Meanwhile a new group of prisoners were thrust into the church.  They were the survivors of Ward’s men, whom General Urrea had taken in the swamps of the Guadalupe.  Then came another squad, eighty-two young Tennesseeans, who, reaching Texas by water, had been surrounded and captured by an overwhelming force the moment they landed.  A piece of white cloth had been tied around the arms of every one of these men to distinguish them from the others.

But they were very cheerful over the news that Fannin had brought.  There was much bustle among the Mexicans, and it seemed to be the bustle of preparation.  The prisoners expected confidently that within another day they would be on the march to the coast and to freedom.

There was a singular scene in the old church.  A boy from Kentucky had brought a flute with him which the Mexicans had permitted him to retain.  Now sitting in Turkish fashion in the center of the floor he was playing:  “Home, Sweet Home.”  Either he played well or their situation deepened to an extraordinary pitch the haunting quality of the air.

Despite every effort tears rose to Ned’s eyes.  Others made no attempt to hide theirs.  Why should they?  They were but inexperienced boys in prison, many hundreds of miles from the places where they were born.

They sang to the air of the flute, and all through the evening they sang that and other songs.  They were happier than they had been in many days.  Ned alone was gloomy and silent.  Knowing that Santa Anna was now the fountain head of all things Mexican he could not yet trust.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE BLACK TRAGEDY

While the raw recruits crowded one another for breath in the dark vaulted church of Goliad, a little swarthy man in a gorgeous uniform sat dining luxuriously in the best house in San Antonio, far to the northwest.  Some of his favorite generals were around him, Castrillon, Gaona, Almonte, and the Italian Filisola.

The “Napoleon of the West” was happy.  His stay in San Antonio, after the fall of the Alamo, had been a continuous triumph, with much feasting and drinking and music.  He had received messages from the City of Mexico, his capital, and all things there went well.  Everybody obeyed his orders, although they were sent from the distant and barbarous land of Texas.

While they dined, a herald, a Mexican cavalrymen who had ridden far, stopped at the door and handed a letter to the officer on guard: 

“For the most illustrious president, General Santa Anna,” he said.

The officer went within and, waiting an opportune moment, handed the letter to Santa Anna.

“The messenger came from General Urrea,” he said.

Santa Anna, with a word of apology, because he loved the surface forms of politeness, opened and read the letter.  Then he uttered a cry of joy.

“We have all the Texans now!” he exclaimed.  “General Urrea has taken Fannin and his men.  There is nothing left in Texas to oppose us.”