CHAPTER XI. A HAPPY TRUCE.
"Well, honor is the subject of my story; I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself."
"Two truths are told As happy prologues to the swelling act, Of the imperial theme."
"This is the eve of Christmas, No sleep from night to morn; The Virgin is in travail, At twelve will the Child be born."
Cities have not only a certain physiognomy; they have also a decidedmental and moral character, and a definite political tendency. Thereare good and bad cities, artistic and commercial cities, scholarly andmanufacturing cities, aristocratic and radical cities. San Antonio, inits political and social character, was a thoroughly radical city.Its population, composed in a large measure of adventurous units fromvarious nationalities, had that fluid rather than fixed character, whichis susceptible to new ideas. For they were generally men who had foundthe restraints of the centuries behind them to be intolerable--men towhom freedom was the grand ideal of life.
It maybe easily undertood{sic} that this element in the population ofSan Antonio was a powerful one, and that a little of such leaven wouldstir into activity a people who, beneath the crust of their formalpiety, had still something left of that pride and adventurous spiritwhich distinguished the Spain of Ferdinand and Isabel.
In fact, no city on the American continent has such a bloody record asSan Antonio. From its settlement by the warlike monks of 1692, to itsfinal capture by the Americans in 1836, it was well named "the city ofthe sword." The Comanche and the white man fought around its walls theirforty years' battle for supremacy. From 1810 to 1821 its streets wereconstantly bloody with the fight between the royalists and republicans,and the city and the citadel passed from, one party to the othercontinually. And when it came to the question of freedom and Americandomination, San Antonio was, as it had ever been, the great Texanbattle-field.
Its citizens then were well used to the fortunes and changes of war. Menwere living who had seen the horrors of the auto da fe and thesplendors of viceregal authority. Insurgent nobles, fighting priests,revolutionizing Americans, all sorts and conditions of men, all chancesand changes of religious and military power, had ruled it with atemporary absolutism during their generation.
In the main there was a favorable feeling regarding its occupation bythe Americans. The most lawless of them were law-abiding in comparisonwith any kind of victorious Mexicans. Americans protected privateproperty, they honored women, they observed the sanctity of every man'shome; "and, as for being heretics, that was an affair for the saints andthe priests; the comfortable benefits of the Holy Catholic Church, hadnot been vouchsafed to all nations."
Political changes are favorable to religious tolerance, and the prieststhemselves had been sensible of a great decrease in their influenceduring the pending struggle. Prominent Mexicans had given aid andcomfort to the Americans in spite of their spiritual orders, and therewere many men who, like Lopez Navarro, did not dare to go to confession,because they would have been compelled to acknowledge themselves rebels.
When the doctor and Dare and Luis reached the Plaza, the morning afterthe surrender, they found the city already astir. Thousands of womenwere in the churches saying masses for the dead; the men stood attheir store doors or sat smoking on their balconies, chatting with thepassers-by or watching the movements of the victorious army and theevacuation of the conquered one.
Nearly all of the brave two hundred occupied the Plaza. They were stillgreatly excited by the miraculous ecstacy of victory. But when soldiersin the death-pang rejoice under its influence, what wonder that theliving feel its intoxicating rapture? They talked and walked as if theyalready walked the streets of Mexico. All things seemed possible tothem. The royalty of their carriage, the authority in their faces, gavedignity even to their deerskin clothing. Its primitive character wasits distinction, and the wearers looked like the demi-gods of the heroicstage of history.
Lopez Navarro touched the doctor and directed his attention to them."Does the world, Senor, contain the stuff to make their counterparts?"
"They are Americans, Navarro. And though there are a variety ofAmericans, they have only one opinion about submitting to tyrants--THEYWON'T DO IT!"
This was the conversation interrupted by Ortiz and the message hebrought, and the doctor was thoroughly sobered by the events following.He was not inclined to believe, as the majority of the troops did, thatMexico was conquered. He expected that the Senora's prediction wouldbe verified. And the personal enmity which the priesthood felt to himinduced a depressing sense of personal disaster.
Nothing in the house or the city seemed inclined to settle. It took afew days to draw up the articles of capitulation and clear the townof General Cos and the Mexican troops. And he had no faith in theiragreement to "retire from Texas, and never again carry arms against theAmericans." He knew that they did not consider it any sin to make "amental reservation" against a heretic. He was quite sure that if Cos metreinforcements, he would have to be fought over again immediately.
And amid these public cares and considerations, he had serious privateones. The Senora was still under the control of Fray Ignatius. Itrequired all the influence of his own personal presence and affectionto break the spiritual captivity in which he held her. He knew that thepriest had long been his enemy.
He saw that Antonia was hated by him. He was in the shadow of a terrorworse than death--that of a long, hopeless captivity. A dungeon anda convent might become to them a living grave, in which cruelty anddespair would slowly gnaw life away.
And yet, for a day or two he resolved not to speak of his terror. TheSenora was so happy in his presence, and she had such kind confidencesto give him about her plans for her children's future, that he couldnot bear to alarm her. And the children also were so full of youth'senthusiasms and love's sweet dreams. Till the last moment why shouldhe awaken them? And as the strongest mental element in a home gives thetone to it, so Dare and Antonia, with the doctor behind them, gave tothe Mexican household almost an American freedom of intercourse andcommunity of pleasure.
The Senora came to the parlor far more frequently, and in her ownapartments her children visited her with but slight ceremony. Theydiscussed all together their future plans. They talked over a wonderfuljourney which they were to take in company to New Orleans, andWashington, and New York, and perhaps even to London and Paris--"whocould tell, if the Senora would be so good as to enjoy herself?" Theyate more together. They got into the habit of congregating about thesame hearthstone. It was the Senora's first real experience of domesticlife.
In about six days the Mexican forces left the city. The terms ofsurrender granted General Cos struck the Mexicans with a kind of wonder.They had fought with the express declaration that they would take noAmerican prisoner. Yet the Americans not only permitted Cos and histroops to leave under parole of honor, but gave them their arms andsufficient ammunition to protect themselves from the Indians on theirjourney home. They allowed them also all their private property. Theyfurnished them with the provisions necessary to reach the Rio Grande.They took charge of their sick and wounded. They set all the Mexicanprisoners at liberty--in short, so great was their generosity andcourtesy that the Mexicans were unable to comprehend their motives.
Even Lopez was troubled at it. "I assure you," he said to Dr. Worth,"they will despise such civility; they will not believe in itssincerity. At this very blessed hour of God, they are accusing theAmericans of being afraid to press their advantage. Simply, you willhave the fight to make over again. I say this, because I know SantaAnna."
"Santa Anna is but a man, Lopez."
"Me perdonas! He is however a man who knows a trick more than the devil.One must be careful of a bull in front, of a mule behind, and of amonk and Santa Anna on all sides. At the word monk, Lopez glancedsignificantly at a passing priest, and D
octor Worth saw that it was FrayIgnatius.
"He sprinkled the Mexican troops with holy water, and blessed them asthey left the city this morning. He has the ear of General Cos. He isnot a man to offend, I assure you, Doctor."
The doctor walked thoughtfully away. San Antonio was full of hisfriends, yet never had he felt himself and his family to be in so muchdanger. And the words of Lopez had struck a responding chord in hisown consciousness. The careless bravery, the splendid generosity ofhis countrymen was at least premature. He went through the city withobserving eyes, and saw much to trouble him.
The gates of Alamo were open. Crockett lounged upon his rifle in thePlaza. A little crowd was around him, and the big Tennesseean hunter wastalking to them. Shouts of laughter, bravas of enthusiasm, answered thehomely wit and stirring periods that had over and over "made room forColonel Crockett," both in the Tennessee Legislature and the UnitedStates Congress. His rifle seemed a part of him--a kind of third arm.His confident manner, his manliness and bravery, turned his wit intowisdom. The young fellows around found in him their typical leader.
The elegant James Bowie was sitting on the verandah of the VeramendiHouse, calmly smoking. His fair, handsome face, clear blue eyes andmild manners, gave no indication of the gigantic physical strength andtremendous coolness and courage of the man who never tolerated an enemyin his presence. Burleson and Travis were talking under the shade of aChina tree, and there were little groups of American soldiers on everystreet; this was what he saw, and yet a terrible sense of insecurityoppressed him.
The city, moreover, was not settling to its usual business, though therewere many preparations for public and private entertainments. Afterpassing Colonel Bowie, he met David Burnett. The shrewd statesman fromNew Jersey had a shadow upon his face. He stopped Doctor Worth and spokefrankly to him. "We are in greater danger now than when we were underfire," he said. "Santa Anna will come on us like a lion from theswellings of Jordan. I wish Houston knew our position as it really is.We must either have more men to defend this city or we must blow up theAlamo and be ready to leave it at a moment's notice."
"Why were such favorable terms given to General Cos and his troops? Icannot understand it."
"I will tell you an amazing fact. When Cos ran up that white flag on theAlamo, we had not a single round of ammunition left; complaisancewas necessary until Cos made over to us the Mexican arms, ammunition,property and money."
Worth turned and looked at the fort. A great red flag on which was theword T-E-X-A-S floated from its battlements, and there were two menstanding on its roof, with their faces westward.
"They are the lookouts," said Burnett, "and we have scouts through thesurrounding country; but Santa Anna will come, when he comes, with tensof thousands."
"And there is a line where even the coolest courage and the mostbrilliant bravery succumbs to mere numbers--Eh!"
"That is what I mean, Doctor."
"Where is Houston?"
"On the Brazos, at the small town of Washington. The council haveestablished headquarters there."
Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a little bell, andthe doleful supplications of a priest followed by a crowd of idle menand women. He was begging, "for the sake of the Holy Virgin," alms tosay masses for the soul of an unfortunate, who had not left a pesofor his burial. He droned on, and no one noticed him until James Bowiestretched his tall figure, sauntered up to the monk and dropped a goldpiece into his cap. He did not stay to hear the exclamations and thegracias, but with steps that rang like metal upon metal took his way tothe Alamo.
However, dangers postponed make the most timorous indifferent to them;and when General Cos did not return, and nothing was heard of SantaAnna, every one began to take up their ordinary life again. The temperof the Americans also encouraged this disposition. They were discoveredneither to be bloodthirsty nor cannibals. It was even seen that theyenjoyed the fandango and the monte tables, and that a proposition for abullfight at Christmas was not opposed by them.
And in spite of all anxieties, there were many sweet and unusualpleasures in the Worth home. The discipline of the troops was so lenientthat Dare and Luis--one or both--were generally there in the evenings.Their turns as scouts or watchman at the Alamo only made more delightfulthe hours when they were exempted from these duties. As for the doctor,he had been released from all obligations but those pertaining to hisprofession, and Antonia, noticed that he spent every hour he could sparewith the Senora. For some reason, he appeared determined to strengthenhis influence over her.
On Christmas Eve the old city was very gay. The churches were decorated,and splendidly dressed men and women passed in and out with smiles andcongratulations. The fandangoes and the gambling houses were all open.From the huertas around, great numbers of families had come to receiveabsolution and keep the Nativity. Their rich clothing and air ofidleness gave a holiday feeling to the streets noisy with the buzzingof the guitar, the metallic throb of the cithara, the murmurs of voices,and the cries of the hawkers. Priests, Mexicans, Indians and Americanstouched each other on the narrow thoroughfares, but that indescribablefeeling of good will which comes with Christmas pervaded the atmosphere,and gave, even in the midst of war and danger, a sense of anticipatedpleasure.
At the Worth residence there was a household feast. The Senora and herdaughters were in full dress. They were waiting for the dear ones whohad promised to join them at the Angelus. One by one the houses aroundwere illuminated. Parties of simple musicians began to pass each othercontinually--they were going to serenade the blessed Mary all nightlong. As Antonia closed the balcony window, half a dozen of theseyoung boys passed the garden hedge singing to the clacking of theircastanets--
"This is the eve of Christmas, No sleep from night to morn, The Virgin is in travail, At twelve will the Child be born."
Luis appeared at the same moment. He caught up the wild melody and cameup the garden path singing it. Dare and the doctor followed him. Itstruck Antonia that they were talking of a change, or of somethingimportant. But there was no time for observation. Isabel, radiant incrimson satin, with her white mantilla over her head, darted forward tomeet Luis, and turned his song to the Virgin into a little adulationfor herself. Dare and the doctor took Antonia's hands, and there wassomething in the silent clasp of each which made her heart tremble.
But she was not one of those foolish women who enquire after misfortune.She could wait and let the evil news find her, and by so doing she wonmany a bright hour from the advancing shadows. The Senora was in unusualspirits. She had obtained a new confessor. "A man of the most seraphicmind, and, moreover, so fortunate as to be connected with the house ofFlores." He had been gentle to her in the matter of penances, and notset her religious obligations above her capacities. Consequently,the Senora had laid aside her penitential garments. She was in fullCastilian costume, and looked very handsome. But Antonia, who hadbeen in New York during those years when she would otherwise have beenlearning how to wear a mantilla and use a fan, did not attempt suchdifficulties of the toilet. She knew that she would look unnatural inthem, and she adhered to the American fashions of her day. But ina plain frock of dark satin trimmed with minever bands, she lookedexceedingly noble and lovely.
The meal was a very merry one, and after it Lopez Navarro joined theparty and they had music and dancing, and finally gathered around thefire to hear the singing of Luis. He knew a great many of the serenades,and as he sang of the Virgin and the Babe, a sweeter peace, a moresolemn joy, came to each heart. It was like bringing something of thebliss of heaven into the bliss of earth. The Senora's eyes were full oftears; she slipped her hand into her husband's and looked at him with aface which asked, "Do you not also feel the eternity of a true love?"
"How sweet and wild are these serenades, Luis!" said Antonia. "I wonderwho wrote them?"
"But, then, they were never written, my sister. Out of the hearts oflonely shepherds they came; or of women spinning in their quiet houses;yes,
even of soldiers in the strong places keeping their watch."
"That is the truth, Luis," answered Isabel. "And every Christmas, whenI was in the convent the Sisters made a serenade to the Virgin, or aseguidilla to our blessed Lord. Very still are the Sisters, but when itcomes to singing, I can assure you the angels might listen!"
"There is a seguidilla I hear everywhere," said the doctor; "and I neverhear it without feeling the better for listening. It begins--'So noble aLord.'"
"That, indeed!" cried Luis. "Who knows it not? It is the seguidillato our blessed Lord, written by the daughter of Lope de Vega--the holyMarcela Carpio. You know it, Senora?"
"As I know my Credo, Luis."
"And you, Isabel?"
"Since I was a little one, as high as my father's knee. Rachela taughtit to me."
"And you, Lopez."
"That is sure, Luis."
"And I, too!" said Antonia, smiling. "Here is your mandolin. Strike thechords, and we will all sing with you. My father will remember also."And the doctor smiled an assent, as the young man resigned Isabel's handwith a kiss, and swept the strings in that sweetness and power whichflows invisibly, but none the less surely, from the heart to theinstrument.
"It is to my blessed Lord and Redeemer, I sing," he said, bowing hishead. Then he stood up and looked at his companions, and struck thekey-note, when every one joined their voices with his in the wonderfullittle hymn:
So noble a Lord None serves in vain; For the pay of my love Is my love's sweet pain.
In the place of caresses Thou givest me woes; I kiss Thy hands, When I feel their blows.
For in Thy chastening, Is joy and peace; O Master and Lord! Let thy blows not cease.
I die with longing Thy face to see And sweet is the anguish Of death to me.
For, because Thou lovest me, Lover of mine! Death can but make me Utterly Thine!
The doctor was the first to speak after the sweet triumph of the noteshad died away. "Many a soul I have seen pass whispering those verses,"he said; "men and women, and little children."
"The good Marcela in heaven has that for her joy," answered Luis.
Lopez rose while the holy influence still lingered. He kissed the handsof every one, and held the doctor's in his own until they reached thethreshold. A more than usual farewell took place there, though therewere only a few whispered words.
"Farewell, Lopez! I can trust you?"
"Unto death."
"If we never meet again?"
"Still it will be FAREWELL. Thou art in God's care."
Very slowly the doctor sauntered back to the parlor, like a man who hasa heavy duty to, do and hardly knows how to begin it. "But I will tellMaria first," he whispered; and then he opened the door, and saw theSenora bidding her children good-night.
"What a happy time we have had!" she was saying. "I shall never forgetit. Indeed, my dears, you see how satisfactory it is to be religious.When we talk of the saints and angels, they come round us to listen towhat we say; accordingly, we are full of peace and pleasure. I know thatbecause I heard Fray--I heard a very good man say so."
She smiled happily at her husband, as she took his arm, and twice, asthey went slowly upstairs together, she lifted her face for his kiss.Her gentleness and affection made it hard for him to speak; but therewere words to be said that could be no longer delayed; and when he hadclosed the room door, he took her hands in his, and looked into her facewith eyes that told her all.
"You are going away, Roberto," she whispered.
"My love! Yes! To-night--this very hour I must go! Luis and Dare also.Do not weep. I entreat you! My heart is heavy, and your tears I cannotbear."
Then she answered, with a noble Composure: "I will give you smiles andkisses. My good Roberto, so true and kind! I will try to be worthy ofyou. Nay, but you must not weep--Roberto!"
It was true. Quite unconsciously the troubled husband and father wasweeping. "I fear to leave you, dear Maria. All is so uncertain. I canonly ask you two favors; if you will grant them, you will do all thatcan be done to send me away with hope. Will you promise me to havenothing to do whatever with Fray Ignatius; and to resist every attempthe may make to induce you to go into a religious house of any kind?"
"I promise you, Roberto. By my mother's cross, I promise you!"
"Again, dear Maria, if you should be in any danger, promise me that youwill do as Antonia and Lopez Navarro think it wisest and best."
"Go with God, my, husband. Go with God, in a good hour. All you wish, Iwill do."
He held her to his heart and kissed her, and she whispered amid hertender farewells to himself, messages to her soils--but especially toJuan. "Will you see Juan? If you do, tell him I repent. I send him athousand blessings! Ah, the dear one! Kiss him for me, Roberto! Tell himhow much I love him, Roberto! How I sorrow because I was cross to him!My precious one! My good son, who always loved me so dearly!"
At length Isabel came in to weep in her mother's arms. "Luis is goingaway," she cried. The father felt a momentary keen pang of jealousy. "Iam going also, queridita," he said mournfully. Then she threw her armsaround his neck and bewailed her bad fortune. "If I were the AlmightyGod, I would not give love and then take it away," she murmured. "Iwould give orders that the good people should always be happy. I wouldnot let men like Santa Anna live. He is a measureless monster, and oughtto go to the d--to purgatory, at the very least."
While the Senora soothed her complaining, the doctor left. One troubledglance of a great love he cast backward from the door ere he closed itbehind him; and then his countenance suddenly changed. Stern and strongit grew, with a glow of anger in the steel-blue eyes that gave anentirely new character to it.
He called Antonia into his study, and talked with her of the crisiswhich was approaching, and of the conduct of their affairs in it. Heshowed her the places in which his gold coin was hidden. He told her onwhom to rely in any emergency.
"We have sure information that General Urrea, with the vanguard of alarge Mexican army, will be here next month. Santa Anna will follow himquickly. You see that the city must either be defended or our men mustretreat. I am going to Houston with this dilemma. Luis and Dare willjoin Fannin at Goliad. Now, my dear child, you have my place to fill. IfSanta Anna takes possession of San Antonio, what will you do?"
"If we are not disturbed in any way, I will keep very quiet within myown home."
"If Fray Ignatius attempts to interfere with you--what then?"
"I will fly from him, and take Isabel and mi madre with me."
"That is your only safety. I shall hear if the Americans desert thecity; then I will send your brother Thomas, if by any possibility it canbe done, to guard you to the eastern settlements. But I may not be ableto do this--there may be no time--it cannot be depended upon--LopezNavarro will help you all he can, and Ortiz. You may always rely onOrtiz."
"My father, I cannot trust Ortiz. Every man is a master to a peon. Hewould mean to do kindly, but his cowardice might make him false."
"Ortiz is no peon. He is a Mexican officer of high rank, whom SantaAnna ordered to be shot. I saved his life. He wears the clothes ofa peon--that is necessary; but he has the honor and gratitude of agentleman beneath them. If necessary, trust Ortiz fully. One thing aboveall others remember--FLIGHT before a convent."
"Flight! Yes, death before it! I promise you, father. When we meetagain, you shall say, well done, Antonia."
It was now about midnight. They went back to the parlor. Luis and Daresat by the dying fire. They were bent forward, close together over it,talking in a low voice. They rose when the doctor spoke, and silentlykissed Antonia.
"It will be a hard ride, now," said the doctor, and Dare answered,mechanically, "but we shall manage it." He held Antonia's hand, andshe went with them to the rear of the house. Their horses were standingready saddled. Silently the men mounted. In a
moment they had passed thegate, and the beat of their horses' hoofs gradually died away.
But all through the clear spaces of the sky the Christmas bells wereringing, and the serenaders were musically telling each other,
"At twelve will the Child be born!"
Remember the Alamo Page 11
