General Almonte was familiar, by name or person, to many in the Texan army. He had once taken a census of Texas, for the Mexican government. Ernest had seen him at Gonzales. He seemed to be light-hearted, for a prisoner, talked in good English with officers and men, and accepted his fortune of war.
“Nobody but Americans would have thought of attacking in the afternoon, during the _siesta_ period,” he declared, laughing. “Especially after we received reinforcements. Had you come yesterday, or in the morning, we would have been ready for you.”
After supper the camp fires were heaped high with wood and by their flames the army held a regular carnival. The whiskered men donned the captured pistols and knives and uniforms, and put gold epaulets on the very mules; they danced and pranced, shouted “Independence!” sang “Will You Come to the Bower?” and “Texas Shall be Free,” and pestered the Mexican officers by capering up to them and demanding, in their faces: “Santa Anna? Santa Anna? You Santa Anna?” until the officers grew so tired of it that they tore off their shoulder-straps, to avoid the tormentors.
Several hundred candles from the Mexican supplies were distributed and lighted; torch-light processions were formed, and parades given, while the whoops and songs shook the mosses hanging from the oaks.
Even Dick Carroll (who was unharmed, Ernest soon had learned) cut up as roundly as the others.
“We told ’em about the general, didn’t we!” he hailed, as arm in arm with a squad of cronies he pranced by.
“We sure did,” responded Ernest, who, with Jim and Leo and Sion, was waving his candle and prancing also.
“Biggest general that ever lived,” voiced Jim.
“And some smart man,” added Sion. “The top of the heap. It took nerve to manage this army but he had it.”
“Reckon we’ll make him president, now,” quoth Leo. “President of the Republic of Texas. He wouldn’t let the men shoot those ravens; did you hear? The ravens were flying over the battle-field, and he said not to hurt ’em. They were his bird and their heads were pointing westward. Maybe he’ll be president of Mexico, too, if we go on and take it.”
“The Raven’s his Indian name,” reminded Ernest, staunchly. “Of course he wouldn’t want one killed.”