Remember the Alamo [26]
give me thy compassion!" Then,
turning to Juan, she cried out: "May God pardon me for having
brought into this world such ingrates! Go from me! You have
broken my heart!
He fell at her feet, and, in spite of her reluctance, took her
hands--
"Sweetest mother, wait but a little while. You will see that
we are right. Do not be cross with Juan. I am going away.
Kiss me, mother. Kiss me, and give me your blessing."
"No, I will not bless you. I will not kiss you. You want
what is impossible, what is wicked."
"I want freedom."
"And to get freedom you tread upon your mother's heart.
Let loose my hands. I am weary to death of this everlasting
talk of freedom. I think indeed that the Americans know
but two words: freedom and dollars. Ring for Rachela. She,
at least, is faithful to me."
"Not till you kiss me, mother. Do not send me away unblessed
and unloved. That is to doom me to misfortune. Mi madre,
I beg this favor from you." He had risen, but he still held
her hands, and he was weeping as innocent young men are not
ashamed to weep.
If she had looked at him! Oh, if she had but once looked at
his face, she could not have resisted its beauty, its sorrow,
its imploration! But she would not look. She drew her hands
angrily away from him. She turned her back upon her suppliant
son and imperiously summoned Rachela.
"Good-by, mi madre."
"Good-by, mi madre!"
She would not turn to him, or answer him a word.
"Mi madre, here comes Rachela! Say `God bless you, Juan.' It
is my last word, sweet mother!"
She neither moved nor spoke. The next moment Rachela
entered, and the wretched woman abandoned herself to her care
with vehement sobs and complainings.
Jack was inexpressibly sorrowful. He went into the garden,
hoping in its silence and solitude to find some relief. He
loved his mother with his strongest affection. Every one of
her sobs wrung his heart. Was it right to wound and disobey
her for the sake of--freedom? Mother was a certain good;
freedom only a glorious promise. Mother was a living fact;
freedom an intangible idea.
Ah, but men have always fought more passionately for ideas
than for facts! Tyrants are safe while they touch only silver
and gold; but when they try to bind a man's ideals--the
freedom of his citizenship--the purity of his faith--he will
die to preserve them in their integrity.
Besides, freedom for every generation has but her hour. If
that hour is not seized, no other may come for the men who
have suffered it to pass. But mother would grow more loving
as the days went by. And this was ever the end of Jack's
reasoning; for no man knows how deep the roots of his nature
strike into his native land, until he sees her in the
grasp of a tyrant, and hears her crying to him for
deliverance.
The struggle left the impress on his face. He passed a
boundary in it. Certain boyish feelings and graces would
never again be possible to him. He went into the house,
weary, and longing for companionship that would comfort or
strengthen him. Only Isabel was in the parlor. She appeared
to be asleep among the sofa cushions, but she opened her eyes
wide as he took a chair beside her.
"I have been waiting to kiss you again, Juan; do you think
this trouble will last very long?"
"It will be over directly, Iza. Do not fret yourself about
it, angel mio. The Americans are great fighters, and their
quarrel is just. Well, then, it will be settled by the good
God quickly."
"Rachela says that Santa Anna has sent off a million of men to
fight the Americans. Some they will cut in pieces, and some
are to be sent to the mines to work in chains."
"God is not dead of old age, Iza. Santa Anna is a miraculous
tyrant. He has committed every crime under heaven, but
I think he will not cut the Americans in pieces."
"And if the Americans should even make him go back to Mexico!"
"I think that is very possible."
"What then, Juan?"
"He would pay for some of his crimes here the rest he would
turning to Juan, she cried out: "May God pardon me for having
brought into this world such ingrates! Go from me! You have
broken my heart!
He fell at her feet, and, in spite of her reluctance, took her
hands--
"Sweetest mother, wait but a little while. You will see that
we are right. Do not be cross with Juan. I am going away.
Kiss me, mother. Kiss me, and give me your blessing."
"No, I will not bless you. I will not kiss you. You want
what is impossible, what is wicked."
"I want freedom."
"And to get freedom you tread upon your mother's heart.
Let loose my hands. I am weary to death of this everlasting
talk of freedom. I think indeed that the Americans know
but two words: freedom and dollars. Ring for Rachela. She,
at least, is faithful to me."
"Not till you kiss me, mother. Do not send me away unblessed
and unloved. That is to doom me to misfortune. Mi madre,
I beg this favor from you." He had risen, but he still held
her hands, and he was weeping as innocent young men are not
ashamed to weep.
If she had looked at him! Oh, if she had but once looked at
his face, she could not have resisted its beauty, its sorrow,
its imploration! But she would not look. She drew her hands
angrily away from him. She turned her back upon her suppliant
son and imperiously summoned Rachela.
"Good-by, mi madre."
"Good-by, mi madre!"
She would not turn to him, or answer him a word.
"Mi madre, here comes Rachela! Say `God bless you, Juan.' It
is my last word, sweet mother!"
She neither moved nor spoke. The next moment Rachela
entered, and the wretched woman abandoned herself to her care
with vehement sobs and complainings.
Jack was inexpressibly sorrowful. He went into the garden,
hoping in its silence and solitude to find some relief. He
loved his mother with his strongest affection. Every one of
her sobs wrung his heart. Was it right to wound and disobey
her for the sake of--freedom? Mother was a certain good;
freedom only a glorious promise. Mother was a living fact;
freedom an intangible idea.
Ah, but men have always fought more passionately for ideas
than for facts! Tyrants are safe while they touch only silver
and gold; but when they try to bind a man's ideals--the
freedom of his citizenship--the purity of his faith--he will
die to preserve them in their integrity.
Besides, freedom for every generation has but her hour. If
that hour is not seized, no other may come for the men who
have suffered it to pass. But mother would grow more loving
as the days went by. And this was ever the end of Jack's
reasoning; for no man knows how deep the roots of his nature
strike into his native land, until he sees her in the
grasp of a tyrant, and hears her crying to him for
deliverance.
The struggle left the impress on his face. He passed a
boundary in it. Certain boyish feelings and graces would
never again be possible to him. He went into the house,
weary, and longing for companionship that would comfort or
strengthen him. Only Isabel was in the parlor. She appeared
to be asleep among the sofa cushions, but she opened her eyes
wide as he took a chair beside her.
"I have been waiting to kiss you again, Juan; do you think
this trouble will last very long?"
"It will be over directly, Iza. Do not fret yourself about
it, angel mio. The Americans are great fighters, and their
quarrel is just. Well, then, it will be settled by the good
God quickly."
"Rachela says that Santa Anna has sent off a million of men to
fight the Americans. Some they will cut in pieces, and some
are to be sent to the mines to work in chains."
"God is not dead of old age, Iza. Santa Anna is a miraculous
tyrant. He has committed every crime under heaven, but
I think he will not cut the Americans in pieces."
"And if the Americans should even make him go back to Mexico!"
"I think that is very possible."
"What then, Juan?"
"He would pay for some of his crimes here the rest he would