Chapter 7

"For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled alt, is ever won."

"The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame."

"With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us."

"And the King hath laid his hand
On the watcher's head;
Till the heart that was worn and sad,
Is quiet and comforted."

It was a beautiful day at the close of May, 1836, and New Orleans was
holding a jubilant holiday. The streets were full of flowers and gay
with flying flags; bells were ringing and bands of music playing; and
at the earliest dawn the levee was black with a dense crowd of excited
men. In the shaded balconies beautiful women were watching; and on
the streets there was the constant chatter of gaudily turbaned
negresses, and the rollicking guffaws of the darkies, who had nothing
to do but laugh and be merry.

New Orleans in those days took naturally to a holiday; and a very
little excuse made her put on her festal garments, and this day she
had the very best of reasons for her rejoicing. The hero of San Jacinto
was coming to be her guest, and though he was at death's door with
his long-neglected wound, she was determined to meet him with songs
of triumph. As he was carried in his cot through the crowded streets
to the house of the physician who was to attend to his shattered bone,
shouts of acclamation rent the air. Men and women and little children
pressed to the cotside, to touch his hand, or to look upon his noble,
emaciated face. And though he had striven with things impossible, and
was worn to a shadow with pain and fever, he must have felt that
"welcome" an over-payment for all his toil and suffering.

Yet it was not alone General Houston that was honored that day by the
men of New Orleans. He represented to them the heroes of the Texan
Thermopylae at the Alamo, the brave five hundred who had fallen in
cold-blooded massacre at Goliad, and the seven hundred who had stood
for liberty and the inalienable rights of manhood at San Jacinto. He
was not only Sam Houston; he was the ideal in whom men honored all
the noblest sentiments of humanity.

A few friends accompanied him, and among them John Millard. On reaching
Texas John had gone at once to Houston's side; and in days and nights
of such extremity as they shared together, friendship grows rapidly.
Houston, like the best of great generals, had immense personal
magnetism, and drew close to him the brave and the honest-hearted.
John gave him the love of a son for a father, and the homage of a
Soldier for a great leader. He rode by his side to victory, and he
could not bear to leave him when he was in