passed into another, we trust a better world. Thus fell Ewin Cameron! Long, long will the patriotic of his adopted country cherish the memory of one whose bosom was bared to every danger, and whose life was sacrificed to liberty.

As we have before said, he was a Scotchman, and a more honourable or bolder Scotchman never left his native land. He was about thirty-six years of age, tall and well proportioned, weighing nearly two hundred pounds, and of extraordinary physical power, which was in perfect keeping with his manly countenance and lion heart. We recollect him well at the battle of Mier, defending with his gallant company one of our most exposed situations. He wore a bowie-knife at his side, and held in his hand a tremendous [286] rifle which carried ten balls to the pound; and it was certain death for an enemy to cover his sight at three hundred yards. On one occasion during the action, a column of the enemy charged so near upon his position, along a low stone wall four feet high, and not having time to reload, he thundered out, in his ever-memorable, glorious Highland brogue, "Boys, to your stones!" No sooner said than a shower of fifty well-aimed pebbles, about the size of one's fist, saluted the assailants, knocking down many, and scattering the remainder to the four winds. This sensible man, with an intuitive fore-cast which he could never have picked from all the books of all the wars, previous to the charge ordered his company, stationed along the before-mentioned wall, to "pile up good-sized throwing-stones," and keep them in readiness as a corps de reserve. They proved to be as effective as if they had been hurled by steam-power; for the fact was ascertained after the battle that several of the enemy were found dead without having their skins broken, such was the effect of this novel repulse.

Lieutenant George B. Crittenden,13 who had been also released by order of Santa Anna, came by to see us. He was permitted to remain locked up in prison with us one hour, and by him we sent home many messages to wives, sweethearts, and countrymen.

Orlando Phelps, who had also been released by Santa Anna, came by to see us, which afforded us [287] another opportunity to write home. The release of Phelps shows that the President of Mexico is not wholly destitute of gratitude. When he was confined a prisoner at Orozimbo, in Texas, the seat of Dr. Phelps, in 1836, and failed in his attempt to poison his guards, he was ironed by Captain Patton, the officer in charge of him. This threw such a gloom over his destiny, that in a fit of despondence he determined to drink the poison prepared for his guards. Dr. Phelps succeeded in pumping it from his stomach and restoring him, for which he generously released his son, and furnished him means to return home.14

Owing to Santa Anna's personal hostility to myself, I had nothing to hope from his clemency, and but little to desire. With my letter of the 25th of April