"The Alamo has fired its last gun," he said, on rejoining his
companions.
"And the men, General?"
"They have died like men. You may be sure of that."
At Gonzales he heard the particulars. And he saw that the
news had exerted a depressing influence upon the troops there.
He called them together. He spoke to them of the brutal
tragedy, and he invested its horrors with the grandeur of
eternal purpose and the glory of heroic sacrifice.
"They were soldiers," he cried; "and they died like soldiers.
Their names will be the morning stars of American history.
They will live for ever in the red monument of the Alamo." He
looked like a lion, with a gloomy stare; his port was fierce,
and his eyes commanded all he viewed. "Vengeance remains to
us! We have declared our independence, and it must be
maintained."
He immediately sent off another express to Fannin; apprised
him of the fall of the Alamo; ordered him to blow up Goliad
and fall back upon Gonzales. Then he sent wagons into the
surrounding country, to transport the women and children to
the eastern settlements; for he knew well what atrocities
would mark every mile of Santa Anna's progress through the
country.
These wagons, with their helpless loads, were to
rendezvous at Peach Creek, ten miles from Gonzales; where also
he expected Fannin and his eight hundred and sixty men to join
him.
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