They were happier than they had been in many days.
Ned alone was gloomy and silent. Knowing that Santa Anna was now the
fountain head of all things Mexican he could not yet trust.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BLACK TRAGEDY
While the raw recruits crowded one another for breath in the dark
vaulted church of Goliad, a little swarthy man in a gorgeous uniform sat
dining luxuriously in the best house in San Antonio, far to the
northwest. Some of his favorite generals were around him, Castrillon,
Gaona, Almonte, and the Italian Filisola.
The "Napoleon of the West" was happy. His stay in San Antonio, after the
fall of the Alamo, had been a continuous triumph, with much feasting and
drinking and music. He had received messages from the City of Mexico,
his capital, and all things there went well. Everybody obeyed his
orders, although they were sent from the distant and barbarous land of
Texas.
While they dined, a herald, a Mexican cavalrymen who had ridden far,
stopped at the door and handed a letter to the officer on guard:
"For the most illustrious president, General Santa Anna," he said.
The officer went within and, waiting an opportune moment, handed the
letter to Santa Anna.
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