Juan Seguin Read online

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The next few months went by quickly. Juan and I stayed with the army and patrolled the countryside to make sure that the enemy did not return. General Houston went to New Orleans to have his wounded foot treated. More settlers were coming to Texas. Some of the men were disappointed that they had arrived too late to take part in the fighting. Soon new towns were formed, and the Texans began to choose a government to lead the new country.

  Sam Houston returned from New Orleans. In the election he was selected the first president of the Republic of Texas. It seemed that good times were ahead for the new country of Texas.

  One day Juan and I were called to President Houston’s office. Houston stood as we entered. He was using a cane to walk because his foot was still healing. He smiled and pointed to some chairs.

  “Juan. Pablo. It’s good to see you again,” he said.

  We looked around the office. It was well furnished, and a fire was burning in the fireplace.

  “It’s good to see you too, Mr. President. The last time I saw you, you were lying under a tree. Now you have this nice office.”

  Houston smiled. “Yes, I remember that day very well. It was a great day for Texas.” Houston stared at the ceiling as if he were seeing the battlefield at San Jacinto. He looked back at Juan. “Juan, you did a great service for me and for Texas during the war. I could always count on you. Now I have one more duty I want you to perform.”

  Juan and I looked at each other. The war was over. No enemy troops were coming to Texas. We didn’t know what Houston could want us to do.

  “I have always been ready to do what I could for Texas. What do you want me to do now?”

  Houston leaned back in his chair. “Juan, I want you to take some men to San Antonio. I want you to find what you can of the remains of the men who fought at the Alamo and bury them. Those were brave men. They sacrificed all for Texas. They should be honored for their sacrifice.”

  I looked at Juan. He sat silently in his chair for several minutes. I could tell he was thinking about his friends who had died at the Alamo.

  “I will be honored to do that, Mr. President. I am afraid there won’t be much left. The bodies were burned, and it’s been a while. I will do the best I can.”

  Houston nodded. “That’s all I ask, Juan. So far your best has been good enough. Now I have other business I need to see about. Being president keeps me busy. Some days I want to just be a soldier again. Come back to see me. It’s always good to see you.”

  Juan and I walked outside. He was silent for a while. Then he turned to me and said, “Come on, Pablo. I told those men at the Alamo I would be back. Now I’m going to keep my promise.”

  Several days later we rode into San Antonio. It was good to see the town again. I had not been back since the night Juan and I rode out of the Alamo. Our group was quiet as we rode down the street. In the distance we could see the ruins of the Alamo. Soon we stopped in front of a small house. Juan dismounted and greeted the man who came out of the door.

  “Hello, Francisco. How have you been?”

  Francisco Ruiz was the mayor of San Antonio. He shook Juan’s hand.

  “I’m better since I heard about San Jacinto. What are you doing back here?”

  “President Houston sent me and my men to bury the remains of the Alamo defenders. I was hoping you might know where I could find them.”

  I saw a tear run down Francisco’s cheek. “Yes, I know where some remains are. Santa Anna put me in charge of burning the bodies that day. Later I went back and found some ashes. I kept them in a small box in my room. I’ll get them for you.”

  Francisco went inside. Soon he came back with a small wooden box. He handed the box to Juan.

  “Here is all I could find. When will you have the ceremony?”

  Juan took the box. “Tomorrow.”

  Francisco nodded. “I’ll tell the people. I know many of them will want to be there.”

  The next day we gathered in the Alamo chapel. Juan stood in front of the crowd of people who had come to watch. He held the box in his hands. It was quiet in the chapel as Juan began to speak. He spoke of the men and the great sacrifice they had made so that Texas could be free. As he spoke I saw tears run down his face. Finally he looked at the small box he held.

  “My friends, when I left you here in the Alamo, I told you that I would come back. Today I have kept that promise.”

  A short while later the remains were buried. When the ceremony was ended, Juan walked to his horse that he had borrowed from Jim Bowie so long ago and mounted. He did not speak to anyone. I stood and watched with the others as Juan Seguin rode from the Alamo one last time.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The old man stopped speaking and stared into the fireplace. The only sound in the room was the creaking of his rocking chair. Finally the reporter cleared his throat.

  “That was quite a story, Mr. Gomez. My readers will like it.”

  The old man continued to stare into the fireplace. He didn’t speak for several minutes. Finally he turned to the reporter.

  “Be sure you tell the story true. The men who fought for Texas deserve to have their story told true. They were brave men. They sacrificed much, oftentimes everything they had. They deserve to be remembered for what they did.”

  “I’ll tell the story. I want everyone to know about these men. They should know about them. It’s hard to imagine the sacrifices that they made so we can enjoy the freedoms we have today. I wish that I had known them. They were truly great men. When I tell their story, people will remember them. They will remember the Alamo. They will remember Goliad. Don’t worry, Mr. Gomez. My readers won’t forget these men.”

  The old man continued to rock as he nodded. “I hope you do as you say. I have told you the truth, and the truth is what you should write. I’ve told this story to my grandson many times. I don’t think he understands what I want him to understand. But he’s young. He has the benefits of the sacrifices these men gave. To him this was long ago. He is a good boy, but this was all too long ago.”

  The old man rocked some more. The reporter got ready to leave. Suddenly the old man turned to him. There was a fire in the old man’s eye that had not been there before. His voice was strong as he said, “Yes, my young friend. Tell your readers about Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie, William Travis, and Sam Houston. Tell them about all the others who fought so that Texas could be free. Tell them to remember the Alamo. Tell them to remember Goliad. But tell them to remember one of the best friends that Texas ever had. Tell them to remember my good friend. Tell them to remember Juan Seguin.”

  The End