The generals uttered joyful shouts and drank again to their illustrious leader.  The banquet lasted long, but after it was over Santa Anna withdrew to his own room and dictated a letter to his secretary.  It was sealed carefully and given to a chosen messenger, a heavy-browed and powerful Mexican.

“Ride fast to Goliad with that letter,” said Santa Anna.

The messenger departed at once.  He rode a strong horse, and he would find fresh mounts on the way.  He obeyed the orders of the general literally.  He soon left San Antonio far behind, and went on hour after hour, straight toward Goliad.  Now and then he felt the inside of his tunic where the letter lay, but it was always safe.  Three or four times he met parties of Mexicans, and he replied briefly to their questions that he rode on the business of the most illustrious president, General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna.  Once, on the second day, he saw two horsemen, whom his trained eyes told him to be Texan hunters.

The messenger sheered off into a patch of timber, and waited until the hunters passed out of sight.  Had they seen him much might have changed, a terrible story might have been different, but, at that period, the stars in their courses were working against the Texans.  Every accident, every chance, turned to the advantage of their enemies.

The messenger emerged from the timber, and went on at the same steady gait toward Goliad.  He was riding his fourth horse now, having changed every time he met a Mexican detachment, and the animal was fresh and strong.  The rider himself, powerful by nature and trained to a life in the saddle, felt no weariness.

The scattered houses of Goliad came into view, by and by, and the messenger, giving the magic name of Santa Anna, rode through the lines.  He inquired for General Urrea, the commander, but the general having gone to Victoria he was directed to Colonel Portilla, who commanded in his absence.  He found Portilla sitting in a patio with Colonel Garay, the younger Urrea and several other Mexican officers.  The messenger saluted, drew the letter from his pocket and presented it to Colonel Portilla.

“From the most illustrious president and commander-in-chief, General Santa Anna,” he said.

Portilla broke the seal and read.  As his eyes went down the lines, a deep flush crept through the tan of his face, and the paper trembled in his hands.

“I cannot do it!  I cannot do it!  Read, gentlemen, read!” he cried.

Urrea took the extended letter from his hand and read it aloud.  Neither his voice nor his hand quivered as he read, and when he finished he said in a firm voice: 

“The orders of the president must be obeyed, and you, Colonel Portilla, must carry them out at once.  All of us know that General Santa Anna does not wish to repeat his commands, and that his wrath is terrible.”

“It is so!  It is so!” said Portilla hopelessly, and Garay also spoke words of grief.  But Urrea, although younger and lower in rank, was firm, even exultant.  His aggressive will dominated the others, and his assertion that the wrath of Santa Anna was terrible was no vain warning.  The others began to look upon him as Santa Anna’s messenger, the guardian of his thunderbolts, and they did not dare to meet his eye.