and he was glad of it.  One horseman could make much greater progress through it than an army.

The wind rose fast and then came hail and snow on its edge.  The red glow in the east disappeared.  But Ned knew that it was still there.  The Norther had merely drawn an icy veil between.  He shivered, and the horse under him shivered, too.  Once more he wrapped around his body the grateful folds of the serape and he drew on a pair of buckskin gloves, a part of his winter equipment.

Then he rode on straight toward San Antonio as nearly as he could calculate.  The Norther increased in ferocity.  It brought rain, hail and snow, and the night darkened greatly.  Ned began to fear that he would get lost.  It was almost impossible to keep the true direction in such a driving storm.  He had no moon and stars to guide him, and he was compelled to rely wholly upon instinct.  Sometimes he was in woods, sometimes upon the plain, and once or twice he crossed creeks, the waters of which were swollen and muddy.

The Norther was not such a blessing after all.  He might be going directly away from San Antonio, while Santa Anna, with innumerable guides, would easily reach there the next day.  He longed for those faithful comrades of his.  The four of them together could surely find a way out of this.

He prayed now that the Norther would cease, but his prayer was of no avail.  It whistled and moaned about him, and snow and hail were continually driven in his face.  Fortunately the brim of the sombrero protected his eyes.  He floundered on until midnight.  The Norther was blowing as fiercely as ever, and he and Old Jack were brought up by a thicket too dense for them to penetrate.

Ned understood now that he was lost.  Instinct had failed absolutely.  Brave and resourceful as he was he uttered a groan of despair.  It was torture to be so near the end of his task and then to fail.  But the despair lasted only a moment.  The courage of a nature containing genuine greatness brought back hope.

He dismounted and led his horse around the thicket.  Then they came to a part of the woods which seemed thinner, and not knowing anything else to do he went straight ahead.  But he stopped abruptly when his feet sank in soft mud.  He saw directly before him a stream yellow, swollen and flowing faster than usual.

Ned knew that it was the San Antonio River, and now he had a clue.  By following its banks he would reach the town.  The way might be long, but it must inevitably lead him to San Antonio, and he would take it.

He remounted and rode forward as fast as he could.  The river curved and twisted, but he was far more cheerful now.  The San Antonio was like a great coiling rope, but if he followed it long enough he would certainly come to the end that he wished.  The Norther continued to blow.  He and his horse were a huge moving shape of white.  Now and then the snow, coating too thickly upon his serape, fell in lumps to the ground, but it was soon coated anew and as thick as ever.  But whatever happened he never let the San Antonio get out of his sight.

He was compelled to stop at last under a thick cluster of oaks, where he was somewhat sheltered from the wind and snow.  Here he dismounted again, stamped his feet vigorously for warmth and also brushed the snow from his faithful horse.  Old Jack, as usual, rubbed his nose against the boy’s arm.

The horse was a source of great comfort and strength to Ned.  He always believed that he would have collapsed without him.  As nearly as he could guess the time it was about halfway between midnight and morning, and in order to preserve his strength he forced himself to eat a little more.

A half hour’s rest, and remounting he resumed his slow progress by the river.  The rest had been good for both his horse and himself, and the blood felt warmer in his veins.  He moved for some time among trees and thickets that lined the banks, and after a while he recognized familiar ground.  He had been in some of these places in the course of the siege of San Antonio, and the town could not be far away.

It was probably two hours before daylight when he heard a sound which was not that of the Norther, a sound which he knew instantly.  It was the dull clank of bronze against bronze.  It could be made only by one cannon striking against another.  Then Santa Anna, or one of his generals, despite the storm and the night, was advancing with his army, or a part of it.  Ned shivered, and now not from the cold.

The Texans did not understand the fiery energy of this man.  They would learn of it too late, unless he told them, and it might be too late even then.  He pressed on with as much increase of speed as the nature of the ground would allow.  In another hour the snow and hail ceased, but the wind still blew fiercely, and it remained very cold.

The dawn began to show dimly through drifting clouds.  Ned did not recall until long afterward that it was the birthday of the great Washington.  By a singular coincidence Santa Anna appeared before Taylor with a vastly superior force on the same birthday eleven years later.

It was a hidden sun, and the day was bleak with clouds and driving winds.  Nevertheless the snow that had fallen began to disappear.  Ned and Old Jack still made their way forward, somewhat slowly now, as they were stiff and sore from the long night’s fight with darkness and cold.  On his right, only a few feet away, was the swollen current of the San Antonio.  The stream looked deep to Ned, and it bore fragments of timber upon its muddy bosom.  It seemed to him that the waters rippled angrily against the bank.  His excited imagination—­and full cause there was—­gave a sinister meaning to everything.

A heavy fog began to rise from the river and wet earth.  He could not see far in front of him, but he believed that the town was now only a mile or two away.  Soon a low, heavy sound, a measured stroke, came out of the fog.  It was the tolling of the church bell in San Antonio, and for some reason its impact upon Ned’s ear was like the stroke of death.  A strange chilly sensation ran down his spine.

He rode to the very edge of the stream and began to examine it for a possible ford.  San Antonio was on the other side, and he must cross.  But everywhere the dark, swollen waters threatened, and he continued his course along the bank.

A thick growth of bushes and a high portion of the bank caused him presently to turn away from the river until he could make a curve about the obstacles.  The tolling of the bell had now ceased, and the fog was lifting a little.  Out of it came only the low, angry murmur of the river’s current.

As Ned turned the curve the wind grew much stronger.  The bank of fog was split asunder and then floated swiftly away in patches and streamers.  On his left beyond the river Ned saw the roofs of the town, now glistening in the clear morning air, and on his right, only four or five hundred yards away, he saw a numerous troop of Mexican cavalry.  In the figure at the head of the horsemen he was sure that he recognized Urrea.

Ned’s first emotion was a terrible sinking of the heart.  After all that he had done, after all his great journeys, hardships and dangers, he was to fail with the towers and roofs of San Antonio in sight.  It was the triumphant cry of the Mexicans that startled him into life again.  They had seen the lone horseman by the river and they galloped at once toward him.  Ned had made no mistake.  It was Urrea, pressing forward ahead of the army, who led the troop, and it may be that he recognized the boy also.

With the cry of the Mexicans ringing in his ears, the boy shouted to Old Jack.  The good horse, as always, made instant response, and began to race along the side of the river.  But even his mighty frame had been weakened by so much strain.  Ned noticed at once that the machinery jarred.  The great horse was laboring hard and the Mexican cavalry, comparatively fresh, was coming on fast.  It was evident that he would soon be overtaken, and so sure were the Mexicans of it that they did not fire.

There were deep reserves of courage and fortitude in this boy, deeper than even he himself suspected.  When he saw that he could not escape by speed, the way out flashed upon him.  To think was to do.  He turned his horse without hesitation and urged him forward with a mighty cry.

Never had Old Jack made a more magnificent response.  Ned felt the mighty mass of bone and muscle gather in a bunch beneath him.  Then, ready to expand again with violent energy, it was released as if by the touch of a spring.  The horse sprang from the high bank far out into the deep river.

Ned felt his serape fly from him and his rifle dropped from his hand.  Then the yellow waters closed over both him and Old Jack.  They came up again, Ned still on the horse’s back, but with an icy chill through all his veins.  He could not see for a moment or two, as the water was in his eyes, but he heard dimly the shouts of the Mexicans and several shots.  Two or three bullets splashed the water around him and another struck his sombrero, which was floating away on the surface of the stream.

The horse, turning somewhat, swam powerfully in a diagonal course across the stream.  Ned, dazed for the moment by the shock of the plunge from a height into the water, clung tightly to his back.  He sat erect at first, and then remembering that he must evade the bullets leaned forward with the horse’s neck between him and the Mexicans.

More shots were fired, but again he was untouched, and then the horse was feeling with his forefeet in the muddy bank for a hold.  The next instant, with a powerful effort, he pulled himself upon the shore.  The violent shock nearly threw Ned from his back, but the boy seized his mane and hung on.

The Mexicans shouted and fired anew, but Ned, now sitting erect, raced for San Antonio, only a mile away.