University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

The issue of the engagement of the 8th October placed
Goliad, with valuable munitions, in the hands of the
Texans. Many and joyous acclamations rose from their
camp, hope beamed on every face, and sanguine expectations
were entertained of a speedy termination of the conflict.
Slowly the little band proceeded toward Bexar, receiving
daily accessions from head-quarters, and girding
themselves for a desperate struggle. General Cos, fully
appreciating the importance of the post he held, made active
preparation for its defense, never doubting, however,
that the strong fortifications of the Alamo would prove
impregnable to assailants so feeble numerically. Under
the direction of the cautious Spaniard, the town already
assumed a beleaguered aspect, and in addition to the watchman
stationed on the observatory of the fortress, a sentinel
paced to and fro on the flat roof of the gray old church,
having orders to give instant alarm in case of danger by
the ringing of the several bells. Silver-haired men, bending

beneath the weight of years, alone passed along the
deserted streets, and augured of the future in the now
silent Plaza. The stores were closed, and anxiously the
few Americans awaited the result; rising at dawn with
the belief that ere twilight closed again their suspense
would be terminated. On the morning of the 28th the
booming of distant artillery was borne on the southern
breeze. With throbbing hearts the inhabitants gathered
about their doors, and strained their eyes toward the
south. A large body of Mexicans, availing themselves
of the cover of night, sallied from the Alamo, hoping to
cut off a squad of ninety-two men, who, leaving the main
body of the Texan army, had advanced for the purpose of
reconnoitring, and were posted at the old Mission of Conception,
some two miles below the town; and here the
contest was waged. The watchman on the church listened
intently as each report reached his ear, and kept his fingers
firmly on the bell-rope. An hour passed on, and the
sun rode high in heaven; gradually the thundering died
away. Quicker grew the breathing, and tighter the cold
fingers clasped each other. The last sound ceased: a
deathlike silence reigned throughout the town, and many
a cheek grew colorless as marble. There came a confused
sound of shouts—the mingling of many voices—the
distant tramp of cavalry; and then there fell on the aching
ears the deep, thrilling tones of the church bells.

An intervening bend in the river was quickly passed,
and a body of Mexican cavalry dashed at full gallop across
the plain, nor slackened their pace till secure behind the
sombre walls of the Alamo.

At intervals of every few moments, small squads pushed
in, then a running band of infantry, and lastly a solitary
horseman, reeling in his saddle, dripping with gore. Madly
his wounded horse sprung on, when just as the fort was
gained, his luckless rider rolled senseless at the entrance.
One deep groan was echoed from church to fortress. Victory,
which had hovered doubtful o'er the bloody field, settled
at last on the banner of the “Lone Star.” Against
what fearful odds is victory ofttimes won! The intrepid
Texans, assaulted by forces which trebled their own, fought
as only Texans can. With unerring precision they lifted
their rifles, and artillerymen and officers rolled together in
the dust. The brave little band conquered, and the flying
Mexicans left them sole masters of the field of the “Horse-shoe.”
On the hill which rose just beyond the town
stood, in bold relief against the eastern sky, a tall square
building, to which the sobriquet of “Powder-House” was
applied. Here, as a means of increased vigilance, was
placed a body of horse, for the purpose of watching the
plain which stretched along the river. Fearing every moment
to see the victorious Texans at the heels of their retreating
infantry, they had orders to dash in, at the first
glimpse of the advance-guard of the enemy. But night
closed and none appeared, and, dreading the morning
light, many lay down to sleep at the close of that eventful
day. Several hours elapsed, and then the Texan forces,
under General Burleson, wound across the valley, and settled
along the verge of the town. The Alamo was beleaguered.

Forced, as it were, to remain a witness of the horrors

of the then approaching conflict, the cousins strove to cast
from them the gloomy forebodings which crept into their
hearts, darkening the present and investing the future with
phantoms of terror. Mrs. Carlton and Mary were far more
hopeful than the remainder of the little circle, and kept up
the semblance of cheerfulness, which ever flies at the approach
of danger. The girls saw but little of the gentlemen,
for Mr. Carlton was ever out in search of tidings from
the camp, and Frank, in opposition to his sister's tearful
entreaties, had enlisted immediately after General Burleson's
arrival. His manner, during his brief visits, was
considerate and kind; yet Mary fancied at times that he
avoided her, though, marking her declining health, he had
prescribed some simple remedy, and never failed to inquire
if she were not improving. Still there was a certain
something, indescribable, yet fully felt, which made her
shrink from meeting him, and as week after week passed,
her cheek grew paler, and her step more feeble.

With an anxious heart, Mrs. Carlton watched her failing
strength; but to all inquiries and fears Mary replied
that she did not suffer, save from her cough, and for a time
dispelled her apprehensions.

One evening Mary stood leaning against the window,
looking earnestly, wistfully upon the beautiful tints which
ever linger in the western sky. She stretched her arms
toward the dim outline, murmuring slowly:

“Oh! that my life may fade away as gently as those
tints, and that I may at last rest on the bosom of my God.”

Darkness closed around—the soft hues melted into the
deep blue of the zenith as she stood communing with

her own heart, and she started when a shawl was wrapped
about her, and the window closed.

“As ministering physician, I can not allow such neglect
of injunctions. How dare you expose yourself after my
express direction to keep close?”

“I have kept very closely all day, and did not know that
star-gazing was interdicted.”

As she spoke, a violent fit of coughing succeeded; he
watched her anxiously.

“Do you suffer any acute pain?”

“Occasionally I do; but nothing troubles me so much
as an unpleasant fluttering about my heart, which I often
have.”

“You must be very careful, or your cough will increase
as winter comes on.”

Mary repressed a sigh which struggled up from her
heart, and inquired if there was any news.

“We can not learn exactly what is transpiring within
the Alamo, but feel assured the crisis is at hand; some
excitement has prevailed in the garrison all day, and it is
confidently expected in our camp that the assault will
soon be made.”

“Oh! may God help you in the coming strife, and adjudge
victory to the side of justice and liberty.”

“Apparently the chances are against us, Miss Irving;
yet I regard the future without apprehension, for the Texans
are fearless, and General Burleson in every respect
worthy the confidence reposed in him. Allow gloomy
forebodings no room in your heart, but, like myself, anticipate
a speedy termination of the war.”

“Yet your situation is perilous in the extreme; hourly
you incur danger, and each day may be your last. Oh!
why will you hazard your life, and cause your sister such
bitter anguish?” Mary replied, with quivering lips, while
the tone faltered, despite her efforts to seem calm.

“At least, I could not die in a better cause; and, as the
price of independence, I would willingly yield up my life.
Yet Ellen's tears are difficult to bear; I bade her adieu a
few moments since, and must not meet her again till all is
decided. So good-by, Miss Irving.”

He held her hand in his, pressing it warmly, then lifted
the cold fingers to his lips, and quietly turned away.