Wednesday, April 20, 2011

April 20th, evening.

The Texan camp in the trees is raging. SOMEONE is going to lead an attack in the morning. The Mexicans are bulwarking their line and camp with baggage. Speculation burns in both camps about night assaults. The Texas Army is about to quit on Houston but stays together anticipating getting at the Mexicans. Rifles are cleaned and bowies whetted. The rain has held off and the men are washing up and drying out, plus everyone is getting to eat. Newcomers, latecomers, old settlers, Tejanos from the San Antonio area, everyone ready to fight.

The men left in Harrisburg are wondering what happened since the army marched away. It it goes bad, they are sitting ducks.

Private Mirabeau B. Lamar, Georgian land speculator, who just arrived a couple weeks ago is now Col. Lamar, due to his display of nerve, pistolry and horsemanship.

Houston, who hasn't been off his horse or slept in days finally rolls up in a blanket and goes to sleep.

San Felipe burned, Harrisburg smoldering, New Washington gone. Fannin and his men rotting outside Goliad. Alamo in rubble. The whole countryside turned into refugees. Coyotes digging dead children out of shallow graves along every road.

Santa Anna is having a late dinner with Emily D. West.

Tomorrow this is going to be settled one way or the other.

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