shouted on one side; on another Colonel Almónte was giving orders; some cried out to commence firing; others to lie down to avoid grape shots. Among the latter was His Excellency.

"Then, already, I saw our men flying in small groups, terrified, and sheltering themselves behind large trees. I endeavored to force some of them to fight, but all efforts were in vain the evil was beyond remedy; they were a bewildered and panicstricken herd.

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Then I saw His Excellency running about in the utmost excitement, wringing his hands, and unable to give an order. General Castrillon was stretched on the ground, wounded in the leg. Colonel Trevíno was killed, and Colonel Marcial Aguirre was severely injured. I saw also the enemy reaching the ordnance train, and killing a corporal and two gunners who had been detailed to repair cartridges which had been damaged on the previous evening.

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Everything being lost, I went-leading my horse, which I. could not mount, because the firing had rendered him restless and fractious to join our men, still hoping that we might be able to defend ourselves, or to retire under the shelter of night. This, however, could not be done. It is a known fact that Mexican soldiers, once demoralized, can not be controlled, unless they are thoroughly inured to war.

"On the left, and about a musket-shot distance from our camp, was a small grove on the bay shore. Our disbanded herd rushed for it, to obtain shelter from the horrid slaughter carried on all over the prairie by the bloodthirsty usurpers. Unfortunately, we met on our way an obstacle very difficult to overcome. was a bayou, not very wide, but rather deep. The men, on reaching it, would helplessly crowd together, and were shot down by the enemy, who was close enough not to miss his aim. It was there that the greatest carnage took place.

It

"Upon reaching that spot, I saw Colonel Almonte swimming across the bayou with his left hand, and holding up his right, which grasped his sword.

"I stated before that I was leading my horse, but, in this critical situation, I vaulted on him, and, with two leaps, he landed me on the opposite bank of the bayou. To my sorrow I had to leave the noble animal, mired, at that place, and to part with him, probably forever. As I dismounted, I sank in the mire

waist deep, and I had the greatest trouble to get out of it, by taking hold of the grass. Both my shoes remained in the bayou. I made an effort to recover them, but I soon came to the conclusion that, did I tarry there, a rifle shot would certainly make an outlet for my soul, as had happened to many a poor fellow around me. Thus I made for the grove, barefooted.

“There I met a number of other officers, with whom I wandered at random, buried in gloomy thoughts upon our tragic disaster. We still entertained a hope of rallying some of our men, but it was impossible.

"The enemy's cavalry surrounded the grove, while his infantry penetrated it, pursuing us with fierce and bloodthirsty feelings. Thence they marched us to their camp."

Joel W. Robinson's Story of the Capture of Santa Anna.— (Bolton and Barker's “With the Makers of Texas," page 198.) "I was one of a detachment of thirty or forty men commanded by Colonel Burleson, which left the encampment of the Texas army at sunrise of the morning after the battle of San Jacinto, to pursue the fugitive enemy. Most of us were mounted on horses captured from the Mexicans. . .

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Colonel Burleson with the greater part of our detachment went up to Vince's Bayou-but six of us, to wit, Sylvester, Miles, Vermillion, Thompson, another man whose name I have forgotten [Bostwick], and myself, proceeded a short distance farther down the bayou, but, not finding any Mexicans, turned our course toward camp. About two miles east of Vince's Bayou, the road leading from the bridge to the battle-ground crossed a ravine a short distance below its source. As we approached this ravine we discovered a man standing in the prairie near one of the groves. He was dressed in citizen's clothing, a blue cottonade frock coat and pantaloons. I was the only one of our party who spoke any Spanish. I asked the prisoner various questions, which he answered readily. In reply to the question whether he knew where Santa Anna and Cos were, he said he presumed they had gone to the Brazos. He said he was not aware that there were any of his countrymen concealed near him, but said there might be in the thicket along the ravine.

"Miles mounted the prisoner on his horse and walked as far

as the road-about a mile. Here he ordered the prisoner to dismount, which he did with great reluctance. He walked slowly and apparently with pain. Miles, who was a rough, reckless fellow, was carrying a Mexican lance which he had picked up during the morning. With this weapon he occasionally slightly pricked the prisoner to quicken his pace, which sometimes amounted to a trot. At length he stopped and begged permission to ride saying that he belonged to the cavalry and was unaccustomed to walking. We paused and deliberated as to what should be done with him. I asked him if he would go on to our army if left to travel at his leisure. He replied that he would. Miles insisted that the prisoner should be left behind, but said that if he were left, he would kill him.

"At length my compassion for the prisoner moved me to mount him behind me. I also took charge of his bundle. He was disposed to converse as we rode along; asked me many questions, the first of which was, 'Did General Houston command in person in the action of yesterday?' He also asked how many prisoners we had taken and what we were going to do with them. When, in answer to an inquiry, I informed him that the Texan force in the battle of the preceding day was less than eight hundred men, he said I was surely mistaken-that our force was certainly much greater. In turn, I plied the prisoner with divers questions. I remember asking him why he came to Texas to fight against us, to which he replied that he was a private soldier, and was bound to obey his officers. I asked him if he had a family. He replied in the affirmative, but when I inquired, 'Do you expect to see them again?' his only answer was a shrug of the shoulders.

"We rode to that part of the camp where the prisoners were kept, in order to deliver our trooper to the guard. What was our astonishment, as we approached the guard, to hear the prisoners exclaiming, 'El Presidente! El Presidente!' (The President, the President!) by which we were made aware that we had unwittingly captured the 'Napoleon of the West.' The news spread almost instantaneously through our camp, and we had scarcely dismounted ere we were surrounded by an excited crowd. Some of our officers immediately took charge of the illustrious captive and conducted him to the tent of General Houston."

The Runaway Scrape: Extracts from Journal of Mrs. Dilue Harris.- (Quarterly Texas State Historical Association, October, 1900-January, 1901.)

"The people had been in a state of excitement during the winter. They knew that Colonel Travis had but few men to defend San Antonio. I remember when his letter came calling for assistance. He was surrounded by a large army, with General Santa Anna in command, and had been ordered to surrender, but fought till the last man died. I was nearly eleven years old, and remember well the hurry and confusion.

“By the 20th of February the people of San Patricio and other western settlements were fleeing for their lives. . . . Father finished planting corn. He had hauled away a part of our household furniture and other things and hid them in the bottom. Mother had packed what bedding, clothes, and provisions she thought we should need, ready to leave at a moment's warning, and father had made arrangements with a Mr. Bundick to haul our family in his cart. But we were confident that the army under General Houston would whip the Mexicans before they reached the Colorado River.

"On the 12th of March came the news of the fall of the Alamo. A courier brought a dispatch from General Houston for the people to leave. Colonel Travis and the men under his command had been slaughtered. The Texas army was retreating, and President Burnet's cabinet had gone to Harrisburg.

“Then began the horrors of the 'Runaway Scrape.' We left home at sunset, hauling clothes, bedding, and provisions on the sleigh with one yoke of oxen. Mother and I were walking, she with an infant in her arms. Brother drove the oxen, and my two little sisters rode in the sleigh. We were going ten miles to where we could be transferred to Mr. Bundick's cart.

“We met Mrs. M. She was driving her oxen home. We had sent her word in the morning. She begged mother to go back and help her, but father said no. He told the lady to drive the oxen home, put them in the cow pen, turn out the cows and calves, and get her children ready, and he would send assist

ance.

"We went on to Mrs. Roark's, and met five families ready to leave. We shifted our things into the cart of Mr. Bundick, who was waiting for us, and tried to rest till morning. Sister and I had been weeping all day about Colonel Travis.

"Early next morning we were on the move, mother with her four children in the cart, and Mr. Bundick and his wife and negro woman on horseback. We camped the first night near Harrisburg, about where the railroad depot now stands. Next day we crossed Vince's Bridge, and arrived at the San Jacinto in the night. There were fully five thousand people at the ferry. . . Father and Mr. Bundick were the only white men in the party, the others being in the army. There were twenty or thirty negroes from Stafford's plantation. They had a large wagon with five yoke of oxen, and horses and mules, and they were in charge of an old negro man called Uncle Ned. Altogether, black and white, there were about fifty of us. Every one was trying to cross first, and it was almost a riot.

"We got over the third day, and after traveling a few miles came to a big prairie. It was about twelve miles further to the next timber and water, and some of our party wanted to camp; but others said that the Trinity River was rising, and if we delayed we might not get across. So we hurried on.

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When we got half way across the prairie Uncle Ned's wagon bogged. . . . The negro men put all the oxen to the wagon, but could not move it; so they had to stay there until morning without wood or water. Mother gathered the white children in our cart. They behaved very well and went to sleep, except one little boy, who kicked and cried till Uncle Ned came and carried him to the wagon. He slept that night in Uncle Ned's

arms.

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The horrors of crossing the Trinity are beyond my powers to describe. One of my little sisters was very sick, and the ferryman said that those families that had sick children should cross first. When our party got to the boat the water broke over the banks above where we were and ran around us. We were several hours surrounded by water. Our family was the last to get

to the boat. The sick child was in convulsions.

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I When we landed the lowlands were under water, and everybody was rushing for the prairie. Father and mother hurried on, and we got to the prairie and found a great many families camped there. A Mrs. Foster invited mother to her camp, and furnished us with supper, a bed, and dry clothes.

"The town of Liberty was three miles from where we camped.