Remember the Alamo [93]
and Houston was sure that this
change would cause Santa Anna to diverge from his route to
Nacogdoches. He dispatched orders to the men scattered up and
down the Brazos from Washington to Fort Bend--a distance of
eighty miles--to join him on the march to Harrisburg, and he
struck his own camp at the time he had specified.
In less than twenty-four hours they reached San Felipe, a
distance of twenty-eight miles. The suffering of the women
and children on that march can never be told. Acts of heroism
on the part of the men and of fortitude on the part of
the women that are almost incredible, marked every step of the
way. The Senora sat in her wagon, speechless, and lost in a
maze of melancholy anguish. She did not seem to heed want, or
cold, or wet, or the utter misery of her surroundings. Her
soul had concentrated all its consciousness upon the strand of
hair she continually smoothed through her fingers. Dr. Worth,
in his capacity of physician, accompanied the flying families,
and he was thus able to pay some attention to his distraught
wife; but she answered nothing he said to her. If she looked
at him, her eyes either flamed with anger, or expressed
something of the terror to be seen in the eyes of a hunted
animal. It was evident that her childish intelligence had
seized upon him as the most obvious cause of all her loss and
misery.
The condition of a wife so beloved almost broke his heart.
The tragic death of his dear son was not so hard to endure as
this living woe at his side. And when they reached San Felipe
and found it in ashes, a bitter cry of hopeless suffering came
from every woman's lips. They had thought to find there a
little food, and a day's sheltered resting-place. Even
Antonia's brave soul fainted, at the want and suffering around
her. She had gold, but it could not buy bread for the little
ones, weeping with hunger and terrified by the fretfulness of
mothers suffering the pangs of want and in the last stage of
human weariness.
It was on this night Houston wrote: "I will do the best I
can; but be assured the fame of Jackson could never compensate
me for my anxiety and mental pain." And yet, when he was told
that a blind woman and her seven children had been passed by,
and did not know the enemy were approaching, he delayed the
march until men had been sent back to bring them into safety.
During these days of grief and privation Isabel's nature grew
to its finest proportions. Her patient efforts to arouse her
mother, and her cheerfulness under the loss of all comforts,
were delightful. Besides which, she had an inexhaustible fund
of sympathy for the babies. She was never without one in her
arms. Three mothers, who had died on the road, left their
children to her care. And it was wonderful and pitiful to see
the delicately nurtured girl, making all kinds of efforts
to secure little necessaries for the children she had elected
to care for.
"The Holy Mother helps me," she said to, Antonia. "She makes
the poor little ones good, and I am not very tired."
At San Felipe they were joined by nearly one hundred men, who
also brought word that a fine company were advancing to their
aid from Mississippi, under General Quitman; and that two
large cannon, sent by the people of Cincinnati, were within a
few miles. And thus hoping and fearing, hungry and weary to
the death, they reached, on the 16th of April, after a march
of eighteen miles, a place called McArley's. They had come
over a boggy prairie under a cold rain, and were depressed
beyond expression. But there was a little shelter here for
the women and children to sleep under. The men camped in the
open. They had not a tent in their possession.
About ten o'clock that night, Doctor Worth was sitting with
his wife and children and Antonia in one corner of a room in
a deserted cabin. He had the Senora's wasted hand in his own,
and was talking to her. She sat in apathetic silence.
It was impossible to tell whether she heard or understood him.
"I wonder where
change would cause Santa Anna to diverge from his route to
Nacogdoches. He dispatched orders to the men scattered up and
down the Brazos from Washington to Fort Bend--a distance of
eighty miles--to join him on the march to Harrisburg, and he
struck his own camp at the time he had specified.
In less than twenty-four hours they reached San Felipe, a
distance of twenty-eight miles. The suffering of the women
and children on that march can never be told. Acts of heroism
on the part of the men and of fortitude on the part of
the women that are almost incredible, marked every step of the
way. The Senora sat in her wagon, speechless, and lost in a
maze of melancholy anguish. She did not seem to heed want, or
cold, or wet, or the utter misery of her surroundings. Her
soul had concentrated all its consciousness upon the strand of
hair she continually smoothed through her fingers. Dr. Worth,
in his capacity of physician, accompanied the flying families,
and he was thus able to pay some attention to his distraught
wife; but she answered nothing he said to her. If she looked
at him, her eyes either flamed with anger, or expressed
something of the terror to be seen in the eyes of a hunted
animal. It was evident that her childish intelligence had
seized upon him as the most obvious cause of all her loss and
misery.
The condition of a wife so beloved almost broke his heart.
The tragic death of his dear son was not so hard to endure as
this living woe at his side. And when they reached San Felipe
and found it in ashes, a bitter cry of hopeless suffering came
from every woman's lips. They had thought to find there a
little food, and a day's sheltered resting-place. Even
Antonia's brave soul fainted, at the want and suffering around
her. She had gold, but it could not buy bread for the little
ones, weeping with hunger and terrified by the fretfulness of
mothers suffering the pangs of want and in the last stage of
human weariness.
It was on this night Houston wrote: "I will do the best I
can; but be assured the fame of Jackson could never compensate
me for my anxiety and mental pain." And yet, when he was told
that a blind woman and her seven children had been passed by,
and did not know the enemy were approaching, he delayed the
march until men had been sent back to bring them into safety.
During these days of grief and privation Isabel's nature grew
to its finest proportions. Her patient efforts to arouse her
mother, and her cheerfulness under the loss of all comforts,
were delightful. Besides which, she had an inexhaustible fund
of sympathy for the babies. She was never without one in her
arms. Three mothers, who had died on the road, left their
children to her care. And it was wonderful and pitiful to see
the delicately nurtured girl, making all kinds of efforts
to secure little necessaries for the children she had elected
to care for.
"The Holy Mother helps me," she said to, Antonia. "She makes
the poor little ones good, and I am not very tired."
At San Felipe they were joined by nearly one hundred men, who
also brought word that a fine company were advancing to their
aid from Mississippi, under General Quitman; and that two
large cannon, sent by the people of Cincinnati, were within a
few miles. And thus hoping and fearing, hungry and weary to
the death, they reached, on the 16th of April, after a march
of eighteen miles, a place called McArley's. They had come
over a boggy prairie under a cold rain, and were depressed
beyond expression. But there was a little shelter here for
the women and children to sleep under. The men camped in the
open. They had not a tent in their possession.
About ten o'clock that night, Doctor Worth was sitting with
his wife and children and Antonia in one corner of a room in
a deserted cabin. He had the Senora's wasted hand in his own,
and was talking to her. She sat in apathetic silence.
It was impossible to tell whether she heard or understood him.
"I wonder where