University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

A year had passed away. “How paradoxical is the
signification of the term!” How vast, when we consider
that each hour hastens the end of our pilgrimage! How insignificant
in comparison with futurity! A single drop in
the boundless deep of eternity! Oh Time! thou greatest
of all anomalies! Friend yet foe, “preserver and yet destroyer!”
Whence art thou, great immemorial? When
shall thy wondrous mechanism be dissolved? When shall
the “pall of obscurity” descend on thy Herculean net-work?
Voices of the past echo through thy deserted temples, and
shriek along thy bulwarks—Never, no, never!

Season had followed season in rapid succession, and the
last rays of an August sun illumined a scene so beautiful,
that I long for the pencil of a Claude Lorraine. It was a
far off town, in a far off state, yet who has gazed on thy
loveliness, oh, San Antonio, can ere forget thee! Thine
was the sweetness of nature; no munificent hand had

arranged, with artistic skill, a statue here, a fountain
there.

The river wound like an azure girdle round the town;
not confined by precipitous banks, but gliding along the surface,
as it were, and reflecting, in its deep blue waters, the
rustling tule which fringed the margin. An occasional
pecan or live-oak flung a majestic shadow athwart its
azure bosom, and now and then a clump of willows sighed
low in the evening breeze.

Far away to the north stretched a mountain range, blue
in the distance; to the south, the luxuriant valley of the
stream. The streets were narrow, and wound with a total
disregard of the points of the compass. Could a stranger
have been placed blindfold in one of them, and then allowed
to look about him, the flat roofs and light appearance
of most of the houses would have forced him to declare
that he had entered a tropical town of the far-east.

Many of the buildings were of musquit pickets, set upright
in the ground, lashed together with strips of hide,
and thatched with the tule before mentioned. There
were scarce three plank-floors in the town; by far the
greater number being composed of layers of pebbles, lime,
and sand, rolled with a heavy piece of timber till quite
compact; daily sprinkling was found necessary, however,
to keep down the dust, produced by constant friction.

The wealthy inhabitants built of sun-dried bricks, overcast
with a kind of stucco. Yet, unfortunately, the plastering
art died with the Montezumas, for the most vivid
imagination failed to convert this rough coating into the
“silver sheen” which so dazzled Cortes's little band. The

reader will exclaim, “I can fancy no beauty from so prosy
a description. Thatched roofs and dirt floors, how absurd!”

Although a strict analysis might prove detrimental, I
assure you the “tout ensemble” was picturesque indeed.

Art rivaled here. Thy gorgeous skies have floated hither,
and hover like a halo round the town. The sun had set;
the glowing tints faded fast, till of the brilliant spectacle
naught remained save the soft roseate hue which melted
insensibly into the deep azure of the zenith. Quiet seemed
settling o'er mountain and river, when, with a solemn
sweetness, the vesper bells chimed out on the evening air.
Even as the Moslem kneels at sunset toward the “Holy
City,” so punctiliously does the devout papists bend for
vesper prayers. Will you traverse with me the crooked
streets, and stand beneath the belfry whence issued the
holy tones.

This ancient edifice was constructed in 1692. It fronted
the Plaza, and was a long, narrow building, flanked, as it
were, by wings lower than the main apartment, and surmounted
by a dome, in which were five or six bells. This
dome or belfry was supported by pillars, and in the intervening
openings were placed the bells. The roof was flat,
and the dark green and gray moss clung along the sides.
The interior presented a singular combination of art and
rudeness; the seats were of unpainted pine, and the cement
floor between was worn irregularly by the knees of devout
attendants. The railing of the altar was of carved mahogany,

rich and beautiful. Over this division of the long
room hung a silken curtain, concealing three niches,
which contained an image of the “Virgin,” the “Child,”
and in the centre one, a tall gilt cross. Heavy silver candlesticks
were placed in front of each niche, and a dozen
candles were now burning dimly. A variety of relics, too
numerous to mention, were scattered on the altar, and in
addition, several silver goblets, and a massive bowl for holding
“holy water.” A few tin sconces, placed against the
wall, were the only provision for lighting that dark, gloomy
church, and dreary enough it looked in the twilight hour.
About a dozen devotees were present, all kneeling on the
damp, hard floor. The silk curtain which concealed the
altar was drawn aside, with due solemnity, by two boys
habited in red flannel petticoats, over which hung a loose
white slip. The officiating priest was seen kneeling before
the altar, with his lips pressed to the foot of the cross.
He retained his position for several moments, then rising,
conducted the ceremonies in a calm, imposing manner.
When these were concluded, and all had departed save
the two boys, who still knelt before the Virgin, he beckoned
them to him, and speaking a few words in Spanish, ended
by pointing to the door and uttering, emphatically, “go.”
Crossing themselves as they passed the images, they disappeared
through a side door, and the priest was left alone.