Free The Yellow Rose by Gilbert Morris Page A

him.”
    “What if the reinforcements get here before we can attack?”
    “They better not,” Houston said and smiled frostily. “That would ruin my plan, and I do hate to have my plans ruined. Go burn that bridge, Deaf, but don’t spill my plan to anybody.”
    Santa Anna’s scouts had finally discovered the location of Sam Houston and his small force. They had brought the word back, and Santa Anna had made them repeat their report several times. “You say he is trapped in between this river and this swamp?”
    “Yes, General. There is a bridge, but it’s very small. If you attack head on, they would have no place to run. They would be trapped.”
    Santa Anna was an impetuous man, but something about this situation set off an alarm. He believed the scouts and moved his men into place and studied the map carefully. The area was barely three square miles and was roughly triangular, bounded on the northeast and the northwest by the San Jacinto River and the Buffalo Bayou. It was open on the southwest, but the ground was marshy along the margins of the waterways, where the land was cut with shallow ravines. On the night of the twentieth of April, Santa Anna encamped on the southeastern corner of the plain up against an arm of the San Jacinto River. He walked about and studied the terrain, wishing that the reinforcements would arrive soon. He walked along the line and inspected the placement of his soldiers. The Matamoros Battalion covered the front, which extended from the edge of Lake Peggy on the east for about twelve hundred yards, running into a little copse of woods and then curling toward the southwest. He had only one cannon, a six-pounder, but word had come that more were on the way. On his right flank, he placed five companies, and on the left five more. Somewhat back of these he made his personal camp with the lancers of his escort. His entire force amounted to no more than six hundred and fifty, perhaps, seven hundred men. He had no reserve, just himself and his staff, but he was expecting six hundred reinforcements under General Cos to arrive within a few hours and did not anticipate any serious enemy action before then. He studied the terrain and then went back to his tent, where a young señorita had been brought in to keep him company until the battle started.
    On April the twenty-first, Houston held his war council. He had planned to attack on the morning of the twenty-second, but the army was rebellious. They voted company by company to fight immediately, and Houston was secretly pleased. He whispered, “Better they think the attack is their idea, Deaf.”
    “I reckon you’re right, General. I don’t know how many men we’re facin’, but we got nearly a thousand here. They couldn’t have many more than that. The thing that bothers me is how we gonna march a thousand men on a bright, sunny day across a mile of open ground. Them Mexicans ain’t militia over there. They’ve been in battles before and know how to fight.”
    Houston did not even answer. He had made up his mind, and his bridges were burned. “We’ll form ’em up right now,” he said decisively and began to place his men. He had sixty horsemen mounted under Mirabeau Buonaparte Lamar, a fierce fighter. Lamar’s orders were to keep the Mexicans from breaking across the prairie. Next, he installed two small companies of Texas regular army with one gun to support each wing. Then Burleson’s first regiment, the Texas backbone of the army, took its place in line. Then Moseley Baker’s riflemen and finally Sidney Sherman’s second with a corps of Kentucky men.
    Houston had thought his plan out carefully and stationed the men in a line only one man deep. In the center floated the republic flag: a five-point blue star with the motto Ubi Libertas Habitat Ibi Nostra Patria Est —“Where Liberty Lives There Is Our Homeland.” Houston then mounted his huge, white stallion Saracen and looked down the line. They had readied their equipment