Primarily the struggle of the Texans for freedom did not form a part of our war with Mexico, yet this struggle led up directly to the greater war to follow, and it is probably a fact that, had the people of Texas not at first accomplished their freedom, there would have been no war between the two larger republics.
Larger Print, 12 point font; Illustrated
**************
Excerpt:
The history of Texas and her struggle for liberty is unlike that of any other State in our Union, and it will be found to read more like a romance than a detail of facts. Here was a territory, immense in size, that was little better than a wilderness, a territory gradually becoming settled by Americans, Mexicans, Spaniards, French, and pioneers of other nations, a territory which was the home of the bloodthirsty Comanche and other Indians, and which was overrun with deer, buffalo, and the wild mustang, and which was, at times, the gathering ground for the most noted desperadoes of the southwest.
This territory formed, with Coahuila, one of the States of Mexico, but the government was a government in name only, and the people of Texas felt that it was absolutely necessary that they withdraw from the Mexican Confederation, in order to protect themselves, their property, and their individual rights, for, with the scheming Mexicans on one side of them, and the murderous Indians on the other, nothing was safe from molestation.
The contest was fought largely by men who knew little or nothing of the art of war, but men whose courage was superb. At first only defeat stared the intrepid band in the face, and hundreds were lost at the Alamo, at the massacre of Goliad, and elsewhere, but then there came upon the scene the figure of the dashing and daring General Sam Houston, and under his magnetic leadership the army of the Mexican general, Santa Anna, was routed utterly, and the liberty of Texas was secured beyond further dispute.
Excerpt:
The Home On The Frontier.
"Dan! Dan! Come quick and see what I brought down with the gun!"
"Why, Ralph, was that you I heard shooting? I thought it was father."
"No; I was out, down by the river bank, and I brought down the finest deer you ever set eyes on. He was under the bunch of pecan-trees, and I let him have it straight in the neck and brought him down the first crack. Now what do you think of that?"
Ralph Radbury's rather delicate face was all aglow with excitement and pardonable pride, as he spoke, leaning on his father's gun, a long, old-fashioned affair that had been in the family's possession for many years. Ralph was but a boy of eight, although years of life in the open air had given him the appearance of being older.
"What do I think?" cried Dan, who was Ralph's senior by six years. "I think you'll become a second Davy Crockett or Dan'l Boone if you keep on. It's a wonder the deer let you come so close. The wind is blowing toward the stream."
"I trailed around to the rocks where we had the tumble last winter, and then I came up as silently as a Comanche after a scalp. I was just about ready to fire when the deer took alarm, but I caught him when he raised his head, and all he gave was one leap and it was all over. Where is father? I must tell him." And Ralph looked around impatiently.
"I don't know where father is, if he isn't down by the river. I thought he went off to look up those hogs that got away last Saturday. In these times, so he says, we can't afford to lose six fat porkers."
"Perhaps those rushers who were on their way to Bexar rounded them up on the sly."
"No; father put the crowd down for honest men, and he rarely makes a mistake in judging a man, Ralph.
Either the hogs got away by themselves or else some of those sneaking Comanches have been around again."
"Oh, Dan, that puts me in mind,-when I was up at the rocks I was almost certain I saw one of the Indians farther up the river. As soon as I looked that way he dodged out of sight, so I only caught one glimpse of him-if he really was an Indian."
At his younger brother's words, Dan Radbury's face took on a look of deep concern. "You are not real sure it was an Indian?" he questioned, after a pause.
"No, but I'm pretty sure, too. But even if it was an Indian it might have been Choctaw Tom, you know."
"You're wrong there, Ralph. All the Caddo Indians are friendly to the whites, and if it was Tom he wouldn't hide away after you had spotted him. More than likely it was a dirty Comanche, and if it was-well, we had better tell father about it, that's all."
"Why, you don't think--" Ralph paused, abruptly.
"I know a Comanche isn't to be trusted. Come, let us look at the deer, and let us try to find father at the same time. Is the gun loaded?"
"No." Ralph looked sheepish. "I-I was so pleased to bring down the deer I forgot all about loading again."
"Then you're not such a famous hunter, after all, Ralph. The wise man, especially in these parts, loads up before his gun-barrel has a chance to cool. Put in your load at once, and I'll bring along that Mexican escopeta father traded in for a mustang last week. I don't believe the old gun is of much account, but it will be better than nothing."
"Father wouldn't take it from the greaser if it wasn't all right. But why must we both be armed? Do you think the Indians are close by?"
"As I said before, I don't believe in trusting these bloodthirsty Comanches. Poke Stover knows them like a book, and he says they are just aching to go on the war-path, now the government is having so much trouble of its own."