A thousand men killed or wounded was a great price to pay for
the nine score Texans who were sped. But no such thoughts troubled Santa
Anna. All the vainglory of his nature was aflame. They were decorating
the town with all the flags and banners and streamers they could find,
and he knew that it was for him. At night they would illuminate in his
honor. He stretched out his arm toward the north and west, and murmured
that it was all his. He would be the ruler of an empire half the size of
Europe. The scattered and miserable Texans could set no bounds to his
ambition. He had proved it.
He would waste no more time in that empty land of prairies and plains.
He sent glowing dispatches about his victory to the City of Mexico and
announced that he would soon come. His subordinates would destroy the
wandering bands of Texans. Then he did another thing that appealed to
his vanity. He wrote a proclamation to the Texans announcing the fall of
the Alamo, and directing them to submit at once, on pain of death, to
his authority. He called for Mrs. Dickinson, the young wife, now widow,
whom the gallantry of Almonte had saved from massacre in the Alamo. He
directed her to take his threat to the Texans at Gonzales, and she
willingly accepted.
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