Around him as he ran, James heard men shouting the cry that Houston had raised: “Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!”

Manuel Zaragosa and the others in Seguín’s company took it up in Spanish: “Recuerden el Alamo! Recuerden La Bahía!”

James tried to stay close beside Andrew as they rushed into the fringes of the Mexican camp. In front of him, he saw rifles stacked for siesta. Some of the suddenly-awakened soldiers rallied and grabbed their weapons. Others, demoralized, began to run headlong toward the south, unarmed, spreading panic like wildfire as they went. James saw Andrew’s rifle bring down a soldier. Another soldier who had already fired came rushing with a bayonet. He would impale Andrew if James did not stop him. James shot him in the stomach. The soldier stumbled and fell, writhing in agony.

As at Velasco and San Antonio, powder smoke quickly clouded the battleground like a fog. James paused to reload his rifle, his hands trembling. He choked on the pungent smoke, and his eyes began to burn. He saw Andrew prime the pan on his rifle and start moving again. Though not ready, James quickly followed, trying not to spill powder from his horn.

For a few minutes a portion of the Mexican force rallied and put up a brave resistance. But too many had fled, and those who tried to stand and fight were quickly run over by the rush of the Texans, whipped to a blood frenzy. At a distance James saw a Mexican officer gallantly standing by the twelve-pound cannon, trying to rally the crew into firing it point-blank at the charging enemy. A shot from one of the Twin Sisters struck the Mexican cannon’s water bucket and knocked down some of the men. The officer made one more effort, then folded his arms and stood in solemn defiance until Texas bullets cut him down.

After those first few brave minutes of self-sacrifice by a relative few, the resistance crumbled. It was no longer so much a battle as a runaway and a slaughter. Soldiers who had rifles threw them down and dropped to their knees, begging for mercy. But there had been no mercy at the Alamo and none at Goliad. Little was shown at San Jacinto, not for a while. By the dozens, then by the hundreds, the Mexicans were killed wherever sword or bullet or rifle butt could reach them. In blind confusion, many jumped into the bayou and tried to swim. Their bobbing heads made easy targets, and the muddy brown waters turned red.

Andrew halted after a while, dropping to his knees, heaving for breath. James stopped beside him. The Texan line had long since lost any semblance of formation. The companies mixed without any attempt at retaining identity. All that mattered now was to pursue the Mexicans. Let none get away.

“What’s the matter, Andrew?” James asked anxiously. “Are you hit?”

“No, I’m just given plumb out. I’ve run as far as I can. You go on, if you want to. I’ve had enough.” He took a sweeping, horrified look around him. Dead and dying Mexican soldiers were scattered as far as he could see. “God yes, I’ve had enough.” He looked as if he might throw up.