Remember the Alamo [95]
sweet. The Sisters told me of a woman in the
Holy Book, who smiled upon the one she hated, and gave him
milk and butter, and when he slept, drove a great nail through
his temples. I know how she felt. What a feast it would be,
to strike, and strike, and strike! I could drive ten,
twenty, fifty nails, into Santa Anna, when I think of Juan."
No one had before dared to breathe her boy's name in her
hearing. She herself had never spoken it. It fell upon the
ears of both women like a strain of forgotten music. They
looked at each other with eyes that stirred memory and love to
their sweetest depths. Almost in whispers they began to talk
of the dead boy, to recall how lovable, how charming, how
affectionate, how obedient he had been. Then the Senora broke
open the seals of her sorrow, and, with bitter reproaches on
herself, confessed that the kiss she had denied her Juan was
a load of anguish upon her heart that she could not bear.
"If I had only blessed him," she moaned; "I had saved him from
his misfortune. A mother's blessing is such a holy thing!
And he knelt at my knees, and begged it. I can see his eyes
in the darkness, when my eyes are shut. I can hear his voice
when I am asleep. Isabel, I shall never be happy till I see
Juan again, and say to him, `Forgive me, dear one, forgive me,
for I have suffered.'"
Both were weeping, but Isabel said, bravely: "I am sure
that Juan does not blame you now, mi madre. In the other
world one understands better. And remember, also, the letter
which he wrote you. His last thought was yours. He fell with
your name on his lips. These things are certain. And was it
not good of Dare to die with him? A friend like that! Out of
the tale-books who ever hears of such a thing? Antonia has
wept much. In the nights, when she thinks I am asleep, I hear
her. Have you seen that she has grown white and thin? I
think that my father is very unhappy about her."
"In an hour of mercy may the merciful One remember Dare Grant!
I will pray for his peace as long as I live. If he had left
Juan--if he had come back alone--I think indeed I should have
hated him."
"That was also the opinion of Antonia--she would never have
loved him the same. I am sure she would not have married
him."
"My good Antonia! Go bring her to me, Isabel. I want to
comfort her. She has been so patient with me. I have felt
it--felt it every minute; and I have been stupid and selfish,
and have forgotten that she too was suffering."
The next day it was found impossible to move. The majority of
the women had husbands with the army. They had left their
wives, to secure everlasting freedom for their children; but,
even if Houston was victorious, they might be wounded and need
their help. To be near them in any case was the one thing
about which they were positive.
"We will not move another inch," said a brave little
Massachusetts woman, who had been the natural leader of this
domestic Exodus; "we will rest ourselves a little here, and if
the Mexicans want some extraordinary fighting they can have
it; especially, if they come meddling with us or our children.
My husband told me just to get out of reach of shot and shell
and wait there till we heard of the victory, and I am for
doing THAT, and no other thing."
Nearly two hundred women, bent upon their own way, are not to
be taken any other way; and the few old men who had been sent
to guide the party, and shoot what game was necessary for
their support, surrendered at once to this feminine mutiny.
Besides, the condition of the boys and girls between seven and
fourteen was really a deplorable one. They were too old
to be cared for as infants, and they had been obliged, with
the strength of children, to accomplish the labor of men and
women. Many were crippled in their feet, others were
continually on the point of swooning.
It was now the 20th of April. The Senora and her daughters
had been six weeks with the American army, exposed to all the
privations which such a life
Holy Book, who smiled upon the one she hated, and gave him
milk and butter, and when he slept, drove a great nail through
his temples. I know how she felt. What a feast it would be,
to strike, and strike, and strike! I could drive ten,
twenty, fifty nails, into Santa Anna, when I think of Juan."
No one had before dared to breathe her boy's name in her
hearing. She herself had never spoken it. It fell upon the
ears of both women like a strain of forgotten music. They
looked at each other with eyes that stirred memory and love to
their sweetest depths. Almost in whispers they began to talk
of the dead boy, to recall how lovable, how charming, how
affectionate, how obedient he had been. Then the Senora broke
open the seals of her sorrow, and, with bitter reproaches on
herself, confessed that the kiss she had denied her Juan was
a load of anguish upon her heart that she could not bear.
"If I had only blessed him," she moaned; "I had saved him from
his misfortune. A mother's blessing is such a holy thing!
And he knelt at my knees, and begged it. I can see his eyes
in the darkness, when my eyes are shut. I can hear his voice
when I am asleep. Isabel, I shall never be happy till I see
Juan again, and say to him, `Forgive me, dear one, forgive me,
for I have suffered.'"
Both were weeping, but Isabel said, bravely: "I am sure
that Juan does not blame you now, mi madre. In the other
world one understands better. And remember, also, the letter
which he wrote you. His last thought was yours. He fell with
your name on his lips. These things are certain. And was it
not good of Dare to die with him? A friend like that! Out of
the tale-books who ever hears of such a thing? Antonia has
wept much. In the nights, when she thinks I am asleep, I hear
her. Have you seen that she has grown white and thin? I
think that my father is very unhappy about her."
"In an hour of mercy may the merciful One remember Dare Grant!
I will pray for his peace as long as I live. If he had left
Juan--if he had come back alone--I think indeed I should have
hated him."
"That was also the opinion of Antonia--she would never have
loved him the same. I am sure she would not have married
him."
"My good Antonia! Go bring her to me, Isabel. I want to
comfort her. She has been so patient with me. I have felt
it--felt it every minute; and I have been stupid and selfish,
and have forgotten that she too was suffering."
The next day it was found impossible to move. The majority of
the women had husbands with the army. They had left their
wives, to secure everlasting freedom for their children; but,
even if Houston was victorious, they might be wounded and need
their help. To be near them in any case was the one thing
about which they were positive.
"We will not move another inch," said a brave little
Massachusetts woman, who had been the natural leader of this
domestic Exodus; "we will rest ourselves a little here, and if
the Mexicans want some extraordinary fighting they can have
it; especially, if they come meddling with us or our children.
My husband told me just to get out of reach of shot and shell
and wait there till we heard of the victory, and I am for
doing THAT, and no other thing."
Nearly two hundred women, bent upon their own way, are not to
be taken any other way; and the few old men who had been sent
to guide the party, and shoot what game was necessary for
their support, surrendered at once to this feminine mutiny.
Besides, the condition of the boys and girls between seven and
fourteen was really a deplorable one. They were too old
to be cared for as infants, and they had been obliged, with
the strength of children, to accomplish the labor of men and
women. Many were crippled in their feet, others were
continually on the point of swooning.
It was now the 20th of April. The Senora and her daughters
had been six weeks with the American army, exposed to all the
privations which such a life