The Texan Triumph - A Romance of the San Jacinto Campaign

The Texan Triumph

A Romance of the

San Jacinto Campaign

by

Joseph A. Altsheler

Copyright © 2016 Read Books Ltd.

This book is copyright and may not be

reproduced or copied in any way without

the express permission of the publisher in writing

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from

the British Library

Contents

Joseph Alexander Altsheler

The History of Western Fiction

Preface

1 Two on the Trail

2 Camp Independence

3 Captured Treasure

4 Defending a Ford

5 The Timely Stable

6 The Campeachy Pursuit

7 Across the Brazos

8 On the Mexican Flank

9 Ahead of Santa Anna

10 Old Comrades Again

11 The Miraculous Escape

12 The Battle with Urrea

13 In Houston’s Camp

14 Ned’s Night Journey

15 San Jacinto

16 The Great Capture

17 Roylston’s Rescue

Joseph Alexander Altsheler

Joseph Alexander Altsheler was an American newspaper reporter, editor and writer of children’s historical fiction. He was born on 29 April 1862 at Three Springs, Kentucky, United States to Joseph and Louise Altsheler. Growing up, he attended Liberty College in Glasgow, Kentucky before attending Vanderbilt University.

In 1885, Altsheler got his first newspaper job, working for the Louisville Courier-Journal as a reporter. He would later work his way up to editor. During this time he met Sarah Boles, whom he married in 1888. They later had a son whom they named Sidney. In 1892, he began working as the Hawaiian correspondent for the New York World. He also became the editor of their tri-weekly magazine. It was during this time that Altsheler began writing children’s fiction as he struggled to find suitable stories to include in the magazine and was therefore forced to write his own. This led him to begin writing his own novels.

Altsheler was a prolific writer and wrote fifty one novels and at least fifty one short stories. Thirty two of his novels were volumes of a seven part series, although each of them were independent stories, for which he suggested a reading order. His most popular series was the Young Trailers series, which featured the young frontiersman, Henry Ware. This series included novels, such as The Keepers of the Trail (1916), The Eyes of the Woods (1917), and The Free Rangers (1909). Altsheler’s other titles include novels, such as The Great Sioux Trail (1918), The Last of the Chiefs (1909), The Horsemen of the Plains (1910), A Herald of the West (1898), and The Texan Star (1912). His stories blended authentic historical fact and reflected on his own upbringing. He had one attempt at writing adult’s fiction when he wrote the novel The Candidate: A Political Romance (1905), but this novel was less successful than his others and so he returned to writing children’s fiction.

Altsheler and his family were in Germany in 1914 when World War One began. They were forced to remain in Germany for some time and endured many hardships during this period. These difficulties deeply affected Altsheler and upon returning to the United States his health was significantly damaged, causing him to remain a semi-invalid until his death. Once back in the US, Altsheler wrote his World War Series which was based on his ordeal. This series included the titles: The Guns of Europe (1915), The Forest of Swords (1915), and The Hosts of the Air (1915). Altsheler continued writing, despite his poor health, and in 1918 he was voted by the nation’s public libraries as the most popular author of boy’s fiction in the United States.

On June 5 1919, Altsheler died at age 57. His widow, Sarah, died thirty years later. They are both buried at the Cave Hill Cemetery in Louisville, Kentucky.

The History of Western Fiction

Western fiction is a genre which focuses on life in the American Old West. It was popularised through novels, films, magazines, radio, and television and included many staple characters, such as the cowboy, the gunslinger, the outlaw, the lawman and the damsel in distress. The genre’s popularity peaked in the early twentieth century due to dime novels and Hollywood adaptations of Western tales, such as The Virginian, The Great Moon Rider and The Great K.A. Train Robbery. Western novels remained popular through the 1960s, however readership began to dwindle during the 1970s.

The term the American Old West (the Wild West) usually refers to the land west of the Mississippi River and the Frontier between the settled and civilised and the open, lawless lands that resulted as the United States expanded to the Pacific Ocean. This area was largely unknown and little populated until the period between the 1860s and the 1890s when, after the American Civil War, settlement and the frontier moved west.

The Western novel was a relatively new genre which developed from the adventure and exploration novels that had appeared before it. Two predecessors of popular Western fiction writers were Meriweather Lewis (1774-1809) and William Clarke (1770-1838). Both men were explorers and were the first to make travel and the frontier a central theme of their work. Perhaps the most popular predecessor of Western fiction was James Fenimore Cooper (1789-1851). His west was idealised and romantic and his popular Leatherstockings series depicted the fight between the citizens of the frontier and the harsh wilderness that surrounded them. His titles included: The Last of the Mohicans (1826), The Pathfinder (1840) and The Deerslayer (1841). His tales were often set on the American frontier, then in the Appalachian Mountains and in the land to the west of that. His protagonists lived off the land, were loyal, free, skilled with weapons, and avoided civilised society as best they could. His most famous novel, The Last of the Mohicans, also idealised the Native American.

During the 1860s and 1870s, a new generation of Western writers appeared, such as Mark Twain (1835-1910) Roughing It (1872) and Bret Harte (1836-1902) The Luck of Roaring Camp (1868). Both writers had spent time living in the west and continued to promote its appeal through their literature. Harte is often credited with developing many of the cult Western’s stock characters, such as the honest and beautiful dance hall girl, the suave conman and the honourable outlaw. These characters went on to be firm favourites in popular, mass produced Western fiction. At the end of the nineteenth century, thousands of people were undergoing the treacherous journey to the west to make a new life for themselves and the fictional stories and legends of heroes and villains who had survived in this wild landscape captured the imagination of the public.

Western novels became popular in England and throughout America through ‘Penny Dreadfuls’ and Dime Novels. These appeared in the late 1800s and were texts that could be bought cheaply (for either a penny or a dime – ten cents) as they were often cheaply printed on a large scale by publishers such as Irwin P. Beadle. Malaeska; the Indian Wife of the White Hunter (1860) by Ann S Stephens (1810-1886) is considered by many critics to be the first dime novel. These sensationalist dime and penny novels capitalised on stories of outlaws, lawmen, cowboys, and mountain men taming the western frontier. Many were fictional, but some were based on real heroes of the west such as Buffalo Bill (the scout, bison hunter and performer), Jesse James (the American outlaw, robber, gang leader and murderer) and Billy the Kid (the American gunfighter). By 1877, these Western characters were a recurring feature of the dime novel. The hero was often a man of action who saved damsels in distress and righted the wrongs of the villains that he faced. For this hero, honour was the most important thing and it was something that the dime heroes never relinquished.

In the 1900s, Pulp magazines helped relay these tales over to Europe where non-Americans also picked up the genre, such as the German writer, Karl May (1842-1912). Pulp magazines were a descendent of the dime novel and their content was largely aimed at a mass market. As their popularity grew, they were able to specialise and there were Pulp magazines devoted specifically to Westerns, such as Cowboy Stories, Ranch Romances, and Star Western. The popularity for these magazines and for Western films in the 1920s made the genre a popular phenomenon.

The status of the genre in the early twentieth century was also enhanced by particular novels by different writers. One of the most influential Western novels was The Virginians (1902) by Owen Wister (1860-1938) which was considered to be a ground breaking literary Western. Wister dismissed the traditional idea of the solitary pioneer conquering new lands and making a new life for himself, and replaced this traditional character with the cowboy. The cowboy was a mix of cultural ideals, such as southern chivalry, western primitivism and stout independence. These were characteristics that many Americans cherished. Wister contrasted the lawlessness of the West to the order and civilisation of the East. He introduced new characters, such as savages and bandits who attacked the more civilised Eastern characters. His cowboy heroes shared many features with the medieval knights – they rode horses, carried weapons, fought duals and valued their honour above all other attributes. Zane Grey’s (1872-1939) Riders of the Purple Sage (1912) was also a popular Western novel. Grey was a prolific writer and wrote over ninety books which helped shape Western fiction. He changed Wister’s cowboy into a gunslinger who was feared by criminals and held in awe by other civilians. Other popular Western writers in this period include Andy Adams (1859-1935) whose titles include The Outlet (1905) and A Texas Matchmaker (1904), Edward S Ellis (1840-1916) who wrote Seth Jones, or The Captives of the Frontier (1860) and The Steam Man of the Prairies (1868), and Bertha Muzzy Bower (1871-1940) who wrote Chip of the Flying U (1906) and The Dry Ridge Gang (1935).

The Western hero lived in an environment where climate, natives and the terrain could be his enemies, and it was his job to tame the wilderness around him, but in doing so he determined his own extinction. In bringing forward civilisation and settlement, they brought about their own demise and their reason for existing. Western heroes could only exist on the frontier. Rebels were popular heroes in the Western novel and these heroes were often compassionate to those less fortunate than themselves and fought for the downtrodden. They were loyal, idealistic, independent, and knew the difference between right and wrong. They fought for the good and made personal sacrifices in order that good would triumph. The hostile setting of the Wild West transformed the characters into survivors as they were forced to alter themselves in order to live in this new setting. The Old Wild West captured the attention of many as it exemplified the spirit of freedom, individualism, adventure and unspoiled nature. It depicted a world that was separate from organised, urban society and showed the life of the wilderness, frontier and its inhabitants. The Western romanticised American history and the treacherous, mysterious and otherworldly Old West.

Preface

The Texan Triumph, while a complete story in itself, continues and concludes the fortunes of Ned Fulton and his friends who were the central characters in The Texan Scouts and its predecessor, The Texan Star.

1

Two on the Trail

Two boys were riding across a rolling prairie. They were armed, after the necessity of time and place, with rifle and pistol, and they were dressed in frontier fashion, in tanned deerskin with felt hats, broad of brim to shade their faces from the Texan sun, which could be fiery at times. They advanced slowly, and they watched every point of the horizon with the care that one must exercise when a single step may take him into danger.

One rider, a little the larger of the two, had a face unusually grave and stern for his years. He smiled rarely, and he seemed always to be animated by some great resolve. The acute observer would have said at once that here was a youth who had been through trial and storm. His comrade was of lighter humor, talked more and laughed often.

They crossed the prairie and entered a belt of oaks and pecans. Here they stopped, and sat a little while on their mounts, strong, seasoned ponies. The stretch of forest was clear of bushes, and they looked with pleased eyes at the deep tint of spring on trees and grass. Already the Texan spring was in full bloom, and, the south wind, blowing gently, brought the odor of blossoming flowers. They breathed deeply and the fresh, crisp air brought with it a mental as well as physical expansion. The larger boy raised his head a little, and a glow replaced the somber look on his face.

Feels fine, Ned, doesn’t it? said his comrade.

So it does, replied Ned Fulton. This coming of spring in full tide seems to make a fellow grow stronger.

But he relapsed in a moment or two into his stern and rather sad mood. Will Allen regarded him with a look of friendship, tinged with respect. Ned’s story was strange and romantic to him. He could never forget that this comrade of his had slipped by a singular device from a prison in the Mexican capital, had then escaped from a cell under the sea in the castle of San Juan de Ulua, and had been at the very heart of the Alamo and Goliad, names fated never to be forgotten in Texas. He even regarded him with a little awe at times.

Ned himself had not returned to the normal lightness of youth. He could not yet forget the terrors through which he had passed. Many a night he saw again the ring of fire at the Alamo, and the Texans in the center of it, and nothing could ever erase from his mind the treacherous slaughter of Goliad. He not only wished to fight for the Texans, but he wished also to see the punishment of those who had done such great wrongs. Such a passion, allied with natural courage and skill, had made him one of the most daring and valuable scouts in the Texan service.

They remained motionless about ten minutes, and then, seeing nothing, rode down to a little brook by the side of which they dismounted. They drank first, and after watering their ponies, allowed them to graze on the grass which grew thick and high beside the stream.

Here is another prairie, said Ned, and as nearly as I can judge it is six or eight miles across. It is backed up by a ridge of high hills which seem to answer to the description, and, I dare say, we shall find there those whom we seek.

Looks like the place to me, said Will, but we’ve had a long ride and I’m willing to rest a while.

So am I and this is as good a spot as any.

While their horses grazed, they ate venison and bread which they carried in their knapsacks. Then they lay down in the long grass and permitted their nerves and muscles to relax. Ned now and then looked through the trees at the line of blue hills, far across the prairie, but he remained silent.

Ned, said Will at last, do you believe that we can really do anything? Don’t you think it would be better for the Texans to abandon this country, and to move into new regions further north? We are so few, and the Mexicans are so many.

Never! replied Ned with ouch energy that his comrade fairly jumped. Give up Texas where so much blood has been shed! We couldn’t think of such a thing! Let the Alamo and Goliad pass unavenged! You don’t know us yet, Will! It doesn’t matter how few we are, or how many the Mexicans are, this war is to the death! Never forget that, Will!

The thought merely occurred to me. I didn’t take it seriously myself, replied Will in an apologetic tone.

They remounted in an hour and rode across the prairie to the hills which they found densely clothed in timber of good height, with a great amount of undergrowth.

This brush confirms the description, said Ned. We’ll find a way through here and go to the top.

It was not difficult for their ponies to make a path, and they rode through the dense foliage to the summit of the highest ridge, which rose about three hundred feet above the prairie. They had from this point a splendid view around the whole circle of the horizon. Besides the group of hills about them, there was nothing but rolling prairies everywhere, all clad in the fresh green of spring, sprinkled with many flowers.

They saw neither man nor animal upon the plain, but it was a fact that did not trouble them. It was yet early and there was plenty of time for those for whom they waited.

We’ll camp here and take our ease until it’s time to send up the signal, said Ned, the leader.

So we will, said Will, and if we had hunted the plains over we couldn’t have found a better place. Here’s a spring flowing from under this rock. Perhaps it makes the little brook that we stopped by some time ago.

Whether it does or doesn’t, it furnishes all the water supply we need.

They drank of the water, which was pure and quite cold. Unsaddling their horses, they let them, too, drink all they wished, and then allowed them to graze at the end of long lariats. The forest was very heavy about them and in full foliage. No one could see them unless within forty or fifty yards, and, feeling so secure in the covert, they built a little fire and had warm food for early supper, sunset yet being far off. Spreading out their blankets they lay at ease, watching the plain through the foliage, although themselves hidden.

It was necessary for the two to take every precaution. Since the fall of the Alamo, the massacre of Goliad and the flight of the Texan government the whole country was overrun by the Mexicans. A scout, unless extremely careful, might ride, at any moment, into a body of lancers. Santa Anna had divided his triumphant army into three bodies. One under Gaona marched northward on Nacogdoches, another, led by Sesma, was to take San Felipe and Harrisburg, and sweep the coast with a base at Anahuac. Urrea was to rake the whole country between Goliad and the mouth of the Brazos River. Orders were issued to the three generals to shoot all prisoners.

The great and illustrious Santa Anna himself, deeming his conquest complete and his crown of fame safe upon his head, was preparing to return with a brigade of cavalry and a part of the artillery by sea to Mexico. Already he was dismissing the miserable Texans from his mind and his thoughts turned to the capital and a further increase of the power that rightfully belonged to the Napoleon of the West.

There was much warrant for the belief of Santa Anna. Apparently he held the Texans in the hollow of his hand. Their most famous leaders had been slain. They had nowhere an armed force of which he need take any account. They must return to the States, from which they had come, or flee westward and meet the savage mercies of Comanches, Apaches and Lipans.

The two boys were aware of the movements of Santa Anna’s three generals, and they fully understood the desperate case of the Texans. They talked of these subjects now as they lay under the shadow of the boughs.

Santa Anna thinks there’s nothing to do but sweep up the remnants or he wouldn’t be going back, said Will.

He’s sure of it, said Ned. You’ll remember, Will, that I’ve seen him and talked with him often. He’s cruel and vain to his finger tips. How he must exult over us. Think of that order of his to Gaona, Sesma and Urrea to shoot every prisoner.

And they’ll carry it out, said Will, despondency showing in his tone.

So they will, said Ned, fiercely, but he forgets that a day of reckoning may come. Even with the Alamo still fresh in his mind Santa Anna does not yet know the spirit of the Texans!

He spoke with such bitter emphasis that his comrade stared at him. A little of the awe that he sometimes felt crept over him. He remembered what Ned had seen and endured, and he said nothing.

The sun is setting, said Ned a little later, and I suppose it’s time to send up our smoke.

A sheet of red and gold hung over the western plains and the sun, a ball of fire, burned not far above the horizon. Will agreed with Ned that the time was at hand, and they collected dry wood, to which they set fire with flint and steel. Then they gathered green leaves and threw them in great quantities upon the fire. On top of these they cast many small boughs that they broke from trees and bushes.

The flames were hidden but a great smoke went up in a spire that grew taller and taller, rising above the trees, and then reaching to the heavens, where it was outlined clearly against the golden glow that preceded the twilight. The two maintained the smoke until the sun set and the swift southern twilight descending blotted out the light.

They ought to have seen that, said Will.

They certainly saw it, said Ned. The eyes that are in the heads of the Panther and Deaf Smith would never miss such a signal, even if they were ten miles away. And as it’s likely that they’ll want to ride to-night instead of staying here, we’d better saddle up, and be ready when they come.

They put the saddles on the ponies, but allowed them to go on grazing at the ends of their lariats. The twilight, with the speed of the south, turned into black night, and the two boys could not see far among the bushes and trees. With wilderness caution they rolled up the blankets, fastened them across their backs, and sat, rifle on knee, while they waited. When an hour passed, and they heard nothing Will spoke a little impatiently.

They’re a long time in coming, he said, they could have made fast time over the plain, when they saw that signal.

Take it easy, Will, said Ned. They’ve got to be careful, riding through a country that’s sown so thickly with foes. It may be an hour yet before they’re here, but you can depend upon it; they’ll come.

Half of the promised hour passed, and there was yet no sign. The night seemed to settle down close and dark, as if a huge blanket had been thrown over the earth. Ned himself had grown uneasy, although he did not say so to Will. He wondered at the delay, and he listened eagerly for the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

The second half of the hour passed, and they yet heard nothing. Ned put his ear to the ground, but there was no trace of anything resembling a hoofbeat or a footstep. He felt disappointed.

It can hardly be possible, he said to his comrade, that the Panther and the others did not see the signal, when they arranged to meet us here at this time.

They may have been compelled to turn about in order to avoid a body of lancers, hazarded Will.

Maybe so, said Ned, and then he added joyfully: But they didn’t! I hear a hoofbeat now, or at least something that sounds mighty like one. There, I’ve heard it twice, and now I don’t hear it any more. Listen your best, Will, and see if the sound comes to you.

Will Allen could hear nothing, and Ned began to believe that he was tricked by fancy. But his strong sense of reality told him that it had not been imagination. In very truth he had heard the sound of a hoof-beat twice—and then there was nothing. The Panther and the others would not come in such a secret manner.

One of the horses suddenly raised his head and neighed. An answering neigh came from the forest on the slope, but the two neighs were followed by silence, just as the sound of the footsteps had been. Ned felt instant alarm. Men were approaching, but they were not those whom they had expected. Will understood, too.

Shall we jump on our horses and run for it? he whispered.

We won’t have the chance. We must creep away. There, I hear the hoofbeats again, and they come from two sides now.

Lancers?

Most likely. Our signal happened to be for our foes as well as our friends, and our foes came first. We’ll just get out of this as best we can. We’ll abandon our horses and creep through the forest toward the western slope of the hill.

It cost them a pang to leave the two good ponies, but there was no other choice and they slipped silently through the brush. They now heard hoofbeats at a half dozen points, and occasionally a low voice. Then they saw a bit of open ahead of them and in the center sat two Mexican lancers on their horses, motionless, and made gigantic by the darkness. The boys knew well enough that they were on guard there for fugitives, and they crept very quietly away in another direction. But their brief view of the lancers showed that the trap for them had been set well.

When the boys were well beyond sight of the lancers they sank quietly down among thick bushes. Each could hear the other’s hard breathing.

What shall we do now, Ned? whispered Will Allen.

We’ve got to creep through the woods and get off this hill, if we can, replied Ned. But the lancers probably have surrounded it. I should not be surprised if they were led by the younger Urrea. He is the most daring and energetic of their cavalry leaders, and he hates us all the time. It was like him to read our own signal, and come for our capture.

They may be in great force, said Will, but in the darkness it is easier for us who are only two to hide.

That’s so, but we can’t rely on hiding, only. We must reach the plain somehow or other. Then we can slip away, though it will be both a loss and a disgrace to us to leave our ponies in the hands of the Mexicans. Quiet, Will! Sink lower!

Although Will was making no noise the last words were involuntary as they heard close by a heavy tread, a sound that could be made by not less than ten or twelve men. They fairly crouched against the ground under the bushes and their breathing was suppressed to the lowest pitch. Fifteen Mexicans, led by an officer, walked near them. They were lancers who had evidently dismounted at the edge of the forest, but several still carried the long weapon of the sharp point, with which they prodded the bushes as they passed.

Cold shivers chased up and down the spines of the two boys, when they saw the use to which these lances were put. They would have wormed further away, but they did not dare to risk the slightest noise. Ned was sure that the Mexicans, having found the ponies, were now looking in the bush for their riders. A diligent search would be sure to uncover them, unless they escaped to the plain.

The group passed on and the two heard them pushing among the bushes. Then they rose and crept in the other direction.

I think a lance is a hideous weapon, whispered Will. I’d hate to have one of those long things stuck through me by a Mexican, and for a while, when they were so close, I felt as if it had been really done.

There is no lance sticking through you, Ned whispered back with a certain grim irony. It’s just imagination, but it’s not proof that one won’t be sticking in you within an hour.

Here’s a gully, whispered Will, and it seems to lead down the side of the hill. Suppose we crawl along its bottom. It may take us out of this fix.

Just the thing. We’ll try it.

The gully was about four feet deep, but was filled partially with dead leaves, the drift of seasons. These leaves made a soft bed, upon which the boys could tread, making no noise, and they advanced a hundred yards without interruption. Then at a word from Ned who had the keener ear, they lay flat upon the leaves, their bodies blending perfectly with the darkness. Mexican soldiers came into view, and they talked as they searched. Ned understood them perfectly.

They are much disappointed, he whispered. They knew because they found only two horses that the fugitives are but two in number, and they do not see why they have not yet overhauled them. But they expect to do it, nevertheless.

Then we’d better hurry, said Will, resuming the creeping journey over the leaves and down the gully.

It’s not more than sixty or eighty yards to the plain, said Ned. If we reach it we’ve got to run for it as fast as we can, in the hope that we may get away in the darkness. Hark! What was that?

The howl of a coyote, responded Will. Isn’t it an awfully weird, lonesome sound at such a time as this?

Not to me, responded Ned, a joyous note showing in his voice. That was a most delightful howl. Hark to it again! It grows finer than ever. The wolf that emitted it is a magnificent animal, one of the biggest and grandest specimens of his kind, as brave as a lion, one that would run from nothing.

Ned, have you gone clean crazy? whispered Will. What under the moon are you talking about? You know that the coyote is a mean, sneaking creature. There is never anything noble about him.

Yes, as a rule, but this one is an exception. He is a grand and noble animal indeed. Listen to him for the third time! On the whole I would say that he is not a wolf, but a panther, a magnificent panther, our own ring-tailed friend.

Then Will understood and he took a quick, short breath of delight.

You mean it’s the Panther himself? he said.

The Panther himself and the others are with him, of course. They saw our signal, too, and everything would have come off as arranged, if these Mexican lancers had not happened to cut in. Our friends are riding out of the west, and we must manage to meet them, before they run into an ambush here on the hill. I’m going to take the risk, Will, and answer the coyote. The Panther taught me the trick, and he may understand what I mean.

Will fairly shivered when the yelping, warning cry rose by his side. It seemed to him for a moment that he could feel the teeth of a wild beast in his shoulder, and then he laughed in silent scorn at himself, because he knew that it was only Ned.

After the answering howl the two went down the ravine as fast as they dared. Coyotes were not generally found in forests on the slopes of hills and the Mexicans might suspect. But they stopped further down and Ned gave forth the cry again. Then they hurried on, emerged from the wood into the edge of the plain and saw a half dozen Mexican horsemen before them.

A good moon had come out, and not having the protection of the trees they were now plainly visible. The horsemen uttered a shout and rode at them, long lances extended for the thrust. It was well for the two that Ned, despite his youth, had learned presence of mind in the hardest of schools. He fired instantly at the foremost lancer and emptied his saddle. The others drew rein, and Will raised his own weapon. But Ned pushed down the barrel.

Save your fire, Will! he cried. "As long as