not have fired more nearly at the same time. A single discharge, a rush through the smoke, cleaving blows of rifles uplifted struck down those whom the bullets had not slain. Only thirty-two of the five hundred Mexicans survived to surrender as prisoners of war. Gen. Houston's wound in the ankle, meanwhile was bleeding profusely. His horse was dying, and with difficulty could stagger over the slain. Still the General-in-Chief witnessed every movement of his army, and as it rolled victoriously over the field, saw the tide of battle crowning his brave soldiers with unparalleled success. Rarely in human history has there been such a scene. The shock of the Texan advance and attack was resistless. Everywhere the Mexicans staggered,—officers and men, whether in regiments or battalions, cavalry or infantry, were thrown together without order, each bent on individually signalizing himself. Driven from their position they fled before their pursuers. The battle was won. Riding over the field Gen. Houston gave orders for the carnage of the wounded to cease. But he had given the Alamo as the war-cry, and his men could not forget the Alamo, its horrors were too fresh in their memories. The blood of Travis, Bowie, and Crockett at the Alamo, and Fannin at Goliad, cried out for vengeance, and the day of vengeance had come, and it would have been as easy to hurl back the billows of an inrolling tide of the sea. In the report of Gen. Rusk, who minutely observed the occurrences of the day, appears the following statement:
"While the battle was in progress, the celebrated Deaf Smith, although on horseback fighting, was with the infaitry. When they got pretty near the enemy Smith galloped on ahead, and dashed directly up to the Mexican line. Just as he reached it his horse stumbled and fell, throwing him on his head among the enemy. Having dropped his sword in the fall he drew one of his belt pistols, presented it at the head of a Mexican, who was attempting to bayonet him, and it missed fire. Smith then hurled the pistol itself at the head of a Mexican, and as he staggered back he seized his gun, and began his work of destruction. A young man by the name of Robbins dropped his gun in the confusion of the battle, and happening to run directly in contact with a Mexican soldier, who had also lost his musket, the Mexican seized Robbins, and both being stout men, rolled to the ground. But Robbins drew out his bowie-knife and ended the contest by cutting the Mexican's throat. On starting out from our camp to enter upon the attack, I saw an old man, by the name of Curtis, carrying two guns. I asked him what reason he had for carrying more than one gun. He answered, 'D the Mexicans; they killed my son and son-in-law in the Alamo, and I intend to kill two of them for it or be killed myself.' I saw the old man again during the fight, and he told me that he had killed his two men, and if he could find Santa Anna himself he would cut out a razor-strop from his back. . . . When the Mexicans were first driven from the points of woods where we encountered them, their officers tried to rally them, but the men cried, 'It's no use,
