Remember the Alamo Page 2

  CHAPTER II. ANTONIA AND ISABEL.

  "He various changes of the world had known, And some vicissitudes of human fate, Still altering, never in a steady state Good after ill, and after pain delight, Alternate, like the scenes of day and night."

  "Ladies whose bright eyes Rain influence."

  "But who the limits of that power shall trace, Which a brave people into life can bring, Or hide at will, for freedom combating By just revenge inflamed?"

  For many years there had never been any doubt in the mind of RobertWorth as to the ultimate destiny of Texas, though he was by no meansan adventurer, and had come into the beautiful land by a sequence ofnatural and business-like events. He was born in New York. In that cityhe studied his profession, and in eighteen hundred and three began itspractice in an office near Contoit's Hotel, opposite the City Park. Oneday he was summoned there to attend a sick man. His patient proved tobe Don Jaime Urrea, and the rich Mexican grandee conceived a warmfriendship for the young physician.

  At that very time, France had just ceded to the United States theterritory of Louisiana, and its western boundary was a subject aboutwhich Americans were then angrily disputing. They asserted that it wasthe Rio Grande; but Spain, who naturally did not want Americans sonear her own territory, denied the claim, and made the Sabine Riverthe dividing line. And as Spain had been the original possessor ofLouisiana, she considered herself authority on the subject.

  The question was on every tongue, and it was but natural that itshould be discussed by Urrea and his physician. In fact, they talkedcontinually of the disputed boundary, and of Mexico. And Mexico was thena name to conjure by. She was as yet a part of Spain, and a sharer inall her ancient glories. She was a land of romance, and her very nametasted on the lips, of gold, and of silver, and of precious stones.Urrea easily persuaded the young man to return to Mexico with him.

  The following year there was a suspicious number of American visitorsand traders in San Antonio, and one of the Urreas was sent with aconsiderable number of troops to garrison the city. For Spain was wellaware that, however statesmen might settle the question, the youngand adventurous of the American people considered Texas United Statesterritory, and would be well inclined to take possession of it by forceof arms, if an opportunity offered.

  Robert Worth accompanied General Urrea to San Antonio, and the visitwas decisive as to his future life. The country enchanted him. He wassmitten with love for it, as men are smitten with a beautiful face.And the white Moorish city had one special charm for him--it was seldomquite free from Americans, Among the mediaeval loungers in the narrowstreets, it filled his heart with joy to see at intervals two or threebig men in buckskin or homespun. And he did not much wonder that theMorisco-Hispano-Mexican feared these Anglo-Americans, and suspected themof an intention to add Texan to their names.

  His inclination to remain in San Antonio was settled by his marriage.Dona Maria Flores, though connected with the great Mexican families ofYturbide and Landesa, owned much property in San Antonio. She had beenborn within its limits, and educated in its convent, and a visit toMexico and New Orleans had only strengthened her attachment to her owncity. She was a very pretty woman, with an affectionate nature, but shewas not intellectual. Even in the convent the sisters had not consideredher clever.

  But men often live very happily with commonplace wives, and Robert Worthhad never regretted that his Maria did not play on the piano, and painton velvet, and work fine embroideries for the altars. They had passednearly twenty-six years together in more than ordinary content andprosperity. Yet no life is without cares and contentions, and RobertWorth had had to face circumstances several times, which had brought thereal man to the front.

  The education of his children had been such a crisis. He had two sonsand two daughters, and for them he anticipated a wider and grandercareer than he had chosen for himself. When his eldest child, Thomas,had reached the age of fourteen, he determined to send him to New York.He spoke to Dona Maria of this intention. He described Columbia to herwith all the affectionate pride of a student for his alma mater. Theboy's grandmother also still lived in the home wherein, he himself hadgrown to manhood. His eyes filled with tears when he remembered the redbrick house in Canal Street, with its white door and dormer windows, andits one cherry tree in the strip of garden behind.

  But Dona Maria's national and religious principles, or ratherprejudices, were very strong. She regarded the college of San Juan deLateran in Mexico as the fountainhead of knowledge. Her confessor hadtold her so. All the Yturbides and Landesas had graduated at San Juan.

  But the resolute father would have none of San Juan. "I know all aboutit, Maria," he said. "They will teach Thomas Latin very thoroughly. Theywill make him proficient in theology and metaphysics. They will let himdabble in algebra and Spanish literature; and with great pomp, they willgive him his degree, and 'the power of interpreting Aristotle all overthe world.' What kind of an education is that, for a man who may have tofight the battles of life in this century?"

  And since the father carried his point it is immaterial what precisemethods he used. Men are not fools even in a contest with women. Theyusually get their own way, if they take the trouble to go wisely andkindly about it. Two years afterwards, Antonia followed her brother toNew York, and this time, the mother made less opposition. Perhaps shedivined that opposition would have been still more useless than in thecase of the boy. For Robert Worth had one invincible determination; itwas, that this beautiful child, who so much resembled a mother whomhe idolized, should be, during the most susceptible years of her life,under that mother's influence.

  And he was well repaid for the self-denial her absence entailed,when Antonia came back to him, alert, self-reliant, industrious, anintelligent and responsive companion, a neat and capable housekeeper,who insensibly gave to his home that American air it lacked, and who setupon his table the well-cooked meats and delicate dishes which he hadoften longed for.

  John, the youngest boy, was still in New York finishing his course ofstudy; but regarding Isabel, there seemed to be a tacit relinquishmentof the purpose, so inflexibly carried out with her brothers and sister.Isabel was entirely different from them. Her father had watched hercarefully, and come to the conviction that it would be impossible tomake her nature take the American mintage. She was as distinctly Iberianas Antonia was Anglo-American.

  In her brothers the admixture of races had been only as alloy to metal.Thomas Worth was but a darker copy of his father. John had the romanceand sensitive honor of old Spain, mingled with the love of liberty, andthe practical temper, of those Worths who had defied both Charles theFirst and George the Third. But Isabel had no soul-kinship with herfather's people. Robert Worth had seen in the Yturbide residenciain Mexico the family portraits which they had brought with them fromCastile. Isabel was the Yturbide of her day. She had all their physicaltraits, and from her large golden-black eyes the same passionate soullooked forth. He felt that it would be utter cruelty to send her amongpeople who must always be strangers to her.

  So Isabel dreamed away her childhood at her mother's side, or withthe sisters in the convent, learning from them such simple and uselessmatters as they considered necessary for a damosel of family andfortune. On the night of the Senora Valdez's reception, she hadastonished every one by the adorable grace of her dancing, and thecaptivating way in which she used her fan. Her fingers touched theguitar as if they had played it for a thousand years. She sang a SpanishRomancero of El mio Cid with all the fire and tenderness of a Castilianmaid.

  Her father watched her with troubled eyes. He almost felt as if he hadno part in her. And the thought gave him an unusual anxiety, for heknew this night that the days were fast approaching which would test toextremity the affection which bound his family together. He contrived todraw Antonia aside for a few moments.

  "Is she not wonderful?" he asked. "When did she learn these things? Imean the way i
n which she does them?"

  Isabel was dancing La Cachoucha, and Antonia looked at her little sisterwith eyes full of loving speculation. Her answer dropped slowly from herlips, as if a conviction was reluctantly expressed:

  "The way must be a gift from the past--her soul has been at schoolbefore she was born here. Father, are you troubled? What is it? NotIsabel, surely?"

  "Not Isabel, primarily. Antonia, I have been expecting something fortwenty years. It is coming."

  "And you are sorry?"

  "I am anxious, that is all. Go back to the dancers. In the morning wecan talk."

  In the morning the doctor was called very early by some one needing hisskill. Antonia heard the swift footsteps and eager voices, and watchedhim mount the horse always kept ready saddled for such emergencies, andride away with the messenger. The incident in itself was a usualone, but she was conscious that her soul was moving uneasily andquestioningly in some new and uncertain atmosphere.

  She had felt it on her first entrance into Senora Valdez's gran sala--asomething irrepressible in the faces of all the men present. Sheremembered that even the servants had been excited, and that theystood in small groups, talking with suppressed passion and with muchdemonstrativeness. And the officers from the Alamo! How conscious theyhad been of their own importance! What airs of condescension and of analmost insufferable protection they had assumed! Now, that she recalledthe faces of Judge Valdez, and other men of years and position, sheunderstood that there had been in them something out of tone with theoccasion. In the atmosphere of the festa she had only felt it. In thesolitude of her room she could apprehend its nature.

  For she had been born during those stormy days when Magee and Bernardo,with twelve hundred Americans, first flung the banner of Texanindependence to the wind; when the fall of Nacogdoches sent a thrill ofsympathy through the United States, and enabled Cos and Toledo, and theother revolutionary generals in Mexico, to carry their arms against OldSpain to the very doors of the vice-royal palace. She had heard fromher father many a time the whole brave, brilliant story--the same storywhich has been made in all ages from the beginning of time. Onlythe week before, they had talked it over as they sat under the greatfig-tree together.

  "History but repeats itself," the doctor had said then; "for whenthe Mexicans drove the Spaniards, with their court ceremonies, theirmonopolies and taxes, back to Spain, they were just doing what theAmerican colonists did, when they drove the English royalists backto England. It was natural, too, that the Americans should help theMexicans, for, at first, they were but a little band of patriots; andthe American-Saxon has like the Anglo-Saxon an irresistible impulse tohelp the weaker side. And oh, Antonia! The cry of Freedom! Who that hasa soul can resist it?"

  She remembered this conversation as she stood in the pallid dawning, andwatched her father ride swiftly away. The story of the long struggle inall its salient features flashed through her mind; and she understoodthat it is not the sword alone that gives liberty--that there must bepatience before courage; that great ideas must germinate for years inthe hearts of men before the sword can reap the harvest.

  The fascinating memory of Burr passed like a shadow across her dreaming.The handsome Lafayettes--the gallant Nolans--the daring Hunters--thethousands of forgotten American traders and explorers--bold andenterprising--they had sown the seed. For great ideas are as catching asevil ones. A Mexican, with the iron hand of Old Spain upon him and theshadow of the Inquisition over him, could not look into the face of anAmerican, and not feel the thought of Freedom stirring in his heart.

  It stirred in her own heart. She stood still a moment to feelconsciously the glow and the enlargement. Then with an impulse natural,but neither analyzed nor understood, she lifted her prayer-book, andbegan to recite "the rising prayer." She had not said to herself, "fromthe love of Freedom to the love of God, it is but a step," but sheexperienced the emotion and felt all the joy of an adoration, simple andunquestioned, springing as naturally from the soul as the wild flowerfrom the prairie.

  As she knelt, up rose the sun, and flooded her white figure and her fairunbound hair with the radiance of the early morning. The matin bellschimed from the convent and the churches, and the singing birds began toflutter their bright wings, and praise God also, "in their Latin."

  She took her breakfast alone. The Senora never came downstairs soearly. Isabel had wavering inclinations, and generally followed them.Sometimes, even her father had his cup of strong coffee alone in hisstudy; so the first meal of the day was usually, as perhaps it oughtto be, a selfishly-silent one. "Too much enthusiasm and chattering atbreakfast, are like too much red at sunrise," the doctor always said;"a dull, bad day follows it"--and Antonia's observation had turned thelittle maxim into a superstition.

  In the Senora's room, the precept was either denied, or defied. Antoniaheard the laughter and conversation through the closed door, and easilydivined the subject of it. It was, but natural. The child had a triumph;one that appealed strongly to her mother's pride and predilections.It was a pleasant sight to see them in the shaded sunshine exultingthemselves happily in it.

  The Senora, plump and still pretty, reclined upon a large gilded bed.Its splendid silk coverlet and pillows cased in embroidery and lace madean effective background for her. She leaned with a luxurious indolenceamong them, sipping chocolate and smoking a cigarrito. Isabel was on acouch of the same description. She wore a satin petticoat, and a looselinen waist richly trimmed with lace. It showed her beautiful shouldersand arms to perfection. Her hands were folded above her head. Her tinyfeet, shod in satin, were quivering like a bird's wings, as if they werekeeping time with the restlessness of her spirit.

  She had large eyes, dark and bright; strong eyebrows, a pale complexionwith a flood of brilliant color in the checks, dazzling even teeth,and a small, handsome mouth. Her black hair was loose and flowing, andcaressed her cheeks and temples in numberless little curls and tendrils.Her face was one flush of joy and youth. She had a look half-earnest andhalf-childlike, and altogether charming. Antonia adored her, and shewas pleased to listen to the child, telling over again the pretty thingsthat had been said to her.

  "Only Don Luis was not there at all, Antonia. There is always somethingwanting," and her voice fell with those sad inflections that are oftenonly the very excess of delight.

  The Senora looked sharply at her. "Don Luis was not desirable. He wasbetter away--much better!"

  "But why?"

  "Because, Antonia, he is suspected. There is an American called Houston.Don Luis met him in Nacogdoches. He has given his soul to him, I think.He would have fought Morello about him, if the captain could have drawnhis sword in such a quarrel. I should not have known about the affairhad not Senora Valdez told me. Your father says nothing against theAmericans."

  "Perhaps, then, he knows nothing against them."

  "You will excuse me, Antonia; not only the living but the dead must haveheard of their wickedness. They are a nation of ingrates. Ingrates arecowards. It was these words Captain Morello said, when Don Luis drew hissword, made a circle with its point and stood it upright in the centre.It was a challenge to the whole garrigon, and about this fellow Houston,whom he calls his friend! Holy Virgin preserve us from such Mexicans!"

  "It is easier to talk than to fight. Morello's tongue is sharper thanhis sword."

  "Captain Morello was placing his sword beside that of Don Luis, when theCommandant interfered. He would not permit his officers to fight in sucha quarrel. 'Santo Dios!' he said, 'you shall all have your opportunityvery soon, gentlemen.' Just reflect upon the folly of a boy like DonLuis, challenging a soldier like Morello!"

  "He was in no danger, mother," said Antonia scornfully. "Morello is abully, who wears the pavement out with his spurs and sabre. His weaponsare for show. Americans, at least, wear their arms for use, and not forornament."

  "Listen, Antonia! I will not have them spoken of. They are Jews--or atleast infidels, all of them!--the devil himself is their father--thebishop, when he was
here last confirmation, told me so."

  "Mother!"

  "At least they are unbaptized Christians, Antonia. If you are notbaptized, the devil sends you to do his work. As for Don Luis, he is avery Judas! Ah, Maria Santissima! how I do pity his good mother!"

  "Poor Don Luis!" said Isabel plaintively.

  "He is so handsome, and he sings like a very angel. And he loves myfather; he wanted to be a doctor, so that he could always be with him.I dare say this man called Houston is no better than a Jew, and perhapsvery ugly beside. Let us talk no more about him and the Americans. Iam weary of them; as Tia Rachella says, 'they have their spoon in everyone's mess.'"

  And Antonia, whose heart was burning, only stooped down and closed hersister's pretty mouth with a kiss. Her tongue was impatient to speak forthe father, and grandmother, and the friends, so dear to her; but shepossessed great discretion, and also a large share of that rarest of allwomanly graces, the power under provocation, of "putting on Patience thenoble."