for reinforcements. Gaines's party, added to his own, seemed adequate, however, and early on the night of the twenty-second the troopers rode gayly forward.[1]
Before long it appeared that the distance was sixty miles and the Mexican force mythical — besides, rain began to fall; so the Americans returned to La Encarnación for the night. "The general and the soldier of each side should. . . be always expecting to fall into danger," as Thucydides wrote long ago, and of course our officers understood that in a hostile country picket guards were sometimes deemed advisable; but, operating on the higher plane of action, they felt that a comfortable sleep was what all needed most, and accordingly at daybreak they found themselves in the midst of Miñón's cavalry brigade of, say, 1200 men, magnified in their opinion — doubtless by the fog — to 3000. The Mexican general was, however, a most accomplished and elegant gentleman, and he at once relieved their embarrassment by taking them under his full — indeed, close — protection.[2]
Not aware of this comforting fact, Brigadier General Lane detached eighteen men under Captain Heady of the Kentucky cavalry, two days later, to look up their comrades. These men found liquor at a ranch and perhaps — as a letter from Saltillo stated — a fandango, too. Firmly persuaded that joy should be unconfined, they "got drunk," and so without using up a grain of powder they ascertained by ocular proof the fate of the other detachments. Apparently there was 'some ground for Wool's remark that the volunteers, though now almost eight months old in the service, could not easily be made to obey instructions on such duty. Indeed, even after Borland's mishap and in spite of strict orders, two outposts now went to sleep without a picket or a sentry.[3]
To be sure, the men were ready enough to fight. "Why we have no more fear of a Mexican than if they were [prairie] Wolves," wrote a soldier. Wool's men felt particularly keen. On the way from La Vaca to San Antonio they had passed a spot where about 400 Texans had been massacred by Santa Anna's order in 1836. A fire had lighted up their faces that meant, "No mercy," said one of them; and exhausted though they were after their wonderful march from Parras, they felt very much dissatisfied on reaching the front, "there being no
