The Fall of the Alamo/Act4
ACT FOURTH.
Scene I.
Santa Anna's tent. Santa Anna., asleep on a couch. Jose Prado, holding Santa Annas watch in his hand, stands near him. Enters Duque.
Duque
Where is His Excellency?
Prado.
[Motioning to Duque to speak low, and leading him to the corner farthest remote from Santa Anna's couch.]
Hush, hush! he sleeps.
Duque.
[Henceforth speaking in whispers.]
Then wake him, for I must report to him.
Prado.
Is your report then of so urgent nature?
Duque.
It is. Since twelve o'clock my men have searched
To find the least trace of the fugitives.
All fruitless—as if wafted in the air,
As if engulfed by an abyss that closed
Immediately its yawning gulf again,
So trackless they have vanished out of sight
And left us nought but soreness and fatigue.
Prado.
Unlucky news comes alway soon enough;
Why then allow its gloomy pinions' beat
To scare away the blessed boon of sleep?
Duque.
My men are ordered to participate
In the attack; they ought to be recalled
From fruitless efforts to restore their strength
For the assault by brief repose at least.
That is the purport of my coming here.
Prado.
I dare not rouse His Excellency before
The time he set, still fifteen minutes hence.
His angry mood, swelled by the disappointment
Of your report and loss of soothing sleep,
Would magnify my little breach of order
Into a crime, whose penalty were death.
Santa Anna.
[Moving restlessly on its couch, and speaking aloud in his sleep.]
Where leadest me?
Duque.
He wakes.
Prado.
No, no, he dreams,
For he is wont to speak aloud in sleep.
Santa Anna.
[With a hollow twice and movements of his body, which reflect the horrors of his dream.]
What dreary region hast thou brought me to?
My erring eye roams, like a wanderer
Who lost his way, with painful, insane glance
Across the desert waste, and vainly seeks
A house, a tree, a hill to rest upon
'Mid this immense and dread monotony.
The yellow sands, commixed with glistening gold.
Which, scarce elsewhere and deeply hidden, here
With mockery offers to the crazed traveler,
Dying with thirst, its kernels for refreshment.
Send flashing shocks of fever-heated pain
Throughout my frame, as if below the ground,
Thin like a sheet, there lay a glowing oven.
And, oh! these sunlight-fervors! how my brain
Reels, boils and bakes beneath their fiery power;
How through my swollen veins I feel my blood
Seethe like a stream of liquid metal ore!—
Has come the Day of Judgment, speak! my guide?
Woe, woe to me! he left me here alone
Amid this desert: I must die with thirst.
My wealth, my might for one, one drop of water!—
'T is all in vain!—but no, there, over there
A hollow lies—a glen—a deep ravine—
There runs a brook; quick, quick, ere burst my veins.
E'en now I can behold the sun's reflex
Upon its waters; onward, ever onward!—
Ah!—it is blood,—red blood, red human blood
Whose purple tide rolls shattered limbs and skulls
And glaring weapons from a battle-field.
How they do toss and strive, these ghastly bones.
As if the combat's wrath were still in them!
There floats a snow-white arm; how it extends
Its fingers! ah! it grasps, it seizes me;
Away from out these horrors' sight, away!
Duque.
I pray thee, wake him: e'en to hear his dream.
To see him writhe, congeals my blood with terror.
Prado.
I cannot, will I not incur his wrath;
He oft dreams so. See, he begins anew.
Santa Anna.
[Laboring under still more violent convulsions than before.]
Ha! still I live ! What change in me and nature!
Instead of stifling heat, as erst, now creeps
An icy chill through every limb of mine,
While over me a midnidit-blackness veils
The burning sky and blinds the sunlight's blaze.
A hurricane it is, a Texan Norther:
What roar of awe comes from the giant's mouth,
How toss his skirts, how writhe his hands and arms
To grasp the earth and me in his embrace.
A sulphurous scent and smoke of burning towns
Is wafted in his suffocating breath.
Only too true my fear has proved; there, there
On the horizon's marge ascends a cloud,
Which, like the Milky Way upon the sky,
And like the Gulf- Stream's current, holds apart
In hue, velocity and temperature.
Its blood-red tide amid that jet-black main.
Nearer and nearer swells that avalanche
Its waves of fiery glare and gloomy mist;
But woe! the vapors are the trailing skirts
Of shadows swimming in the upper air.
Which, as they pass my zenith, more and more
Assume the ghastly likenesses of men,
Dark-featured, frowning, haggard, livid, pale.
Bedecked with gaping wounds and bloody gore,
And mingled with them prisoners hung with chains,
Which, going by, they clang into my ears.
And headless figures, warrants in their hands,
Which savagely they shake before mine eyes,—
While midway through the dismal train and borne
Upon the pinions of that flaming stripe,
There sweeps a file of women, wan with fear,
Crazed with despair, with hollow cheeks and eyes,
Babes on their arms and children at their side,
Pointing their long, thin fingers down at me.
Oh, oh! were but the grim procession o'er!
[Joyfully.]
It is, it is! there flashes from beneath
The storm-cloud's folds the first ray of the sun.
Another, still another. [With ecstasy.] Welcome, Light!
But can this really be the sun? Oh, no!
[With horror.] The bright reflex of lightning-bolts, it is,
Which, starting from an unseen, far-off height,
Grow every moment more in glare and strength
And pierce the massive curtain of the storm.
Distinct before, their flashes now are blent.
And cross each other's pathways here and there;
The thunder's voice, erst by the tempest drowned,
Now shakes the very ground by constant roar.
And nigher still sinks down the fiery orb
Whence flow those lightning-bolts,—their source
A golden chariot's red-hot wheels, whose spokes
Whirl through the blinding light their fiery rounds,
And from the chariot wave the ample robes
Of One whose form and face are veiled from me
'Mid all the brilliancy, that dims my sight;
Not so His will; for unrolled from His hand
A radiant scroll floats downward evermore.
Emblazed with fiery signs. Not yet I can
Discern them:—Now I can—the strange inscription
Reads: Mene,—Mene,—Tekel—Upharsin![1]
Where have I heard, where have I seen these words?
So let me think! Think? Woe! I cannot think;
[With the utmost horror.]
My brain is dizzed by agony of dread,
As stands that igneous ball above my head,
While swinging round that hurricane engirds
The dazzling centre with its black-red skirts.
And now from that corona 'mid the skies
A thousand fingers point,—a thousand eyes
Glare down at me, mute, yet how eloquent!
But what is that?—round me the earth is rent
By unseen hand—ah! it has come,—no doubt,—
The earthquake Elsie Bradburn spoke about,—
The ground below me shakes — it opes — I gaze.
Oh, horror! deep into a fiery blaze,—
Its flames lick up, [he holds his arm above him., as if to shield him,] and now from overhead
A quivering flash—I sink—I fall—[With a death-like gurgle:] Dead—dead!
[He falls from the couch. Duque and Prado run to his assistance., and raise him to a sitting position. His eyes stare from their sockets, his cheeks are ghastly pale.]
Prado.
<poem>Awake, Your Excellency! 't was but?. dream!
Santa Anna.
A dream? A phantom? No reality?
[Shaking himself, he Jumps to his feet.]
Then Santa Anna is a man again!
Let me but feel my blood course through my veins,
Let but my will control my nerves and powers,
And I defy your spells, your whispered threats,
Ye shadowy spirits from the Land of Dreams,
Who like hyenas of the desert creep
Into the camp-ground of our slumbering souls,
But flee dismayed and cowardly, when, roused,
We hold our reason's fire-brand to your eyes.
What is the hour?
Prado.
Not far from two.
Santa Anna.
Then go
And call my Generals. What wilt thou, Duque?
[Exit Prado.]
Duque.
I come to make report, that fruitlessly
My men have searched since midnight to detect
The faintest vestige of the fugitives.
Santa Anna.
Recall thy men and show us, if they do
As blood-hounds better than they did as pointers.
[Exit Duque.]
So after all that girl has baffled me,
Whom with impunity no man has mocked!
It serves me right, since I let gallantry,
The frailest of all frailties, turn aside
For e'en one moment my established way.
Might is a two-edged knife; when used in earnest,
It wounds two foes;—but when in play, thyself.
[Here enter Cos, Castrillon and Almonte.]
The fugitives have not been found, I hear;
Be it decided then to storm the fort
At break of day, two hours from hence. Meanwhile
Let for some time the cannonade proceed
As the courier that heralds our advent.
Of this, thou, Cos! take charge as hitherto;
Castrillon, thou wilt lead in the assault,
While to thy task, Almonte, it will fall
To take that traitor Bradburn where he can
Best see the downfall of his rebel-friends.
For battle-cry I chose my favorite word.
Whose stirring call has oft accompanied
My banner to success and fame: "Deguello!
No quarter given! no mercy asked or shown!"
We have no time to spare for guarding captives
For lengthy trials, for painful executions:
A prudent man completes his task at once.
So, Generals, depart ye hence and go
To tell your gallant men, that Mexico
Expects to-day to hear the overthrow
And glorious conquest of the Alamo. [Exeunt]
Scene II.
The Chapel of the Alamo. Colonel Win. Travis and Chaplain Smith standing near the altar.
Travis.
One, one more word! my last, my last to thee!
Thy post, dear friend, is at this holy altar.
Not in the battle's van. Thou, thou alone,
If spares the foe thy life, respects thy garb,
Must outlive our destruction and become
The messenger of our Thermopylae!
Smith.
Oh, Travis! let me fight and die with thee!
Travis.
No, Reverend Sir! a higher duty still
More painful, more exalted far than ours,
Devolves on thee. Our trial will be brief;
A minute's pang, scarce felt and we are gone,
While thine will be a task of life-long grief.
By virtue of my office I command thee
To spare no pains, fear neither scorn nor death.
So as to gain a Christian sepulture
For our remains from the victorious foe.
Mark well the spot where we are laid at rest,
That it become a fane of pilgrimage
To grateful and admiring patriots.
Who, when the trumpet-blast of victory
Hath sounded o'er our graves, with come to them
With holy awe, as if they were inscribed
With that most glorious epitaph of old:
"Siste, viator, an heroem calcas:
Stop, wand'rer, else thou treadest on a hero!"
And as none else but thou alone wilt be
The last defender of the Alamo,
So, too, defend by writ and speech our cause
Hereafter, when our memory is assailed
By slanderous and infamous detraction.
This my behest to thee as thy commander,
To which as friend I add this humble prayer:
So soon thou canst, to hand this note of mine
To Elsie Bradburn, where she ever be.
To tell her, that my bosom's latest throb
Will beat for her, that with her name endeared
Upon my lips, my soul will soar to heaven.
Wilt, friend, thou promise to fulfill these trusts?
Smith.
I will, I will! Oh, Travis, what a parting!
Travis.
Thanks, thanks, my friend! And now all earthly tasks
Attended to, farewell, until we meet
Before the throne of God in Heaven above.
[Travis embraces Smith with mute emotion. Suddenly he tears himself from the Chaplain's arms, and with his head bowed to the ground he speaks in breathless whispers :]
Hark, hark! Hast thou not heard this floor beneath
Some hasting footsteps?—There they are again—
A secret passage-way must lie below—
E'en now the sounds come nearer, ever nearer,—
Are they the feet of friends, of enemies?—
They come up here—they mount a hidden stair—
They raise a trap-door 'neath the altar-cloth—
What means this mystery? who can they be?
[Motioning Smith to the chapel-door, Travis takes his position behind the altar, the sword in his right and the cocked pistol in his left, leveling it at the altar. The cloth with which the latter is covered is suddenly thrown back, and from beneath it Elsie and James Travis emerge. When Colonel Travis beholds them, he drops both sword and pistol, and with outspread arms rushes into their embrace.]
Scene III.
Colonel Wm. Travis—Elsie—James Travis—Chaplain Smith. The latter remains standing at the door, where truth mute delight he overhears the conversation of the above.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Oh, Elsie, Elsie! Oh, my brother James!
How can it be? It is a vision's dream!
Elsie.
[Lying in his embrace.]
No, Travis, no! it is no phantom's spell.
'T is I, thy Elsie, rendered back to thee!
James Travis.
And it is I, 't is I, thy brother James,
Who 'live and hale now lies in thy embrace.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Oh! God is good and over-merciful!
Elsie.
Yes, Travis, yes! 't is He whose wondrous hand
Brought us together, nevermore to part!
Rememberest thou that with this self-same word
Three years ago I bade thee trust in Him,
That He through night and darkness, grief and trial,
Would lead our love to glorious consummation?
^nd know'st thou still the subterranean way,
To which on that occasion I alluded?
What then my lips, inspired unconsciously,
What then my spirit, childlike-unaware,
Proclaimed as hope-awakening allegory,
Stands realized to-day before our sight.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Oh! had a dream, only a dream presented
Before my slumbering soul this lovely image,
That I should hold you both in my embrace,
I should have deemed it all-too-fair a gift.
And now, and now—I feel your bosoms throb
'Gainst mine in joyful, neighborly response,
I drink the life-warm ardor of your kisses,
I hear the love-thrilled, touching tremolo
Of both your voices, and my dazzled eye
Reads in your" looks and on your glowing cheeks
The true reflex of all that moves your hearts,
While impotent to fathom yet the secret
Of your arrival here, my thoughts stand still.
James Travis.
Thou errest, brother, if thou ween'st that I
Can solve for thee this deep-mysterious riddle.
For lo! as sudden as it dawned on thee.
Inexplicable, as it stands before
Thy staggered mind,—so wondrous and so strange.
It still enwraps my own with dream-like spell.—
Three hours ago I lay in dizzy sleep,
In which appalling night and battle-smoke
Spread o'er my feverish soul a somber sky,
—As dark and dread as my impending fate—
While demon-like, uncouth, gigantic shapes
With hangman's features stretched their withered hands
Up, up to me with ever closer grasp,—
When in the cloud-wrapt back-ground of my dream
Appeared a balmy, mellow-tinted light,
That more and more shed through the desert waste
A radiant glow and thrilled with grateful warmth
E'en from afar my writhing, death-chilled heart.
'T must thus have been, when first the smile of God
With quickening breath beamed on chaotic realms;
Thus it will be, when from the shades of grave
We first emerge into our Maker's presence.
And with that light there came a melody
Into my ear as of an angel-choir,
So sweet, so soothing and so comfort-fraught,
That, as at times we feel a healing draught
Pervade our veins with instantaneous cure,
So, so, forthwith these gentle accents poured
Into my heart a current of relief.
That soothed its pangs and calmed its agitation.
Then, for a while, the charming apparition
Withdrew from me, but as the setting sun
Behind him leaves the purple-glow of eve
And peace serene,—my feelings so remained
Inspired with joy and radiant hopefulness.
While thus I lay, as in a trance enchanted,
A glaring light broke on my slumb'ring eye;
A fairy-vision stood my bed beside,
Who spoke to me with strength-infusing voice:
"Awake, James Travis, rise and follow me!"
Through long and vaulted corridors we went,
Until at last a frowning, narrow way.
Through which we passed, meseemed for many hours,
Has safely brought me to the arms of him
Than whom none else I longed to see once more.
Admit then, brother, that my wonderment
Can hardly be surpassed by thy surprise.
The more as I behold the fair magician
To whom I owe my strange deliverance,
Beknown to thee, befriended, yea, related
Through ties whose sweetness thou alone canst prize.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Oh! had a stranger, had an enemy
Bestowed on me the service to restore
My brother from the very jaws of death,
I should have valued all that I possess
Upon this world a poor reward for him.
And now it is through—Elsie! thee, that I
Receive him back, through thee who own'st my all.
But tell me, pray, how lone and without aid
Thou hast accomplished this unheard-of venture.
Elsie.
Oh, Travis! why pronounce the fatal word,
Whereby unconsciously thou opest anew
The bleeding, aching wound, that scarce was sealed
By the oblivion of a moment's bliss?
Alas! as oft upon my gold-strung harp
My fingers touch a chord of highest joy—
I change one note, and, ah! the saddest tone
Conceivable strikes my astounded ear—
So close, so near lie side by side the strings
Of joy and grief on our lives' harpsichords.
And yet, meseems, 't is better after all,
That finds my sorrow in its utterance
A slight relief, and in thy sympathy
A soothing balm. So hear then my account.
Knowing full well my stout fidelity
To Texas and her cause,—suspecting, too.
My father's loyalty, though without grounds,
The tyrant must have had us watched by spies,
Hid near our tent, to hear what there was spoken.
When ere my father's journey to this fort
I made a new but vain attempt (alas!
It proved the last!) to rouse his love of right,
When on my knees I warned him 'gainst his friends
And told him of the hidden passage-way
Through which he yet could reach the Port of Honor,
This our converse must have been overheard
And brought to Santa Anna's ears. Meanwhile,
Upon my prayer to tend thy brother James,
The tyrant—under the pretence to grant it,
But in reality to wrest from me
Through threats and force my secret's dear possession,—
Had me conducted to thy brother's cot
In Mission of Concepcion. Fine his plan,
Yet finer God's, who made the villain's scheme
The instrument of my deliverance.
For know, Concepcion is the very place
Where lies the entrance to the hidden way.
Thither he came, intent on his design,
And, oh! the terrors of that dreadful hour,
The ever higher billows of distress
That broke upon my aching, quivering heart.
When—brazen like the statue of a god
That hears not, feels not its petitioner's prayers,
Stern like a rock, whose plumb and polished breast
Rejects the drowning sailor's outstretched hand—
The hard man stood before me firm and stark,
Resolved to gain his end by every means,
By every wile of diplomatic art,—
When stroke on stroke and blow on blow the hammers
Of his persuasive reasons fell upon
My unprepared and unprotected heart,—
When gradually he reinforced his praise
By luring bribes, his bribes by calumny,
His calumny by threats, his threats by sneers,—
When heeding not my tears, my agony.
He staked thy life, my father's fate, my honor
Upon the revelation of my sacred knowledge—
Oh! to describe this hour's experience
My utt'rance fails me. Let this sabre speak
I wrested from his scabbard, to what height
Of bleak despair a woman may be driven.
[Elsie hands Santa Anna's sword to Col. Travis.]
Col. Wm. Travis.
My heart has ceased its beat o'er thy account,
My thoughts refuse thy trial's depth to fathom,
How, reft of friends, hedged round by War and Foe,
Weak woman, thou stoodst pitted 'gainst the Man
Before whose might nine millions bow. And still
Thou hast prevailed! What fortitude,
Wliat lofty height of virtue, what resolve
Of more than manly virtue hast thou shown!
WHiat prizeless, unheard triumph hast thou won!
Before the radiance of thy victory,
The martyrs must conceal their thorny crowns.
The heroes hide the trophies of their fame.
The angels selves begrudge thy glory's halo,—
Oh, Elsie, Elsie! I deserve thee not!
Elsie.
Say rather: I am worthy now of thee,
The heroine (if I am justified
To call me so), the equal hero's bride.
Col. Wm. Travis.
His bride? Alas! the poorest swain on earth,
The meanest beggar can afford his bride
A life, a fortune he would deem most royal
Compared to what I can bestow on thee:
He has a cot, I but a heap of ruins;
He owns a bedstead, I not e'en a bier;
His wedding is made gay by festive music,
Mine terrible with hissing, crashing shell.
Nought, nought I have to give to thee but Death—
Death for thy bans, Death for thy bridal-dress,
Death for thy ring. Death for thy wedding-night.
Elsie.
And is not that more than a heart could ask,
Yea, verily, the highest gift wherewith
Heaven can adorn and crown a woman's life,
To fight, to bleed, to die beside her lover,
In righteous cause and heavenward rise with him
Upon the pinions of a glorious deed.
Upon the rosy cloud of fame eternal,
'Mid the applause of both the Earth and Heaven?
Or wouldest thou that I, year after year,
Pine, languish, waste away in self-torment,
To join my hero in the light above?
No, I will die with thee, die at thy side.
Col. Wm. Travis.
No, Elsie, no! thy pure and stainless hand,
That knew in life nought else but charity,
Must not by bloodshed be profaned in death;
Nor must thou self endure the cruelties
Of bloody fray, which spares nor age nor sex.
Should I behold by savage thrust laid ope
The tender breast, whose secrecy was mine?
Or witness how thy graceful form is soiled
With bloody gore or trampled in the dust?
That memory would haunt me e'en in heaven.
It must not be, fain as I had thee nigh me,
When self I bleeding lie upon the sod.
Choose every other road to death but this.
Elsie.
One only way of death I yet could wish,
Will then remain for me, if would thine hand—
Col. Wm. Travis.
Interrupting her quickly.]
Pronounce it not—my heart will turn to stone.
James Travis.
So let my counsel come to your relief.
The Alamo—I heard thee say,—is mined—
Col. Wm. Travis.
Thanks, brother, for thy counsel's timely aid.
The way is found, dear Elsie, that avoids
Thy desecration by the enemy's hand.
And yet assigns to thee the foremost place
And office in the Alamo's defence.
Elsie.
Then my two wishes are fulfilled: the first
To be with thee, when heavenward soars thy spirit;
The other: to redeem my father's guilt
And injury to Freedom's sacred cause,
By graving on her radiant roll of honor
(Would it were his!)—the name of Elsie Bradburn.
Col. Wm. Travis.
What say'st thou? "Elsie Bradbiirn?"—Elsie Travis:
This and none else must henceforth be thy name.
Thy love gave me that dearly-cherished right
Thy presence here makes it necessity!
As blent our souls in one delightful trance,
As blent our hearts in one regard for truth,
As will our lives blend in one glorious death.
So must hereafter stand our names entwined!
William and Elsie Travis: this must be
The appellation of that double-star,
Whose brilliancy, blent inseparably,
Will shine upon the firmament of fame.
Elsie.
Oh, Travis! if within my .bosom's niche
Still lurked a secret longing it was this.
Though I forebore to make it known to thee.
Hedged as thou art, by obstacles and foes,
I fain forced back into my bosom's shrine
The care for my repute, than rather add
More to the weight of thy embarrassment.
Now, now, I am the happiest of women!
But, pray where is the hand, that God-ordained,
Will consecrate our wedlock's holy bond?
Col. Wm. Travis.
Wilt, brother, call the chaplain from the door?
[While James Travis goes to execute his brother's wish and while he and the Chaplain for a short time indulge in manifestations of joy about their meeting again, Colonel William Travis continues, speaking to Elsie.]
Our wedding, Elsie, will not come to pass
As we, when seated once in moonlight's glare
'Neath Anahuac's verdant garden-bower,
In glowing tints had pictured to one another.
Yet though our fancy's dreams are not fulfilled,
Our wedding-day is not devoid of charms.
The sparkling tears of joy within thine eyes
Outshine in brilliancy the costliest pearls
Wherewith thou couldst have decked thee out to-day;
The glowing blush upon thy cheeks out-does
The fairest rose-bloom which thou couldst have worn;
While in solemnity of hour and place
No earthly wedding can compete with ours.
Elsie.
And if on Earth the picture of our fancy
Has been excelled by its embodiment,
How much more gloriously will Heaven redeem
What little we have lost beneath. For now
The draft we thought to hold on eartlily gifts
Has been exchanged for one on Heaven's delights,
Far greater, safer, better than the first.
[Here James Travis and the Chaplain advance to the altar.]
Col. Wm. Travis.
[Addressing the Chaplain.]
Hast list to our converse?
Smith.
I heard it all,
And praised the Lord, whose wondrous hand pours out
Such glory inconceivable on us.
I say: "on us;" because we all alike
Are glorified by this event, e'en I;
For now relieved of one part of thy charge,
I trust thou wilt revoke thy whole behest.
That I like you may battling die for freedom,
Like you may worthily conclude my life.
Col. Wm. Travis.
How could I, friend, refuse to grant thy prayer,
When mine is heard beyond all expectation?
Hence bless our union, and that joyest service
Of all upon thy lips, go forth to death.
God will take care of our remains and fame.
So let me then present thee to my bride:
From her own lips thou knowest who she is:
And thine own heart will tell thee what she is.
Elsie.
[Addressing the Chaplain.]
If dear forever to a pious heart
Will be the hand, whose ministry hath hallowed
And crowned its life-time's brightest bond and day,
How sacred must thy memory be to me,
Who, like the Lord's Envoy Extraordinary,
Appearest here midway through walls and foes,
To wreathe my brow with grace, e'en ere I die.
Smith.
If I am so ordained by God, 't is thou
Who givest me my mission's consciousness.
As grateful for the care bestowed on her.
The Rose blooms fairest in her warden's sight,
Yet hardly less delights the passer-by
Through her sweet loveliness and charming scent.
So holds as well a good and pious heart
A source of blessings rich enough for all,
E'en though its foremost love is vowed to one.
So I, scarce entered in thy blessings' sphere.
Become a sharer of their gifts and dowers,
Whose recognition by my slightest service
Returns to me as two-fold benefit.
I owe to thee, that by this joyful rite
Of Matrimony I may end my mission;
I owe to thee, that by this glorious death
Of heroism I may conclude my life.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Would that my friends could all attend our wedding;
Alas! the hour's stern duty bars their presence.
Yet not unmeet it seems, that one at least
Were witness and partaker of our joy.
Scene IV.
Enters Crockett. The bombardment, preceding the assault, is just then beginning.
Crockett.
[Remains standing at the door.]
Where linger'st thou, Commander? Even now
The foe begins the thundering ouverture
Wherewith he opes our tragedy's last act;
He'll not be slow in adding the finale.
Col. Wm. Travis.
How long before we may expect their coming?
Crockett.
They will be here in less than half an hour.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Are all our men well-stationed, say?
Crockett.
They are.
Ranged in a semi-circle round the breach,
And sheltered well 'gainst shot and shell, they bide
Impatiently the enemy's approach.
Col. Wm. Travis.
'T is well, my friend! And therefore I beseech thee
To spare me still five minutes of thy life,
And to attend my wedding as my groomsman.
Crockett.
[Advancing to the altar.]
Thou jestest, friend—it cannot be—but, ah!
It must be true—who is this handsome maiden?
Col. Wm. Travis.
'T is Elsie Bradburn, my heroic bride.
Crockett.
[Pointing in great surprise at James Travis.]
And who is this I am I awake or dreaming?
James Travis, thou? my youthful, gallant friend.
The fear for whose imperiled fate has wrung
The first right-fervid prayer I e'er in life
Have uttered, from my anxious bosom's shrine.
But speak! declare to me the riddle, how
Thou hast escaped the tyrant's tiger-claws
And comest here, I know not, through the air
Or from the, ground, albeit we saw thee not.
James Travis.
Hast ever thou, amid thy many feats
Of danger, as I well surmise, been saved
From out the very jaws of direst death
By wondrous, providential interference,
To fathom which thy mind proved impotent?
If had thy fancy's eye on such occasion
Attired thy intercessor with the brightest hues
Of Heaven and Earth, of Morn and Evening-sky,—
With all the highest attributes of Virtue,—
Thy fairest image would have fallen short
From this embodiment of guardian-angel,
Who healed my wounds, soothed my captivity,
Defied the tyrant's wrath, and saving me
From cruel torture and disgraceful end,
Restored me safely to my countrymen,
Whose fate, whose death she is prepared to share.
Crockett.
[Bending his knee before Elsie.]
Fair Lady! David Crockett, who not once
In all his life has bowed to man or woman,
Here lays his fame, his triumphs at thy feet.
Confessing him outdone by thee in all
His boldest courage ever could conceive.
Compared to thy heroic fortitude,
The honor even to have sat in Congress
Sinks into nought; I shall no longer boast it.
Col. Wm, Travis.
Beside my brother, has my gallant bride
A precious trophy brought with her, this sabre
Of Santa Anna, wrested from his side.
Crockett.
[Takes the sword and examines it.]
This is his sword?—Oh, glorious prophecy,
Whose meaning e'en the blindest eye can see,
Whose speaking promise heralds Heaven's decree
That through Him, with Him Texas will be free!
For as this sword, the mighty tyrant's brand,
Was torn from him by tender woman's hand,
So shall his power wreck 'gainst this feeble land.
His whelming host against our little band.
[Sinking on one knee, he stretches his arms upward.]
Oh, Lord! I pray like Simeon on my knees:
Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace,
Since have mine eyes beheld this land's release
From bonds and rise to Freedom's blessed ease.
[He rises.]
Travis.
Our time is costly, friends! for every moment
Brings nearer us to our impending doom.
So let us wisely use our time allotted
For what is most required and proceed
To celebrate our wedding-ceremony,
Where cannon-roar serves for the organ's peal,
Where rockets glare instead of nuptial torch,
Where stern-faced Death is the hymeneal god.
[The Chaplain takes his position in front of the altar at the foot of which the bridalpair kneel down. Crockett and James Travis stand behind them. The bombardment reaches, its highest force,—bombshell even now crashing through the chapel-roof.
Chaplain Smith.
With God, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost!
Speak, William Travis, wilt thou take this woman
Unto thy wedded wife, to live together
By God's commandment in the holy state
Of Matrimony ? Wilt thou love and comfort
And keep her in disease and health, and leaving
All others, keep thee unto her alone
So long ye both shall live on earth?
Col. Wm. Travis.
I will.
Chaplain Smith.
Speak, Elsie Bradburn! wilt thou take this man
Unto thy wedded husband, to abide
By God's commandment in the holy state
Of Matrimony? Wilt thou love and comfort
And keep him in disease and health, and leaving
All others, keep thee unto him alone
So long ye both shall live?
Elsie.
I will.
Chaplain Smith.
Who giveth
This woman to be married to this man?
[The Chaplain receives Elsie at Crockett's hands. Travis with his right hand takes Elsie's right hand.]
Col. Wm. Travis.
I, William Travis, take thee, Elsie Bradburn,
To have and hold thee as my wedded wife,
From this day forth, for better and for worse,
For richer and for poorer, in disease
And so in health, to cherish and to love thee,
Till Death do part us after God's command,
Whereto I plight my sacred troth to thee.
[They loose their hands. Elsie with her right hand now takes Travis by his right hand.]
Elsie.
<poem>I, Elsie Bradburn, take thee, William Travis,
To have and hold thee as my wedded husband
From this day forth, for better and for worse.
For richer and for poorer, in disease
And health, to love, obey and cherish thee
Till death do part us after God's command,
Whereto I plight my sacred troth to thee.
[They again loose their hands. Travis gives Elsie a ring; Chaplain Smith taking it from Elsie's hand, delivers it unto Travis, who puts it on Elsie's finger.]
Col. Wm. Travis.
This ring for token, I thee wed and 'dow thee
With all my worldly goods—thus in the name
Of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Amen!
[Chaplain Smith then Joins their hands together. At this very moment a bomb-shell, crashing through the roof, explodes on the floor.]
Chaplain Smith.
Whom God. has joined, let no man put asunder.
[Then laying his hands upon their heads, he blesses them:]
God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost preserve
And bless ye both; the Lord All-Merciful
Look favorably upon ye and endow
Your hearts with all spiritual gifts of grace,
That ye so live together in this life
That in the world to come ye may attain
Life ever-glorious, everlasting! Amen.
[The bridal-pair rise. Enters Major Evans in great haste.]
Evans.
The cannonade has ceased. The enemy
Can plainly be descried forming their lines
For the immediate storm upon the breach.
[Exit Evans.]
Col. Wm. Travis.
Then I must be without! Farewell, dear wife.
Crockett.
No, no! my friend! this is against the rules,
As we were wont,—(correcting himself) as every one would say,
To leave so soon thy newly-wedded wife.
Without so much as e'en a moment's parley.
'T were cruel, 't were inhuman, 't were outrageous.
And stood the foe upon the breach, we should
Throw us against him like a living wall,
Till thou hast said a Christian-like farewell
To her, who hardly thine, is torn from thee.
'T is time yet for a brief converse; I self
Will tell thee when thy presence is required.
Come, Chaplain! come, young friend! thy story will
Still more inspire our men, when through their ranks
Runs the account of thy deliverance.
Col. Wm. Travis
So be it then! Thanks, tender-hearted friend!
[Crockett James Travis and the Chaplain go without.]
Scene V.
Wm. Travis and Elsie.
Wm. Travis.
My darling wife! to call thee by this name
Yet here on earth, e'en for a moment only,
And to behold thy prophecy fulfilled.
That hand in hand we shall ascend to Heaven,
Where is the hero whom this bliss befell?
Elsie.
Beloved husband! if this name endeared
Entitles me to share thy weal and woe
On Earth below, this were enough of blessing;
But when by heavenly mercy I am granted
That rarest privilege to blend with thee
My very destiny, my very future,
In one grand moment of a glorious Death:
Where is the woman whom this bliss befell?
Wm. Travis.
Thou sayest true: what greater bliss can be
Than this: from Life's most radiant joy to leap
With glowing cheeks, and with enraptured heart,
Into the deepest ecstasy of Death,
Of Death for Country, Right and Liberty.
This is no foretaste: this is Heaven itself.
Elsie.
I should not love thee, could I not with thee
Feel e'en the least vibration of thy glee!
Still, let us not give way to passionate joy,
But peacefully collect our thoughts like some
Long intimate through earnest contemplation
With all the prospects of their future journey.
Pilgrims for Canaan, we have now attained
The Sinai of our lives, whence we may trace
The road we traveled o'er from out the bondage
Of Egypt through the desert's dreary waste,
And where as well we are allowed a glimpse
Into the haze-dimmed "Promised Land" before us
Where so one summit links the Past and Presence
And Future of our lives, it is well meet
To linger here awhile in meditation.
And with the truth here plucked for keepsake-flower.
Take leave forever from our late abode.
And were then, while we turn to go, a tear
To fall from out our eye upon that flower,
That costly dew would heighten but its bloom.
I.
As children lightly in their frolic's mirth
Forget the hand that pleased them by some toy,
So we at first, when planted on this earth,
'Mid all the charms that day and night deploy,
Became oblivious of our heavenly birth.
And only reveled in our harmless joy.
All while unconscious of the waxing sin
Of selfishness and pride our hearts within.
2.
Yet ever and anon, a " low, still voice,"
Came from our deepest hearts' abyss, that told
Of one still higher prize, a boon more choice
Than all the gifts of pleasure, gain and gold ;
Yet though we sought its trace 'mid worldly noise
In solitude, within our closet's fold
By night and day, with eager, anxious look,
Nowhere we could descry its hiding-nook.
3.
Unheard by us, unnoticed by our eye.
With angel's tread, despite our watchful care,
As floats the silvery moonlight from the sky,
As flowery scent is wafted in the air.
As downward sinks the night-dew from on high,
So calm, so soft, so gentle and so fair.
Love in our hearts at last took its abode.
And drove from it our selfishness abroad.
4.
And with it came a holy awe to reign
Within our hearts, a namelesss, dreaming-glee,
A deep contempt for worldly, hollow gain,
A pride in voluntary poverty,
A sweet delight in self-inflicted pain,
Withal a longing for humility,
As if our all we joyfully would give,
If we but in our "second I" could live.
5.
'T was Eve—the eve of hallowed recognition.,
When under Anahuac's verdant bower
Our blended love first oped our spirit's vision
To greater light, to consciousness of power.
When we conceived the purport of our mission:
Through Love to reach at Truth. No higher dower
—We weened,—could Earth contain or Heaven above;
We were contented here to live and love.
6.
Then came the Night—the night of Grief which cast
Around our lives her black-draped velvet-cloak;
Muffling our joy, too beautiful to last.
She put on us her trials' cross and yoke.
Yet all for good—the first pain's harshness past,
Her earnest mildness hallowed it and woke
Within our hearts a swift presentiment,
With which our tears in harmony were blent.
7.
And now 't is Dawn, the dawn of radiant Hope,
Whose rose-beams, quivering through our twilight's gloom,
Have laid our sorrow's sable-curtain ope
To brighter hue, to rays of life and bloom.
Distending now our hearts' prophetic scope,
With flowers she twines for us the very tomb,
And joyfully leads our victorious march
To glowing light through Heaven's triumphal arch.
8.
Soon 't will be Day—the day of Love and Light,
Whose faint reflex was mirrored in our dreams,
Whose radiance made our purest moments bright,
Whose pledge we found within our bosoms' seams;
Cleansed there from earthly sin, from mortal blight.
Basking beneath the rays of heavenly beams.
Our happy spirits twining more and blending.
Will melt in one love-atom without ending.
Travis.
9.
Oh, Elsie! now, first now I owe to thee
That has my earthly life attained its goal.
While hitherto I read Heaven's radiancy
Within thy glance alone, within thy soul.
Thy wisdom now has set my spirit free,
Boldly it rises to the aerial pole,
And clearly feels, that, what as Beauty's share
It here has known, will perfect Truth be there.
10.
Therefore, oh Death! where,—where is now thy sting?
Therefore, oh Grave! where is thy victory?
My wintery soul bursts forth to bloom of Spring,
My bosom's discords swell to harmony,
My spirit's veil is lift by magic ring.
From dross refined, my powers rise valiantly;
And from the cup of Love with ecstasy
I quaff the draught of Immortality.
David Crockett.
[Appears at the door.]
Now it is time ! the enemy approach!
[Exit.]
Wm. Travis.
11.
Thou sayest true! my friend! now it is time!
When so we yearn for higher, better sphere.
When fall on us such beams from heavenly clime,
When o'er our hearts is spread such comfort's cheer,
When on our ear strikes such celestial chime:
Then, truly ! it is time to part from here!
Come, Elsie, come ! one moment yet of pain:
Then joy for aye and happiness amain.
[Wm. and Elsie Travis leave the chapel.]
Scene VI.
The Fall of the Alamo.
One side of the stage represents the barracks, at the end of which the powder magazine rises: a low square tower with a platform on the top. The other side is wholly taken up by the breach, extending in a semi-circle from one front-corner to the opposite corner in the rear of the stage. Behind the breach lie the defenders of the Alamo with bayonets fixed, ready to receive the enemy. The latter are heard approaching in the distance under martial music and beating of drums.[2]
Col. Wm. Travis comes from the barrack-door, taking his position in the center of the breach beside his brother James and his captains, while Elsie at the same time appears on the top of the powder-magazine with a lighted torch in her hand.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Are ready ye, my faitliful men, to die
For Texas and her Liberty?
All.
Aye, Aye!
Col. Wm. Travis.
So hear then your Commander's last harangue
Ere wholly deafened by the weapons' clang.
For months we have been fellow-workmen here,
Intent a grand, a lofty work to rear.
Our part is done, our tools are laid aside,
And standing by we gaze with conscious pride
At what our will, our strength, our energy
Have called from nought to life and certainty;
And though the building is imperfect still,
Though other hands our labor must fulfill—
Our arms have laid its firm foundation-walls,
Our vict'ries have adorned its spacious halls,
Our blood has given its sides their radiant hue,
Our death yet will cement it through and through.
When then in future years some passer-by
Shall view our structure with admiring eye,
His wonderment will be a silent praise
To all that shared to mould its beauty's grace.
While year to year, as they succeed, hand down
Its builders' name in glory and renown.
And those who live beneath its roof will bless
Its workmen's handicraft and faithfulness.
Such is the fame that will on us reflect,
The servants of the Heavenly Architect,
Who also chose this hand and heart of mine
For overseér at his grand design.
Hence it becomes to me,—ere we disband,
To go to higher work in higher land,
There to perfect our workmanship and art,—
To thank you, comrades, from my inmost heart
For your support and stout fidelity,
Your ready zeal and confidence in me.
Without you this defence had been a farce,
With you its glory rises to the stars;
Without you my endeavors had been vain,
With you Man's highest palm falls to my gain.
So by your gallant captains' hands receive
My gratitude as from them I take leave.
Come, Oldham, Evans, Kimble, Dickinson;
Shake hands with me; our gallant race is won.
Crockett, farewell! but why this thoughtful brow?
Crockett.
Beg pardon; I rehearsed a speech just now,
Wherewith I shall address Leonidas
And his three-hundred; as beneath I was
A Congressman, they will no doubt demand
A speech from me! We meet on heavenly strand.
Col. Wm. Travis.
Farewell, dear brother James! if still I grieve.
It is, that thou, so young and fair, must leave
Earth's joy behind; yet it is better far.
That quickly here thou die in honest War
Than slowly through the hands of Tyranny!
Farewell! how will thy mother pine for thee!
James Travis.
Mourn not, dear brother; for the joyous boon
Of such a death can never come too soon!
[The sound of the enemy's drums and martial music is now heard more distinctly.]
Col. Wm. Travis.
Hark ye! how close the foe is now at hand,
Full many thousands 'gainst our little band.
So nerve your strength, let every sinew swell
To be a man, and let your bayonets tell,
Your swords, your muskets and your Bowie-knives,
How dearly ye have sold your precious lives.
Where none is witness to your gallantry.
There let the enemy's crippled numbers be
Its speaking proof and herald.
[Here the morning-sun suddenly bursts forth from behind a bank of dark clouds.]
[Enthusiastically] But behold!
<poem>God's hand has oped Heaven's radiant gate of gold, Where clad in robes of white the heroes stand Of every nation, every age and land. To welcome you into their marble-dome. To bid you make its gorgeous hall your home, And by their hands to lead you to the seat Of honor. Hence your future mates to greet, Intune once more your "Hymn of Liberty," And on the pinions of its melody Let joyfully your souls to Heaven ascend. There to abide in glory without end. Rise, hero-brethren, rise! your last breath be: "For Texas and her Liberty!"
[All rise. At this juncture the band of the enemy whose
[All rise. At this juncture the band of the enemy whose'advance is plainly heard from behind the breach strikes up the trio of their March., which serves as an accompaniment to the Hymn of Liberty., which the defenders of the Alamo now intune.]
All.
Rise, comrades, see! the Heavens adorn
Their gates with radiant charms,
To welcome you, when thither borne
In Freedom's fondling arms;
There to abide in bliss and grace,
While live your names in song and praise.
Rise, comrades, rise! your last breath be:
"For Texas and her Liberty!"
[While singing the last two lines, the defenders of the Alamo, Travis ahead, with Santa Anna's sword raised high in the air, leap to the crest of the breach, where the front ranks of the enemy are just appearing. Before the onslaught of the Texans, the Mexicans fall back, followed by the former, so that they are wholly lost out of sight by the spectators. For a short time the clash of arms is heard from behinid the stage. Then ensues a momentary lull.]
A Voice.
[From behind the breach, as of one dying.]
Come, Elsie, to my side, and hand in hand
We will ascend into the Heavenly Land.
Elsie.
Yes, Travis, happy spirit! joyfully
I follow thee to Immortality.
[While just then a Mexican Ensign appears on the crest of the breach, where he plants his standard, Elsie throws the torch into the powder-magazine. A loud crash follows:—the Mexican soldier with his flag falls to the ground;—the walls of the barracks cave toward the outside,—the Alamo sinks into ruins. While the Mexican band, stationed behind the breach, once more repeats the last part of the March.]
[The Curtain slowly descends,]