“About three o’clock in the afternoon, Houston ordered the attack. The seven hundred Americans were divided into three bodies. I saw Houston in the very centre of the line, and I have a confused memory of Milard and Lamar, Burleson and Sherman and Wharton, in front of their divisions.”
“Were the Mexicans expecting the attack, father?”
“They were in perfect order, Antonia; and when Sherman shouted the battle-cry: ‘REMEMBER THE ALAMO! GOLIAD AND THE ALAMO!’ it was taken up by the whole seven hundred, and such a shout of vengeance mortal ears never heard before. The air was full of it, and it appeared to be echoed and repeated by innumerable voices.
“With this shout on our lips, we advanced to within sixty paces of the Mexican lines, and then a storm of bullets went flying over our heads. One ball, however, shattered Houston’s ankle, and another struck his horse in the breast. But both man and horse were of the finest metal, and they pressed on regardless of their wounds. We did not answer the volley until we poured our lead into their very bosoms. No time for reloading then. We clubbed our rifles till they broke, flung them away and fired our pistols in the eyes of the enemy; then, nothing else remaining, took our bowie-knives from our belts and cut our way through the walls of living flesh.”
Lopez rose at the words. It was impossible for him to express himself sufficiently in an attitude of repose. His eyes glowed like fire, his dark face was like a flame, he threw up his hands as he cried:
“Nothing comparable to that charge with knives was ever made on earth! If I had seen through the smoke and vapor the mighty shade of Bowie leading it, I should not have been surprised.”
“Perhaps indeed, he did lead it,” said the Senora, in a solemn voice. “I saw yes, by all the saints of God! I saw a great host with my Juan. They stretched out vast, shadowy arms--they made me FEEL what I can never tell. But I shall honor Senor Houston. I shall say to him some day. ‘Senor, the unseen battalions--the mighty dead as well as the mighty living--won the battle.’ Roberto, believe me, there are things women understand better than wise men.”
A little awe, a solemn silence, answered the earnest woman. Luis and Isabel came close to her, and Isabel took her hand. Lopez resumed the conversation. “I know Colonel Bowie,” he said. “In the last days at San Antonio I was often with him. Brave as a lion, true to his friends, relentless to his foes, was he. The knife he made was the expression of his character in steel. It is a knife of extreme unction--the oil and wafer are all that remains for the men who feels its edge. For my part, I honor the Senora’s thought. It is a great satisfaction to me to hope that Bowie, and Crockett, and Travis, and Fannin, and all their company were present at San Jacinto. If the just God permitted it, ‘twas a favor of supreme justice.”