"Yes," said he, "I tell you that our affairs look rather ticklish--can't deny it--but that is the only thing that will bring the people to their senses. Santa Anna may destroy the colonies, but it won't be Sam Houston's fault. Instead of at once assembling, the militia stop at home with their wives--quite comfortable in the chimney-corner--think that a handful of volunteers can whip ten thousand of these half-bloods. Quite mistaken, gentlemen--quite mistaken. You see it now--the brave fellows are gone--a scandal it is for us--and the enemy is at our heels. Instead of seeing four or five thousand of our people here, there are thirteen hundred--the others are minding the shop--making journeys to the Sabine. Can't help it, comrades, must retire to the Brazos, into the forests--must be off, and that at once." "Stop, general, that ain't sense," cried a man, with a cap made out of a wild-cat's skin; "not a step backwards--the enemy must soon come, and then we'll whip 'em so glorious, that it will be a pleasure to see it; the miserable vampires that they are!" "A fight! a fight!" shouted the surrounding throng. "For Texas, now or never!" "Sam Houston is not of that opinion, my fine fellows," answered the general, "and it is not his will to fight. Sam will not risk the fate of the republic in a single foolhardy battle. The broad woods of the Brazos shall do us good service. Though you are brave, and willing to risk your lives, it would be small benefit to the country if you lost them. No, my boys, we'll give it to the vermin, never fear, they shall have it, as sure as Sam Houston stands in his own shoes." "It's impossible for us to go back, General," cried another speaker; "can't be--must at 'em! What, General, our richest plantations lie between the Colorado and the Brazos, and are we to abandon them to these thieves? Old Austin[H] would rise out of his grave if he heard the footsteps of the murderers upon the prairie. No, General--must be at them--must conquer or die!" "Must conquer or die!" was echoed through the crowd; but the old general sat whittling away, as cool as a cucumber, and seemed determined that the next victory he gained should be in his own camp.