Remember the Alamo [61]
enemy.
He saw that Antonia was hated by him. He was in the shadow of
a terror worse than death--that of a long, hopeless captivity.
A dungeon and a convent might become to them a living grave,
in which cruelty and despair would slowly gnaw life away.
And yet, for a day or two he resolved not to speak of his
terror. The Senora was so happy in his presence, and she had
such kind confidences to give him about her plans for her
children's future, that he could not bear to alarm her. And
the children also were so full of youth's enthusiasms and
love's sweet dreams. Till the last moment why should he
awaken them? And as the strongest mental element in a
home gives the tone to it, so Dare and Antonia, with the
doctor behind them, gave to the Mexican household almost an
American freedom of intercourse and community of
pleasure.
The Senora came to the parlor far more frequently, and in her
own apartments her children visited her with but slight
ceremony. They discussed all together their future plans.
They talked over a wonderful journey which they were to take
in company to New Orleans, and Washington, and New York, and
perhaps even to London and Paris--"who could tell, if the
Senora would be so good as to enjoy herself?" They ate more
together. They got into the habit of congregating about the
same hearthstone. It was the Senora's first real experience
of domestic life.
In about six days the Mexican forces left the city. The terms
of surrender granted General Cos struck the Mexicans with a
kind of wonder. They had fought with the express declaration
that they would take no American prisoner. Yet the Americans
not only permitted Cos and his troops to leave under parole of
honor, but gave them their arms and sufficient ammunition
to protect themselves from the Indians on their journey home.
They allowed them also all their private property. They
furnished them with the provisions necessary to reach the Rio
Grande. They took charge of their sick and wounded. They set
all the Mexican prisoners at liberty--in short, so great was
their generosity and courtesy 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 its sincerity. At this very blessed hour of God, they are
accusing the Americans of being afraid to press their
advantage. Simply, you will have the fight to make over
again. I say this, because I know Santa Anna."
"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 a monk and Santa Anna on all sides. At the
word monk, Lopez glanced significantly at a passing priest,
and Doctor Worth saw that it was Fray Ignatius.
"He sprinkled the Mexican troops with holy water, and blessed
them as they left the city this morning. He has the ear of
General Cos. He is not a man to offend, I assure you,
Doctor."
The doctor walked thoughtfully away. San Antonio was full of
his friends, yet never had he felt himself and his family to
be in so much danger. And the words of Lopez had struck a
responding chord in his own consciousness. The careless
bravery, the splendid generosity of his countrymen was at
least premature. He went through the city with observing
eyes, and saw much to trouble him.
The gates of Alamo were open. Crockett lounged upon his rifle
in the Plaza. A little crowd was around him, and the big
Tennesseean hunter was talking to them. Shouts of laughter,
bravas of enthusiasm, answered the homely wit and stirring
periods that had over and over "made room for Colonel
Crockett," both in the Tennessee Legislature and the United
States Congress. His rifle seemed a part of him--a kind of
third arm. His confident manner, his manliness and bravery,
turned his wit into wisdom. The young fellows around
found in him their typical leader.
The elegant James Bowie was