There was a murmur among the generals, but Santa Anna raised his hand and they were silent again.
“I cannot believe all that you say,” he continued. “It is a boast. The Texans are braggarts. To-morrow they die, every one of them. But tell us the exact condition of everything inside the Alamo, and perhaps I may spare your life.”
Ned shut his teeth so hard that they hurt. A deep flush surged into the dark face of Santa Anna.
“You are stubborn. All the Texans are stubborn. But I do not need any information from you. I shall crush the Alamo, as my fingers would smash an eggshell.”
“But your fingers will be pierced deep,” Ned could not keep from replying. “They will run blood.”
“Be that as it may,” said Santa Anna, who, great in some things, was little enough to taunt an enemy in his power, “you will not live to see it. I am about to give orders to have you shot within an hour.”
His lips wrinkled away from his white teeth like those of a great cat about to spring, and his cruel eyes contracted. Holding all the power of Mexico in his hands he was indeed something to be dreaded. The generals about the table never spoke. But Ned remembered the words of Roylston.
“A great merchant named John Roylston has been a good friend to me,” he said. “He told me that if I should ever fall into your hands I was to mention his name to you, and to say that he considered my life of value.”
The expression of the dictator changed. He frowned, and then regarded Ned intently, as if he would read some secret that the boy was trying to hide.
“And so you know John Roylston,” he said at length, “and he wishes you to say to me that your life is of value.”
Ned saw the truth at once. He had a talisman and that talisman was the name of Roylston. He did not know why it was so, but it was a wonderful talisman nevertheless, because it was going to save his life for the time being, at least. He glanced at the generals, and he saw a look of curiosity on the face of every one of them.
“I know Roylston,” said Santa Anna slowly, “and there are some matters between us. It may be to my advantage to spare you for a while.”
Ned’s heart sprang up. Life was sweet. Since he was to be spared for a while it must mean ultimately exchange or escape. Santa Anna, a reader of the human face, saw what was in his mind.
“Be not too sanguine,” he said, “because I have changed my mind once it does not mean that you are to be free now or ever. I shall keep you here, and you shall see your comrades fall.”
A sudden smile, offspring of a quick thought and satanic in its nature, passed over his face.
“I will make you a spectator of the defeat of the Texans,” he said. “A great event needs a witness, and since you cannot be a combatant you can serve in that capacity. We attack at dawn to-morrow, and you shall miss nothing of it.”
The wicked smile passed over his face again. It had occurred to Ned, a student of history, that the gladiatorial cruelty of the ancient Romans had descended to the Spaniards instead of the Italians. Now he was convinced that it was so.
“You shall be kept a prisoner in one of our strongest houses,” said Santa Anna, “and Captain Urrea, whose vigilance prevented your escape, will keep guard over you. I fancy it is a task that he does not hate.”
Santa Anna had also read the mind of the young Mexican. Urrea smiled. He liked this duty. He hated Ned and he, too, was not above taunting a prisoner. He advanced, and put a hand upon Ned’s shoulder, but the boy shook it off.
“Don’t touch me,” said Ned. “I’ll follow without resistance.”
Santa Anna laughed.
“Let him have his way for the present, Captain Urrea,” he said. “But remember that it is due to your gentleness and mercy. Adios, Señor Fulton, we meet again to-morrow morning, and if you survive I shall report to Mr. Roylston the manner in which you may bear yourself.”
“Good-day,” said Ned, resolved not to be outdone, even in ironical courtesy. “And now, Captain Urrea, if you will lead the way, I’ll follow.”
Urrea and his soldiers took Ned from the Veramendi house and across the street to a large and strong stone building.
“You are fortunate,” said Urrea, “to have escaped immediate death. I do not know why the name of Roylston was so powerful with our general, but I saw that it was.”
“It seemed to have its effect,” said Ned.
Urrea led the way to the flat roof of the house, a space reached by a single narrow stairway.
“I shall leave you here with two guards,” he said. “I shall give them instructions to fire upon you at the slightest attempt on your part to escape, but I fancy that you will have sense enough not to make any such attempt.”
Urrea departed, but the two sentinels sat by the entrance to the stairway, musket in hand. He had not the faintest chance to get by them, and knowing it he sat down on the low stone coping of the roof. He wondered why Urrea had brought him there instead of locking him up in a room. Perhaps it was to mock him with the sight of freedom so near and yet unattainable.
His gaze turned instinctively to the Alamo like the magnet to the pole. There was the fortress, gray and grim in the sunshine, with the dim figures of the watchers on the walls. What were they doing inside now? How were Crockett and Bowie? His heart filled with grief that he had failed them. But had he failed them? Neither Urrea nor any other Mexican had spoken of the approach of a relieving force under Roylston. There was no sign that the Mexicans were sending any part of their army to meet it.
The heavy thud of a great gun drew his attention, and he saw the black smoke from the discharge rising over the plain. A second, a third and a fourth cannon shot were fired, but no answer came from the walls of the Alamo. At length he saw one of the men in the nearest battery to the Alamo expose himself above the earthwork. There was a flash from the wall of the church, a little puff of smoke, and Ned saw the man fall as only dead men fall. Perhaps it was Davy Crockett, the great marksman, who had fired that shot. He liked to think that it was so, and he rejoiced also at this certain evidence that the little garrison was as dauntless as ever. He watched the Alamo for nearly an hour, and he saw that the firing was desultory. Not more than a dozen cannon shots were fired during that time, and only three or four rifles replied from the Alamo. Toward noon the firing ceased entirely, and Ned knew that this was in very fact and truth the lull before the storm.
His attention wandered to his guards. They were mere peons, but, although watchful, they were taking their ease. Evidently they liked their task. They were resting with the complete relaxation of the body that only the Southern races know. Both had lighted cigarritos, and were puffing at them contentedly. It had been a long time since Ned had seen such a picture of lazy ease.
“You like it here?” he said to the nearest.
The man took the cigarrito from his mouth, emitted smoke from his nose and replied politely:
“It is better to be here lying in the sun than out there on the grass with a Texan bullet through one’s body. Is it not so, Fernando?”
“Aye, it is so,” replied his comrade. “I like not the Texan bullets. I am glad to be here where they cannot reach me. It is said that Satan sights their rifles for them, because they do not miss. They will die hard to-morrow. They will die like the bear in its den, fighting the hunters, when our army is poured upon them. That will be an end to all the Texans, and we will go back to the warm south.”
“But are you sure,” asked Ned, “that it will be an end of the Texans? Not all the Texans are shut up in the Alamo.”
“What matters it?” replied Fernando, lightly. “It may be delayed, but the end will be the same. Nothing can resist the great, the powerful, the most illustrious Santa Anna. He is always able to dig graves for his enemies.”
The men talked further. Ned gathered from them that the whole force of Santa Anna was now present. Some of his officers wanted him to wait for siege artillery of the heaviest caliber that would batter down the walls of the Alamo, but the dictato
r himself was impatient for the assault. It would certainly take place the next morning.
“And why is the young señor here?” asked Fernando. “The order has been issued that no Texan shall be spared, and do you not see the red flag waving there close by us?”
Ned looked up. The red flag now flaunted its folds very near to him. He could not repress a shiver.
“I am here,” he replied, “because some one who has power has told General Santa Anna that I am not to be put to death.”
“It is well for you, then,” said Fernando, “that you have a friend of such weight. It is a pity to die when one is so young and so straight and strong as you. Ah, my young señor, the world is beautiful. Look how green is the grass there by the river, and how the sun lies like gold across it!”
Ned had noticed before the love of beauty that the humblest peon sometimes had, and there was a certain touch of brotherly feeling between him and this man, his jailer.
“The world is beautiful,” said the boy, “and I am willing to tell you that I have no wish to leave it.”
“Nor I,” said Fernando. “Why are the Texans so foolish as to oppose the great Santa Anna, the most illustrious and powerful of all generals and rulers? Did they not know that he would come and crush them, every one?”
Ned did not reply. The peon, in repose at least, had a gentle heart, and the boy knew that Santa Anna was to him omnipotent and omniscient. He turned his attention anew to the Alamo, that magnet of his thoughts. It was standing quiet in the sun now. The defiant flag of the defenders, upon which they had embroidered the word “Texas,” hung lazily from the staff.
The guards in the afternoon gave him some food and a jug of water, and they also ate and drank upon the roof. They were yet amply content with their task and their position there. No bullets could reach them. The sunshine was golden and pleasant. They had established friendly relations with the prisoner. He had not given them the slightest trouble, and, before and about them, was spread the theater upon which a mighty drama was passing, all for them to see. What more could be asked by two simple peasants of small wants?
Ned was glad that they let him remain upon the roof. The Alamo drew his gaze with a power that he could not break if he would. Since he was no longer among the defenders he was eager to see every detail in the vast drama that was now unfolding.
But the afternoon passed in inaction. The sun was brilliant and toward evening turned to a deep, glowing red. It lighted up for the last time the dim figures that stood on the walls of the Alamo. Ned choked as he saw them there. He felt the premonition.
Urrea came upon the roof shortly before twilight. He was not sneering or ironical, and Ned, who had no wish to quarrel at such a time, was glad of it.
“As General Santa Anna told you,” said Urrea, “the assault is to be made in overwhelming force early in the morning. It will succeed, of course. Nothing can prevent it. Through the man Roylston, you have some claim upon the general, but it may not be strong enough to save you long. A service now might make his pardon permanent.”
“What do you mean by a service now?”
“A few words as to the weaker points of the Alamo, the best places for our troops to attack. You cannot do anything for the defenders. You cannot alter their fate in any particular, but you might do something for yourself.”
Ned did not wish to appear dramatic. He merely turned his back upon the young Mexican.
“Very well,” said Urrea, “I made you the offer. It was for you to accept it or not as you wish.”
He left him upon the roof, and Ned saw the last rim of the red sun sink in the plain. He saw the twilight come, and the Alamo fade into a dim black bulk in the darkness. He thought once that he heard a cry of a sentinel from its walls, “All’s well,” but he knew that it was only fancy. The distance was far too great. Besides, all was not well.
When the darkness had fully come, he descended with his two benevolent jailers to a lower part of the house, where he was assigned to a small room, with a single barred window and without the possibility of escape. His guards, after bringing him food and water, gave him a polite good night and went outside. He knew that they would remain on watch in the hall.
Ned could eat and drink but little. Nor could he yet sleep. The night was far too heavy upon him for slumber. Besides, it had brought many noises, significant noises that he knew. He heard the rumble of cannon wheels over the rough pavements, and the shouts of men to the horses or mules. He heard troops passing, now infantry, and then cavalry, the hoofs of their horses grinding upon the stones.
He pressed his face against the barred window. He was eager to hear and yet more eager to see. He caught glimpses only of horse and foot as they passed, but he knew what all those sights and sounds portended. In the night the steel coil of the Mexicans was being drawn closer and closer about the Alamo.
Brave and resolute, he was only a boy after all. He felt deserted of all men. He wanted to be back there with Crockett and Bowie and Travis and the others. The water came into his eyes, and unconsciously he pulled hard at the iron bars.
He remained there a long time, listening to the sounds. Once he heard a trumpet, and its note in the night was singularly piercing. He knew that it was a signal, probably for the moving of a regiment still closer to the Alamo. But there were no shots from either the Mexicans or the mission. The night was clear with many stars.
After two or three hours at the window Ned tried to sleep. There was a narrow bed against the wall, and he lay upon it, full length, but he did not even close his eyes. He became so restless that at last he rose and went to the window again. It must have been then past midnight. The noises had ceased. Evidently the Mexicans had everything ready. The wind blew cold upon his face, but it brought him no news of what was passing without.
He went back to the bed, and by and by he sank into a heavy slumber.
CHAPTER XIII
TO THE LAST MAN
Ned awoke after a feverish night, when there was yet but a strip of gray in the east. It was Sunday morning, but he had lost count of time, and did not know it. He had not undressed at all when he lay down, and now he stood by the window, seeking to see and hear. But the light was yet dim and the sounds were few. Nevertheless the great pulse in his throat began to leap. The attack was at hand.
The door of the room was unlocked and the two peons who had guarded him upon the roof came for him. Ned saw in the half gloom that they were very grave of countenance.
“We are to take you to the noble Captain Urrea, who is waiting for you,” said Fernando.
“Very well,” said Ned. “I am ready. You have been kind to me, and I hope that we shall meet again after to-day.”
Both men shook their heads.
“We fear that is not to be,” said Fernando.
They found Urrea and another young officer waiting at the door of the house. Urrea was in his best uniform and his eyes were very bright. He was no coward, and Ned knew that the gleam was in anticipation of the coming attack.
“The time is at hand,” he said, “and it will be your wonderful fortune to see how Mexico strikes down her foe.”
His voice, pitched high, showed excitement, and a sense of the dramatic. Ned said nothing, and his own pulses began to leap again. The strip of gray in the east was broadening, and he now saw that the whole town was awake, although it was not yet full daylight. Santa Anna had been at work in the night, while he lay in that feverish sleep. He heard everywhere now the sound of voices, the clank of arms and the beat of horses’ hoofs. The flat roofs were crowded with the Mexican people. Ned saw Mexican women there in their dresses of bright colors, like Roman women in the Colosseum, awaiting the battle of the gladiators. The atmosphere was surcharged with excitement, and the sense of coming triumph.
Ned’s breath seemed to choke in his throat and his heart beat painfully. Once more he wished with all his soul that he was with his friends, that he was in the Alamo. He belonged with them there, and he would rather face deat
h with those familiar faces around him than be here, safe perhaps, but only a looker-on. It was with him now a matter of the emotions, and not of reasoned intellect. Once more he looked toward the old mission, and saw the dim outline of the buildings, with the dominating walls of the church. He could not see whether anyone watched on the walls, but he knew that the sentinels were there. Perhaps Crockett, himself, stood among them now, looking at the great Mexican coil of steel that was wrapping itself tighter and tighter around the Alamo. Despite himself, Ned uttered a sigh.
“What is the matter with you?” asked Urrea, sharply. “Are you already weeping for the conquered?”
“You know that I am not,” replied Ned. “You need not believe me, but I regret that I am not in the Alamo with my friends.”
“It’s an idle wish,” said Urrea, “but I am taking you now to General Santa Anna. Then I leave, and I go there! Look, the horsemen!”
He extended his hand, and Ned saw his eyes kindling. The Mexican cavalry were filing out in the dim dawn, troop after troop, the early light falling across the blades of the lances, spurs and bridles jingling. All rode well, and they made a thrilling picture, as they rode steadily on, curving about the old fortress.
“I shall soon be with them,” said Urrea in a tone of pride. “We shall see that not a single one of your Texans escapes from the Alamo.”
Ned felt that choking in his throat again, but he deemed it wiser to keep silent. They were going toward the main plaza now, and he saw masses of troops gathered in the streets. These men were generally silent, and he noticed that their faces expressed no elation. He divined at once that they were intended for the assault, and they had no cause for joy. They knew that they must face the deadly Texan rifles.
Urrea led the way to a fortified battery standing in front of the main plaza. A brilliant group stood behind an earthen wall, and Ned saw Santa Anna among them.
The Second Western Megapack Page 72
