James said, “You’d be proud of them, Andrew. Petra, Annie, Marie, and Hope—they did real well. And Mordecai.” He felt sadness welling up. “I never did find Michael. I’m afraid we may never know what happened to him.”

Andrew’s sober face told James he was already reconciled. “He wasn’t in the Alamo. Manuel Zaragosa told me that.”

“Manuel? When did you see him?”

“He’s here. He came to Houston’s army after the Alamo fell. He’s with Juan Seguín’s Mexican company.”

“But Manuel is just a boy.”

“There are a lot of men in this camp who would be boys anywhere else.” Andrew grimaced. “We lost a good friend in the Alamo. Manuel saw his father’s body there after the battle. Isaac Blackwood was there, too.”

James nodded. “I figured he was. I didn’t know about Elizandro.” He had not gotten to know Zaragosa well, but he knew the Mexican had been a staunch friend to Michael and Andrew. “We’ve lost a lot of good men. What do you think of our own chances?”

Andrew took his time in framing an answer. “I won’t lie to you. We’ve gone about as far as we can go. If we march much farther we’ll be backed up against Galveston Bay. Looks to me like we’ll fight or swim. If we fight, we’re outnumbered. If we wait for the rest of Santa Anna’s troops to come up, they’ll have us outmanned by four or five to one. If you were Sam Houston, what would you do?”

James searched Andrew’s face but found none of his brother’s usual cheerfulness. “I’m glad I’m not him.”

“If we fight and win, he’ll be a great hero. If we lose, there’ll be three widows in the Lewis camp instead of one. And they’ll curse Sam Houston’s memory.”

HOUSTON DID not even know the name of the field where he had chosen to fight. He asked and was told that it was San Jacinto, Spanish for saint of the hyacinths. While his cavalry swam their horses over the wide expanse of Buffalo Bayou, he crossed his walking army on Lynch’s ferry and camped it in a grove of moss-strewn live oak trees before the broad, open plain of San Jacinto. Even as late as April 20, his command suffered from dissension in the ranks, jealousy among his officers, and doubt about his intention to fight. The men were weary of the long marches, the cold and boggy campgrounds, the pervasive illnesses that swept the army, intensified by hardships of hunger and exposure to the weather.

A chill was still in the air that cloudy day, and few if any other than Houston knew for sure what was in his mind. James, an infantry private far removed from the center of command, knew only that many of the men were complaining. They saw no sense in this endless retreat. What they could see was the enemy, moving into position to cut them off. Behind the Texan troops lay boggy Buffalo Bayou. To the east lay the even wider San Jacinto River. In front of them, south and southeast, were the Mexicans. The only opening for further retreat was southwestward, and Santa Anna could close off that avenue in short order if he so chose.