We thus, by these two cruel blows, lost two-thirds of our army, and little more than seven hundred men remained to resist the numerous legions of our victorious foe.  The prospect before us, was one well calculated to daunt the stoutest heart.

The Mexican general, Santa Anna, moved his army forward in two divisions, one stretching along the coast towards Velasco, the other advancing towards San Felipe de Austin.  He himself, with a small force, marched in the centre.  At Fort Bend, twenty miles below San Felipe, he crossed the Brazos, and shortly afterwards established himself with about fifteen hundred men in an entrenched camp.  Our army, under the command of General Houston, was in front of Harrisburg, to which place the congress had retreated.

It was on the night of the twentieth of April, and our whole disposable force, some seven hundred men, was bivouacking in and about an island of sycamores.  It was a cloudy, stormy evening:  high wind was blowing, and the branches of the trees groaned and creaked above our heads.  The weather harmonized well enough with our feelings, which were sad and desponding when we thought of the desperate state of our cause.  We (the officers) were sitting in a circle round the general and Alcalde, both of whom appeared uneasy and anxious.  More than once they got up, and walked backwards and forwards, seemingly impatient, and as if they were waiting for or expecting something.  There was a deep silence throughout the whole bivouac; some were sleeping, and those who watched were in no humour for idle chat.

“Who goes there?” suddenly shouted one of the sentries.  The answer we did not hear, but it was apparently satisfactory, for there was no further challenge, and a few seconds afterwards an orderly came up, and whispered something in the ear of the Alcalde.  The latter hurried away, and, presently returning, spoke a few words in a low tone to the general, and then to us officers.  In an instant we were all upon our feet.  In less than ten minutes, the bivouac was broken up, and our little army on the march.

All our people were well mounted, and armed with rifles, pistols, and bowie-knives.  We had six field-pieces, but we only took four, harnessed wit twice the usual number of horses.  We marched at a rapid trot the whole night, led by a tall, gaunt figure of a man who acted as our guide, and kept some distance in front.  I more than once asked the Alcalde who this was.  “You will know by and by,” was his answer.

Before daybreak we had ridden five and twenty miles, but had been compelled to abandon two more guns.  As yet, no one knew the object of this forced march.  The general commanded a halt, and ordered the men to refresh and strengthen themselves by food and drink.  While they were doing this, he assembled the officers around him, and the meaning of our night march was explained to us.  The camp in which the Mexican president and general-in-chief had entrenched himself was within a mile of us; General Parza, with two thousand men, was twenty miles further to the rear; General Filasola, with one thousand, eighteen miles lower down on the Brazos; Viesca, with fifteen hundred, twenty-five miles higher up.  One bold and decided blow, and Texas might yet be free.  There was not a moment to lose, nor was one lost.  The general addressed the men.