ACT THIRD.
Scene I
An open field in front of the Mexican camp. Colonel Bradburn returning from the Alamo.
Bradburn.
What moves me so? what strange, what unknown thoughts
Storm in upon my heart which I had deemed
So well intrenched, so strongly fortified
'Gainst every inward, every outward voice?
Where now are all my self-invented doctrines,
That cost me years of struggle, nights of sorrow,
To raise against my conscience as barrier.
To muffle its exhorting voice, to lull
By fancied right my reason into sleep?
Where is that memorized vocabulary.
That, reinforced by well-learnt scowls and gests,
Served me so often to defend my course?
As chaff is scattered by a gust of wind,
So lightly have my schemes been blown away;
As April snows melt in the vernal sun,
So has the ice-crust o'er my innate feelings
Been loosened by the warmth of genuine manhood
When that confronted me, when I beheld,
How all we value most, gain, pleasure, life,
How all we shun the most, loss, pain and death,
Forfeit their meaning, lose their moving power
In sight of greater aims and real truth,—
Ah, then! I stood dismantled and unmasked,
Gazed deep into my bosom's void, and saw
All gone, all gone I hitherto had cherished.
But also then I took the stout resolve.
What little span of life is left to me,
This to employ, to store my bosom's shrine
With better treasures. But what now to do?
So feeling, so repenting in my heart,
Can I continue in the vassalage
Of tyranny and bloodshed and injustice?
That were no penance, that were mockery.
Or else shall I return, and go to join
My gallant brethren in the Alamo,
To fight, to die with them? That were desertion
And breach of oath, another dastard crime.
It cannot be, the more as I should leave
My daughter Elsie in the enemy's hand,
Exposed to all that vengeance may invent.
What shall I do, where progress or return
Are fraught alike with guilt or retribution?
Most wretched fate of man, that leadeth him,
Short-sighted, weak and erring, to this world.
And lets each little sin of his become
A mount of woes, that crush him by their weight,
An avalanche of pain, that buries him,
A tangled maze of errors which to tear,
He needs the strength and wisdom of a god !
There spreads the night her spangled canopy,
There goes the moon upon her radiant course.
There move the fleecy clouds in silvery light.
But, stern and mute, they have no heart for me.
No solace for my sorrow, no reply
Unto my question: [Despairingly] "Ah! what shall I do?"
[He sits down to meditate. Then rising energetically, he continues :]
My course is chosen. Come what will ! I must
Redeem my error, if to feel relieved!
Yet she, who innocent, has suffered most
Through me, her father, must not share my fate!
Hence she must first be saved. And here her secret
Comes to my aid, as if thus planned by God.
So hastening to her tent, I will inform her
Of my design, and, oh! [Despairingly] take—leave—from—her.
What terrible decision!—yet I must!
Oh, Elsie ! had I listed but to thee!
[Hopefully.] Maybe that all may yet turn for the best;
That Santa Anna may be moved to truth
Through me, as I was through my hero-brethren,
Or, that returning my sincerity
By generosity, he will allow me
Hence to depart. [Resolutely.] Still were no less than death
To be the expiation of my wayward course,
I shall not flinch nor beg, but solace me
With that grand sentence of the Irish patriot:
"Whether on the gallows high,
Or in the battle's van.
The fittest place for man to die
Is, where he dies for man!"
Scene II.
Santa Anna's tent. Enters Santa Anna with despatches in his hand. Later Frado; still later, Almonte.
Santa Anna.
My scouts inform me, that the band of rebels
Assembled on the Colorado's banks
Is waxing stronger every day, and threatens
To hasten to the Alamo's relief.
And more than that, they send me a report
Of what at other times would have provoked
My merriment, but now appals my mind
With spectral fear: my scouts announce to me
The Independence of the State of Texas,
As so declared by her Convention. [Impatiently.] Ha!
Were but this fortress in my hands, I should
Soon overthrow their lofty aspirations,
And make the Texans free and independent
Of land and lives and fortunes. [Violently.] I must have
This Alamo, e'en though it clung by chains
To heaven itself. Where stays that Colonel Bradburn?
Well, Prado! in thy countenance I read:
Thou bringest me some tidings worth the hearing.
Prado.
And so they are! The Alamo is yours,
Without so much as an assault or treaty.
Santa Anna.
What sayest, man! thou ravest—
Prado.
Concealed behind the tent of Colonel Bradburn,
I overheard a touching colloquy,
Well apt to move me to the bitterest tears,
Had I but had the time to spare for them),
Between the father and his handsome daughter.
Upon her knees she weepingly besought him
To leave our banner and to flee with her
To what she deigned to call a port, although
In my geography it lies remote
From any ocean's coast—
Santa Anna.
What was the port she meant!
Prado.
Since her sojourn in this vicinity,
When here she passed her tender childhood's years,
She knows a subterranean passage-way
That leads from here into the Alamo!
Santa Anna.
So it is true, what once an aged Padre
In Mexico has told me! would the man
Could guide us now!—But then we have a guide.
But tell me ! was it said in that converse
Where lies the entrance to that gallery?
Prado.
Nought, nought was said about that: they deferred
This theme's discussion until the return
Of Colonel Bradburn from the Alamo.
Santa Anna.
Thou hast done well! Receive thy promised fee.
Prado.
I thank Your Excellency!
[Aside and holding up the purse while Santa Anna is absorbed in meditation.]
As when at first held out to me; but then:
Time wrinkles brows and cheeks: why not a purse?
Santa Anna.
Quick! summon General Almonte here.
You little thought, Miss Bradburn, when you made
Your wish beknown to me, that each your word
Gave me a stone in hand, wherewith to build
Your prison-walls, where easily enough
I shall your secret's knowledge wrest from you,
As from his hound the hunter takes his prey.
None but his equals will a lion combat,
But when on his pursuit of royal game
A mouse opposes him, then without pity
He crushes her with one stroke of his paw.
Almonte.
Your Excellency have sent for me—
Santa Anna.
I wish
Thou would convey this message to Miss Bradburn,
That her request was ta'en in due regard,
And, nought opposing, readily is granted.
Congratulating her in my behalf
To the fulfilment of her wish, thou wilt
Without a moment's loss escort the lady
To Travis' bed in Mission of Concepcion.
Make haste, for know, that our campaign's success
Depends upon the swiftness of thy feet!
[Exit Almonte. Santa Anna paces the room in deep meditation.]
More, ever more, this spectre Bradburn towers
Before my mind like a foreboding ill.
Can it be possible, that while I played
The god to him, he played the fool with me?
Suspicion is of all the best accountant:
It reckons close and loses not one item.
So let us see how his account now stands:
His credit thirteen years' unblemished service,
His debit-entries many, though not large.
Whose is the first: His nationality;
The second: His surrendering Anahuac;
The third: The transfer of his property;
The fourth: His daughter's open heresy;
The last: This secret passage-way's concealment;
Sum total: Not quite equal to his credit,
Yet close enough to warrant his surveillance.
Scene III.
Enters General Cos.
Cos.
Has Bradburn from the Alamo returned?
Santa Anna.
Impatiently I bide his coming here;
The terms of the surrender may detain him.
Cos.
Thou errest; we shall have to storm the fort.
Santa Anna.
How knowest thou?
Cos.
They sent us a dispatch
Whose meaning hardly can be misconstrued:
A grim reply of cannon-balls that killed
Four men of mine exposed to their discharge.
Santa Anna.
No time must then be lost! Call out thy men
With pick and spade, to raise the batteries
Wherewith we shall bombard the Alamo.
For every hour we forfeit means a year
Of vigor added to the rebel cause.
Two hours from hence I give, when must our guns
Boom o'er this land the death-knell of the hopes
Of Texan Liberty and Independence.
Haste, haste! thy fate, our fate is staked upon
The speedy downfall of the Alamo.
[Exit Cos. Santa Anna again paces the room in deep meditation.]
One, one more item added to thy debit;
Bradburn! beware! thou standest at the brink
Of bankruptcy, with my revenge for sheriff.
Know'st what that means? Thou mayst as well expect
Compassion from a tiger and beseech
A serpent's tender mercy, if thou durst
Deceive and mock whom with impunity
None ever mocked. Full to the margin's brim
Thy balance is. Let it not overflow!
Scene IV.
Enters Colonel Almonte.
Santa Anna.
What now, Almonte? hast thou faithfully
Performed the mission I assigned to thee?
Almonte.
Your Excellency's command has been obeyed.
Miss Elsie Bradburn, at my proffered escort,
Gave her consent to go and see James Travis,
Whom now she waits upon with tender care.
O'erjoyed to see her prayer fulfilled, she charged me
At earliest opportunity to lay
Her gratitude before Your Excellency.
Santa Anna.
Ha, ha! so birds feel grateful to the snarer
Who promises to them their favorite food.
'Tis well, Almonte; thou mayst go,—but wait!
Hast thou perchance in Colonel Bradburn's tent
Perceived some more or less uncommon signs
Apt to arouse thy curiosity?
Almonte.
None in his tent: the more his daughter's conduct
Appeared to me a riddle and surprise.
Santa Anna.
What was it? tell me quick!
Almonte.
Seemed on her mind, the fear about her father,
For whose return she looked with anxious care.
But then again she could not well conceal
A secret pleasure 'neath the mask of gladness
O'er the fulfilment of her late petition.
'Twixt fear and joy so wavering, she at last
Resolved to go with me, yet not until
She had left message, that, so soon her father
Were to arrive, he should immediately
Join her at Travis' bedside. This request
She urgently once more impressed on me,
When at the Mission I took leave from her.
Santa Anna.
This play must end! My dignity, my peace
No longer must be jeopardized by fear
Of treachery within the camp, when dread
Of treachery without is bad enough.
List well to my command. Thou wilt take care
To see that Colonel Bradburn, as I ordered.
Immediately on his return to camp
Come here and enter not his tent. Then bring
Four soldiers from the guard before my door,
And entering at the signal of my bell,
Arrest John Bradburn on this warrant's charge.
Their plan was flight, and now the cunning girl
Thinks to extend it on the prisoner Travis.
As made the father Bradburn my commission
The instrument his coming to announce,
The daughter Bradburn means to make my favor
The stepping-stone for Travis' liberty.
Finely designed that plot! alas, too finely;
Its meshes tear; my coarser woof is better,
Whose iron threads and seams will last a life-time.
[Enters Cos]
Cos.
The batteries are nigh ready. I have come
To herald the advent of Colonel Bradburn,
Who 'gainst thy order and express command
Was on the point of entering his tent,
When intercepted by thy aid-de-camp.
Santa Anna.
How good my timely caution! But for that
We should have lost the honor of his stay
Among us, which shall now be guaranteed
By bonds as fast as human art can make them.
Scene V.
Enters Bradburn, followed by Castrillon
Santa Anna.
Well, Bradburn, back again at last; thy stay
Was long enough to vouchsafe good success:
When can we hold our entry in the fort?
Bradburn.
When you have slain the last of its defenders.
Santa Anna.
Is this—I ask—their whole reply?
Bradburn.
It is.
Santa Anna.
Well, man! a school-boy's eloquence
Could have succeeded where thy art has failed.
Were not our hundred guns, our whelming numbers
Convincing arguments enough to move
The must tenacious rebel to submission?
Bradburn.
What scares a knave stirs not a hero's blood.
Santa Anna.
And what of Travis? , hast thou not essayed
To unnerve his resistance by thy news?
Bradburn.
Like inaccessible to bribe and threat,
He scorned your promise and defied your vengeance.
Santa Anna.
But would thy daughter's promised hand not melt
His stubbornness as wax before the sun?
Bradburn.
With nought but deep contempt he heard my offer.
Santa Anna.
Is that the love Miss Bradburn thinks so much of?
I doubt, if still she will appreciate it.
Bradburn.
I know that all the more she will esteem
His fortitude and noble sacrifice.
Santa Anna.
Was there perchance some sign that they awaited
More lenient terms and offers of surrender?
Bradburn.
Firm as a rock, their only expectation
Appeared a hero's death, a martyr's crown.
Santa Anna.
In this respect we are relieved from doubt
Which will facilitate our future course.
This to determine be our present task.
And as thy mission, Colonel Bradburn, gave
Thee an. advantage over us to form
A fixed opinion, let us hear from thee
What thou consider'st as thy best advice.
Bradburn.
Your Excellency have not misjudged my mind;
Although I fear me that my counsel will
Offend your ears and rouse your indignation.
Santa Anna.
Devoted service, true fidelity
Views less the wishes than the happiness
Of him who seeks advice, e'en at the pain
Of suff'ring for his kindly-given aid.
Relying on our generosity,
Which has not learnt in vain how to distinguish
The person from his office, speak thy boldest.
Bradburn.
So be it then! and may the influence
Of Heaven inspire my tongue to touch your heart.
'T be far from me to shield or to defend
The people who conjured this insurrection
By armed resistance 'gainst the commonwealth,
The ballot's patience was their proper course.
But still I doubt, if force and violence
Be yet the best, the most appropriate means
To lead them back to their accustomed duty.
Santa Anna.
What other way wouldst thou commend to us?
Bradburn.
You have asserted your authority.
And shown your power they never can defeat.
So make it known, that, if they will abandon
Their rash revolt and henceforth will abide
In peace and law, in loyalty and faith.
Their wilful acts for once will be condoned,
Their grievances relieved, their rights ensured.
Santa Anna.
And would our clemency and kind forbearance
Not be interpreted as fear and weakness?
Or can the dignity of our Republic
Afford to be insulted by a band
Of most ungrateful foreigners to whom
We gave the benefit of settling here?
Bradburn.
Revenge is low in Man as well as State.
Santa Anna.
'Tis justice to restrain the bad by force.
Bradburn.
'Tis useful oft to overlook a fault.
Santa Anna.
'Tis wiser oft to kill an evil's germ.
Bradburn.
'Tis more humane to cure it than to kill it.
Santa Anna.
What warrants their obedience in the future?
Bradburn.
Its guaranty should rather come from you.
Santa Anna.
I long to hear thee prove thy argument.
Bradburn.
What caused this insurrection? what has filled
The heart of every honest Mexican
With sorrow and disgust? The overthrow
Of what he deemed his costliest possession,
His constitution, through your agency.
Would you behold this land restored to peace,
To rise, to flourish, render up your power
And leave your fellow-citizens to mould,
Perfect, enjoy their rights of Liberty.
Santa Anna.
Yes, Liberty! that is the hue and cry,
That is the cloak of rogues and demagogues.
Who 'neath the word's great meaning wish to hide
The littleness of their corrupt desires.
A nation must be ripe for Liberty.
Inevitably as children come to grief
When left without a guide, so will a people.
What was the former state of Mexico?
Ere I reluctantly agreed to take
Into mine hand the reins of government?
'Twas anarchy, disorder, lawlessness.
What is it now? The roads, alive before
With robber-bands, are safe for travel now,
Trade, nigh extinct, again bestirs its craft;
Our Catholic faith, almost ignored, despised,
Anew has triumphed over heresy.
So tutored, disciplined and educated,
Our people will be free—not otherwise.
Bradburn.
And yet your school's first principle is this:
That one may do what others are forbidden.
Santa Anna.
That one can do what others can not do.
This is no law of mine—throughout the realm
Of nature, on the sky, upon the earth,
Uncommon strength and talent vault the bounds
By which the mean, the weak are hedged around.
As goes the radiant comet's flaming path
Athwart the planets' even orbits,—so
A great mind will not brook the narrow lists
Of every day's constraint and common usage.
Bradburn.
This is quite true, but tell: what mind is great?
Is he, who mocking and despising all
That is esteemed as venerable and holy,
Lays his bold hand on mankind's choicest treasures
And desecrates its feelings' sanctuary?
Can he be great, who, like a tempest-blast,
Draws his ambition's chariot o'er the nations.
And smites them with his passion's sceptred staff?
Or is it he, who, like a vernal sun,
Emerges from the dawn of human kind,
And, rising higher, clears away the vapors
Of prejudice and error that oppress it,
By his example's genial warmth and light;
And when at last he sets, forever leaves
His radiant mem'ry's blissful evening-glow
Upon the sky of human history?
Santa Anna.
These are chimeras; strength and force alone
Improve mankind; what higher names than those
Of Alexander, Caesar and Napoleon?
Bradburn.
There is one higher still, the name of one
Who steadfast, hopeful in the greatest trials,
Achieved his country's freedom by his sword,
And having sheathed it, rendered up his power
In spite of tempting offers and requests,
But never ceased by sacrificing service
And true advice to found his country's welfare:
The first in War—in Peace—and in the hearts
Of all his countrymen—George Washington.
Santa Anna.
[Stammering with embarrassment,]
George Washington!—Ha, ha!—George Washington!
He is—he was—[Abruptly] Cos, answer thou for me!
Cos.
Forgive, I listed not.
Santa Anna.
Castrillon.
I know but little of his history.
Santa Anna.
[With determination]
The better a reply I have to give.
[He taps the bell on the table. Enters Almonte with four soldiers.]
Almonte.
Arrest this man!
Bradburn.
For what? I pray thee, tell!
Almonte.
For treason, Bradburn, and disloyalty!
So list: [Reads] Whereas in eighteen thirty-two
The Fort of Anahuac without cause.
Was treacherously surrendered to the foe
By its commander, Colonel Bradburn: Therefore
You are herewith empowered to arrest
Said Bradburn and to hold in durance vile
His person till adjudged by martial court.
Bradburn.
[Calmly.]
That charge is false. What judge has signed the warrant?
Santa Anna.
That charge is true: thy lips, thy words refute
The protestations of thy innocence.
[With scornful mockery.]
It pains me deeply to behold a schemer
Of thy perfection overmatched, but then:
A novice will at times outwit a master.
Bradburn.
[Defiantly.]
Now, tyrant! I discern thy perfidy,
Thy tiger-heart, that prompted thee to have
Thy game with me, whom long ago thou hadst
Marked out for victim of thy cruelty.
Well I deserve my fate, for I was warned.
{{center|Santa Anna.
[As above.]
<poem>Thou seest that now; we, too, though long ago, Saw through thy mask, saw thy designs at treason, Saw every step of thine.
Bradburn.
[With dignity.]
You saw, because you so designed to see! Still you saw wrong! Although my inmost feelings Long since rebelled against your tyranny, My wicked Will enforced my hand and reason Into your service with imperious lash. For thirteen years they served you faithfully; For thirteen years until this very day They have unwaveringly sustained your cause; For thirteen years they fought your outward battles, Yet none of you beheld my inward feuds,— How every day anew my Heart arose Against my Will's tyrannical oppression, How every day it bleedingly succumbed, And groaned and ached with sorrow and despair.
[Triumphantly]
To-day!—and not until to-day,—my Heart Has conquered, and from its joyful shrine, Comes up the shout of Victory and Triumph. Roused by the sight of genuine glorious manhood, Inspired by the thrill of heroism. Enchanted by the words of truth that came From the defenders of the Alamo, My heart arose, threw off its chains and fetters, And made me what I am—
A Man resolved to stand by Truth and Right,
A Man prepared for torture and for death,
A Man before whose open brow and eye
[With the utmost defiance.]
Thou quailest, tremblest in the height of power.
To-day—though in thy hands—I am thy master;
To-day—though in thy bonds—I am thy victor;
To-day, though none would change his lot for mine,
I would not give my lot for—tyrant!—thine.
Santa Anna.
[In great rage]
Away with him to prison and to chains
And hold him so, witness to our success,
Until at Anahuac we arrive.
So that the scene that saw his first attempt
At treason also see his punishment.
Bradburn.
[Prophetically.]
At Anahuac, sayst thou, Anahuac?
Yes, thou art right:—that is the judgment spot,
That is the place where will the voice of God
With thundering tone proclaim: "So far, no farther,"
That is the place where soon His hand will shake
The hour-glass in the eye of tyranny.
Santa Anna.
Away with him, I ordered. He annoys me.
Bradburn.
[Conducted from the tent by the soldiers and followed by Cos, Castrillon and Almonte, while going out, raises his arms to Heaven and calls out in a tone of heart-rending despair:]
Oh, Elsie, Elsie! God protect thee now!
Santa Anna.
[Highly disconcerted.]
What means that fool?—I understood him not,
And yet his words spoiled all my pleasure's joy,
And thrilled throughout my frame with shuddering force.
While his reproach and his inane defiance
Could not affect my sensibility.
What could he mean?—Pooh, pooh, it was the rage,
The madness of discomfiture, nought else.
So let us go and see if our converse
With her, his daughter, will succeed the better.
[Taking his hat and sword, Santa Anna leaves the tent.]
Scene VI.
Santa Anna.
Art thou the sentry o'er the prisoner Travis?
Soldier.
I am, Your Excellency.
Santa Anna.
Who now attends on him, that I request
Within this room a brief converse with her.
That done, re-lock the captive's room and bring
The keys to me, in case I should desire
An interview with him; then go from hence
To notify my aid-de-camp Almonte,
Forthwith to ope the fiercest cannonade.
[Santa Anna enters the room. The soldier, turning, unlocks the door behind him, through which he disappear's.]
So I am rid of each unpleasant witness,
And the bombardment, now to be begun,
Appropriately will lend to my request
Its force and eloquence. But hark, she comes.
Scene VII.
Elsie, followed by the soldier, emerges from the room the latter had entered, and having crossed the hallway, steps into the room, where Santa Anna is awaiting her. At a sign of the latter, the soldier puts the keys upon the table, standing near the door, and this done, departs to execute his Generals order.
Elsie.
Your Excellency, no doubt, have been apprised
Through General Almonte of the joy
As well as of the weight of obligation,
Bestowed upon me by your favor's grace.
Still I rejoice, that by your presence here
I am allowed so early an occasion
Self to express my thankfulness, a pleasure
Which deputies and interval of time
Will oft divest of half its value's charms.
I must confess, that after our discourse,
Revealing, as it did, the yawning gulf
That lies between our innermost convictions.
My hope was faint, to see my prayer fulfilled.
Diversity of views too oft engenders
In e'en the best, aversion of the heart.
It is the mark of generosity,
Of highest liberality to keep
The sentiments of heart and mind apart
And to accord its due to each of them.
Therefore allow me now to reinforce
The weak expression of my thankfulness
By the apology for my mistake.
Santa Anna.
As oft a flattering gift will honor more
The donor's heart which swells with gratitude.
Unselfish, freely given, than the receiver's,
Whose merit after all is doubtful,—so
The praise, Miss Bradburn, you conferred on me
Bears witness less to my deserving claim
Than to the innate kindness of your heart.
How void of every good, how selfish then
Must be the man on whom such heart bestowed
Its highest prize, its love, but whose conceit
—As lightly as he would a worthless pebble,—
Prompts him to cast aside a costly jewel,
For which the greatest king would envy him.
Elsie.
No doubt, 't is Travis whom your speech points out,
And who, as from your hints I may infer.
Has with contempt flung back, from where it came,
The shameless proposition to surrender
The Alamo. Grant me to say, that even,
Before my father started for the fort,
I prophesied his mission's uselessness,
As Travis never, never would surrender.
Santa Anna.
It is not this alone what he refused.
Though chiefly meant for our Republic's good,
My offer's liberality designed
No less your welfare and your happiness,
Since through your father I held out to him
Your hand, together with a princely dower.
My honest counsels wrecked against his pride
And stubborn will. 'T is plain, he loves you not.
Elsie.
Your well-meant kindness and concern for me
Bring me more deeply still into your debt,
Although I cannot help confess to you:
If Travis had availed him of your offer,
Had proven a traitor to his country's hopes,
Your reckoning had been made without a host.
Since my consent you never would have gained.
But why converse of things impossible.
As Travis never will disgrace him so?
His very love for me, inseparably
Blent with his honor and his zeal for freedom.
Has caused him to reject your proffered terms.
So blame him not. Though nothing can enhance
My love for him, his present fortitude
[Fervidly.]
Nigh tempts me to adore him like a god.
Santa Anna.
Our first assault, I see, has been repulsed,
The better then our second may succeed.,
[At this moment the dull imports of cannon indicating the commencement of the bombardment, are heard in the distance. Elsie becomes profoundly excited.
Hear you those guns? they mean your lover's death,
The overthrow of all your earthly hopes;
For hardly can the forteress long resist
Our cannon-balls' persuasive arguments.
And still, Miss Bradburn, still it lies with you,
By one, one single utterance of your lips
To hush those deadly thunders into silence,
And vouchsafe all the benefits of life
To the defenders of the Alamo.
Elsie.
A word from me? Oh, tell! how I can save them?
Santa Anna.
I am informed, you know a hidden way,
— Yes, yes, you know,—I read it in your eye—
That underground leads to the Alamo.
Elsie.
[Nobly.]
Has Santa Anna's height and grandeur stooped
To low and despicable spionage,
Then I, weak woman as I am, will not
Descend to falsehood—Yes, I know the way.
Santa Anna.
For reasons of the State and Strategy
Man oft is forced to condescend to means
He loathes to employ in private life.
Elsie.
Heaven then forefend to be a man of State.
Santa Anna.
To save the terrors of the cannonade,
The bloodshed of the storm, the loss of time,
We must possess your secret. To reward
Your revelation, I agree to grant
The self-same terms and offers of surrender
As hitherto I offered to the rebels.
Madmen they were, if seeing them astride
On a volcano's brink, whose fiery womb
Is pregnant with the threats of instant death.
They still persisted to reject my offer,
Elsie.
You are deceived; no form, no garb of death,
Save that of shame, has terrors for the brave.
But why again discuss a likelihood
Whose call to life my stout resolve precludes?
You ask me to reveal the hidden way:
My only answer is : I never shall.
Santa Anna.
Not even to redeem your lover's life.
Elsie.
Not even to redeem my lover's life.
Santa Anna.
The second time my scheme has failed, but wait:
I have some better cards still in reserve.
Misfortunes hunt in company—so says
The proverb, Lady Bradburn; hence defend
Your mind with fortitude—
Elsie.
[Interrupting him.]
Santa Anna.
And let not rest your undeserved displeasure
On the unwilling bearer of the news.
Elsie.
Oh, pray ! relieve me of my dread suspense.
Santa Anna.
So hear! By orders sent from Mexico,
On evidence obtained I know not how,
Your father stands committed to arrest,
Arraigned for treason and disloyalty.
Elsie.
That charge is false—false as a gem of paste.
No subject was so truly, ah! so blindly
Devoted to the service of your State,
Oh, father! why, why wouldst thou not receive
Thy daughter's warning voice, her fervid prayer,
Three years, ah, e'en three hours ago? Now lies
The glorious city of thy golden dreams
Invaded, conquered, pillaged and destroyed,
While I, thy daughter, must, Cassandra-like,
Roam wailingly the ruins of thy Troy.
Santa Anna.
I self am bound to say, that hitherto
My credence in your father's loyalty
Has been as firm as your belief; and loath
To do him wrong, I have delayed the order
For his arrest, till when on his return
A while ago his words, ah! proved too well
Of his conversion to the rebel-cause,
So openly he spake in its behalf.
Elsie.
[Suddenly transgressing from deepest despair to highest joy.]
He has? My father has? Deceive me not!
He has defended Freedom's rights, you say?
Santa Anna.
No rebel steeped in disaffection's venom
Could have pronounced a more seditious speech
To shock our outraged ears, than he!
Elsie.
[With great fervor.]
Oh, sunny glimpse upon my mistwrapt sky!
Oh, star of hope amid my woeful night!
Faint though thou be, I bless thy welcome light!
Santa Anna.
My game—I fear me — has gone wrong again.
Our laws 'gainst treason are severe and harsh,
And one important service can alone
Unfasten Colonel Bradburn's prison-door.
If would his daughter's love, as duty-bound,
Off-set her father's clearly-proven guilt
By parting with her secret's treasured knowledge.
Elsie.
And she will not—not—not! though all of you,
Though all the world hissed her with cries of shame,.
E'en though her father, struggling on his knees,
Craved from her lips the mercy of his life.
A thousand years I gladly would endure
—Could it be done—for him the dungeon's curse,
A thousand times I fain would undergo
For him the pangs of death; but never shall
My country's weal and woe be jeopardized
To remedy his sad mistake. Therefore
I pray, forbear to tempt me more ; my choice
Is made: my country's fate before my father's.
Santa Anna.
That trump is gone! now for my fourth and last.
Miss Bradburn! all to whom I have referred,
Although endeared to you by Nature's bonds
Or choice of love, are others than yourself.
But when you now arrive to contemplate
Your own forlorn and unsafe station here,
How you, without protectors, without friends,
A self-confessed enemy of ours,
Are compassed round by strangers and by foes,—
Will you then not take pity on yourself.?
Elsie.
What I have prized and cherished most of all.
My father, lover and my native land.
Already are or soon will be your prey.
What else on earth is left to me? My life?
Oh, take it from me, and my dying breath
Shall thank the hand that rid me of its burden.
Santa Anna.
Is e'en in peace a lonely woman's fate
Exposed to danger, how the more in war?
Whose fiery breath fans every passion's flame,
Whose very spirit fosters violence.
Where lends the name of foe a welcome pretext
To every crime, to robbery and rape,
Where oft the reins of rigid discipline
Must purposely be slackened to incite
The animal propensities of man,—
A woman, void of every guardian's care,
A woman, known to be an enemy,
Inevitably must fall a luckless victim
To wicked lust—
Elsie.
[Falls on her knees, and imploringly holds up her hands.]
Oh, spare my womanhood!
Santa Anna.
And be the abject property of all!
Elsie.
Knave! Fiend! now first thou stand'st revealed to me
In thy true light! Hast thou no fear of Heaven,
Of retribution in the Life hereafter?
Santa Anna.
[Sneeringly.]
That knave, that fiend rejoices in his power,
And mocks the scorn of idle impotence,
The more so, as his conscience fain acquits him
Of guilt incurred for purposes of State.
But, Lady Bradburn, are you ready now
Your secret to reveal?
Elsie.
[Who all this time has been lying as in a swoon.]
Santa Anna.
That is a word as pleases me to hear,
And proves that Reason, from her seat dethroned
By momentary self-forgetfulness
In visionary illusions, has resumed
Her wonted place and wields again her power;
To tell the truth, it is what I expected
When I came hither, for I know too well
The practical and innate common-sense
Of all that hail from the United States.
[He bows to lift Elsie up. She, in the act of rising, with a quick move, draws the sword-blade from Santa Anna's scabbard, and raises it on high, while Santa Anna, covering his eyes with his hands, reels back in utter dismay.]
Elsie.
[With the utmost contempt.] Thou knowest, tyrant.?
[Triumphantly.] No, thou knowest not!
How e'en the tiny worm is given a sting
For sore distress, a weapon of defence,
Which, weak and harmless though it even be,
Kind Nature's hand, protectress of us all.
Will help him aim and guide with deadly dart
'Gainst the Achilles-heel of his tormentor—
[As above.]
Thou knowest, tyrant? No, thou knowest not,
How Faith and lamb-like Patience meekly bow
To every hardship, every sacrifice,
Enduring pangs of body and of soul,
But also rise with more than giant's strength,
With all-regardless, all-renouncing power,
When, outraged in their holy sanctuary,
Their feelings blend in one impassionate flame—
[As above]
Thou knowest. tyrant? No, thou knowest not,
How woman, tender woman, under tears,
Shed in her closet's silence, under prayers,
O'erheard by none save God, will long defer
To break the hallowed peace of her reserve,
To lay her bosom's tender feelings ope
To chilly blasts of worldly sneer and scorn,
But when at last confronted by the choice.
The fiendish choice, 'twixt virtue and disgrace,
Will fling aside the fetters of her doubts,
Shake off the shackles of her self-restraint.
And like a lioness, of her off-spring robbed,
Unheeding wounds and death, obey alone
The holy law of Nature: Self-defence!
[With sublimity.]
All this thou knowest not,—wilt never know,
As not for thee this wisdom's fountains flow,
As not for thee this comfort's breezes blow,
As not for thee these blessings bloom and grow.
A lonesome, arid desert is thy breast,
Whom parching, withering fervors keep opprest,
Whom poisonous winds, fierce hurricanes infest,
Whom scares the mocking mirage from its rest.
The pleasing change of hue and sound and light
Whose seasons make the pious heart's delight,
Refreshes not thy passion's dreary sight, —
Thy only change comes through the Earthquake's might!
Yea! tremble, man! thy earthquake is at hand,
When outraged Nature, rising fierce and grand,
With one accord will wreck what thou hast planned,
And wipe thy labors' vestige from the land!
All save thy name! that, that alone shall last,
And like a stranded vessel's towering mast.
Shall overtop the billows of the Past,
A warning voice 'gainst wild Ambition's blast.
[Taking the keys from the table, Elsie, Santa Anna's sword in hand, leaves the room, which she locks behind her. Crossing; the corridor, she unlocks the room in which James Travis lies, and standing at the Threshold, calls out to him ;]
Awake, James Travis! rise and follow me!
My hand shall guide thy steps to liberty!
[James Travis wearing still the bandages round his head., comes from his room and stands like one overcome by a trance.]
James Travis.
Angel! that soothed my fever's agony,
Where'er thou leadest me, I follow thee!
[While Elsie and James Travis are proceeding to the rear of the corridor, Santa Anna, hitherto lost in a faint stupor, starts for the door, which he tries in vain to force open.]
Santa Anna.
[With violence.]
Confound these monks ! what they have built, withstands
The wear of times and strength of stoutest hands.
[While Santa Anna, in the meantifne, looks for another way of egress, Elsie and J. Travis reach the altar in the back-ground of the corridor. Standing behind it,]
Elsie.
Here is the entrance to the corridor
That leads the way to Freedom's hallowed shore.
Father! forgive me, if I leave thee now,
My own defence absolves me from my vow.
My sole protection now lies,— where I go,—
With William Travis in the Alamo.
[Having raised the altar-cloth Elsie and James Travis disappear beneath it. Santa Anna, finding his efforts unavailing, resigns himself to his fate.]
Santa Anna.
Curse, curse on every mercy-tempered deed;
It carries in itself its failure's seed!
Curse, curse on each concession to regards
Of sex and worldly usage; it discards
Half of the spirit's energy and power,
And lowers the bold to creatures of the hour.
If thou must be a devil, be it whole.
Or else give up thy aspiration's goal.
But list! a step ! it is the sentinel!
Quick! ope the door, unlock my prison-cell!
Haste, haste thee, man! thy blood, thy life shall pay
For every moment lost through thy delay!
[The soldier takes the keys from the door where Elsie had left them and unlocks the room in which Santa Anna is. The latter exclaims eagerly:]
Where are they, speak?
Soldier.
Whom mean Your Excellency?
Santa Anna.
The girl!—thy prisoner!—they are gone and free.
Soldier.
None, none I saw.
Santa Anna.
Then look and search about,
While I arouse the camp entire to scout
All o'er the neighborhood with man and hound;
The fugitives! — they must, they must be found!
[Santa Anna starts to go, slowly followed by the soldier.]
Soldier.
Your Excellency have left your sword behind;
Shall I return to find it?
Santa Anna.
Never mind.
[Suddenly turning and collaring the soldier with frantic rage.]
Rogue! Knave! Choke down into thy throat the word
Thou spakest just! for in it I have heard
The sneers of ages and the scoffing voice
Of generations, as their hearts rejoice
O'er my defeat ! [Roaring.] Hast heard what I have said?
Soldier.
Yes, yes!
His Excellency has sure gone mad!
[Exit soldier.]
Scene VIII.
The Chapel of the Alamo, darkened but illuminated from without by the glare of the rockets, indicating the bombardment. The divine service, held there for the last time, is Just being concluded by the soldiers, who, lying on their knees, intune the
PRAYER BEFORE BATTLE.[2]
1.
Forsake me not! when shadows lie around me,
When Night and Darkness everywhere hold bound me,
When peril's gloom has fallen to my lot:
Thou Fount of Light! Forsake, forsake me not!
2.
Forsake me not! when tempest-clouds assemble.
And cause the ground beneath my feet to tremble,
When round me raves the battle fierce and hot:
Offspring of Peace! Forsake, forsake me not!
3.
Forsake me not! when thunders rumble o'er me,
When lightnings send their quivering darts to gore me,
When round me hiss the bolts of shell and shot:
Thou Haven of Rest! Forsake, Forsake me not!
4.
Forsake me not! Oh, God of my abidance.
Into Thine hand, child-like, I trust my guidance,
When smit to death, I lie on dreary spot:
God of my Hope! Forsake, forsake me not!
[The hymn having been concluded there reigns a profound silence for a brief time, during which the soldiers, still on their knees, are absorbed in prayer. Then the meeting breaks up. Travis and Crockett come to the foreground, where Bowie lies on a couch, while the volunteers take leave from each other, or look after their arms.]
Bowie.
What are thy dispositions for the storm?
Travis.
Alas! they are but few! The bayonet
Remains our last resort, since our supply
Of lead and iron, wherewith we might perhaps
Still have repelled the enemy's assault.
Has been exhausted in the fort's defence.
The powder's store alone has still remained
A steady friend in our misfortunes: this
Ignited by thine hand, who canst not join
Our last exploit, shall light our way to heaven.
Bowie.
Thanks, Travis! that thy tender thoughtfulness
Assigned to me, disabled as I am,
This office in the Alamo's defence.
Travis.
By my command the channels have been laid
Through which the fiery element shall crawl
With lightning's speed, and leave no stone unturned;
None save this chapel! Towering o'er the ruins.
It be the likeness of our destiny.
That testifies with silent eloquence:
As it survives the Alamo's debris,
So shall our fame outlive our overthrow.
Evans.
The Alamo lies open to the foe:
The northern side has fallen, and the eastern gate
Is swaying more and more with every shot.
Our faithful walls, which long withstood, at last
Have bowed their heads and sunk as heroes sink.
To us is left to follow their example.
Travis.
Yes, valiant friend! that is what we shall do.
So soon I have addressed our men once more,
Thou, Crockett, wilt conduct them hence, while I
Confer a while with Bowie yet and Smith.
[Turning to the men, who fall into order, he addresses them:]
The hour has dawned on us, my faithful comrades.
When we must stride to our last earthly task.
Our walls have sunk that spread their shielding arms
Around this sanctuary of Liberty.
Shall then her sacred fane lie ope and bare
To the profaning hand of Tyranny?
No, no! as we have sworn, so let our lives
Be Freedom's bulwark. Freedom's forteress
Whose fosse our opened veins shall fill with blood,
Whose circling ramparts shall our bodies link,
Whose garrison shall be our fearless hearts.
Yet ere we leave this hallowed chapel-shrine,
Whose walls alone have heard our vows and prayers,
Whose eyes alone have seen our gallant deeds,
Let us embody with its time-worn shrine
The record of our joyful sacrifice,
Of our devotion to the cause we cherish,—
Yet not by writ or perishable stones,
Or any signs, that may the hand of Time
Efface or crumble; Immortality
Can only be adorned by things spiritual.
As longest in our memory abides
The last word from some dear departing friend,
So leave as keepsake to these chapel-walls,
That hitherto so kindly sheltered us,
Your song whereby they may remember you.
[He henceforth speaks with a deep inspiration, which, ever rising, culminates in his last word :]
Here it will linger, spirit of this place,
Wandering and whispering through its alley-ways,
A melody, as when the vernal breeze
Plays 'mid the branches of the new-leaved trees,
As when Æolian harps, suspended there.
Reecho from the Westwind's sighing air.
Then oft some idle passer-by, in wonder
About these notes, will shake his head and ponder;
Then oft some tender maiden, when she hears
These whisper-sounds, will feel some pearly tears
Well from her silken lashes—till one day
Upon his life's uncertain, checkered way,
A swain will seat him there, a minstrel-bard.
Scarce knowing what should here his feet retard.
His lyre, his only friend, his only wealth,
Rests in his hand; then floats, as if by stealth,
Our song around him. See! he starts! he lists!
His spirit pierces through the secret's mists,
His hearing, deaf to wordly lore and noise.
But tutored well to Nature's inward voice.
Has caught our song; e'en then on fluttering wing
It trembles o'er his lyre from string to string;
Confined no longer to this chapel-cell,
It rises in the air, it breaks its spell.
It spreads its wings for ever bolder flight,
To ever greater height and deeper light;
Till now, — as swells the wave from southern pole,
As thunders through the airy spaces roll,
As forest-brooks leap o'er their rocky steeps.
As o'er the plain the roaring tempest sweeps,
So loud, so wide, so mighty and so free,
Through every race, through every century.
Is borne our fame and glory — borne along
Upon the pinions of our hero-song.
Which from your lips the last time now will flow
"The glorious Anthem of the Alamo!"
[All present now intune]
THE ANTHEM OF THE ALAMO.[3]
1.
When o'er our land the War-cloud drew
And loudly Freedom's trumpet blew.
We rushed to arms, resolved to be
A citadel 'gainst Tyranny:
Hence fear thee not, dear Texan Land,
Thy safety lies in trusty hand;
For firm will stand 'gainst every foe
Thy Vanguard of the Alamo!
2.
And now the Tempest sweeps the land
With bloody sword and fiery brand;
Yet, nought dismayed, the storm we brave,
And check the onslaught of his wave:
Hence fear thee not, dear Texan Land,
Thy safety lies in trusty hand;
For firm will stand 'gainst every foe
Thy Vanguard of the Alamo!
3.
Our task is done : the enemy's might
Is crippled by our gallant fight.
And the example we have set
Thy sons not lightly will forget:
Hence fear thee not, dear Texan Land,
Thy safety lies in trusty hand,
E'en though the foe should overthrow
Thy Vanguard of the Alamo!
4.
<poem>And when—all danger overpast— Proud Vict'ry smiles on thee at last, When laurel-twined, young, fair and strongs Thou stand'st thy sister-states among: Forget thou not, dear Texan Land, The grave-mounds of our little band, But gladden through thy trumpets' blow Thy Vanguard of the Alamo!
[Curtain.]
