Remember the Alamo

by Amelia E. Barr

  CHAPTER VII. A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT.

  "All faiths are to their own believers just, For none believe because they will, but must; The priest continues what the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man." --DRYDEN.

  "--if he be called upon to face Some awful moment, to which heaven has joined Great issues good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a man inspired; And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made; and sees what he foresaw, Or, if an unexpected call succeed, Come when it will, is equal to the need." --WORDSWORTH.

  "Ah! love, let us be true To one another, through the world which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams!"

  The gathering at Don Valasco's was constantly repeated in variousdegrees of splendor among the loyal Mexicans of the city. They were asfully convinced of the justice of their cause as the Americans were."They had graciously permitted Americans to make homes in their country;now they wanted not only to build heretic churches and sell hereticbibles, but also to govern Texas after their own fashion." From aMexican point of view the American settlers were a godless, atheistical,quarrelsome set of ingrates. For eaten bread is soon forgotten, andMexicans disliked to remember that their own independence had beenwon by the aid of the very men they were now trying to force intosubjection.

  The two parties were already in array in every house in the city. TheSenora at variance with her daughters, their Irish cook quarrellingwith their Mexican servants, only represented a state of things nearlyuniversal. And after the failure of the Mexicans at Gonzales to disarmthe Americans, the animosity constantly increased.

  In every church, the priests--more bitter, fierce and revengeful thaneither the civil or military power--urged on the people an exterminatingwar. A black flag waved from the Missions, and fired every heart withan unrelenting vengeance and hatred. To slay a heretic was a free passthrough the dolorous pains of purgatory. For the priesthood foresawthat the triumph of the American element meant the triumph of freedomof conscience, and the abolition of their own despotism. To them thestruggle was one involving all the privileges of their order; and theyurged on the fight with passionate denunciations of the foe, and withmagnificent promises of spiritual favors and blessings. In the fortress,the plaza, the houses, the churches, the streets, their fiery words keptsociety in a ferment.

  But through all this turmoil the small duties of life went on. Soldierswere parading the streets, and keeping watch on the flat roofs of thehouses; men were solemly{sic} swearing allegiance to Santa Anna, orflying by night to the camp of the Americans; life and death were heldat a pin's fee; but eating and dressing, dancing and flirting werepursued with an eagerness typical of pleasure caught in the passing.

  And every hour these elements gathered intensity. The always restlesspopulace of San Antonio was at a feverish point of impatience. Theywanted the war at their own doors. They wanted the quarrel fought out ontheir own streets. Business took a secondary place. Men fingered weaponsand dreamed of blood, until the temper of the town was as boisterous andvehement as the temper of the amphitheatre when impatiently waiting forthe bulls and the matadores.

  Nor was it possible for Antonia to lock the door upon this pervadingspirit. After Doctor Worth's flight, it became necessary for her toassume control over the household. She had promised him to do so,and she was resolved, in spite of all opposition, to follow out hisinstructions. But it was by no means an easy task.

  Fray Ignatius had both the Senora and Rachela completely under hissubjection. Molly, the Irish cook, was already dissatisfied. The doctorhad saved her life and given her a good home and generous wages,and while the doctor was happy and prosperous Molly was accordinglygrateful. But a few words from the priest set affairs in a farpleasanter light to her. She was a true Catholic; the saints sent theheretic doctor to help. It was therefore the saints to whom gratitudewas due. Had she not earned her good wage? And would not Don AngelSandoval give her a still larger sum? Or even the Brothers at theMission of San Jose? Molly listened to these words with a complacentpleasure. She reflected that it would be much more agreeable to her tobe where she could entirely forget that she had ever been hungry andfriendless, and lying at death's door.

  Antonia knew also that Rachela was at heart unfaithful, and soon theconviction was forced on her that servants are never faithful beyond theline of their own interest--that it is, indeed, against certain primarylaws of nature to expect it. Certainly, it was impossible to doubtthat there was in all their dependents a kind of satisfaction in theirmisfortunes.

  The doctor had done them favors--how unpleasant was their memory!The Senora had offended them by the splendor of her dress, and hercomplacent air of happiness. Antonia's American ways and her habit ofsitting for hours with a book in her hand were a great irritation.

  "She wishes to be thought wiser than other women--as wise as even a holypriest--SHE! that never goes to mass, and is nearly a heretic," said thehouse steward; "and as for the Senorita Isabel, a little trouble will begood for her! Holy Mary! the way she has been pampered and petted! Itis an absurdity. 'Little dear,' and 'angel,' are the hardest words shehears. Si! if God did not mercifully abate a little the rich they wouldgrow to be 'almightys.'"

  This was the tone of the conversation of the servants of the household.It was not an unnatural tone, but it was a very unhappy one. Peoplecannot escape from the mood of mind they habitually indulge, and fromthe animus of the words they habitually use; and Antonia felt andunderstood the antagonistic atmosphere. For the things which we knowbest of all are precisely the things which no one has ever told us.

  The Senora, in a plain black serge gown, and black rebozo over her head,spent her time in prayers and penances. The care of her household hadalways been delegated to her steward, and to Rachela; while the dutiesthat more especially belonged to her, had been fulfilled by her husbandand by Antonia. In many respects she was but a grown-up baby. And so, inthis great extremity, the only duty which pressed upon her was the ideaof supplicating the saints to take charge of her unhappy affairs.

  And Fray Ignatius was daily more hard with her. Antonia even suspectedfrom his growing intolerance and bitterness, that the Americanswere gaining unexpected advantages. But she knew nothing of what washappening. She could hear from afar off the marching and movements ofsoldiers; the blare of military music; the faint echoes of hurrahingmultitudes; but there was no one to give her any certain information.Still, she guessed something from the anger of the priest and thereticence of the Mexican servants. If good fortune had been withSanta Anna, she was sure she would have heard of "The glorious! Theinvincible! The magnificent Presidente de la Republica Mexicana! TheNapoleon of the West!"

  It was not permitted her to go into the city. A proposal to do so hadbeen met with a storm of angry amazement. And steam and electricityhad not then annihilated distance and abolished suspense. She could butwonder and hope, and try to read the truth from a covert inspection ofthe face and words of Fray Ignatius.

  Between this monk and herself the breach was hourly widening. With angrypain she saw her mother tortured between the fact that she loved herhusband, and the horrible doubt that to love him was a mortal sin. Sheunderstood the underlying motive which prompted the priest to urge uponthe Senora the removal of herself and her daughters to the convent.His offer to take charge of the Worth residencia and estate was in herconviction a proposal to rob them of all rights in it. She felt certainthat whatever the Church once grasped in its iron hand, it would everretain. And both to Isabel and herself the thought of a convent was nowhorrible. "They will force me to be a nun," said Isabel; "and then, whatwill Luis do? And they will never tell me anything about my father andmy brothers. I should never hear of them. I should never see them anymore; unless the good God was so kind as to let me meet them in hisheaven."

  And Antonia had still darker and
more fearful thoughts. She had notforgotten the stories whispered to her childhood, of dreadful fatesreserved for contumacious and disobedient women. Whenever FrayIgnatius looked at her she felt as if she were within the shadow of theInquisition.

  Never had days passed so wearily and anxiously. Never had nights been soterrible. The sisters did not dare to talk much together; they doubtedRachela; they were sure their words were listened to and repeated.They were not permitted to be alone with the Senora. Fray Ignatius hadparticularly warned Rachela to prevent this. He was gradually bringingthe unhappy woman into what he called "a heavenly mind"--the influenceof her daughters, he was sure, would be that of worldly affections andsinful liberty. And Rachela obeyed the confessor so faithfully, that theSenora was almost in a state of solitary confinement. Every day her willwas growing weaker, her pathetic obedience more childlike and absolute.

  But at midnight, when every one was asleep, Antonia stepped softly intoher sister's room and talked to her. They sat in Isabel's bed claspingeach other's hand in the dark, and speaking in whispers. Then Antoniawarned and strengthened Isabel. She told her all her fears. Shepersuaded her to control her wilfulness, to be obedient, and to assumethe childlike thoughtlessness which best satisfied Fray Ignatius. "Hetold you to-day to be happy, that he would think for you. My darling,let him believe that is the thing you want," said Antonia. "I assure youwe shall be the safer for it."

  "He said to me yesterday, when I asked him about the war, 'Do notinquire, child, into things you do not understand. That is to beirreligious,' and then he made the cross on his breast, as if I hadput a bad thought into his heart. We are afraid all day, and we sitwhispering all night about our fears; that is the state we are in. TheLord sends us nothing but misfortunes, Antonia."

  "My darling, tell the Lord your sorrow, then, but do not repine toRachela or Fray Ignatius. That is to complain to the merciless of theAll-Merciful."

  "Do you think I am wicked, Antonia? What excuse could I offer to HisDivine Majesty, if I spoke evil to him of Rachela and Fray Ignatius?"

  "Neither of them are our friends; do you think so?"

  "Fray Ignatius looks like a goblin; he gives me a shiver when he looksat me; and as for Rachela--I already hate her!"

  "Do not trust her. You need not hate her, Isabel."

  "Antonia, I know that I shall eternally hate her; for I am sure that ourangels are at variance."

  In conversations like these the anxious girls passed the long, andoften very cold, nights. The days were still worse, for as November wentslowly away the circumstances which surrounded their lives appeared toconstantly gather a more decided and a bitterer tone. December, thathad always been such a month of happiness, bright with Christmasexpectations and Christmas joys, came in with a terribly severe, wetnorther. The great log fires only warmed the atmosphere immediatelysurrounding them, and Isabel and Antonia sat gloomily within it all day.It seemed to Antonia as if her heart had come to the very end of hope;and that something must happen.

  The rain lashed the earth; the wind roared around the house, and filledit with unusual noises. The cold was a torture that few found themselvesable to endure. But it brought a compensation. Fray Ignatius did notleave the Mission comforts; and Rachela could not bear to go prowlingabout the corridors and passages. She established herself in theSenora's room, and remained there. And very early in the evening shesaid "she had an outrageous headache," and went to her room.

  Then Antonia and Isabel sat awhile by their mother's bed. They talked inwhispers of their father and brothers, and when the Senora cried, theykissed her sobs into silence and wiped her tears away. In that hour, ifFray Ignatius had known it, they undid, in a great measure, the work towhich he had given more than a month of patient and deeply-reflectivelabor. For with the girls, there was the wondrous charm of love andnature; but with the priest, only a splendid ideal of a Church universalthat was to swallow up all the claims of love and all the ties ofnature.

  It was nearly nine o'clock when Antonia and Isabel returned to theparlor fire. Their hearts were full of sorrow for their mother, andof fears for their own future. For this confidence had shown them howfirmly the refuge of the convent had been planted in the anxious ideasof the Senora. Fortunately, the cold had driven the servants either tothe kitchen fire or to their beds, and they could talk over the subjectwithout fear of interference.

  "Are you sleepy, queridita?"--(little dear).

  "I think I shall never go to sleep again, Antonia. If I shut my eyes Ishall find myself in the convent; and I do not want to go there even ina dream. Do you know Mother Teresa? Well then, I could tell you things.And she does not like me, I am sure of that; quite sure."

  "My darling, I am going to make us a cup of tea. It will do us good."

  "If indeed it were chocolate!"

  "I cannot make chocolate now; but you shall have a great deal of sugarin your cup, and something good to eat also. There, my darling, putyour chair close to the fire, and we will sit here until we are quitesleepy."

  With the words she went into the kitchen. Molly was nodding over herbeads, in the comfortable radius made by the blazing logs; no one elsewas present but a young peon. He brought a small kettle to the parlorfire, and lifted a table to the hearth, and then replenished the pileof logs for burning during the night. Isabel, cuddling in a large chair,watched Antonia, as she went softly about putting on the table suchdelicacies as she could find at that hour. Tamales and cold duck, sweetcake and the guava jelly that was Isabel's favorite dainty. There wasa little comfort in the sight of these things; and also, in the brightsilver teapot standing so cheerfully on the hearth, and diffusingthrough the room a warm perfume, at once soothing and exhilarating.

  "I really think I shall like that American tea to-night, Antonia, butyou must half fill my cup with those little blocks of sugar--quite halffill it, Antonia; and have you found cream, my dear one? Then a greatdeal of cream."

  Antonia stood still a moment and looked at the drowsy little beauty. Hereyes were closed, and her head nestled comfortably in a corner of thepadded chair. Then a hand upon the door-handle arrested her attention,and Antonia turned her eyes from Isabel and watched it. Ortiz, the peon,put his head within the room, and then disappeared; but oh, wonder andjoy! Don Luis entered swiftly after him; and before any one could saya word, he was kneeling by Isabel kissing her hand and mingling hisexclamations of rapture with hers.

  Antonia looked with amazement and delight at this apparition. How had hecome? She put her hand upon his sleeve; it was scarcely wet. His dresswas splendid; if he had been going to a tertullia of the highest class,he could not have been more richly adorned. And the storm was yetraging! It was a miracle.

  "Dear Luis, sit down! Here is a chair close to Iza! Tell her yoursecrets a few minutes, and I will go for mi madre. O yes! She will come!You shall see, Iza! And then, Luis, we shall have some supper."

  "You see that I am in heaven already, Antonia; though, indeed, I am alsohungry and thirsty, my sister."

  Antonia was not a minute in reaching her mother's room. The unhappy ladywas half-lying among the large pillows of her gilded bed, wide awake.Her black eyes were fixed upon a crucifix at its foot, and she wasslowly murmuring prayers upon her rosary.

  "Madre! Madre! Luis is here, Luis is here! Come quick, mi madre. Hereare your stockings and slippers, and your gown, and your mantilla--no,no, no, do not call Rachela. Luis has news of my father, and of Jack!Oh, madre, he has a letter from Jack to you! Come dear, come, in a fewminutes you will be ready."

  She was urging and kissing the trembling woman, and dressing her indespite of her faint effort to delay--to call Rachela--to bring Luisto her room. In ten minutes she was ready. She went down softly, like afrightened child, Antonia cheering and encouraging her in whispers.

  When she entered the cheerful parlor the shadow of a smile flittedover her wan face. Luis ran to meet her. He drew the couch close to thehearth; he helped Antonia arrange her comfortably upon it. He made hertea, and kissed her hands when
he put it into them. And then Isabel madeLuis a cup, and cut his tamales, and waited upon him with such prettyservice, that the happy lover thought he was eating a meal in Paradise.

  For a few minutes it had been only this ordinary gladness of reunion;but it was impossible to ignore longer the anxiety in the eyes thatasked him so many questions. He took two letters from his pockets andgave them to the Senora. They were from her husband and Jack. Her handstrembled; she kissed them fervently; and as she placed them in herbreast her tears dropped down upon them.

  Antonia opened the real conversation with that never-failing wedge,the weather. "You came through the storm, Luis? Yet you are not wet,scarcely? Now then, explain this miracle."

  "I went first to Lopez Navarro's. Do you not know this festa dress? Itis the one Lopez bought for the feast of St. James. He lent it to me,for I assure you that my own clothing was like that of a beggar man. Itwas impossible that I could see my angel on earth in it."

  "But in such weather? You can not have come far to-day?"

  "Senorita, there are things which are impossible, quite impossible!That is one of them. Early this morning the north wind advanced uponus, sword in hand. It will last fifty hours, and we shall knowsomething more about it before they are over. Very well, but it was alsoabsolutely necessary that some one should reach San Antonio to-night;and I was so happy as to persuade General Burleson to send me. The HolyLady has given me my reward."

  "Have you seen the Senor Doctor lately; Luis," asked the Senora.

  "I left him at nightfall."

  "At nightfall! But that is impossible!"

  "It is true. The army of the Americans is but a few miles from SanAntonio."

  "Grace of God! Luis!"

  "As you say, Senora. It is the grace of God. Did you not know?"

  "We know nothing but what Fray Ignatius tells us--that the Americanshave been everywhere pulling down churches, and granting martyrdom tothe priests, and that everywhere miraculous retributions have pursuedthem."

  "Was Gonzales a retribution? The Senor Doctor came to us while we werethere. God be blessed; but he startled us like the rattle of rifle-shotsin the midnight! 'Why were you not at Goliad?' he cried. 'There werethree hundred stand of arms there, and cannon, and plenty of provisions.Why were they not yours?' You would have thought, Senora, he had been asoldier all his life. The men caught fire when he came near them, and wewent to Goliad like eagles flying for their prey. We took the town,and the garrison, and all the arms and military stores. I will tell yousomething that came to pass there. At midnight, as I and Jack stoodwith the Senor Doctor by the camp-fire, a stranger rode up to us. It wasColonel Milam. He was flying from a Mexican prison and had not heardof the revolt of the Americans. He made the camp ring with his shoutof delight. He was impatient for the morning. He was the first man thatentered the garrison. Bravissimo! What a soldier is he!"

  "I remember! I remember!" cried the Senora. "Mi Roberto brought him hereonce. So splendid a man I never saw before. So tall, so handsome, sogallant, so like a hero. He is an American from--well, then, I haveforgotten the place."

  "From Kentucky. He fought with the Mexicans when they were fighting fortheir liberty; but when they wanted a king and a dictator he resignedhis commision{sic} and was thrown into prison. He has a long billagainst Santa Anna."

  "We must not forget, Luis," said the Senora with a little flash of herold temper, "that Santa Anna represents to good Catholics the triumph ofHoly Church."

  Luis devoutly crossed himself. "I am her dutiful son, I assure you,Senora--always."

  A warning glance from Antonia changed the conversation. There was plentyto tell which touched them mainly on the side of the family, and theSenora listened, with pride which she could not conceal, to the exploitsof her husband and sons, though she did not permit herself toconfess the feeling. And her heart softened to her children. Withoutacknowledging the tie between Isabel and Luis, she permitted or wasoblivious to the favors it allowed.

  Certainly many little formalities could be dispensed with, in a meetingso unexpected and so eventful. When the pleasant impromptu meal wasover, even the Senora had eaten and drunk with enjoyment. Then Luis setthe table behind them, and they drew closer to the fire, Luis holdingIsabel's hand, and Antonia her mother's. The Senora took a cigarettefrom Luis, and Isabel sometimes put that of Luis between her rosylips. At the dark, cold midnight they found an hour or two of sweetestconsolation. It was indeed hard to weary these three heart-starvedwomen; they asked question after question, and when any brought outthe comical side of camp life they forget their pleasure was almost aclandestine one, and laughed outright.

  In the very midst of such a laugh, Rachela entered the room. She stoodin speechless amazement, gazing with a dark, malicious face upon thehappy group. "Senorita Isabel!" she screamed; "but this is abominable!At the midnight also! Who could have believed in such wickedness? Graceof Mary, it is inconceivable!"

  She laid her hand roughly on Isabel's shoulder, and Luis removed it withas little courtesy. "You were not called," he said, with the haughtyinsolence of a Mexican noble to a servant--"Depart."

  "My Senora! Listen! You yourself also--you will die. You that are reallyweak--so broken-hearted--"

  Then a miracle occurred. The Senora threw off the nightmare of selfishsorrow and spiritual sentimentality which had held her in bondage. Shetook the cigarito from her lips with a scornful air, and repeated thewords of Luis:

  "You were not called. Depart."

  "The Senorita Isabel?"

  "Is in my care. Her mother's care! do you understand?"

  "My Senora, Fray Ignatius--"

  "Saints in heaven! But this is intolerable! Go."

  Then Rachela closed the door with a clang which echoed through thehouse. And say as we will, the malice of the wicked is never quitefutile. It was impossible after this interruption to recall the happyspirit dismissed by it; and Rachela had the consolation, as she mutteredbeside the fire in the Senora's room, this conviction. So that when sheheard the party breaking up half an hour afterwards, she complimentedherself upon her influence.

  "Will Jack come and see me soon, and the Senor Doctor?" questioned theSenora, anxiously, as she held the hand of Luis in parting.

  "Jack is on a secret message to General Houston. His return advices willfind us, I trust, in San Antonio. But until we have taken the city, noAmerican can safely enter it. For this reason, when it was necessary togive Lopez Navarro certain instructions, I volunteered to bring them.By the Virgin of Guadalupe! I have had my reward," he said, lifting theSenora's hand and kissing it.

  "But, then, even you are in danger."

  "Si! If I am discovered; but, blessed be the hand of God! Luis Alvedaknows where he is going, and how to get there."

  "I have heard," said the Senora in a hushed voice, "that there are to beno prisoners. That is Santa Anna's order."

  "I heard it twenty days ago, and am still suffocating over it."

  "Ah, Luis, you do not know the man yet! I heard Fray Ignatius say that."

  "We know him well; and also what he is capable of"; and Luis plucked hismustache fiercely, as he bowed a silent farewell to the ladies.

  "Holy Maria! How brave he is!" said Isabel, with a flash of pride thatconquered her desire to weep. "How brave he is! Certainly, if he meetsSanta Anna, he will kill him."

  They went very quietly up-stairs. The Senora was anticipating theinterview she expected with Rachela, and, perhaps wisely, she isolatedherself in an atmosphere of sullen and haughty silence. She wouldaccept nothing from her, not even sympathy or flattery; and, in a curtdismission, managed to make her feel the immeasurable distance betweena high-born lady of the house of Flores, and a poor manola that she hadtaken from the streets of Madrid. Rachela knew the Senora was thinkingof this circumstance; the thought was in her voice, and it cowed andsnubbed the woman, her nature being essentially as low as her birth.

  As for the Senora, the experience did her a world of good. She waitedupon herself as a princess might
condescend to minister to her ownwants--loftily, with a smile at her own complaisance. The very knowledgethat her husband was near at hand inspired her with courage. She went tosleep assuring herself "that not even Fray Ignatius should again speakevil of her beloved, who never thought of her except with a loyalaffection." For in married life, the wife can sin against love as wellas fidelity; and she thought with a sob of the cowardice which hadpermitted Fray Ignatius to call her dear one "rebel and heretic."

  "Santa Dios!" she said in a passionate whisper; "it is not a mortal sinto think differently from Santa Anna"--and then more tenderly--"thosewho love each other are of the same faith."

  And if Fray Ignatius had seen at that moment the savage whiteness of hersmall teeth behind the petulant pout of her parted lips, he mighthave understood that this woman of small intelligence had also theunreasoning partisanship and the implacable sense of anger whichgenerally accompanies small intelligence, and which indicates a naturegoverned by feeling, and utterly irresponsive to reasoning which feelingdoes not endorse.