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Theory and Practice of
Physical Pharmacy
First Edition

Gaurav K. Jain [Link]. (Gold Medalist), Ph.D.

Assistant Professor
Dept. of Pharmaceutics, Faculty of Pharmacy Hamdard
University, New Delhi

Farhan J. Ahmad [Link]., Ph.D. Associate

Professor
Dept. of Pharmaceutics, Faculty of Pharmacy Hamdard
University, New Delhi

Roop K. Khar [Link]., D.B.M., Ph.D. Professor

Dept. of Pharmaceutics, Faculty of Pharmacy Hamdard
University, New Delhi

Elsevier
 Table of Contents
Instructions for online access

Cover image

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgements

Contributors

Part A Theory

Chapter 1: States of Matter

Chapter 2: Micromeritics

Chapter 3: Pharmaceutical Rheology

Chapter 4: Surface and Interfacial Phenomena

Chapter 5: Bu ers and Isotonic Solutions

Chapter 6: Complexation and Protein Binding

 Chapter 7: Colloidal Dispersions

Chapter 8: Pharmaceutical Suspensions

Chapter 9: Pharmaceutical Emulsions

Chapter 10: Di usion and Drug Release

Chapter 11: Drug Dissolution

Chapter 12: Kinetics, Degradation and Stability

Multiple Choice Questions (Useful for gpatgpatgpat

aspirants)

Experiment 1: Ternary Phase Diagram

Experiment 2: Particle Size by Optical Microscopy

Experiment 3: Particle Size by Sieving

Experiment 4: Flow Property of Powder

Experiment 5: angle of repose

Experiment 6: density determination

Experiment 7: Ostwald Viscometer

Experiment 8: Falling Sphere Viscometer

Experiment 9: Spreading Coe cient

Experiment 10: Critical Micelle Concentration

Experiment 11: Bu er Preparation

Experiment 12: Colloidal Solution

Experiment 13: Physical Stability of Suspension

Experiment 14: Dissolution Pro le of Tablet

Experiment 15: Kinetics–I

Experiment 16: Kinetics–II

Index
 Copyright
Theory and Practice of Physical Pharmacy

Jain, Ahmad and Khar

ELSEVIER

A division of Reed Elsevier India Private Limited

Mosby, Saunders, Churchill Livingstone, Butterworth Heinemann and

Hanley & Belfus are the Health Science imprints of Elsevier.

© 2012 Elsevier

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical including photocopying, recording, or any information
storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission
from the publisher and the copyright holder.

ISBN: 978-81-312-2824-1
Medical knowledge is constantly changing. As new information
becomes available, changes in treatment, procedures, equipment
and the use of drugs become necessary. The authors, editors,
contributors and the publisher have, as far as it is possible, taken
care to ensure that the information given in this text is accurate
and up-to-date. However, readers are strongly advised to con rm
that the information, especially with regard to drug dose/usage,
complies with current legislation and standards of practice. Please
consult full prescribing information before issuing prescriptions
for any product mentioned in the publication.

Note that the multiple choice questions presented in this book are prepared by
memory based data received from various students who have appeared in such
competitive examinations. Neither the Publisher nor the Author is in anyway
associated to the boards conducting such examinations. The Author and the
Publisher have tried to the best of their abilities to provide most recent and
scienti cally accurate information. However, in view of the possibility of
human and typographical errors or advancement in medical knowledge,
readers are advised to con rm the information contained herein with other
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 Dedication
Dedicated to my Parents and Grandparents
 Foreword
Physical pharmacy is the foundation for learning and
understanding the physicochemical properties of drug molecules,
developing products and formulations and establishing stability
and shelf life of medicines. Besides, its knowledge provides the
basis of explaining physiological processes in human body
including drug absorption, distribution, metabolism and
elimination. One can also predict, on the basis of physical
pharmacy, the therapeutic behaviour including interactions,
adverse drug reactions and contraindications. Its knowledge is
useful to understand A–Z of drug and product development.

Before the advent of physical pharmacy about 60 years ago,

the drug products were empirically prepared without sound basis.
Now the formulations have become more rational, reliable and
reproducible with reduced side e ects.
Voluminous literature exists in the form of both text/reference
books and research papers dealing with di erent aspects and facets
of physical pharmacy. The authors of this textbook are experienced
teachers at Hamdard University, New Delhi. Dr Gaurav Kumar Jain
is a young, budding and enthusiastic Assistant Professor associated
with teaching of the subject for about six years. He has a clear
understanding of the requirement of the student and has very
discerningly provided the theoretical basis, practice exercises and
objective questions with their answers. Another author, Dr Farhan
Jalees Ahmad, Associate Professor of Pharmaceutics with about 13
years of teaching and 7 years of industrial experience, has given it
a touch of necessary application aspect in product development.
Prof. Roop Krishen Khar, the third author, is a renowned pharmacy
teacher of over 30 years experience of teaching and research in
pharmaceutics in general and physical pharmacy in particular. The
present book has a avour of his in-depth knowledge.
The book Theory and Practice of Physical Pharmacy, being
published by Elsevier, comprises 12 chapters on theoretical aspects,
which ow in rational and systematic order embodying salient
details. In practice section the authors have included relevant
exercises to illustrate the theoretical problems. Finally, objective
questions and answers have made a useful appendix from the
students' point of view. The book is well written with necessary
details. It should prove extremely useful to students pursuing the
rst degree course in pharmacy.

S.N. Sharma Professor Emeritus

Hamdard University, New Delhi
 Preface
While sitting on the bench in the classroom during my graduation I
found it di cult to understand the fundamentals of physical
pharmacy. Even after a decade of my student years, I still nd the
present-day students with a confounded expression on their face
during physical pharmacy lectures.

The book Theory and Practice of Physical Pharmacy, by Elsevier,

has had a long period of gestation. The concepts espoused in this
book are a result of the rst-hand experience that I have garnered
while delivering undergraduate and postgraduate lectures at
Hamdard University.

The fundamentals of physical pharmacy are utilized in nearly all

aspects of the professional pharmacy curriculum. All unit operation
procedures, from distillation and evaporation processes to more
advanced drug nano-sizing methodologies, require knowledge of
states of matter (Chapter 1). The basics for developing solid oral
formulations rely on powder micromeritics (Chapter 2) whereas
those of liquid formulations rely on principles of rheology (Chapter
3). Many promising drug candidates fail to make it through human
drug development owing to poor biopharmaceutical properties.
Biopharmaceutical properties of such drug candidates can be
improved by applying the concepts of surface tension (Chapter 4)
or by pH modulation using bu er systems (Chapter 5) or by
formation of a stable complex (Chapter 6). Further, study of protein
binding of drug is an essential component of understanding its
pharmacokinetics and pharmacological action. Another way out to
improve bioavailability of drugs with poor aqueous solubility is to
formulate them as colloidal or coarse dispersions and therefore
study of properties, fundamental concepts, formulation aspects and
stability of these dispersions (Chapters 7, 8 and 9) are of utmost
importance. Drug release from a dosage form is a key prerequisite
for the drug to be systemically e ective. Therefore understanding
the mechanism of drug release is of prime importance in the
product development strategy (Chapter 10). The release studies
also help to develop novel strategies for spatial and temporal
delivery. Assessment of product quality through dissolution testing
methodologies is an essential component to form robust and
reliable drug products. The dissolution test not only guides
formulation development but also helps predict in vivo
performance of the dosage form (Chapter 11). Finally, a drug
product that remains stable until it is consumed by the patient
requires the knowhow of degradation kinetics and methods to
prevent and assess degradation (Chapter 12).

This book presents, in a mechanistic, quantitative manner, many

of the necessary fundamentals and their real practical applications.
The text utilizes the expertise of renowned pharmacy teachers and
my guides, Dr Farhan J. Ahmad and Prof. Roop K. Khar. The book
is divided into three major parts, as mentioned below:

Part A (Theory) includes theoretical principles written and

explained in a logical and easy-to-understand language to guide
professional students and pharmaceutical scientists engaged in drug
product development. Highlights present within the chapters
illustrate important concepts. Each chapter contains solved
examples to allow students to apply concepts in problem-solving
exercises.

Part B (Practicals) includes exercises where a student could apply

his or her theoretical concepts to real practical situations. Practicals
included in the textbook are indeed useful for application-based
understanding and learning.

Part C (Multiple Choice Questions) consists of multiple choice

questions along with their answers useful for GPAT aspirants.

Gaurav K. Jain
Farhan J. Ahmad
Roop K. Khar
 Acknowledgements
We are immensely grateful to all the contributing authors who have shared their
research and industrial knowledge with us. We are also thankful to Mr Mayank
Singhal, Ms Neha Mallick, Ms Ayesha Anjum Baig and Ms Vaidehi Garg for their
assistance in typing of several chapters, linguistic corrections and feedback on the
chapters.

We hope that the book will be useful not only for the students of
pharmaceutical sciences but also for the students of cognate disciplines interested
in pharmaceutical formulation development.

Gaurav K. Jain
Farhan J. Ahmad
Roop K. Khar
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 At the close of January, 1836, by reason of a quarrel between
Governor Henry Smith and the council, finding himself without the
means of enforcing his authority among the Texas troops, Houston
virtually retires from his office of major-general.
February, 1836, as one of three commissioners from Texas to the
Cherokees and other Indians, he so reassures the uneasy tribes that
they remain quiet throughout the war of Texas and Mexico.
March, 1836, is a delegate from Refugio of Southern Texas to the
Texas general convention which at Washington on the Brazos
declares for a Texas independent republic; by practically a
unanimous vote is re-elected commander-in-chief.
March and April, 1836, conducts his little army in a long retreat
eastward across Texas. Handicapped by the rains, and by soldiers
and settlers accused of cowardice and of leaving the country
needlessly exposed to the Mexican forces, he labors hard amidst
tremendous discouragements.
April 20, 1836, suddenly cuts off President Santa Anna’s column of
Mexican troops, at the head of San Jacinto Bay, on the coast of East
Texas.
April 21, 1836, with his 743 Texans, mainly rough and ready
volunteers, from his camp on Buffalo Bayou, near its juncture with
the San Jacinto River, charges the breastworks of the Santa Anna
1350 regulars, and in fifteen minutes of fighting wins the battle of
San Jacinto. Eight Texans were killed, twenty-three wounded;
Houston’s ankle was shattered while he was leading his men. Of the
Mexicans 630 were killed, 730 wounded and captured, or both.
Santa Anna was made prisoner on the next day.
The independence of the Republic of Texas having thus been
achieved at one stroke, in May Houston leaves for New Orleans to
have his wound treated.
July, 1836, Houston returns to Texas, and protests against the
proposed trial and execution of Santa Anna, who had been promised
his liberty.
 September, 1836, Sam Houston elected by a vast majority; first
permanent president of the new Republic of Texas.
October 22, 1836, he is inaugurated president, at Columbia.
November, 1836, he vetoes the resolution passed by the Texas
senate to retain Santa Anna as prisoner, and dispatches him to
Washington of the United States, for an audience with President
Jackson, in the interests of recognition by Mexico of Texas
independence.
December, 1836, removes to the town of Houston, on the battle-
field of San Jacinto—the new capital.
December, 1838, Houston ends his first term as president; he has
conducted the affairs of the new republic with great firmness and
wisdom; and living in a two-room log cabin has attired himself in
bizarre costume and been a curious mixture of statesman and
backwoodsman.
In the summer of 1839 he protests vehemently against violations,
by Texas, of the treaty with the Cherokees; he is threatened with
assassination, for “inciting” the Indians against the whites, but he
makes his speech, just the same.
May 9, 1840, he marries, at Marion, Alabama, Miss Margaret
Moffette Lea. She is a girl of twenty-one, he a man of forty-seven,
and her gentle influence over him is his guiding star until his death;
he soon ceases drinking and swearing, and now allows his better
nature to have full sway.
1840–1841, Houston is representative from Nacogdoches, in the
Texas congress.
1841, elected, for the second time, president of the Texas
Republic; inaugurated, December 16, at the new capital of Austin.
Serves as president until December, 1844. Does not like Austin,
and removes the seat of government to Houston, and thence to
Washington on the Brazos; but the indignant citizens of Austin
retain, by force, the government archives. As president, Houston
opposes invasion of Mexico by Texas, vetoes other war measures,
and again is threatened with assassination, but treats the threats
with contempt.
By correspondence with General Jackson, President Tyler, and
other statesmen, and by his public addresses, he successfully
engineers the annexation of Texas to the United States, although the
act was not consummated while he was at the head of the Texas
government.
In the fall of 1845 he is elected United States senator from the
state of Texas. Arrives at Washington to take his seat, March, 1846.
While in Congress wears his well-known broad-brimmed white wool
hat, and Mexican blanket, whittles industriously at cedar shingles
while listening to the debates, and bears prominent part in national
affairs. He opposes the extension of slavery in new territories, and is
denounced, by the South, as a traitor. He remains a firm advocate of
the rights of the Indians.
January, 1853, re-elected to congress, from Texas.
Attends the Baptist church regularly, in Washington. In 1854 is
received into the Baptist faith, at Independence, Texas.
March 3, 1854, delivers a great speech against Senator Stephen A.
Douglas’s Kansas-Nebraska bill, which repealed the Missouri
Compromise bill, prohibiting slavery north of latitude 36° 30´, and
opened Kansas and Nebraska territories to the extension of slavery
into the North.
In 1856 is candidate for the Presidency, but at the nominating
convention of the “American” party receives only three votes, his
opposition to the repeal of the Missouri Compromise bill having
aroused bitter enmity toward him.
In 1857 defeated for the United States senate.
In the fall of 1857 defeated for the governorship of Texas.
February, 1859, concludes his term in the United States senate
and returns to Texas.
 Fall of 1859 triumphantly elected, for a third time, governor of
Texas. Is inaugurated on December 21.
In the troublous days of 1860 he stands stoutly for the
preservation of the Union, and is threatened by the Southern
sympathizers by whom he is surrounded. He advises appeal to the
constitution rather than to arms.
March 14, 1861, Texas having seceded, he refuses to take the
oath of allegiance to the Confederacy; is deposed from the
governorship, and retires to Huntsville, his home.
Although opposing secession, he firmly advocates the defense of
the South against invasion by the Federal troops, and says that he is
willing to enter the Texas ranks. In his San Jacinto suit he reviews,
at Galveston, the Texas regiment in which his son, Sam Houston, Jr.,
has enlisted, and is cheered.
Lives at Cedar Point, Texas; becomes very feeble, from his old
wounds and other disabilities, and walks with the aid of a crutch and
a cane.
January, 1863, congratulates Texas for having driven the Northern
forces from her soil.
March 18, 1863, makes his last public speech, at Houston, Texas,
and bids Texas keep up its courage and its hopes of success of the
Southern cause.
July 26, 1863, Sam Houston dies in his bed at the family home, in
Huntsville, Texas, aged 70 years. His last words are: “Texas! Texas!”
and “Margaret,” the name of his wife. He died beloved and respected
by state and country. To his eldest son, Lieutenant Sam Houston, Jr.,
he bequeathed the “sword of San Jacinto.”
 WITH SAM HOUSTON IN TEXAS

I
“I AM SAM HOUSTON”

The toiling little steamboat “Arkansas” was stuck harder than ever,
as seemed, on a mud-bar far up the shallow Arkansas River, in the
old “Indian Country,” which is present Oklahoma.
“Back her! Back her!” were bawling a half-dozen voices, from her
passengers.
“Go ahead! Give her steam! Push her over!” were bawling a half-
dozen others.
“No! Swing her!”
The paddle-wheel astern threshed vainly; the red-shirted pilot in
the pilot-house continually jangled the engine-bell; from the upper
deck the captain yelled himself hoarse; on the lower deck the mate
stumped around in cowhide boots and swore horridly; the negro
roustabouts, ranged along the flat open bows and the guard-rails, to
shove with poles, grunted and panted, and now and then one fell
overboard when his pole slipped; the passengers advised and
criticized; the many dogs barked; and young Ernest Merrill,
scampering upstairs and down, so as to be certain to see everything
that happened, could not feel that the boat budged forward or
backward an inch.
“We’re rooted fast, this time,” spoke a pleasant voice in his ear, as
from the forward rail of the upper deck he was sighting on the
shore, to see whether they really did move. “There’s scarcely water
enough under her here to float a peanut shell.”
 It was his friend Lieutenant Neal, in charge of the army recruits
bound, like Ernest, for Fort Gibson of the Indian Country. A fine
young man was Lieutenant Neal; not much more than a boy himself.
Ever since he and Ernest had got acquainted, on the first day up the
Arkansas from where it emptied into the Mississippi, he had rather
taken Ernest under his wing. He and his recruits were from New
Orleans; and Ernest was from Cincinnati, in the other direction.
“She is stuck, isn’t she!” agreed Ernest. “But they’ll get her off,
won’t they? They always have.”
For the “Arkansas” to be aground was nothing new. Through
almost two weeks she had been threshing and thumping and
snorting on her noisy crooked way, stemming the tricky current and
dodging (when she could) the numerous bars and snags half-
exposed by the falling water. But every now and again she struck.
Such was steamboat travel on the Arkansas River in this early fall
of 1832.
That was a long trip, anyway, 640 miles by steamboat up to Fort
Gibson amidst the Cherokees in the Indian Country. The Arkansas
River had proved to be a lonely stream, winding amidst cane brakes
and bayous and timber and wide flowery prairies, peopled chiefly by
bear and deer and horses and wild fowl. At Little Rock, the first town
of any consequence, and the capital of Arkansas Territory, about half
the passengers left, and a dozen others came aboard. At Fort Smith,
300 miles further, on the line between Arkansas Territory and the
Indian Country, a half of the remaining passengers (including some
Texas emigrants and the most of the army recruits) filed ashore.
When Fort Smith was left behind, the passengers on board were,
with the exception of Lieutenant Neal and Ernest, a rather tough set:
reckless hunters and adventurers, each accompanied by several
black-and-tan or yellow hounds, and all apparently bound as far as
they could go into the Indian Country.
But it did not look as though they were to get much farther, by
steamboat!
 “By gracious!” fidgeted the lieutenant, mopping his brow under his
stiff-visored forage-cap. “This is bad, to be held up so, when we’re
almost there. I could better have gone overland from Smith. How far
is it to Gibson now, captain?”
The captain was tired and hot and cross.
“Less’n fifty miles by land, if you know the trail. Those who are in
a tearing hurry can get out and walk. I’d no business trying this end
of the river. I told all you fellows I probably couldn’t make it. Little
Rock is as high as a boat should go, after July; and here we are, 300
miles beyond. Pretty soon we’ll be navigating in dew.” And the
captain stalked indignantly away.
Not a breath of air was stirring. The sun shone hotly down from
the clear sky, and was reflected, almost as hotly, from the glassy
surface of the smoothly flowing river. On the right hand, up stream,
a gently rolling prairie of high grass, dotted with clumps of trees,
sloped to the water’s edge; on the left hand, which was the nearer
of the two shores, yellow banks had been cut and rose ten feet and
more until crowned by brush and trees. Both shores looked
deserted, although it was said that the Choctaw and Cherokee
Indians, who had been removed from east of the Mississippi,
inhabited the country.
The “Arkansas” had ceased her efforts, which had only swung her
around on the pivot of her hull. The paddle-wheel hung idle. The
negro roustabouts were leaning on their long poles, puffing and
resting. The booted mate sat in some shade in the bows and
mopped his crimson face. The pilot in the pilot-house left his bell-
rope, perched himself on the window-ledge, and lighted his pipe.
The passengers subsided. Some cast lines over and began to fish.
Others sat at cards. Some went to sleep, with their dogs.
Taken altogether, the scene was not very hopeful; and the
lieutenant, gazing around, gnawed his moustache.
“Pshaw, Ernest!” he said. “What next?”
 “Yaas,” drawled a lean, sallow backwoodsman, who with his pack
of hounds and flint-lock rifle had come aboard at Fort Smith.
“Sometimes these boats air hung fast this-away for a week, when
the water’s right low. An’ if the cap’n cain’t work ’em loose he jus’
natterly waits for a rain to riz the river under him.”
“But I can’t wait for a rain,” protested the lieutenant. “I’ve orders
to put my men into Gibson.”
“Let’s walk,” urged Ernest, for the land looked inviting and maybe
they’d find deer on their route.
Then——
“Hello!” spoke the lieutenant, eying the shore. “Here comes a
boat. Well, it’s good to see a sign of life somewhere.”
A small boat had put out from the high left-hand banks. It was
making for the steamer. One man, paddling, seemed to be the only
person in it.
Speedily the word of the approaching visitor spread throughout
the deck, and the passengers dropped every other amusement, to
watch and hazard guesses. As the boat drew nearer, it was seen to
be a dug-out, hollowed from a single large log. The paddler was
bearded and evidently was a white man. He wore a broad-brimmed
black felt hat and a buckskin shirt; and a long-barrelled rifle leaned
against the gunwale beside him.
He scarcely looked up until his dug-out grazed the gunwale of the
steamboat. Then he tossed a plaited hemp painter or tie-rope
aboard, a couple of roustabouts held the dug-out steady, and
grasping his rifle he followed the tie-rope with himself, clambering
easily over the bow. He strode for the stairs. In addition to hat and
shirt, he wore buckskin pantaloons and moccasins; a powder-horn
and bullet-pouch, and bowie-knife in hide scabbard.
Thus he appeared on the upper deck.
“Howdy?” he greeted cordially, surveying the passengers. “Going
or coming?”
 He was a spare, tall, sinewy, bronzed man, with thick black beard,
eagle eye, and hooked nose.
“Haw haw!” they laughed. “Wall, stranger, now you’re guessin’.”
“Whar might you be from?” demanded a spokesman.
“Texas—best country on earth; where all you fellows ought to be.”
Texas! Magic word! Before he had left Cincinnati, and all the way
down the Ohio and the Mississippi, and up the Arkansas, Ernest had
been hearing of “Texas, Texas, Texas”—a country which, although a
part of Mexico, seemed to be a regular goal for Americans, who
journeyed there, to tracts of land which had been assigned to
American colonies; and there they were given acres and acres for a
mere song. And here was a real Texan, was he?
“What might yore name be, stranger?” pursued the spokesman.
“Dick Carroll, gentlemen; from Gonzales in the DeWitt colony.”
“Fresh from Texas, be ye? Wall, what’s the chance down thar
now? I hear tell you’ve been havin’ some right smart fightin’ with
those thar Mexicans.”
“Yes; give us the latest news, sir,” requested the lieutenant.
The Texan eyed him, and thumped his rifle butt emphatically on
the hot deck.
“I will, and gladly. News? Full of it. Fighting? Well, I reckon you-all
know what’s been the trouble. By the Mexican constitution of 1824
all the states of the Mexican Republic were guaranteed rights and
privileges, same as the states of the United States, and we Texans
looked forward to having our own legislature and governor. Then
that Don Anastasio Bustamante rose for the presidency of Mexico,
overrode the constitution, made a sort of one-hoss monarchy of all
Mexico, and followed out the plan they’d tried before of putting
soldiers—the wust kind, being mostly thieves and murderers from
the prisons—over us in Texas, oppressing Americans with taxes,
selling our lands, saying that no more American settlers should come
in, and such like.”
“I know,” nodded the lieutenant.
“Of course, that business doesn’t work with a people like us
who’ve brought in their families, and settled according to agreement
with the government, and improved the land and built houses, and
done more in ten years than the Mexicans did in a hundred. So last
spring while Don Santa Anna was heading a revolution in Mexico
across the Rio Grande, to restore the rights of the constitution of
1824, we Texans did a little house-cleaning on our own account, and
drove every monarchist and Bustamantist across the border. When I
left, things had calmed down and the country was feeling hopeful
again.”
“Then it’s a good place for Americans, is it?” asked the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir. It’s been a good country, and now it’ll be a better one.
Where else in this world can a man with a family get three squar’
miles of the best soil, best grass, best water, in the best climate and
among the best people on earth, for thirty dollars down, and the rest
pay as he goes? We’ve all declared in favor of Santa Anna, the
Mexican troops have gone to help him lick Bustamante; as soon as
he’s made president he’ll give us what we want under the
constitution of ’24. So come along, everybody. There’s land a-plenty
and room for all.”
“Wall, stranger, you make a good talk,” spoke a passenger. “But
what mought you be doin’ now, if it’s any of our business? You’ve
said whar you’re from, but whar you goin’, out of such a fine
country?”
“I’m on my way to Fort Gibson. Saw this boat p’inting down
stream, so I borrowed a Choctaw dug-out and came to learn the
news from above. What’s doing, up ’round Gibson?”
“Haw haw!” they laughed. “Cain’t tell nary thing by the looks of
this boat, stranger. Fust we’re p’intin’ one way an’ next we’re p’intin’
’nother, like a bob-tailed hoss in a millpond. We’re calkilatin’ on
Gibson, ourselves. An’ what mought be yore business at Gibson?”
It was a great crowd for asking questions.
“I’m looking for Sam Houston.”
Sam Houston! This was another name, almost as familiar as
Texas. Sam Houston! Why, he was the man who as a young officer
had fought so bravely in the battle of Horseshoe Bend, in March,
1814, when General Andrew Jackson had saved Alabama and her
sister states from the ravages of the fierce Creek Indians. He was
the same man who when a boy had been adopted by the Cherokee
Indians, in Georgia, and had lived with them; and he had been
lieutenant in the regular army, and United States congressman from
Tennessee, and had risen to be governor of Tennessee, and only a
couple of years ago had quit everything and run away, back to the
Cherokees again, in the Indian Country. And ’twas said that when
now and then he reappeared in Washington he wore Indian
costume! He certainly seemed to be a queer character.
“And what mought you be wishin’ with Sam Houston?”
The Texan was very patient under these queries. He rested on his
long rifle, and spoke deliberately, surveying his audience.
“We want him in Texas, gentlemen. They held a meeting at
Nacogdoches of Eastern Texas, the other day, and passed resolution
to invite him to come down and help make Texas. He can have
anything he asks for.”
“Who? Sam Houston?” laughed the steamboat captain—still in a
bad humor. “Why, he’s turned squaw man; married to a half-breed
Cherokee woman, up in the Cherokee nation. Went down to
Washington on a scheme to get a government contract for selling
supplies to the Cherokees, beat a senator there half to death, who
dared criticize him, and raised an awful muss. Senate had him
arrested, and if it wasn’t for Andrew Jackson I reckon they’d have
put him in jail. Texas must be hard up, to send for him.”
 The Texan whirled on him indignantly.
“Don’t talk against Sam Houston to me, sir. I knew him in
Tennessee, and you can’t tell us Tennesseeans anything about Sam
Houston. He’s one of the noblest characters Providence ever created,
sir. He’s got not a drop of mean or cowardly blood in his big body. I
well know that after he parted from his wife (and the secret of his
trouble has never passed his lips) he resigned governorship and all
and fled to his friends the Injuns till he could straighten out again.
But Old Hickory (and Ernest knew that meant General Andrew
Jackson, the President) has stood by him, and anybody that Old
Hickory sticks to through thick and thin must be pretty much of a
man. You’ll see Sam Houston recover yet from whatever it is that
floored him, and he’ll be honored in the history of this country long
after you and I are forgotten. Where is he? Up at Gibson?”
“Yes,” sullenly responded the captain. “He passed through Little
Rock, they say, some time ago, after being in that muss at
Washington, so I reckon he’s running his trading store opposite the
fort, again, and drinking whisky. They call him ‘Drunken Sam.’ You’ve
a right to your opinion, but mine is that Houston’s fallen mighty low,
for a senator and a governor.”
“Low as he is, he’s Sam Houston, and he’ll rise again,” sternly
declared the Texan. “He’ll speak for himself, like he’s done before.”
“How’s the feeling on annexation to the United States, sir?”
queried the lieutenant. “There’s a report at New Orleans that
President Jackson has asked Houston to investigate with that in
view.”
The Texan laughed easily.
“We’ve 20,000 Americans in Texas, sir, but we’re not aiming now
to cut loose from Mexico. We’ve pledged ourselves to Santa Anna
and the constitution of 1824. What we want is our state rights in the
Mexican republic, and Sam Houston to lead us.”
“How about Austin?”
 “Steve Austin?” And the Texan’s eyes kindled. “I’m from the
DeWitt colony, myself, but the Austin colony was the first, and it’s
the keystone of the state. Moses Austin (he died in 1821) we call the
grand-daddy of Texas, and Steve his son’s our daddy. If it wasn’t for
the way he can talk sense with the government we’d all have been
booted out. But he’s worked hard for the people through ten years,
and he ought to tend to his own interests for a spell. We need
Houston. He’s six feet four and weighs according, and he can hold
Texas steady when she begins to rock. Well,” continued the Texan,
as if done, “I’m for Fort Gibson. Who’s coming along?”
“How?” demanded the lieutenant.
“There’s a skiff, and there’s the shore. This steamboat’s too
plaguey slow for anybody from Texas.”
“Do you know the way to Gibson from here?”
“Yes, sir. It’s nigh seventy miles by river but only some fifty by
land, mostly open country. We’ll likely meet up with Injuns who’ll
keep us straight.”
“Good! I’d rather be on dry land ashore than on mud in the middle
of the river,” said the lieutenant, briskly. “If you’re bound for Gibson
afoot, so are we. Want to come, Ernest?”
Ernest nodded.
“That your boy?” queried the Texan.
“Not exactly. But he’s looking for somebody at Gibson, too, and
he’s in a hurry.”
“So?” mused the Texan, surveying Ernest kindly. “He ’pears like
good Texas timber. If I can enlist him and Sam Houston both for that
country, we’ll make a big state of it, sure. That’s the talk. All right.
How many in your party?” he asked.
“Six, and the boy.”
“Anybody else for Fort Gibson?” invited the Texan, casting a glance
about.
 But the crowd only laughed good-naturedly.
“Fishin’s too good hyar, stranger,” they asserted, in lazy manner.
The lieutenant hustled away. Presently he returned.
“Ready,” he announced. “Our baggage will go by the steamer.”
So they descended to the lower deck, where the little squad of
soldier recruits were waiting at the gunwale, with their muskets and
haversacks.
“I’ve got enough for you, boy,” informed the lieutenant, to Ernest.
“Your trunk will stay with the rest of the stuff.” And while a couple of
roustabouts steadied the dug-out they all clambered cautiously in. A
recruit seized one paddle, the Texan seized another that was lying in
the bottom, and they shoved off without ceremony. The crowd
above gawked after them.
“Better let me take the bows,” quoth the Texan. “Then I can see.
We have to go a little careful. This river’s powerful full of snags.”
And it was fairly bristling with the jagged roots and branches of
tree-trunks, some projecting well above the swirling current, some
barely breaking the surface. Moreover, the dug-out, deep and
narrow, and smooth of hull, was decidedly cranky. The soldier in the
stern seemed not to be an expert paddler, and several times, in
veering sharply, the boat canted with alarming readiness.
“Steady, steady,” warned the Texan, when the men violently
gripped the gunwales. “I’ll do the steering. You lad in the stern, hold
her.”
They were making for the high banks, and the current was
carrying them swiftly down, for this was the rapid side of the river.
The laden dug-out was hard to control. Now the steamboat was
some distance above them, and receding. On a sudden the Texan
exclaimed with—
“Look out! Back her! Back her, I say!”
 Even as he spoke the dug-out struck with a shock, hung, swerved,
tilted—a hidden snag underneath rose and fell and clung vengefully
—water began to flow in over the gunwale on the up-stream side—
several of the recruits sprang half to their feet, leaning. “Steady!
Steady!” bade the lieutenant—and amidst a general cry, over she
went. His heart in his mouth, Ernest pitched backward, and with a
splash the water closed above him. He shut his lips tight just in time.
As soon as he could right himself he kicked and paddled
vigorously to reach the surface. Up he blindly came, working hard;
his head burst the surface, and hit with a thump. Ouch! Clawing, he
opened his eyes, but for a minute he could not see. Everything was
bleared and dark. He panted, and paddling and kicking he wildly
stared. Something hard was close above him and surrounding him,
like an umbrella. He stretched up a hand, and explored. Wood! His
knees hit a sharp edge, below water. His fingers encountered a
projection, near his head, and he hung on.
Now he knew. He was under the boat! He certainly was. The
covering was the bottom, inside, his knees had hit the gunwale and
his fingers had found the bow (or stern) where the gunwales came
together in a point. Yes, he was underneath the up-side-down dug-
out, and he was floating along with the current; at any rate, there
was nothing but water under him when he extended his feet as far
as he dared.
The space was not pitchy dark, for some light filtered through the
water; soon he could dimly make things out. A bobbing object
bumped against him; it was a canvas haversack.
For the present he had plenty of room and plenty of air; and by
kicking occasionally, and hanging on with his fingers, he easily kept
afloat. But, jiminy, what a fix! He shouted, and his voice rang
hollowly in his ears, almost deafening him. Maybe he could dive from
under. He took a long breath and sank and kicked, doubling his neck
—and bumped his head again, on one gunwale, and his shins on the
other. Huh! That didn’t work, so in a panicky fear he came up inside
to breathe. Shucks!
 Now his feet dragged momentarily on a bar, but lost it. Once more
he tried to dive. He must get out from under. He sank, turned in a
ball, kicked and paddled and groped, pushed luckily with the soles of
his feet against the opposite gunwale—and away he slid, scraping
his back. He held his breath as long as he could; then out he
popped, into sunshine and freedom!
Paddling, and drinking the open air, he blinked, dazzled, until he
could gaze about. What good fortune that he had learned to swim!
However, he saw nothing but the surface of the water, and the two
shores, and the dug-out, bottom-side up and looking like a big
narrow turtle. Above him the river curved widely, and around the
curve was the steamboat, probably; but he was alone. Nobody had
floated down with him.
He was nearer to the low shore than to the high, so he must have
been carried diagonally by a cross current. His feet touched bottom
again, and he started to wade, on tiptoe—when he suddenly
bethought himself. He struck out for the boat, held to it with one
hand and groped under it with the other, and hauled out the
haversack. There might be something in it to wear or eat, if the
water had not spoiled all the stuff. He felt somewhat like Robinson
Crusoe; and pushing the heavy haversack he headed for the nearer
shore.
The water shoaled rapidly, until waist-high and knee-deep in the
mud he forged along, lugging the haversack (which weighed about a
ton!), until he emerged at what he had supposed was a low
meadow. It had looked like level grass; but he discovered that it
wasn’t land, after all. It was a regular swamp; with coarse cane and
grass higher than his head, and underfoot a squashy bog in which
he sank to his knees again. And the mosquitoes! And the damp
heat! Shucks, and twice shucks! But there were no two ways, now.
He toiled manfully on, lugging the precious haversack, shoving
through the jungle, plumping in the soft boggy turf, not able to see a
thing except the cane and grasses, and the mosquitoes that ate him,
with the sun boiling him and his feet like lead.
 It seemed to be a tremendously wide swamp. He kept a sharp
lookout for snakes, and tried his best to make a bee-line by sighting
on some tree-tops that, from occasional open spots, he could
glimpse far before. His breath came in gasps, his heart thumped, the
mosquitoes and the heat were awful, and the perspiration simply
poured down his face. He was leaving the river behind, but when he
got out of the swamp, then where would he be?
Hurrah! He guessed that he was reaching the edge, at last. The
bogginess was not so deep, and the jungle not so high. His head
began to stick above the rushes; his shoulders followed, and he
could see about him.
The trees were plain: a large timber-patch, across a short stretch
of level prairie. Out of the swamp and upon the hard prairie Ernest
staggered; and down he sank, in the hot sun, gasping. A sorry sight
he was, too: a bare-headed boy (he had lost his hat, of course), in
blue flannel shirt and gray jeans trousers and coarse cowhide shoes,
soaked to the skin and muddy to the waist. He was glad to drop the
haversack and wipe his face with his wet bandanna handkerchief.
Then he took off his shoes and socks, wrung his socks as free as he
could of mud and water, emptied his shoes, put socks and shoes on
again; and after a breathing space decided to try for the shade of
the trees.
With a grunt he picked up the haversack (which he would
investigate later), and plodded on. It was another long pull to the
trees, for he was pretty weak in the knees. But he made it, without a
stop; and as he crossed the border, from sun to shade, how good
the coolness felt!
The timber patch was quiet, except for the twitter of birds. Once,
as he wandered curiously forward, seeking the best seat so as to
rest and examine the haversack, he heard a quick rustle and a series
of thumps, as if he had disturbed a deer; but he did not see the
deer. Apparently he had the timber all to himself. This was rather
fun, exploring—especially if the haversack contained something to
eat. But the undergrowth was thick, and there were still some
mosquitoes; and the proper place in which to sit down would be an
open space warmed by the sun. The shade was almost too cool.
After he had rested and dried off, and perhaps had a bite to eat, he
would start out and look for the steamboat, up the river. Or maybe
he could find the lieutenant, who might be looking for him.
An open space appeared ahead. Ernest made for it, broke through
into it—and abruptly stopped short, staring and hugging his
haversack. The first thing that his quick eyes saw was a big Indian,
directly opposite.
The Indian was sitting down, cross-legged. He was a frightfully big
Indian—quite the biggest Indian imaginable. He wore dark whiskers,
covering his chin, but he was an Indian, sure; for he had on a gaily
figured, dirty calico hunting-shirt, open at the throat so that his hairy
chest showed, and buckskin trousers, and embroidered moccasins,
and around his large head was wound a strip of red cloth, in several
folds, turban fashion. His hair appeared to hang in a pig-tail, or
braided queue, down his back. A quiver of feathered arrows lay
beside him, and a short strung bow was across his knees.
He sat without a movement, scarcely winking his eyes, which, bold
and steady and very blue, surveyed Ernest, while Ernest surveyed
him. Ernest had the feeling that this Indian had seen him first; and
there, half in sun and half in shade under the tree at the clearing’s
edge, had waited for him to approach.
“Who are you, boy?” The Indian had spoken, in a deep, resonant
voice—and he had spoken good English.
“My name is Ernest Merrill,” stammered Ernest, standing stock
still.
“Where are you from?”
“From Cincinnati, Ohio.”
“How came you here?”
“I was travelling on a steamboat up the Arkansas River, and the
steamboat stuck on a mud-bar, so I got off to walk the rest of the
way.”
“Where are you going?”
“Fort Gibson.”
“What do you want at Fort Gibson?”
“My uncle. He sent for me.”
“Who is your uncle?”
“He’s Sergeant John Andrews, in the United States army.”
“Who is with you?”
“N-nobody,” faltered Ernest, determined to be honest. “There were
Lieutenant Neal and some soldiers and a Texan, but the dug-out
capsized with us and I got under it and lost ’em. They must be
around somewhere, though,” he added, as a warning.
“Have you no parents?”
“Yes, sir; I’ve my mother, but she’s sick and my uncle was to take
me till she’s well. He’s going to be discharged pretty soon.”
Ernest could no longer keep himself from trembling. His knees
were so wobbly, and his stomach so empty, and the haversack so
heavy; and he was alone, and the Indian was very big. The Indian
seemed to notice the symptoms. He smiled—a beautiful but sad
smile—and beckoned with a great fore-finger.
“Come here, my boy,” he bade, in his fine resonant voice. “Fear
nothing. You are as safe with me as in your mother’s lap.” And he
added, with a dignified gesture of his open hand: “I am Sam
Houston.”
 II
ON THE ROAD TO TEXAS

Ernest went forward, across the little park. Now he was not a
particle afraid. Something in the man’s big finger and steady voice
put him at his ease. Besides, this was no Indian; it was Sam
Houston in Indian clothes. Truly, an astonishing meeting, but a
happy one. So Ernest went forward.
“What have you there, my boy?” asked Sam Houston, referring to
the haversack.
“It’s a knapsack,” replied Ernest. “I found it under the boat.”
“Whom does it belong to?”
“One of the soldiers. He lost it when the boat capsized; so I took it
with me.”
“Where are the soldiers?”
“I don’t know. I guess they swam ashore while I was floating
down.”
“Let me see.”
Ernest passed the haversack to him, and squatted down while
Sam Houston unbuckled the flap. After all, there wasn’t much of any
use in the haversack: only two pairs of socks, and a suit of
underclothing, and a razor and strop, and a “housewife” or little case
containing needles and thread, and several newspapers, and a tin
plate and steel knife and fork and pewter spoon, and some soggy
crackers or hardtack, and a cotton night-cap. None of the clothing
would fit Ernest. The haversack had weighed so much because it
was water-soaked.
 Sam Houston stowed everything carefully back again, and buckled
the flap.
“We will restore this to the Government when we get to Fort
Gibson,” he said. “It is not yours or mine. Can you travel? Come.”
And he stood. “I have provision. You can eat as you go. Your uncle is
no longer at the cantonment, but never mind. Sam Houston will
watch over you.”
His uncle “no longer at the cantonment!” Why? And where, then?
Ernest’s heart sank.
“He has been transferred,” quoth Sam Houston, briefly, as he
strode, carrying the haversack, Ernest trotting in the wake of his
great strides.
Ernest asked no further. He felt that he was in good hands, and
that Sam Houston knew what was to be done.
In a few minutes they arrived at the edge of the timber, where a
small, bob-tailed pony was tethered to a tree. The pony nickered at
their approach. From the tree Sam Houston took down the carcass
of a deer, hanging there. He laid it over the horse’s haunches and
tied it fast. He slung his quiver at his thigh, and the haversack from
the saddle, against the horse’s side. The pony did indeed seem very
small; but after handing Ernest a strip of dried meat, extracted from
the bosom of his shirt, and saying, “Chew on this, my boy,” Sam
Houston untied the animal, lifted Ernest astride the deer carcass
behind the rude saddle, and confidently mounted, himself.
Thus they rode away, at an easy amble, Ernest perched high and
hanging tight, his legs and the legs of the deer dangling.
Up hill and down, through a rolling prairie land of rich grass and
occasional brush and trees, they rode; they saw deer and wild
turkeys, and crossed several trails; and at sunset they halted, by a
creek, to spend the night. They chewed more of the dried meat,
Sam Houston cut some dried grass, spread it, and from the saddle
untied a blanket, and laid it out.
 “There is our bed, yours and mine,” he said. “Some day you will
remember that you shared the couch of Sam Houston.”
Ernest snuggled beside him, and slept soundly until daybreak.
After a scanty breakfast they rode on.
It probably was about ten o’clock when, as they topped a little
rise, Ernest’s friend pointed ahead.
“Yonder is our destination,” he said, solemnly—and using the high-
sounding language of which he evidently was fond. “There lies the
cantonment of Fort Gibson; and across the stream from it waits the
humble habitation of Sam Houston.”
Slightly to the south of west showed a river, marked by its line of
trees. That was the Arkansas. From the north another river joined it;
and on the hither shore of this river, a few miles above its mouth,
was a group of buildings, occupying a lovely placid site in the sunny
open. Across the wide grassy prairie that stretched to the river
ambled the pony, with its double burden—Ernest holding fast and
peering.
Soon he could make out the Stars and Stripes floating on the
breeze, from its tall flag-staff. Several Indians—real Indians—were
met, on their ponies. They were dressed much like Sam Houston;
some carried bows, some muskets. With them Sam Houston
exchanged a dignified word of greeting. And presently the fort itself
was reached—but it did not appear to be much of a fort; just a small
collection of low, shabby wooden buildings around a parade-ground.
Ernest was disappointed. However, he did not waste many
moments by criticizing his port. As the pony entered the parade-
ground, apparently being directed straight for the quarters of the
commanding officer himself, almost the first white persons that
Ernest saw were young Lieutenant Neal, and the tall Texan, crossing
the parade-ground together. And they had seen him.
With a little shout of joy, off from the deer carcass tumbled Ernest,
and ran forward. The lieutenant and Mr. Carroll met him half way,
and there was a great shaking of hands.
 “Are you all here?” demanded Ernest, breathless. “I am. Sam
Houston brought me.”
“Great Cæsar! Is that Sam Houston?” exclaimed the Texan. “With
that Cherokee dress and those whiskers on his chin I didn’t know
him. Bless my heart, but I’m glad to see you! Where did you go to?
You disappeared completely. We——”
“I was under the boat,” explained Ernest.
“Is that so! We saw the boat but we didn’t sight you. We swam
and waded to the high bank——”
“I landed on the other side; the low side,” explained Ernest. “Quite
a way down, though. I couldn’t get out from under the boat, at
first.”
“Lucky you did get out,” said the lieutenant, soberly. “We never
thought of that. Well, we searched along the bank, the best we
could; then we told some Indians to keep a watch-out for you, and
borrowed some horses from them and rode on to the fort. Got here
about midnight.”
“My uncle isn’t here any more, Mr. Houston says,” faltered Ernest,
his spirits dropping.
“No, he isn’t, Ernest,” admitted the lieutenant. “He’s been gone
about two weeks. But never mind. You’ll be cared for. Now let’s
speak with General Houston a minute.”
General Houston, as the lieutenant had entitled him, was sitting
with dignified patience on his bob-tailed pony, as if waiting for
recognition. Followed by Ernest, the lieutenant and the Texan
stepped over to him.
“I am Lieutenant Neal, sir,” addressed the lieutenant. “If I mistake
not, I have the honor of addressing General Houston.”
“The same, sir,” bowed the general.
“Allow me to present Mr. Carroll, recently from Texas. You have
done a great service, sir, in restoring to his friends this boy, with
whom I travelled from the Mississippi River, and who I feared had
been lost by an untimely accident.”
“It is one of the few pleasures of my life, sir,” responded the
general. “I have informed him that Sergeant John Andrews, his
uncle, is no longer stationed at Fort Gibson. Does the further
disposal of the boy rest with you or with me?”
“I will take charge of him, and thank you,” answered the
lieutenant.
“Then I will consign to you this haversack, also, which is the
property of the Government,” continued the general. “Good-by, sirs.
Good-by, my boy. Shall you ever need a friend, you will find him in
Sam Houston.” He gravely eyed the Texan. “From Texas, eh? I will
speak with you anon, sir.” He touched his pony with his heel, and
turning aside ambled away.
“A ruined man,” mused the lieutenant, gazing after. “Think of him,
as once a congressman, and governor of a state! I fear his violent
habits have weighted him down beyond recall.”
“A great character struggling to free itself again,” corrected the
Texan. “There is nothing half-way about Sam Houston. Just now he’s
like a wounded b’ar, that bites its own flesh and crawls about
seeking healing yarbs. But wait till he’s recovered. Why,” added the
Texan, “in his Injun clothes, on a bob-tail hoss, he rides as if he
were in broadcloth on a thoroughbred!”
And Ernest decided that the Texan was right.
The next thing on the program, for Ernest, was of course a
change of clothes. In the lieutenant’s room he was fitted out, after a
fashion; and although the clothes were rather large, they were
clean. The steamboat with his trunk had not arrived yet. As like as
not she was still stuck on the bar.
So Ernest, while awaiting word of his uncle the sergeant, who had
been sent out with a scouting detail across country clear to
Cantonment Leavenworth in what is to-day Kansas, stayed at Fort
Gibson. It was likely, according to the lieutenant, that the sergeant
would get his discharge at Leavenworth. Well, what then? Would he
come back? Scarcely. Would he send for Ernest to meet him?
Nobody seemed to know. Therefore Ernest wrote a letter—a long,
long letter—to his mother, and settled down to do the best that he
could. He was such a handy lad that he felt he could earn his way;
and as he was willing to do anything, he kept very busy performing
little jobs for Lieutenant Neal and the other officers.
Fort Gibson, or Cantonment Gibson (a cantonment being deemed
not so permanent as a fort), located here on the east bank of the
Grand River a few miles above the Arkansas, in the southwest corner
of the United States possessions, was only a small post established
among the Cherokee, Creek and Choctaw Indians of the Indian
Country. Of these, the Cherokees were the most numerous around
the post. They had their principal village, named Tah-lon-tees-kee,
down the Arkansas about thirty miles; they lived in quite a civilized
fashion, with their rulers and councils, and comfortable houses, and
well-cultivated farms. White people had married into the tribe, and
they even kept slaves.
Sam Houston was a Cherokee; he had been adopted by the old
head chief John Jolly—whose Indian name was Oo-loo-te-kah; and
took part in the councils that made the laws, and was given the
name Col-lon-neh, which meant The Raven. He was one of the few
white men who could speak the Cherokee language.
But lately Sam Houston had left the Cherokee town of Tah-lon-
tees-kee; he had married a half-Cherokee woman named Tyania
Rodgers, and with her had settled across the Grand River opposite
Fort Gibson, where he had taken up land, built a log house, and was
farming and trading.
Ernest saw him frequently, at the post and also across the river.
There was something mysterious about Sam Houston. Nobody
appeared to understand what had got into him, except that he had
been disappointed in his marriage back in Tennessee, and had
separated from his wife there, resigned his governorship of
Tennessee, and had fled as far as he could from all his white
acquaintances. He never breathed a syllable about the cause of his
trouble; people respected him for that. He never permitted a word to
be uttered blaming his first wife; and people respected him for that.
He “took his medicine,” as the saying was. But no one could respect
his habits, especially his drunkenness.
He wore Cherokee Indian costume constantly—usually a slovenly
costume, as when Ernest had first seen him, but again a “full dress”
of beautiful white doeskin hunting-shirt, yellow buckskin leggins,
beaded moccasins, a brilliant red blanket as a cloak, and a kind of
crown of wild-turkey feathers. Thus he stalked about.
He hunted much, alone, with bow-and-arrow and with gun. He
had spells when he would answer nobody except in Cherokee. And
he had other spells when he lay on the ground drunk, even at the
fort itself. Then his wife Tyania, who was as large and as stately as
himself, would seek him and take him home to the log house across
the Grand River. He was known as “Drunken Sam”; and even his
Indian brothers called him “Big Drunk” instead of Col-lon-neh, The
Raven.
It was a sad step downward for any man to take; and for a man
who had been as great as Sam Houston——! Yet, sober or drunk, he
still had about him a dignity that bespoke his better days in the past,
and perhaps promised better days to come. He almost always
greeted Ernest very kindly, and Ernest could not help but like him.
The tall Texan, Dick Carroll, soon left for the down-river and the
Mississippi. Whether he had persuaded General Houston to help
Texas, nobody knew; but at any rate, he promised to keep an eye
out for Ernest’s uncle, in case that the sergeant had returned to the
Arkansas as far as Fort Smith, say. As for the trunk, Ernest never
saw it again, or the steamboat either!
The fall, crisp and bright, with occasional flurries of snow, merged
into winter, and December opened brave and sunny, with bracing
days and sharp starry nights. Then, ere a week had passed, through
the post circulated the news that Sam Houston had gone. On his
bob-tailed pony he had ridden away, as if for Texas at last. Only his
wife Tyania remained in the log cabin across the Grand.
Of course there were many reports. One rumor declared that he
had gone to Texas by request of President Jackson, to make treaties
with the Comanches and the other Texas Indians, for the United
States. This rumor afterwards proved true. Another rumor said that
he had been asked by the President to investigate the people and
affairs in Texas, and to see what the likelihood was that it would
separate from Mexico. This rumor also afterwards seemed to be
proved true. But John Henry, another trader at Fort Gibson, stated:
“Sam Houston has gone to Texas to stay. He’s been intending that
a long time. And not six months ago he said to me, on the bank of
the Grand River: ‘Henry, let’s go to Texas. I’m tired of this country
and sick of this life. It’s no place or occupation for me. Anyway, I’m
going, and in that new land I will make a man of myself again.’ He
also said he’d make a fortune for both of us, if I’d go with him.”
“If he’ll make the man of himself, that’s enough; better than
fortune,” quoth Lieutenant Neal, standing near. “And I believe he
will. I’d feared his ambition was dead; but it isn’t, and anybody with
ambition to be something higher is by no means hopeless. I’m glad
he’s gone. The Cherokees and other Indians will miss him, though;
he was their best friend.”
Ernest missed him, too; missed him already—and rather wanted to
go to Texas, himself. However, on the very next day who should
come riding into the post but Mr. Carroll the Texan, back from his
trip down-river, and eager indeed over the tidings with which he was
greeted.
“Sam Houston’s gone, they tell me! Gone to Texas! Pshaw! He
must have crossed my trail, then, on his way down to Nacogdoches.
But it’s good news. Hello, boy,” he cried, sighting Ernest. “I had word
of your uncle. He was at Fort Smith, but he left for Texas before I
could catch him. I reckon he didn’t know you were up here. If you’d
like to follow him now’s your chance, for I’m off to Texas myself in
the morning.”
“All right,” said Ernest. “I’ll go if I can get a horse.”
“A hoss!” laughed Mr. Carroll. “No boy who’s plucky enough to take
the long trail into Texas shall lack a hoss. Not much!”
“Besides, he’s earned one,” declared the lieutenant, hearing. “He’s
worked hard at whatever he was told to do, and my yellow pony that
he’s been riding is his to keep; yes, and saddle and bridle, too.”
So Ernest, outfitted, by the friends whom he had made, not only
with the yellow pony, and saddle and bridle, but also with clothes,
provisions, and a buck-handled hunting-knife, found himself the next
morning prepared to ride southward with Dick Carroll the Texan.
He was shaking hands and exchanging good-byes, when into the
midst strode a young Cherokee, the nephew of Tyania, Sam
Houston’s wife.
He bore a beautiful light little rifle, beaded hide bullet-pouch, and
powder-flask of black buffalo horn scraped smooth and thin. Straight
he marched to Ernest’s stirrup.
“Tyania send these,” he said, extending them. “You go to Texas.
When you see Sam Houston you tell Sam Houston Tyania love him,
she wait here for him, but she never go there.”
And he had hastened away before Ernest had had time even to
thank him.
“By jiminy!” exclaimed the Texan, as Ernest, much flustrated and
delighted, slung the bullet-pouch and powder-horn upon his
shoulders and balanced the little rifle. “Now you’re sure fixed out,
and that Mexican government had better mind how it behaves or
Texas will be free.”
They left Fort Gibson behind them, and crossed the Arkansas
River by means of an Indian flatboat ferry—to which the horses did
not object at all. Almost due south they rode; straight for Texas, by
a narrow trail that led through the timber and the prairies clear to
Nacogdoches, which was the first town of any importance on the
Texas northeastern frontier. Mr. Carroll was not certain that he
wished to go to Nacogdoches; but he hoped to overtake General
Houston, or at least to learn his whereabouts.
All day they rode; at night they camped. They passed through a
portion of the Creek Indian nation (the Creeks looked much like the
Cherokees); and after that they saw scarcely anybody except
Choctaws (another half-civilized Indian people), until before they
reached the Red River they sighted, at noon, ahead, three men
sitting their horses in the trail, and grouped as if chatting.
“Sam Houston!” ejaculated Mr. Carroll. “Now we’ll know what’s
what.” And he added, as they drew near: “Elias Rector, too. He’s
United States marshal for Arkansas Territory. T’other one’s name is
Harris, I think. Met him down at Little Rock. Major Arnold Harris.”
Sure enough, General Houston it was, his head thrust through a
Mexican blanket, draped over his shoulders, and a large-brimmed
whitey-gray wool hat on his crown. He looked larger than ever, but it
was no wonder that Ernest had not recognized him, for he had been
clean shaven. However, Mr. Carroll had sharp eyes.
The spot proved to be the focus of several trails; and as Mr. Carroll
and Ernest arrived, the general was heavily dismounting from his
bob-tailed pony.
“This bob-tailed pony is a disgrace,” declared the general. “He is
continually fighting the flies, and has no means of protecting
himself; and his kicks and contortions render his rider ridiculous. I
shall be the laughter of all Mexico. I require a steed with his natural
weapon, a flowing tail, that he may defend himself against his
enemies as his master has done. Harris, good-bye; but first you
must trade with me. What are your terms?”
“Very well, Sam, I will,” agreed Major Harris. “But we’ll each keep
our own saddle and bridle.”
 “So be it,” answered the general. “Now, Jack,” he said to his bob-
tailed pony, as he stripped him, “you and I must part. You have been
a good and faithful servant to me, but, Jack, there comes a time in
the life of every man when he and his friends must separate. You
are a faithful pony. You are a hardy pony. You are a sure-footed
pony. But cruel man has made you defenseless against the common
enemy of your kind, the pesky fly. Where I am going they are very
thick. The Almighty in His wisdom gave you a defense, but man has
taken it from you, and without a tail you are helpless. I must
therefore with pain and anguish part with you.”
So saying, he changed the saddle and bridle to the larger horse,
which had a fine long tail.
“Houston,” spoke the third man, the United States marshal, “I’d
like to give you some little keepsake before we separate, but I have
nothing except my razor. Will you take it? I never saw a better one.”
And he extracted it from his saddle-bag and extended it.
“Major Rector,” proclaimed the general, much as if he were making
a public speech, “I accept it. This is apparently a gift of little value,
but it is an inestimable testimony of the friendship which has lasted
many years, and proved steadfast under the blasts of calumny and
injustice. Good-bye. God bless you. When next you see this razor it
shall be shaving the President of a Republic.”
“How are you fixed for money, Sam?” inquired Major Harris. “You
may need some where you’re going.”
“Money?” answered the general, solemnly. “Unfortunately, I am
always in need of money.”
“Then let me divide with you. I’ve more with me than I can use,
and you can repay me at your leisure.”
“Thank you,” acknowledged the general, pocketing what was
proffered. “Remember my words, Harris, I shall yet be the president
of a great republic. I shall bring that nation to the United States, and
if they don’t watch me closely I shall be the President of the White
House some day. Good-by.” And reining his horse around, he rode
down one of the trails.
He apparently had not noticed Mr. Carroll and Ernest. But the two
other men, taking another trail, saluted civilly as they passed.
“Well,” remarked the Texan, to Ernest, and gazing after the rapidly
receding form of the general, “I reckon Sam Houston’s bound for
Texas, all right. Didn’t I tell that steamboat captain and the rest of
you that Houston would rise again? He’s made up his mind and
nothing can stop him.”
Thus speaking, the Texan touched his horse, and with Ernest rode
onward into the south.
That evening they half waded, half swam their horses, across a
ford of a rapid river. On the farther bank Mr. Carroll raised his hat as
if in a salute, and turned to Ernest with a smile.
“Now you’re in Texas, lad,” he said. “That was the Red River.”
They made camp, and lay down together in their wet clothes, feet
to the fire, while a flock of turkeys (minus one which had supplied a
supper) querulously piped in the trees beside the water before they,
also, settled for the night.
Texas! Was ever a land elsewhere so vast and yet so beautiful as
this, thought Ernest, as throughout the next day he and the Texan
steadily rode onward, threading deeply-grassed prairies, circuiting
patches of rich timber, crossing streams and swamps, and seeing
scarce a sign of human life, but horses and deer and turkeys in
abundance. Where were the Texas settlers?
Mr. Carroll laughed.
“Down yonder we’ll find ’em,” he said. “But the country’s not
crowded. Every man has plenty room. This is principally Comanche
range—and those fellows we don’t want to see!”
After such long travel that Ernest completely lost track of the days,
they came to the first real token of civilization: a straight, well-
travelled road, with marks not only of horses’ hoofs but of wheels.
“The Royal Road,” explained Mr. Carroll, pausing. “Laid out by the
Spanish before the Texas settlers entered. Runs clean across the
middle of Texas between Nacogdoches of the east and San Antonio
of the west. But we don’t follow it. We strike down by the San Felipe
trace, for Gonzales. If we followed the San Antonio road we’d pass
too far north.”
Presently he turned off, to the left, upon a much lesser road—
another of those Texas trails or “traces.” Evidently this was the San
Felipe trace. Now they met a few people, mainly hunters on
horseback; and that night they stopped with a settler family at
whose ranch-house, a rude log cabin, glassless and floorless, they
were made more than welcome to a supper of corn-bread, venison
and honey, and to a husk bunk.
The next afternoon Mr. Carroll pointed ahead.
“San Felipe on the Brazos,” he announced. “First American town
founded in Texas, headquarters of Steve Austin’s colony, and sort of
capital for the whole outfit of us. We’ll stop there to-night, and at
Burnam’s on the Colorado to-morrow night, and day after we’ll push
on through to Gonzales.”
San Felipe was a straggling little town, with scattered houses of
logs and of thick, rough-sawed siding like clapboards, and dusty but
wide streets, centering about two public squares or plazas. There
was a tavern, run by a settler named Whitesides, and a double log
house where lived Stephen Austin himself, the “Father of Texas.” He
was away from town, just now, on business. Mr. Carroll thought that
at least 1500 people formed the population of the San Felipe
neighborhood. The farms were said to be the most prosperous in
Texas.
This night’s lodging was at the house of another friend—Mr. R. M.
Williamson, one of whose legs was bent at the knee, so that he
moved by help of a crutch. He had been alcalde, or mayor, of San
Felipe, and was called “Three-legged Willie.” He seemed to be a fine
man, of quick, decisive action.
What he and Mr. Carroll talked upon, late into the night, Ernest did
not know—he did not stay awake to hear.
“Thirty miles to-day,” quoth the Texan, as in the morning he and
Ernest ambled out of San Felipe. “Fifty to-morrow, and then we’re
there.”
The trace continued into the west. And again it was a rather
lonesome trail, save for the very few ranches, and an occasional
traveller by horse—now and then an American in buckskins or coarse
cloth, and now and then a swarthy Mexican enveloped in a blanket.
If there were 20,000 Americans settled in Texas, they must be
settled at great intervals; and this Ernest soon learned was true.
“Yon’s the Colorado,” informed Mr. Carroll, toward evening, as they
jogged slowly, saving their horses for the longer ride to-morrow.
“The Burnams live across on the west bank. Hope the captain’s at
home. Want you to meet him. He’s four-square. One of the original
Austin settlers, he is. Came out hereabouts from East Texas along in
’22. Took sick in the War of 1812, and he was the porest man in
Texas, I reckon. Born pore, in fact—and when he married, in
Tennessee, his wife had to sell her stockings to get plates to eat off
of. But he’s getting ahead, now, and he’s a powerful Injun fighter.
That’s the kind of stuff we have in Texas, to make a state; and it’s
the right stuff, too.”
Burnam’s Crossing was a ford at the Colorado River, but a ferry
was operated here, also, in high water. From the east bank, where
another settler lived, the Burnam ranch could be seen, opposite: a
log house built like a block-house, and several out-structures. Ernest
and his guide plashed through the water.
Yes, Captain Burnam was at home, for when they drew up before
the hitching rail in front of the ranch yard a bearded man hastened
from the corral to greet them.
 “Howdy? Light and come in,” he called, cheerily. “Oh, boys! Put up
these gentlemen’s hosses.”
A young man issued from the corral and with a word to Mr. Carroll
led the two horses away. Ernest was introduced to Captain Burnam;
and in the house to the rest of the family. At supper there was
another boy, of dark eyes and hair, whose name was James Hill—or
James Monroe, they called him, by his middle name, when they
didn’t call him plain Jim.
He was older than Ernest, being fourteen, but he was a boy, just
the same; and although there were boys in the Burnam family,
Ernest was glad to meet as many boys as possible. It would have
been pretty stupid, in Texas, without boys.
“I live out just a small piece,” explained James Monroe. “You going
to Gonzales, I reckon?”
“I guess so,” responded Ernest.
“Mr. Carroll some of your kin?”
“No. I’m looking for my uncle.”
“Who’s he?”
“Sergeant John Andrews, of the United States Army. But he’s been
discharged, and he’s somewhere in Texas.”
“Wasn’t that an army sergeant named Andrews who was killed by
the Karankawas down on the Trinity, couple of months ago, dad?”
blurted one of the Burnam boys.
“Sh!” warned his mother; but it was too late.
“That so?” queried Mr. Carroll of Captain Burnam. “Hadn’t heard.
What about it?” And Ernest waited, breathless.
“So’s the tell,” acknowledged Captain Burnam, slowly. “There was
a party of traders massacred by the Karankawas, and a man by
name of John Andrews, from the United States Army, was among
’em. He was a newcomer. They all were newcomers or they wouldn’t
have been so careless.”
Silence fell.
“That’s sure too bad,” volunteered Jim Hill, to Ernest. “Maybe
’twasn’t your uncle. Did you know him well?”
“No, I never saw him; but he was to take care of me,” faltered
Ernest.
“Well,” said Mr. Carroll, quickly, “don’t you mind, boy. You’re no
worse off. I’d sort of adopted you, anyway. So you come along to
Gonzales, and I’ll see you don’t suffer, you bet.”
“Of course. Never mind. You stay with Dick Carroll and he’ll make
a Texan of you,” spoke Mrs. Burnam. “Just forget your uncle and
those Injuns.”
Ernest gulped.
“I guess I will,” he said. They all were trying to be so kind to him
that he could not say anything else. And he did like Dick Carroll.
James Monroe Hill left, after supper, to ride over to his home. He
told Ernest he’d see him again; and he did.
The start for the fifty-mile ride to Gonzales was made at daybreak,
with the hospitable Burnam family waving good-by from the block-
house. The winding trace led across numerous streams, and past
several isolated ranches; and near sunset Dick Carroll again pointed
before.
“Gonzales—little old Gonzales,” he informed. “She’s the last of the
white settlements, but she’s home, and it’s good to see her again.”
They entered another straggling town, smaller than San Felipe.
Dick exchanged greetings with the people whom he passed; he
turned his horse and Ernest’s into the public corral, for the night,
and led the way, through the dusk, for supper and bed in his own
cabin, which was to be Ernest’s also.
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