Harper's Round Table, October 27, 1896

TEXAS.

BY A. G. CANFIELD.

"One misty, moisty morning" of April, '36, there was quite a commotion in the office of the Weekly Telegraph, enterprising pioneer of Texas journalism, printed in English and Spanish, and published in the little town of Harrisburg, east of the Brazos River.

The Alamo,[1] citadel and tomb of heroes, had fallen, and all the western part of the young republic was held by the Mexicans. Houston's hundreds were falling back towards the east; Santa Anna's thousands were in close pursuit.

[1] For the story of the battle of the Alamo see "An American Thermopylæ," in No. 876.

The Texans now occupied Harrisburg, and a good many of them occupied the Telegraph office. These were carrying on an animated and eager discussion, while the object of their eloquence, a slim youngster of an uncommonly dark and swarthy countenance, stood listening silently.

"I tell you," cried one, "you're risking your life by staying here. Santa Anna's just as likely as not to have you taken out and shot. Remember Goliad!"

"And if they don't shoot you," said another, "they'll clap you in irons and shut you up in a Mexican jail. For my part, I'd rather take the bullet; it's quickest over."

"And you must remember," remonstrated a third, "that your paper's always been down on the Mexicans. They're safe to remember it, and as the editor has got clear off, they'll make you pay for yourself and him too."

"All the same," said John Sibley, steadily, "I'll have to stay until Mr. Bolden sends for me. He left me in charge here, but promised to get me away before the Mexicans come."

"Huh! Think Editor Bolden's going to trouble himself to get you out of the hole? You needn't if you do. He's saved his own skin, and that's all he cares about. The Greasers might knock everything in the printing-office into pi before I'd stay here to please him."

"Come, John," said one, somewhat older than the rest, "let me persuade you out of this foolhardy project. Your young life ought not to be thrown away in mere bravado."

"It's not bravado, Captain Hays," protested the boy. "It's my plain duty. I promised my employer I would stay and look after his property. He trusted me, and I mustn't disappoint him. So please don't ask me to go with you, for I can't."

"What can a boy like you do to protect the property?"

"I can do just what anybody else would do," said John, smiling; "I can do my best."

"Well," cried one gay young soldier but little older than John himself, "you may thank your lucky stars that you're 'most as black as a nigger, and can patter Spanish like a regular Don. The Mexicans will take you for one of themselves. If they do, and you get a chance at old Wooden-leg, make him believe we're ten thousand strong. It's all right to lie till you're black in the face to fool an enemy and serve your country."

John Sibley nodded and smiled, as the troop filed through the office door with many wishes for his ultimate safety. He stood looking after them with a queer twinkle in his black eyes, saying to himself:

"I'll do the best I can, as you do, brave boys, but I'll lie as little as I can help. Wonder if I couldn't make the truth do as well?"

One day passed, and then another. The Texans had left the town, and continued their retreat towards the east. Still, there was no word from the editor and proprietor of the Weekly Telegraph releasing his young assistant from his perilous position, and John staid steadily on, caring faithfully for the property intrusted to him. He was "on guard," and had no more thought of deserting his post than if he had been a soldier under orders.

He passed the anxious time watching and waiting for two events--wondering which of the two would come first--news that he was relieved from duty, and the approach of the Mexican army.

The latter came first. Early one morning the vanguard appeared, soon followed by the main body, led by President Santa Anna in person.

Before noon dark-skinned soldiers were swarming over the town on the lookout for plunder and mischief, and a crowd of them filled the office of the obnoxious Telegraph.

They were surprised to find there a lad as dark-skinned as themselves, who in a resistless flood of Spanish welcomed them like brothers, assuring them in the most high-flown terms of Spanish courtesy that the office and all it contained was theirs, and would be honored by suffering destruction at their hands. But in the midst of this rodomontade he continued by many adroit and well-turned phrases and an assumption of genial camaraderie to induce his troublesome visitors to postpone their destructive designs until he had laid the case before General Santa Anna, to whom he wished to be taken immediately.

This request was granted without any difficulty, for without a word of assertion on his part they had at once adopted him as one of their own race. Who else in that country but a Spanish-American could boast such smooth and courteous manners, such densely black eyes and hair, such a copper-colored skin, and such a flood of Spanish!

When John Sibley stood in the presence of the Dictator of Mexico he trembled from head to foot, but not with fear. He was an American boy, and he could not look on the ruthless destroyer of so many of his countrymen, the treacherous executioner of Goliad, the bloody victor of the Alamo, without a shudder. But Santa Anna was used to seeing grown men tremble before him, and took no notice of the effect he produced on a boy.

"How is this, muchacho?" he demanded, sternly. "They tell me you are a Mexican, yet you are employed on the Weekly Telegraph, a paper that never ceases to attack the land of God and liberty, her government and her people. Now tell me if this is what a true Mexican would do?"

By this time John had recovered his self-possession.

"Poverty, your Excellency," he replied, in as fluent Spanish as the Dictator's own, "will, as our proverb says, make a man put up at bad inns. A poor orphan Mexican boy might well be pardoned if he took the work and pay the stranger offered. But if your Excellency thinks it was wrong, let me atone by serving my native land in any way you can make use of me."

The General examined him critically.

"You seem an intelligent youth," he said at last, "and in spite of your boyish look, you have all your wits about you. If you are sincere in your offer, you can give me useful information."

Then followed the usual inquiries as to the number, equipment, and route of the retreating army, to all of which John, contrary to precedent and the advice of his soldier friend, returned truthful answers.

"For if I tell Santa Anna that Houston has more men than he has," reasoned John, "he'll be mighty clear of following him a foot further, and will never fight if he can help it. But if I make him believe he can eat the Texans up at a mouthful, he'll push straight on, and I know what will happen then. The Texas boys will whip him out of his boots, or off his wooden leg."

When these usual questions were disposed of, Santa Anna, looking keenly at the boy, asked him if he knew the country thereabouts.

"Yes, your Excellency, I know the ground well on both sides of the Brazos, and for some way east."

"Humph!" said the General, suspiciously; "how comes a boy of your age to be so competent a guide?"

"My father was a ranchero," was the ready reply. "From a little chap, I went with him everywhere, until he died, about a year ago. I know the country almost as well as he did. Try me, and see if I fail."

"Perhaps I shall. My scouts know nothing of this country hereabouts. I have a mind to send you with them on the enemy's track to bring me news of their movements. Knowing the country and the people, you may gain intelligence where they would fail. You can serve me well if you are faithful; and if you are _not_--well, you deal with Santa Anna!"

"I'll take the job, and the punishment too if I fail," cried John, eagerly. Then, curbing his impetuosity, lest it should excite suspicion, he added, quietly: "I suppose your Excellency will furnish me with a horse? I have none."

"_We_ have a good many, captured from the rebels on the Colorado," said the General, with a smile of grim satisfaction. "You can take your choice. And, muchacho, if you serve me well, your property shall be returned to you uninjured, nor shall that be your only reward."

This was said with a gracious smile. John felt the tiger's claws under the velvet pat; but his terror was gone now, and he exulted in the hope of outwitting the cunning Mexican.