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These and others Ernest met or heard of while Texas awaited word from Stephen Austin at the City of Mexico. He wrote about them and about his fun and work in letters to his mother; he had already told her of the death of Sergeant John Andrews at the hands of the Indians. He did not know when his letters would get to her, and he never knew when to expect replies; for the only way by which mail went and came was by accommodating travellers. A regular mail service was one thing that Texas was demanding from Mexico. Ernest hoped that his mother was not worrying. She said she wasn’t—but mothers sometimes say this anyway.

The summer of 1833 waxed and waned. At Gonzales a flat-boat ferry was built and placed on the river, for crossing back and forth. Report from the east claimed that great numbers of fresh settlers had entered Texas; which was good. But from the southwest, reports out of old Mexico stated that Santa Anna was still scheming on his ranch, that cholera had broken out and that 10,000 persons had died in the City of Mexico alone, and that congress was unable to hold regular sessions. Over in Coahuila the Mexican people were still quarrelling about the location of the state capital, the governorship, and other matters; and nothing that the legislature did, meeting at Monclova, pleased the people of Saltillo, the former capital.