ACT SECOND.
Scene I.
A road leading through a forest, with the Alamo in the back-ground. Wm. Travis accompanying Edward Burleson and Frank W. Johnston, who appear equipped for a journey.]
Travis.
The spot is reached where we must part, my friends,
You to go eastward,—I to wend my steps
Back to the Alamo, with whose defence
The same command which ordered your recall
Has trusted me, at best a doubtful honor.
Happy the soldier, whom his narrow way
Of duty leads securely on his path;
His order is his never-failing compass.
Its execution his delight and praise.
Such, by no means, is the commander's lot,
Whose pleasure-cup is bittered by the worm-wood
Of Care and grave Responsibility,
Who oft, when human wisdom fails his mind.
With shuddering hand must draw a doubtful chance
From out the urn of fate, which mercilessly
Decides on this his merit and his fame.
But then, as meet it is, a soldier's wish
Succumbs before the voice of discipline.
Burleson.
'Tis strange how oft, what seems to one a burden
His neighbor covets as his greatest boon.
'Tis so the case with us; for nothing more
I should desire to crown my life's exploits
Than to defend the self-same Alamo
Which but two months ago the volunteers
In my command so gallantly have won.
Like as a precious gift I cherished it,
Such as we fain repeatedly defend
To show, how much we value its possession.
The only comfort then, when we must leave
So dear a property behind, is this:
To know its keeping trusted to a hand
That is as brave, as ours designed to be.
Travis.
Thanks for the honor of thy compliment,
Although my diffidence deserves it not.
However much it may be justified.
I beg thee to remember, that of all
The nineteen-hundred, then in thy command.
No more than hundred fifty yet remain
To garrison the fort's extended walls.
Consider, too, that Santa Anna leads
His army's flower, near thirteen-thousand strong.
With guns and siege-train 'gainst our time-worn ramparts.
Pray, misinterpret not my doubts as fear;
For e'en if victory is out of question
Save—if you will—the victory of a brave
Yet fruitless opposition,—still the wish
Is fair, I think, that my defence, my death
Prove not quite useless for the weal of Texas.
Johnston.
So let us hasten, Burleson, to reach
Sam Houston on the Colorado's banks.
And there arrived, not to relent in prayers
Till he has sent the Alamo relief.
Against its stone-walls as against a rock
The en'my must exhaust his wrathful power,
If not, his hosts will overflow the land.
So fare thee well, friend Travis, till thou hear'st
Our trumpet's peal to herald thy release.
Burleson.
The eyes and hopes of Texas rest on thee.
Be thou the bulwark of her Liberty!
Travis.
I will, I will!—so to our friends report:
That Travis is resolved to hold the fort
Until his end, and that from its debris
Shall rise the phoenix of her liberty!
Scene II.
[Biopsis.]
Travis alone.
I.
Farewell, for ever! for I feel it, soon
I must bid even life a last farewell!
So let me, friendly Nature, then commune
Once more with thee, ere sounds my funeral knell.
And strengthen me with every comfort's boon.
With all the blessed gifts, that in thee dwell,
To cheer my heart and courage for the task
Which honor, freedom, country from me ask.
Thou who hast nursed me in my mother's womb,
Whose arms have borne me into life and light,
Whose genial warmth has swelled my childhood's bloom.
Whose teachings made the school-boy's rambles bright,—
Spare not thy balm, when standing at my tomb
I more than ever need thy counsel's might.—
Have thanks, e'en now thou hast fulfilled my prayer
In yon cocoon, suspended in the air.
[He takes a caterpillar s web from an overhanging branch.]
3.
Thou chrysalis! how well thou showest me
Kind Nature's beneficial ordinance,
That saves her children from the agony
Of transitory progress by the trance
Of sleep and death, whose torpid mystery
Begets in them new powers for their advance,
Thou only slumber'st to await the change
That will extol thee to a higher range!
4.
Of loathsome mien, of uncouth form till late,
Thou shalt be draped in raiments proud and rare,
When summer-heats unlock thy prison-gate
And send thee forth as "blossom of the air,"
Whose thirst the flowers' sweet petals satiate,
While leaves and stalks formed hitherto thy fare.
Perfected so in shape, in hue, in wants,
Live on thy circled life mid earthly haunts.
5.
And I?—Like thee I have a web to spin,
A tegument for my immortal soul:
The finer, purer threads I weave therein,
The sooner I shall reach my destined goal.
For when the rays of heavenly suns begin
To pour their light on me from serial pole.
My spirit, like thy butterfly, shall soar
Its lofty, radiant flight for evermore.
Hence hope and strive and falter not, my heart!
Thou shalt exist for all eternity!
Diffused, enlarged, thou shalt become a part
Of other beings, yet to rise and be!
How far, how widely, rests with thee; thou art
The own creator of thy destiny:
Therefore aim well, aim high for genuine truth:
It holds thy fount of everlasting youth.
[He sits down on a grassy knoll, and becomes lost in deep reverie]
Scene III.
The voice of a man, coming through the woods, is over-heard singing the following song.[1]
1.
Born in the wilds of Tennessee,
With Indians round about,
This child was reared and grew to be
A daring hunter-scout.
I fought the brinded catamount,
And dragged the panther from his haunt,
And grappled with the lynx and bear,
And scaled the eagle's cliff-built lair;
And so it came, that with my name
Was blent a daring Hunter's fame.
2.
And when about the neighborhood
The Creeks spread death and fear,
I shouldered for my country's good
My gun as volunteer.
I served Old Jackson as a guide,
Fought many battles at his side,
And often saved by timely aid
My comrades from an ambuscade;
And so it came, that with my name
Was blent a gallant Soldiers fame.
4.
The war at end, I homeward tacked,
To settle down in ease,
But no! my friends chose me to act
As Justice of the Peace.
I could not write; hence good and brief
My warrants sounded: "Catch the thief!"
But never once I favored wrong.
Or crushed the poor, or fawned the strong.
And so it came, that with my name
Was blent an upright Judge's fame.
5.
For Congress then a nominee
I took the stump and ran,
And was elected handsomely
O'er every other man.
In Congress then at Washington
I sat as silent as a nun;
Yet though I spake but "Aye" and "Nay,"
My vote was honest any way.
And so I gained a world-wide fame,
As Congressman without a blame.
6.
Now after a ten months' sojourn
'Mong my Comanche friends,
I have resolved my steps to turn
Where my life's journey ends.
My brethren in the Alamo
I come to join against the foe;
They will succumb before his might,
Yet it will be a glorious fight;
So will forever with my name
Be blent a Martyr's noble fame.
[Travis having listened hitherto with great surprise now rises.]
Travis.
<poem>One only being in the universe
That man can be, and that is—David Crockett.
Crockett.
[Dressed in buckskin clothes and wearing a fox-skin cap now steps from the bushes with Betsy his rifle in his hand.]
Who called my name?
Travis.
Commander of the Alamo, who hail
Thy unexpected coming here with joy,
Since nought could add more strength to our defence,
Or cheer my men with more enthusiasm.
Crockett.
[Ceremoniously]
I thank thee kindly for thy eulogy,
As we in Congress used to style such praise.
But speak! why lingerest thou here in the woods
Like as a simpler, seeking healing herbs,
Or like a poet, scanning Nature's secrets.
While even now the foe is close at hand,
And hopes to take thy forteress by surprise.
Travis.
[Eagerly]
What sayest thou? It cannot be—my scouts—
Crockett.
Have all been captured by the fleet dragoons
Of Santa Anna, who from different points
Spread out the network of his cavalry
That compassed them, ere yet they were aware.
Travis.
But pray how happen'st thou to know this news?
Crockett.
Through my Comanche friends who, vulture-like,
Hang round the skirts of Santa Anna's van.
Travis.
If I before have welcomed thy arrival
As useful, as a blessing to our cause,
I now behold in it the wondrous hand
Of Providence, dispatching thee to warn us
Against approaching danger. But, friend Crockett,
Let now us haste, where duty calls our steps.
Scene IV.
Santa Anna's tent in the Mexican Camp before the Alamo. Santa Anna seated in an arm-chair, while before him stand the Generals Cos and Castrillon and the Colonels Bradburn., Duque and Almonte.
Santa Anna.
The auspices of fate, my Generals,
Were not propitious to our first exploit
On Texan soil, still I regret it not.
In every enterprise I have been wont
To sacrifice a share of mine to Fate
By reckless venture and impetuous force;
And I have found my work to turn out well,
As oft as Fate received my offering.
Why it is so, I self can hardly tell;
Maybe, that, flattered by my reverence,
(Akin to that of Grecian banquet-hosts
Who to the gods poured out their goblet's prime),
The fatal god grows reconciled to me;
Maybe, that like a savage animal
He feeds upon the booty thrown to him,
While free from his restraint and fickleness
Man's innate talent can work out its way—
Enough, to-day's discomfiture proclaims
Our undertaking's ultimate success,
To which, besides, our soldiers' discipline,
Our leaders' bravery and experience,
Withal our might and numbers clearly point.
But albeit my detention hindered me
To be a witness to this morning's fight,
So render me, Castrillon, thy report.
Castrillon,
According to Your Excellency's command
I was to storm the Alamo, so soon
I had arrived here with the army's van
Of thirteen hundred men. In steadfast march.
Though flew the bullets thick and fast, we reached
The ramparts of the forteress, which we scaled.
In vain. No sooner had the crest been gained,
When madly, like a wounded grizzly bear.
The garrison flung headlong down our ranks
And boldly opening then the gates, rushed forth,
—Travis their leader—on our wavering men.
They fled and stopped not in their maddened run,
Till they had reached the refuge of our camp.
One single captive, whom, attacking me,
I with my sabre cut across his brow,
Is all the trophy which we have obtained,
While of my thirteen hundred men
More than one-fourth are either killed or wounded.
Santa Anna.
So bring, Castrillon, then thy captive here,
That we may question him about the fort.
Meanwhile receive my will for this campaign.
Ween not, that when we have subdued and crushed
This base revolt, our task were then complete.
A fool combats the evil's gorgon-head,
A prudent man destroys the evil's root.
This territory must become the bulwark
Of Mexico against the threatening tide
Of immigrants from Anglo-Saxon stock,
Which thoughtlessly has been allowed to roll
Its waves of heresy and rationalism,
Of lawlessness and bold irreverence.
Against these ill-defended Texan shores.
The time has come, when loudly to announce,
That never on the self-same continent
The Anglo-Saxon and the Latin races
Can live in peace and harmony together.
For as the Roman loathed the crafty race
Of Carthage, and relented not in war,
Till every stone of her antagonist
Was powdered dust, so parts a yawning gulf
Of bitter jealousy and hate intense
These modern nationalities. Behold
The Anglo-Saxons! Without rest and peace
They roam and spread and plot and seek and grasp,
An easy prey to every fancy's gust,
To innovations and Utopian schemes.
'Tis true they fill and colonize the earth,
And lay it out in states and commonwealths.
But all of these are frail and hollow shells.
Whom like a cardboard-house the slightest breath
May disarrange or wholly overturn.
Not so the Latin race! although it lacks
The other's fitful elasticity—
Their stern solidity of government,
Their healthful stableness of discipline.
Their innate reverence to authority.
Are better safe-guards for their future greatness.
Therefore our peaceful progress to insure,
I am resolved to put the best barrier
Of all, a desert waste round Mexico,
A zone of safety, broad four hundred miles.
With not one human being save the Indian.
To this effect, let every town and village
And farm-house be destroyed, as you pass by;
Let every Mexican we meet be sent
Where he belongs, across the Rio Grande;
But foreigners be warned on pain of death
Immediately to leave this territory.
When not a soul is left then in this land
Save Indians and our garrisons perchance,
The ancient Spanish law, that once forbade
A stranger's foot to trespass on this land.
Will be renewed and rigidly enforced.
This is my plan, long nursed and now matured;
It is for you to act accordingly.
Scene V.
Enters Castrillon, leading James Travis, who looks pale and exhausted, and whose head is bandaged.
Santa Anna.
Is that thy captive, say? A beardless boy?
That is indeed quite ludicrous. I fain
Would know if all insurgents are mere boys.
J. Travis.
What if they were? They made your bearded men
Retreat this morn in quite a lively style.
Cos.
Boy, knowest thou before whom thou standest here?
J. Travis.
I never saw his face, still every trait
His blood-shot eye, his lips so firmly set.
His savage grin, his hollow cheeks,—they all
Proclaim to me: I stand before "The Butcher."
Santa Anna.
Here, gentlemen, you can behold anew
The fruit of Anglo-Saxon discipline:
Gross impudence and wanton disrespect.
J. Travis.
We Anglo-Saxons give our free esteem
To honest men, however poor and low;
But such as thee we hate and loathe the more,
The greater might they have to do us harm.
Santa Anna.
Enough I have already heard and borne
Of thy bravado. Tell us now thy name.
J. Travis.
James Travis I am called.
Santa Anna.
James Travis? what?
Art thou related to that demagogue
Who, Colonel now, commands the Alamo?
J. Travis.
My highest boast is that I am his brother,
Yea, brother to the best, the bravest man
That ever breathed the air. No human heart
Beats so for all that noble is and good.
Santa Anna.
Thou art his brother, hem! that pleases me.
Yea, pleases me more than a thousand captives.
[Abruptly.]
How many men defend the Alamo?
J. Travis.
How many men? Is that thy wish to know?
Santa Anna.
Yes, yes! no matter 'bout a man or two.
J. Travis.
If thou wouldst know their actual count, then go.
When have thy minions stormed the forteress
And count the corpses lying there within,—
Their number will reveal to thee how strong
The garrison was of the Alamo.
Santa Anna.
My boy! thou art still young and ignorant
And ne'er perhaps hast heard of certain means
That force the strongest man to ope his lips.
And break the stoutest bosom's stubbornness.
There is the lash that stripes thy tender back
With grooves of bloody gore; there is the rack
That sends a shock of pain through every limb;
There is the iron virgin that inflicts
Her spiked embrace into thy quivering flesh;
There are the red-hot tongs, and many more
I care not to describe. All these await
Thy youthful form, if thou refuse to answer.
Once more: how many hold the Alamo?
J. Travis.
Once more, to learn that thou must conquer it.
Santa Anna.
Enough; lead him away and try the lash
Full twenty times on him to test his strength.
J. Travis.
That, tyrant, thou canst test immediately.
[He leaps with the fierceness of a tiger at Santa Anna whose throat he seizes with both hands.]
Santa Anna.
Tear him away from me; he strangles me.
[The officers pull Travis away, and form a line between him and Santa Anna, who has fallen into his arm-chair from exhaustion.]
J. Travis.
Behold! as has a feeble youngster's hand
Laid weak and low that mighty tyrant lord.
So lightly shall our patriots' little band
O'ercome his hosts and break his yoke abhorred.
Cos.
Speak but the word and we cut him to pieces.
Santa Anna.
No, no! he must be spared for better ends.
James Travis.
For better ends! Ha! I devine thy plan
To use me as a scare-crow 'gainst my brother,
Whom so thou ween'st to force into surrender
By threats of torturing me! Is that thy scheme?
Well, despot, list! Although thy base design
Would wreck against my brother's fortitude
And hardly need a sacrifice from me,
Not even I will gratify thy wish!
See now, how come "thy better ends" to end!
Stream forth, my blood! if here or in the fight,
What matters it? To Liberty and Right
Thine every drop was vowed; e'en here thou flow'st
In their behalf! Where, tyrant, is thy boast?
Santa Anna.
Quick! get a surgeon, Duque, and thou, Almonte,
Assist Castrillon to remove the youth,
—Bradburn, thou wilt remain a while with me,—
And see to it, that this most precious hostage
Of Fortune is not lost to us. Away!
[Castrillon, Duque and Almonte bring J. Travis away.]
Scene VI.
Santa Anna., Cos and Bradburn remain.
Santa Anna.
I have retained thee, Colonel Bradburn, here
To trust thee with a charge, I hide it not,
As delicate, as difficult, but as:
"The greatest task becomes the greatest mind,"
This mission, well performed by thee, will add
Another palm of merit to the many
Which Mexico has entered to thy credit
Upon the ledger of her gratitude.
Cos.
The ledger, yes! but not the cash account.
Santa Anna.
It is my wish, that under flag of truce
Thou instantly start for the Alamo,
And there arrived, demand the fort's surrender
With all its men and arms. But am I right?
The task appears not pleasant quite to thee.
Bradburn.
Make me the leader of the Forlorn Hope,
Place me where fiercest raves the battle's roar,
But bid me not in parley to confront
Those men, whose every eye-glance, every word
Mean scorn and sneers cast on my loyalty.
Santa Anna.
Is that thy whole objection? Why, meseems,
Thy own confession puts thee in the wrong.
Bradburn.
No, no, Your Excellency! 't is only hard
To reap contempt, where praise should be our harvest.
Santa Anna.
A wrongful charge is like an arrow's shaft
That lacks the head; it cannot harm or wound.
Hence, if nought else thou keepest back from me,
I see no reason, why not overrule
Thy weak remonstrance and insist upon
What was my first and well-considered plan.
Therefore list well to my instructions now.
Which thou must neither change nor overstep.
First thou wilt, in the name of Mexico,
Demand an unconditional surrender.
When that has been rejected, offer next
Imprisonment until the end of war
To all save the commander, William Travis,
To whom as fair inducement of surrender
Thou wilt hold out my fine estate, La Paz,
Which shall be his, beside a cash endowment.
And as they tell me that he loves thy daughter,
And she returns his love, I have no doubt
Thou wilt award thy fatherly consent
To the fulfilment of thy daughter's wish,
Thus heightening self my offer's gracious terms.
Bradburn.
'Tis not the choice that meets with my approval,
Yet my antipathy shall not debar
The welfare of the State, when for its good
This marriage is essentially required.
Santa Anna.
I knew too well thy patriotism, or else
Should have been loath to forestall thy decision,
Yet should thy offer even not avail
Against the rebel's pride, there still remains
His brother's fate as means of thy persuasion;
This card, reserved till last and well applied,
Must make thy mission a complete success.
So hasten to prepare thee for thy way,
And when returned, report immediately
Thy errand's and thy skill's result to me.
Cos.
Can it be thy intention,—speak!—to grant
Such terms of favor to a rebel-hord
Who took from us, through stealth and stratagem,
The self-same forteress, which to repossess
Costs us e'en now the lives of several hundred?
And wouldst thou feed these rogues for months and years,
At the expense of our exhausted chest?
And most of all reward that traitor Travis
With wealth and grace instead of the garotte?
Santa Anna.
[Folding his hands, and devoutly casting his eyes tip to heaven.]
Such is my plan! if then my countrymen,
Justly embittered over the insurgents,
Refuse to ratify its stipulations.
And slay the men, with whom they made no treaty,
Thus kindly saving me a fine estate.
And our Republic quite a large expense,
I must regret it, though I cannot change it.
Cos.
I understand! but, riddle of a man!
Why hast thou chosen that American
For messenger, who seems to me of all
Least suited, least trustworthy for the charge?
Santa Anna.
Least suited, why? His readiness of speech,
His nationality, his daughter's love
For Travis, and his diplomatic skill
Seemed reasons strong enough for choosing him.
And faithless? Ah! it needs a strong suspicion
To overthrow the record of his service.
Cos.
I fain bestow on him my confidence
In every war and emprise save the contest
Against his former countrymen and friends.
Elsewhere so gallant,—here he is a coward;
Elsewhere so active,—here he lacks in zeal.
Hast thou forgot, that 'gainst his reputation
Still lurks the old suspicion, treacherously
To have surrendered Anahuac's Fort
Three years ago, without one single shot?
And even now he seems upon his mind
To have some plan, that scents of mystery;
For as a friend from Vera Cruz informs me,
He has transferred his bank-account abroad.
Santa Anna.
[Eagerly.]
He has? since when.
Cos.
But why so pensive now?
Santa Anna.
I must confess
That Bradburn's act, though little in itself,
Somewhat annoys me, since it indicates
His bold design to free him from his web
Wherein I saw and helped him evermore
To grow entangled. An American,
He entered our service,—a mistake
Which oft, no doubt, has brought him into conflict
With all his innate feelings. Weak enough
To suffer than courageously to free him.
He first suggested to my mind the thought
To try and show what I can do as god.
[When Cos, by raising his arms in deprecation, expresses his utmost horror at Santa Anna's word, the latter continues.:]
As spider then! By missions like the present,
I imperceptibly have tightened more and more
My cobweb's threads around his every step,
Until my highest curiosity
Is roused to see and know where he will end.
Cos.
Beware, lest God ensnare thee self through him.
Santa Anna.
[Uneasy.]
This Bradburn troubles me! for if his will
Has once rebelled against his fate, why not
This time, when such a chance is given to him?
The spark of boldness lightly grows a flame.
I should not have employed that man; it may
Yet turn against me. Is it then so true:
We think we rule, while we ourselves are ruled?
Scene VII.
Enters Elsie Bradburn.
Santa Anna.
Miss Elsie Bradburn? Happy I must call
The cause that led your footsteps to this tent,
For, ah! a soldier's rude and changeful life
Lets him too oft, too easily forget
Those milder feelings, gentler traits of heart
Which woman's beneficial influence
Begets and fosters in society.
'Tis hence, indeed, a blessing, when the spell
Of woman's presence melts at times the ice.
Wherewith war's chilly blast incrusts our hearts.
Elsie.
The flattering praise by which Your Excellency
Deign to extol our earthly mission's purport
Most happ'ly lightens the anxiety
Of my request, whose worthy utterance
Would otherwise have sorely tried my lips.
I crave the leave of nursing and attending
The youth on whom an evil fate has laid
The double weight of prison and disease.
Santa Anna.
[Frowningly]
Two hundred of our faithful Mexicans
Lie sorely wounded in our hospitals.
Why not, if you incline to charity,
Extend its grateful blessings first on those,
Who fought and suffered for a righteous cause,
Than on a rebel, whose defiant pride
Captivity and wounds could not reform?
Elsie.
That rebel is a countryman of mine,
Forsaken here, exposed to cruelty;
He is the brother of the man I love,
Whose anxious fear too well I can devine.
Should then these freely-cherished motives
Not outweigh every duty's stern regard
Imposed upon me by my father's choice?
Santa Anna.
A loving daughter makes her father's choice
Her own; 't is natural and—often—useful.
Elsie.
And still there are impressed on every heart
Some holy laws which claim a precedence.
Santa Anna.
These laws our wishes oft interpret wrong.
Elsie.
Would you not self assign your chief devotion
To God, your second to your native land?
Santa Anna.
That greatly will depend on what you call
Your native land. What is this Texas, speak!
A dreary waste, a desert territory
Of Mexico not worth the name of State,
With outlaws filled and refugees from justice,
The scum of the depraved society
Of the United States. And this you boast
Your native land, a penal colony?
Elsie.
Ah! must I hear Great Santa Anna's lips
Repeat the thoughtless sentiments of men
Who prejudiced, averse to deeper search,
Judge inward Nature only from without?
I will admit that many desperadoes.
Excreted elsewhere through society
And law from kind respect and intercourse.
Have found a welcome refuge and asylum
In sparsely-settled portions of our land,
On which their crimes bestow an ill repute.
But,—while beneath the prairies' atmosphere.
So pure, so temple-like, so God-pervaded,
And 'mong their dwellers' patriarchal spirit
Their bad example cannot prove contagious,
But must pass off like vapors in the sun,—
Still they are useful, necessary here.
Brought hither by the Great Economist
That rules this universe, they are no less
Than all the good, that here reside, His tools
Wherewith He works His deep, mysterious plans.
Here to erect a grand, a noble State,
A monument to His Eternal Widom,
He needs rough stones to lay its firm foundation.
And coarse cement wherewith to bind its seams.
The worst materials are the best for this;
Without their aid no State was ever built.
Santa Anna.
These are quite novel theories to me;
But pray, proceed, Miss Bradburn, for I long
To hear your more than curious eulogy
Of rogues and desperadoes to the end.
Elsie.
Virtue at rest is indolent and slow,
And needs a spur to rouse her energies;
For her regard for peace, her reverence
For law and order, her dislike to strife,
Cause often her to bear what she ought not.
It is the bad whose utter recklessness,
Whose bold defiance of authority,
First turn the Ship of State from out her course
Beneath the banner of a patriotism,
Whose pure effusion they adulterate
With the admixture of their base designs.
Woe, then, thrice woe then to the ill-starred vessel
Whose helm the hand of maddened Passion grasps,
Whose sails the breeze of Fury fills, whose course
Lies on the stormy main of Anarchy.
And happy on the other hand the ship
Whose crew of honest, stalwart patriots,
Reared in the school of true self-government
And fully conscious of their virtues' power,
Arise, suppress the wicked in their band,
And with their eyes fixed on the Polar Star
Of Liberty, with steadfast will and hand.
Direct their course through whirpools, shoals and cliffs,
Into the harbor of prosperity.
Santa Anna.
You quite forget another chance, meseems,
Which is of all the likeliest, to wit:
[Very sternly.]
When shall the rightful owner of the ship
Regain possession of his property.
And visit dire but righteous punishment
Upon your pirates' heads [sneeringly], both good and bad?
Elsie.
All lies with God! but see, where we have come!
The guiding compass of my humble prayer,
Lost out of view, my lips unwittingly
Have uttered a political address.
Apt to offend thee, were it not for this :
Its purport was the interest of Truth,
Its boldness proved, that still I mean you well,
And its excuse of being made at all
Lies,—as you self will generously admit,
Less in my rashness than your provocation.
Aspersions thrown upon her native land,
A Texan maiden will and must refute.
E'en though it cost her freedom and her life.
Santa Anna.
[With gallantry.]
No life, no freedom! but an hour's time
Which I could scarce have passed more pleasantly.
Cos.
This is the hour appointed to survey
Convenient places for the batteries,
In case we must bombard the Alamo.
Santa Anna.
'Tis well ! I shall be out immediately.
Miss Bradburn! stern necessity demands
My presence elsewhere 'gainst my inclination.
Forgive, if I depart: as for your prayer,
We will consider it and let you know.
[He accompanies Elsie to the door. Exit Elsie.]
Were that a sample of a Texan maiden
My foes would seem redoubled all at once.
I hope it not ; for while the wrath of man
Is like a conflagration, fierce but brief.
The hate of woman is a smouldering fire,
Imbibed through mother's milk for generations.
These Bradburns must be watched; it will not do
To nurse two serpents in our bosom's fold.
Prado.
What is Your Excellency's command?
Santa Anna.
This purse of gold? It is within thine reach.
Prado.
How, how, Your Excellency? What must I do?
Santa Anna.
Spy out a way to Colonel Bradburn's tent,
And there concealed essay to overhear
Each word that he or that his daughter speaks,
And faithfully report them back to me.
Prado.
I understand Your Excellency's command,
And forthwith haste to enter on my duty.
Scene VIII.
Bradburn's tent. Bradburn appears equipped for the journey. Enters Elsie. José Prado, Santa Anna's servant, is seen protruding his head from beneath the tent-canvas.
Elsie.
Where goest thou, father?
Bradburn.
To the Alamo,
Whose garrison, by my commander's will,
I am to summon, that they render up
Themselves, their arms, and all the fort contains.
Elsie.
And weenest thou a moment, that they will
Accede to thy dishonoring demand?
Bradburn.
I cannot tell thee; the result will show.
Yet when the hopelessness of their defence,
Their isolation and impending doom,
Are clearly, sternly pointed out to them,
I doubt not but they will relent and yield.
Besides, is Travis not the fort's commander,
Whose future prospects, brotherly concern
And cherished love, if they are truly felt.
Must overbalance his defiant pride,
Whose end can only be a wretched death?
Elsie.
A glorious death, which he—I know—will choose
A thousand times, ere he descends to shame.
[Beseechingly.]
My father! see, I know thy love for me,
A love, as true as blind and ill-advised.
Which, like the glitter of a will-o'-whisp.
Has led thee unaware but steadily
Deeper and deeper on thy erring way.
As sailors on a dangerous coast sometimes
Are lured to ruin through a glaring light,
By wicked pirates lit to imitate
A beacon-light, so has thy ill-judged love
Ensnared thy reason with deceptive power.
[Fervedly.]
Fall back! turn round! reverse thy life-ship's course,
Ere yet it strikes against the fatal rocks.
Ere yet the fiends, who watch with secret joy
Its fast approaching doom, leap on its deck
And feast upon the downfall of thy hopes.
Confide in me, thy child, thy truthful pilot
Who still can bring thee safely into port.
Bradburn.
How, how?
Elsie.
And wilt thou not reveal my secret?
Bradburn.
No, Elsie, no! I vow it by thine love!
Elsie.
There is a hidden passage, long forgot
It seems, by all who dwell around these parts,
Solely beknown to me, since when, as child,
I lingered here, as thou wilt still remember.
It leads from here into the Alamo,
The only port we now can safely reach.
But yet it is a port of patriotism,
Of fame and honor! Let us steer for it.
Prado.
[With subdued voice]
That news will pay!
Bradburn.
Will soon surrender to the Mexicans.
What were our fate, if they entrapped us there?
Elsie.
It will not, can not: Travis holds the fort,
And Texan patriots are its garrison.
Bradburn.
Unless they yield, their doom is certain death.
Elsie.
What if it is? So let us die with them!
Bradburn.
Heroic child!—But let us bide our time.
Ere we select this last of remedies.
I will fulfill my mission; if it fails,
Thy way proposed lies open still to us,
Elsie.
[In profound despair.]
Alas ! 't will be too late.
Bradburn.
[Bradburn turns to go. Then Elsie, overcome by the presentiment of an impending danger, flinigs her arms around his neck, and after a long embrace disappears into an adjoining part of the tent. When Bradburn and Elsie have gone, José Prado, crawlinig from beneath the canvas and slyly peeping around, speaks with exultation, while rubbing his hands.]
Prado.
Prado! thy luck is made! a minute's space
Did more for thee than all thy life-time's race.
Scene IX.
A room in the upper story of the barracks of the Alamo. Col. Bowie (injured by a fall from the platform the day preceding the assault) is seen lying on a couch. Enter Col. Travis and Col. Crockett.
Bowie.
Hail, brave companions, hail! Thermopylae
Has by your valor been eclipsed to-day.
Oh! that your gallant deeds might have been seen
By the admiring gaze of humanity.
Alas! performed here in the western wild,
They will escape the writer's graphic pen!
Yet,—to have saved the land, the rising nation,
That consciousness will ever be your part.
How deeply mourn I my sinister fate
That kept me from this glorious fight away.
Still,—even to have witnessed it, what joy!
How first,—each man upon his post they fired
Deliberately into the hostile ranks,
As though it were a friendly shooting-match;
How then when scaled the foe our walls, they vied
In rushing fortli with knife and bayonet
To where a head appeared above the crest,
And hurled them headlong in the yawning deep;
And how at last, almost without command,
They sallied from the gate and spread dismay
And slaughter 'mong the routed enemy;
And that, so far my eye-sight could observe.
With but the loss of one,—one single man,
Who, carried by his ardor far ahead
Before the others, sank bedecked with wounds,
And so was captured. Say, who was the man?
Col. Travis.
He was my brother.
Bowie.
Col. Travis.
'Twas he, the true, the noble-hearted youth.
Cut down in earliest bloom, in day-spring's glow.
While on the walls he battled at my side.
Three Mexicans upon the outmost wing
Had clambered o'er the crest, and were about
To leap beneath and ope the western gate.
Whereon we two alone confronted them;
My brother took one man and so did I.
I had not fully yet dispatched my foe,
And was still kneeling o'er his prostrate form,
When gleamed,—a dizzy shadow as of death,—
The sword-blade of the third before mine eye;
One moment's faint—a sullen fall—I woke
And saw our third opponent lying dead,
And standing by with smiling, radiant face,
My brother James; no word was interchanged;
One mute but meaning pressure of the hand
Alone betokened what we thought and felt.
We hasted to rejoin our friends; the storm
Repulsed, I gave the signal for the sally.
And rushing out I lost my brother's trace.
Once only, through a break among the clouds
Of battle-dust and powder-smoke, I saw
His figure as encircled by a halo,
Far, far in our advance. I called to him.
He looking back an instant, waved his sword,
And then was lost amid the swaying crowds.
A hostile column just advancing then
Against our men, claimed all my watchfulness.
And screened my brother's fate from out my view.
Poor brother James! Upon our start from home
My mother, loath to let her darling go.
Enjoined on me his safety with these words:
" Watch o'er him as the pupil of thine eye,
And bring unharmed him back again to me,
Or else I shall despair of godly mercy!"
What shall I then on my return respond
Unto her question: "Where is James, thy brother?
Oh! I shall never, nevermore return;
My fate is sealed in his ; I, too, shall die.
Bradburn.
Despair not, faithful friend! If he is dead.
His blood, shed in the cause of Liberty,
Will rise like incense to the heavenly throne;
Who in return will pour His comfort's balm
Into thine mother's heart with angel's voice.
But if alive, trust that thou shalt behold
His face again; for cruel though they be,
The enemy will hardly disregard
The laws of human mercy as to lay
Their hands on one so young, so fair, so brave.
Wilt thou not ascertain through flag of truce,
If he be 'mong the living or the dead?
Crockett.
This was the subject which in coming here
We were discussing. Hard as it may seem,
'"Twere meanwhile scarcely prudent to expose
More precious lives to Mexican revenge.
The more, as they have raised since their defeat
A jet-black flag,—I know not, if to show
That all seems black to them, or that they bear
Black marks from all the blows received through us.
The only means to mend this " casus belli,"
As we in Congress styled such knotty point,
Were at the enemy's next attack to catch
One of their officers and him to hold
As hostage subject to exchange.
Travis.
The force and justice of thy counseling words.
All we can do is to abide in patience,
And hopefully await the nearing crisis.
But see, who comes. What tidings, Captain Kimble?
Kimble.
An officer, dispatched by Santa Anna
And shielded by a flag of truce, stands waiting
Before the gate. He bears from his commander
A peaceful message which he will deliver
To thee in private, witnesses excluded.
Travis.
I wish no secret dealings with the enemy;
My subalterns are equally my friends.
Though yearns my heart to know my brother's fate,
I will not list to private negotiations.
Kimble.
He says, unless he speak to thee in secret.
He must return with object unaccomplished.
Bowie.
So waive for once thy honorable objection;
There is no harm in hearing what he brings.
Crockett.
Yes, Travis, do, for we confide in thee.
Travis.
If such is your desire I will submit.
So bring him to this room with eyes blindfolded,
But, Crockett, thou and other comrades stand
Before the door, expectant of my call.
[Exit Kimble through a door in the rear. Crockett and Bowie, the latter on crutches^ leave through a side-door.]
Scene X.
Col. Bradburn, with eyes blindfolded is shown into the room by Kimble.
Travis.
Remove thy bandage, man! What, Bradburn, thou?
Again thou comest in the tyrant's van
To desolate the peaceful homes, the fields
Of thine own countrymen, and to deprive them
Of rights inalienable, holy, old,
For which thine fathers shed their precious blood?
But if thou must, why hidest thou not thy shame
Behind the minions of the tyrant's host,
Instead of coming with defiant brow
Into the midst of those, whose every glance
Must call thy sore disgrace before thy mind.
Bradburn.
I hither come, bound by my oath and duty,
To follow which is virtue, no disgrace.
'Tis you who are at fault; you broke your faith
To Mexico's benevolent republic.
Travis.
If thou call Santa Anna Mexico,
And tyranny a righteous government,
I then will not contest thy sophistry!
Therefore enough of this! So let me know
The purpose of thine unexpected call.
Bradburn.
His Excellency, Don Lopez Santa Anna,
Presents to thee his all-respectful greeting
And summons thee, together with thy band
Of rebels, to surrender on discretion
This fort, with all its cannon and provisions.
He will enclose in light imprisonment
Thy garrison, till peace has been restored;
But were you to continue your defence
He will not spare man, woman, child or babe,
Were he obliged to enter by assault.
Travis.
Imprisonment or death? Is that the choice?
We choose the latter. Bradburn, spare thy words.
Bradburn.
Of thee alone His Gracious Excellency
Will make exception, if thou yield to-night.
In appreciation of the gain of time
And the avoided blood which thy surrender
Confers on him, he will present to thee
An hazienda near the capital,
The finest, largest, best-tilled of the many
Which Mexico can boast of, and besides
A generous endowment paid in coin.
Will that not tempt thee, Travis.
Travis.
Thine words convey too plainly Satan's craft;
Though knave enough, thou lackest depth of cunning.
Bradburn.
But, Travis, list! if to that weighty scale
Of golden expectations, great rewards,
I self were yet to add the greatest prize—
My daughter's—Elsie's—hand, would that not move thee?
Speak but the word: "I yield," and e'en to-night,
Instead of bomb-shell hissing through the air,
And Congreve-rockets lighting up the sky,
The joyous nuptial-torch shall be ignited
O'er thee and her: for she has come with me.
Travis.
Elsie is here?—so nigh to me?—and, oh!
Whole worlds could keep no farther us apart.
Bradburn.
Yes, she is here, within my tent, and full
Of longing expectation bides the hour
That shall restore thee to her unchanged love.
So come with me, that I may join your hands.
His Excellency, with delicate discretion.
Requires thee not to fight thy countrymen,
But will dismiss thee with thy youthful bride
To Mexico forthwith, where you may dwell
On the estate he will donate to you!
'Mid balmy air, soft as a maiden's touch,
'Mid orange-groves, dark-leaved with golden fruit,
'Mong babbling springs that leap from the Sierra's
Ice-covered summits, sparkling in the sun.
Thy barns well-stored with grain, thy stalls with cattle,
A cosey house with numerous attendants.
O'er which presides a youthful, loving wife,
What greater happiness upon this earth?
Travis.
Thou paintest well: and yet thy picture fails
To mention one unpleasant visitor
That would cohabit there with me for aye,
Galling each joy, embittering every pleasure.
Bradburn.
I know not what thou meanest, man?
Travis.
Disgrace before my friends and countrymen,
Disgrace before my very enemies,
And worse than all, disgrace before myself.
And if thou say that Elsie could desire
To have for husband a dishonored man,
I answer thee: a thousand times, no, no!
Thou canst not rob us of the confidence
Wherewith we trust each other, though divided.
For love and honor are the self-same thing
In every heart whose pulse throbs for the right.
True to oneself is to be true to all.
If nothing else be thy commission than
To test my strength, thou couldst have spared that trouble.
Where actions speak, words might be fitly saved.
Bradburn.
If nought will overcome thy stubbornness.
So shudder then at what I tell thee last.
Thy brother James—
Travis.
My brother? what of him?
Bradburn.
Was captured at your sally of this morning,
And well attended to, will soon recover
His health, impaired by wounds he has received;
Yet were thine bold resistance to endure
But one more day. His Excellency has vowed,
By tortures never heard of, never seen.
To blind his eyes, to tear with red-hot tongs
His handsome, youthful form, limb after limb,
And these to hurl before the dogs and vultures.
Travis.
Poor brother James! Would I were in thy stead!
Bradburn.
Determine then! my time is nearly gone.
When bides our Chief Commander my return,
Travis.
Determine what? Surrender.? Ah, thou errest;
Though great the trial and grievous the temptation,
I hold this fort until my latest breath.
Torture my brother! youthful as he is,
He will not owe his life to my disgrace!
Withhold the maid I love; we better live
Apart for aye than mated with dishonor!
Assault and take this fort, kill every man;
It is for what we hither came prepared.
And lest thou think that my companions fail
To share my fortitude and fearlessness,
From their own lips thou shalt now hear the proof.
Come, Crockett, Bowie, Dickinson and Kimble,
Come hither all who hearken to my voice.
Scene XI.
Enter Crockett, Dickinson, Kimble and Bowie, the latter on his crutches, through the side-door: some volunteers from the door in the rear. Bowie, after his entrance, lies down on the couch.
Travis.
My friends! I have convened you here, that you
May likewise give your answer to the summons,
Which Santa Anna has conveyed to us
Through Colonel Bradburn here, his messenger.
'Tis his demand, that unconditionally
We render up to him this forteress.
So, David Crockett, give him thine reply!
Crockett.
A thousand times I have confronted death
In my own cause, in warfare hardly glorious;
And should I now by cowardice and fear
Belie the stainless record of my life,
Now when a martyr's crown, the highest prize
To which I have aspired, is in my reach?
No, Colonel Bradburn! tell thy tyrant lord
That David Crockett always has abhorred
The name of bondage from his earliest breath
And is enjoyed to prove this by his death.
Bowie.
I cannot stand erect, as it were meet,
To hurl my bold defiance at thy feet;
Know then that only over Bowie's bier
Thy master e'er will hold his entry here.
Kimble.
Yea, we will save, our faithful swords in hand,
The cherished freedom of our native land,
Or gladly fall, with this our battle-cry:
"Free men we live, and free men we will die!"
All present.
Free men we live, and free men we will die!
Travis.
Thou hast, I ween, received sufficient proof
What spirit's power pervades my friends and me.
So go — too long already have thy feet
Disgraced, profaned this hero-hallowed soil.
Thou, Kimble, let him through the western gate
Safely depart as first with bandaged eyes,
But that the enemy may glean the sooner
Our answer to their ignominious threats,
Thou, Dickinson, have forthwith all the cannon
Upon the south-side fired against their lines,
So that their iron messengers proclaim
With thundering tone into the tyrant's ear:
Above their lives, o'er wealth and high estate,
Americans freedom and honor rate;
We are prepared for death; now storm, now rave.
The Alamo's debris shall be our grave!"
[All depart with the exception of Travis and Crockett.]
Scene XII.
Enters Major Evans.
Evans.
I hasten to report, that Santa Anna
Was spied surveying o'er the grounds, no doubt,
To mark the places where the batteries
Shall be erected to bombard the Alamo.
Against their cannon, mortars and cohorns
Our guns, light as they are, cannot avail,
Nor will our walls for any length of time
Withstand their onslaught. What is thy command?
Travis.
Nought more we can perfect in our arrangements,
And if we could, our men are too fatigued
By day-alarms and nightly toil of watching.
Their efforts must be spared, till comes the end!
God's will be done! As eve has broken in,
Relieve the guards and scouts and let the men
Whom duty not withholds, convene beneath
The chapel's strong and well-protected walls.
A holy service, brief but soul-inspiring,
Would not be out of place in our condition;
So, Evans, make this wish of mine be known
To Chaplain Smith: if ever by his speech
He swayed his listeners' hearts to do it now.
But, Crockett, thou, take my command awhile;
Not having rested since the enemy came
Before the fort, I feel the want of sleep.
Scene XIII.
Colonel Travis alone.
Sleep? Can I sleep? Oh, bitter irony!
When scarce I breathe beneath the heavy burden
Of gloomy care that weighs upon my heart.
The convict in his cell may close his eyes,
The murderer, doomed to expiate his crime,
May sleep away the night, that is his last;
The usurer upon his downy pillow
May rest in slumber like an honest man,—
While the defender of his country's freedom,
The victor of to-day, craves all in vain
The boon of sleep upon his heavy heart.
And may not my resolve, my steadfastness
Prove after all a useless sacrifice?
What has the blood of all the noble Poles
Accomplished but to rivet closer still
The fettering shackles of their fatherland?
And may not here the ecstasy of freedom
Die out as quickly as it first arose,
A fire of straw, extinguished by a shower?
Or else, may not the despot's energy,
His skill, his wealth, his overwhelming numbers.
Become triumphant over patriotism.
However deeply it inspire the Texans?
For what then sacrifice those faithful men
Who, fathers, brothers and beloved sons.
Will long, ah! long be missed with tears at home?
For what endanger then my brother's life,
Whose loss will blight my mother's peace for aye?
For what then mar the tender blossom's bloom
Which at my death will droop her head and fade?
Have I a right, because I deem it right,
Thus to dispose o'er weal and woe of thousands?
And what perchance may be my own reward?
A rash and unsuccessful rebel's fame,
The school-boy's sneer, the tyrant's welcome proof?
Oh ! where to find the right, the honest way
That leads midway these cliffs of doubt and fear
Into the haven of security?
[He steps to the window through which, when opened by him, the light of the moon is thrown into the room. Gazing without, he continues:]
Oh, peaceful Night! thou grateful balm of rest
To sorrow-burdened hearts and weary eyes:
So also pour thine blessings o'er my breast
And soothe its throes, relieve its cares and sighs.
Let me not falter in this grievous test,
But make for me a polar-star arise,
A beacon-light, to guide my darkened way
And cheer my spirit by its blissful ray!
[At this moment the hymn: "Abide with me!" intuned by the soldiers in the chapel, and accompanied by the organ, is faintly heard in the room. During the first verse Travis stands listening; when the second verse is begun, Travis, raising his arms to Heaven, speaks with the greatest ecstasy:]
Oh, song of peace! soul-touching melody!
That like a voice of God, like angels' strain,
From heavenly realms comes floating down to me,
Restores my courage, makes me strong again,
And points my wavering heart's despondency
To Him who can alone relieve its pain!
Swell onward, till my bosom's every cell
Is thrilled beneath thy comfort's magic spell!
[During the singing of the third verse, heard still more distinctly Travis, covering his face with his hands, becomes absorbed in a deep reverie.]
Scene XIV.
Enters Dickinson in great haste.
Dickinson.
<poem>Oh, welcome tidings! glorious, joyous news!
Travis.
What is it, Dickinson? So speak, I pray!
Dickinson.
Below, within the court-yard, stand arrayed
A band of thirty-two confederates,
Who left Gonzalez under Oldham's guidance.
Broke bravely through the hostile lines and reached
Unharmed and safe the shelter of our fort.
They bring dispatches from our Chief Commander,
They bring their own stout hearts and gallant arms
For our support, but above all they bring:
[Enthusiastically.]
"The Independence of the State of Texas!"
Travis.
[Trembling with joy]
The—Independence—of the—State—of Texas?
Dickinson.
Pronounced by the Convention on the second.
Travis.
So hurry, Dickinson, that I may hear
The joyous tidings from the men's own lips.
Almighty Lord in Heaven above, Thou hast
Received and heard my bosom's crying voice
Beyond what e'en my fondest wish conceived.
I begged one ray,—Thou givest me a sun;
I craved one hope,—Thou sheddest o'er my soul
A wealth of radiant assurances;
I prayed, that not quite useless were my death,
And lo! Thou crown'st my latest hours on earth
With heavenly light, with glory as of Eden!
Though parting from this world I leave behind
Friends in distress, related souls in grief,
I know that Thou, oh. Lord, wilt turn all things
Unto their best, and hence I sorrow not!
Oh! could the wavering sceptic who disputes
God's lordly power,—oh! could the atheist,
Proud in his self-assuming creed, be here,—
Upon their knees they reverently would sink,
Acknowledging that God still lives and reigns.
But I, whose way and goal are pointed out
So clearly now,—I shall no longer doubt
God's providence, but e'en exclaim in death:
"Lord, to Thy will I yield my parting breath!"
Scene XV.
Enter Col. Oldham and some of his company, introduced by Crockett and Dickinson.
Travis.
Be welcome, Colonel Oldham; welcome, men!
What leads your footsteps to this house of death?
Oldham.
The wish that now bestirs each Texan heart,
To serve the best they can their young Republic.
Travis.
Then it is true, what scarce I could believe?
Oldham.
Thou findest in these letters due assurance.
As sweeps a fiery blast across the prairie
Upon the pinions of a hurricane,
So spread from town to town, from farm to farm.
The joyous tidings of the Declaration
Of Texan Independence through the land.
As in the year of Seventy-six, when rose
Our ancestors, so here in Thirty-six
The aged sire, the yoeman and the youth,
Whoe'er can wield a musket or a sword,
Are seen to hasten to the gathering-place,
While on the country's altar lay the women
Their cherished jewelry and e'en their tresses.
Travis.
Oh, hail this day, that yet my eyes have seen,
My ears have heard the fresh-awakened spirit
Of Liberty! Yes, Texas will be free!
Oldham.
She will, she will, though only through a struggle
Than which no greater saw this century.
Three thousand soldiers, well-equipped and drilled,
The grim Urrea leads from Matamoras
'Gainst Goliad, which gallant Fannin holds
With scarce four hundred of our patriots.
While Santa Anna, with twelve thousand men.
Lies here encamped, with many more to come.
For 't is his safety not to leave behind
A single man, to oust him from his power.
Yet also we are not devoid of help;
Beside our yoemen, dwellers on our soil,
Our cause enlists a hearty sympathy
In the United States, whence many thousands
Are on their way, to join our army's ranks.
Travis.
Thanks for the joy thou gavest to our hearts,
Thanks for thy zeal and aid; thy recompense
Will be to share our glorious death and fame.
While farther you commune, my friends, I now
Will read the letters from our Chief Commander.
[Stepping aside, he opem the dispatches and reads them.]
Dickinson.
Pray, tell us, Colonel Oldham, now, what motive
Urged thee to venture back into this fort,
From which, if I am right, two weeks ago
Thou didst depart to reach thy distant home?
Oldham.
The kind reception of some friends I met
Upon my route, and—must I say?—e'en more,
An inward voice that day and night recalled
My lingering steps back to the Alamo,
Delayed my journey's progress at Gonzalez.
While so upon the eve of March the second
My friends and I lay quietly encamped
Behind the town, we saw upon the road
That leads from Anahuac to this fort,
A horseman coming in the utmost haste.
Arrived he fell, faint from his arduous ride,
Into our arms. Concealed on him we found
The Chief Commander's orders for this fort,
The Proclamation of our Independence,
And for the scattered patriots' bands the summons
To join the Army on the Colorado.
But who to bring the message to this fort,
Which as we knew, was grievously besieged?
And shall the Alamo's defenders die,
Not having shared the country's glorious joy?
"No, no!" we cried, " wherein one man would fail
There thirty-two stout bosoms will succeed."
Two wagons, spanned with fleeting horses, brought us
Into the enemy's lines, through which we dashed,
Ere yet their men had noticed our approach.
Crockett.
Our honor's cloak has fallen on your shoulders,
As we were wont in Congress so to say.
Yours was no breach of discipline ; it was
The grandest sacrifice yet seen. But list!
His letters read, the Colonel bides our hearing.
Travis.
Let forthwith all the garrison assemble
Within the court-yard, that I may address
My gallant friends on subjects of importance.
Scene XVI.
Court-yard of the Alamo, where the men composing the garrison of the Alamo are assembled. Travis., stepping before them, takes his position near the flag-staff.
Travis.
My own heart's joy, too great for utterance,
I see reflected in your faces, friends,
Bespeaking radiant thoughts and glorious hopes
Of all, that, best and highest, moves and thrills
The human heart. For now we know for what
We left our work, our homesteads and our friends,
For what we seized our trusty arms, for what
We gained this morning's glorious victory,
And most of all, for what we give our lives.
Now clearly feeling, seeing this, we seem
Translated to some lofty mountain-peak,
Earth's littleness far, far below our feet.
While over us Heaven's uprolled azure-curtain
Allows us glimpses into ampler realms.
Such is the inspiration of a holy cause,
That it removes the veil of mystery
Which blinds our mortal eyes, distends our view,
And renders us in broader sphere of spirit,
Though yet on earth, akin to God our Maker.
If from His threshold such transfiguring ray
Is thrown on heroes, standing yet without,
How inconceivable, ah! how profound
Must be the light that welcomes them within.
When such a crown awaits our future state,
It is scarce needed, that I tell you now
The message I received from our Commander.
He writes, that yet his army were too weak
As to relieve us, that we should maintain
A stout defence, and that we hold this fort
Unto the last, for on our brave resistance
Were staked the welfare of our young Republic.
Where is the cheek that blanches at this task?
Where is the soldier that rejects this trust?
Where is the heart that would not gladly grasp
Such opportunity of fame immortal?
Our countrymen inheriting what we
To them have bravely vouchsafed by our sword,
Will gratefully hand down our memories
On sculptured marble to posterity.
And though in course of ages even this
Should fall, as sank from Vandal's hand the pillar
Amid the valley of Thermopylae,
In chords triumphant later centuries
Comparingly will chant our glory thus :
"Themopylæ one herald had of death,
The heroes of the Alamo had none!"[2]
This, this will be our glory, our reward;
I know that none of you desires a lesser.
Yet though our earthly time draws to a close,
We will perform our duties still, as meet.
Whose is the first to pledge by holy oath
Our homage to our virgin commonwealth.
[All raising the fore-fingers of their right hands, pronounce, with the greatest solemnity and in unison, the oath following ;]
All present.
We, here assembled in the face of death.
Swear true allegiance, steadfast faith and honor.
With body, heart and soul, to our Republic,
The sovereign State of Texas, and to guard
On land and sea, by day and night, her welfare
Throughout our earthly lives. So help us God!
Travis.
And now to give an outward sign of this.
Our holy pledge, to God alone beknown,
I fling our country's fitly chosen flag,
The pennon of the Lone Star, to the breeze.
Lone, lone it flies by enemies surrounded,
Unfurled 'mid dangers, persecution, death.
Solely relying on the help of God
And on its people's love of Liberty!
But just as yonder radiant Star of Eve
Stands out alone amid the desert air,
Yet will, ere long, resplendent shine among
A lustrous multitude of beaming spheres.
So, let, us trust, that soon our banner's star
Will be entwined among the Twenty-four
That decorate our native Union's banner.
Meanwhile this flag of ours, when dawns the day,
Shall silently yet full of meaning's sway.
Convey the tidings to the enemy.
That 'neath its folds the Texan will be free.
So welcome then your banner by its Song,
Whom the enchanted breeze shall waft along.
Free as a bird, o'er foe and tyrant's art,
Into the shrine of every Texan heart.
[All present now intime with the greatest enthusiasm.]
THE HYMN OF THE LONE STAR FLAG.[3]
1.
There was a band, wan and forlorn,
By ceaseless toil and watching worn;
Cut off from friends and homes and world,
With shot and shell upon them hurled.
No hope was theirs of aid or flight,
Death fronted everywhere their sight.
But faltered they? No, no, instead
They flung this banner overhead!
Flag of the Lone Star! oh, glorious sign!
Where is the banner that rivals with thine?
Baptized in heroes' blood, by martyrs unfurled,—
Flag of the Lone Star! thou pride of the world!
2.
That little band, their labors done.
Have long since passed away and gone:
Yet gallant hearts took up their cry,
And kept their standard waving high.
They battled bravely, battled long,
'Gainst whelming numbers fierce and strong.
Till Victr'y's eagle perched at last
Upon the freemen's banner-mast.
Flag of the Lone Star! oh, glorious sign!
Where is the banner that rivals with thine ?
Baptized in heroes' blood, by martyrs unfurled,—
Flag of the Lone Star! thou pride of the world!
3.
Ye dwellers in the Texan land.
Forget ye not that little band!
Forget ye not the heroes' deeds
That planted once your freedom's seeds.
Oh, keep their memories bright and clear,
And sacredly their graves revere,
But more than all, that holy dower,
The flag they raised in danger's hour.
Flag of the Lone Star! oh, glorious sign!
Where is the banner that rivals with thine?
Baptized in heroes' blood, by martyrs unfurled,—
Flag of the Lone Star! thou pride of the world!
[Curtain.]