The Diezmo Rick Bass (phonics reading books .txt) 📖

and Santa Anna as a preliminary step toward annexation, but loose gangs of Texas irregulars began scourging the Rio Grande again—without Houston’s encouragement or permission, this time—harassing and sometimes murdering Mexican citizens living on both sides of the tenuous border, particularly in a remote region known as the Nueces Strip.

Houston was forced to put the entire area under martial law, authorizing Captain Jack Hays and the Texas Rangers to restore peace, which they were eventually able to do, though not before one especially notorious band of renegades known as the Man-Slayers had killed dozens of Mexican nationals on both sides of the river, forcing Santa Anna to call. an end to the brief armistice. He had not yet saved enough money to go back to war, and he no longer had British support for war as he had in the past, but Santa Anna had to pretend that he was ready and willing to fight. Our chances, which had seemed brighter during the armistice, were now dashed by bandits whose actions were little different from our own.

Still weakened by typhus, we resumed digging late at night, clawing at the stony earth with our bare hands. Our knuckles were bloodied, our fingertips raw, but the guards didn’t seem to notice, and as we dug deeper, the sound of the river became louder and clearer: it sounded as if it were running faster.

Waddy Thompson had fallen in love with a young Mexican woman, a general’s daughter, in Mexico City. At the age of sixty-eight, he was about to retire, and he planned to remain in Mexico.

He came to visit us: an old man made young again, even if only for a while longer. He had bittersweet news; his labors had borne fruit, although unfortunately not for us.

Held elsewhere in the castle was another regiment of Texas prisoners who had been taken hostage during one of General Woll’s last invasions into Texas. Santa Anna wished to reward Waddy Thompson for his service as ambassador by releasing some of Woll’s captives and asked Thompson to submit a list of prisoners who should receive highest priority.

Thompson asked that we be considered for release along with Woll’s prisoners, but Santa Anna held firm, reiterating his position—and it was an accurate one—that we were thieves, murderers, and pillagers, not soldiers. He would consider only some of Woll’s captives, and asked again for a list of “the important ones.”

“How can I distinguish between men,” Thompson responded, “all strangers to me personally, whose cases are in all respects identical, and why should you?”

Santa Anna ended up signing an executive proclamation that released all of Woll’s prisoners. Thompson reported to his superiors in the United States, “Nothing could have been more handsome than the manner in which this release was executed, and I am sure I have never experienced a more heartfelt pleasure.”

He sat quietly among us. Our number was down to seventy-three by that point, so he was able to address all of us at once.

“I have failed at this aspect of my job,” he said, speaking quietly. He looked around at each of us, his eyes as haunted and sorrowful as if it were his actions and not our own that had sealed our doom. His eyes settled on our torn and scabrous hands—he knew nothing of our second tunnel—and then told us that although it would be inappropriate for him to counsel escape, and that we would surely be executed if captured, the time might be drawing nigh for that last resort.

“I am about to marry a beautiful, loving woman,” he said. He gestured at our dark cell. “I am about to leave all of this behind.” He shook his head. “My failure to get you released has been the greatest regret of my professional life.”

We were to see Thompson only once again. A week later—following a feast in his honor—General Woll’s captives were escorted from the castle, marching in single file across the drawbridge, into the noonday sun. We were all gathered in the courtyard to watch their march to freedom, and a few of the more daring from our expedition, Bigfoot Wallace among them, had maneuvered themselves into position to slip into the ranks of Woll’s captives to march out with them: and they did so, passing successfully out of the fort and all the way across the drawbridge. They made it a hundred yards out into the desert before one of the guards recognized them, ordered them out of the line, and returned them to the castle.

But rather than being executed, as was customary protocol for anyone caught attempting an escape, the returning prisoners were treated with good-natured ridicule and hoots of derision from the soldiers. And, as if in reward for the entertainment provided, we received extra rations that night, but after eating we did not play cards or sing or dance but sat around in morose silence, the castle feeling emptier and lonelier than it had before.

We waited for midnight, and then beyond, so that we could begin quietly digging.

The new U.S. ambassador to Mexico, Wilson Shannon, met with us, and we could see right away that he was not proud of his post, that he found the entire country disagreeable and resented in particular that part bf his duty that called him to the Castle of Perve. He spoke no Spanish (neither would he trouble himself to learn any), and he was aghast at our stumbling, mumbling, nearly naked condition, and by the autumn swelter, and by the lice. He had had to ride a mule to Perote, accompanied by an armed regiment to protect him against bandits, and the day he arrived the entire country had been resounding with the steady fire of cannons, rifles, and pistols. At first we had believed the country to be under attack, but we soon learned that the shots were being fired in mourning for the death of Santa Anna’s wife, Dona Inés, who, though only thirty-three, had died that day