# The Fall of the Alamo/Act1

THE FALL OF THE ALAMO.
ACT FIRST.
Scene I.
John Austin.
<poem> Again the pleasant shades of eve descend And counsel us to close this day's account. So let us go and homeward wend our steps; And as in countries far across the main The vesper-bell tolls through the mellow air Of eventide the thankful offerings Of dying day,—so we, our labors done, Our thoughts abstracted from our work's concern, Will let our joyful feelings' gratitude Ring through our hearts, while homeward we proceed. A sanctuary of God, but lately sprung ​From His creating hand, thus seem to me These virgin-fields, so fresh, so still, so grand Where nearer wafts His breath into my heart, Where clearer speaks His presence to my mind, Where louder peals His voice into my ear. Here, as each day succeeds its predecessor, It leaves engraven on my memory The luxury of every breath I drew, The spell of every gaze I cast about, Withal a soul-felt record of delight. Behold this emerald sea of waving meads, Hedged round by fields aglow with gaudy flowers Which, swelling to the dim horizon's brink, By roseate tints blend earth and evening-sky. While through the clear, transparent atmosphere Those forest-groves, like as Elysian Isles, Seem slowly sailing o'er the grassy main In golden-green and amber-colored light. Fair Italy may boast her sunny clime, Greece may extol her azure-sky's abyss. The Rhine parade his valley's loveliness,— They cannot match this blessed Texan land Which every day grows dearer to my heart.</poem>
Wm. J. Russell.
<poem>Thou art quite right, my friend; I, too, enjoy This happy climate's grateful benefits. Marked out, meseems, for Labor's paradise. With golden harvests here the friendly ground ​<poem>Amply rewards the yeoman's easy toil, Whose sweating brow the ocean breezes fan, Whose worn-out strength the cooling nights restore. If anywhere upon this earthly round Kind Nature meant to found a temple-shrine For liberty, her sister, it is here,— It is this land she thus has blest and hallowed. Why now must man's ambitious avarice Come here to desecrate this sanctuary By discord, hatred and impassionate strife? Yet, it is so, and hence the fearful thought, That on some future day the bitter choice Will dawn on us, to leave these happy shores. Or else to bow our necks to tyranny. Stands like a night-mare's dread my mind before. And galls with care my every moment's joy. Nor are the coming tempest's signs obscure: Our cherished constitution overthrown,— Our chartered rights repealed or trodden down,— The frowning forts the Mexicans have built Here at Velasco and Tenoxtitlan, At Nacogdoches and at Anahuac, Not to relate their officers' and soldiers' Offences 'gainst our property and lives,— All these point clearly to their base designs, Which, even now, they hardly care to hide.
Austin.
May yet pass by as harmless as the Norther
That will at times sweep over our domain,
And only tends to purify the air.
E'en now the better class of Mexicans
Who honestly aspire their country's weal
And wish to see her rise o'er party-strife,
Sustain our patient course ; and who can tell,
If not, as quickly as the tide recedes,
The ruling faction in that changeful Stite,
To-morrow e'en, may weaken and succumb?
Russell.
I cannot share thy faith in Mexicans;
Save but a few enlightened of their people,
They all behold with eyes of livid envy
Our industry and our prosperity.
To see this land beneath our stalwart arms
Bloom like a rose, to see our flocks increase.
To see our towns alive with trade and craft,
Our bays and streams with sail, our roads with teams,
Excites their selfishness and avarice.
Therefore it matters not what faction rules:
Our lands and rights will ever be endangered.
Austin.
What if they are? The higher we esteem them.
Men only prize what they have gained through peril.
Russell.
An insecure possession is no blessing; It drains our strength, exhausts our energy.
Austin.
What is secure on earth? We only can Fulfil our duty, leave the rest to God.
Russell.
Man acts and God assists, yet here we must Leave all to God, as we can nought accomplish.
Austin
Can we not seize our trusty swords and fight And die like men, if nothing else avails?
Russell.
'Twere madness to expect, that single-handed Or with a few thou couldst oppose nine millions.
Austin.
Not single-handed, not a few, my friend! Three thousand of our countrymen we count In this domain, each equal to ten thousands Of Mexicans through strength of will and hope, Through love of freedom and through trust in God. Here round us stand our countrymen in silence, Which louder yet than futile words proclaims The stout resolve that thrills their gallant hearts. Ask each, if he no sooner gave his blood,
His life, his all, ere he agrees to part With one iota of his ' Bill of Rights!'
A Colonist.
'Tis, Squire, as thou hast said. When we behold Our dearest prize, our liberty, assailed, We'll know full well, how to defend, to guard it.
All.
Aye, aye, we shall.
Russell.
Dear friends! forgive if I
Could doubt your courage even for a moment; My bosom throbs in harmony to yours. And long ago I nursed the self-same thoughts, Though 1 forbade my lips to utter them From delicate regard for you who have Wives, children, homesteads, all of whom you risk.
[Fervidly.]
Begone then, cheerless scruples, timid faith! Where so inspired brave hearts thy cause embrace, Where so resolved stout arms contest for thee, Thou need not tremble, holy Liberty! The ocean's wrath may beat against these shores, The tempest's fury rave against our doors, The tyrant's myrmidons o'erflow this land— Yet ever firm and safe thy fane will stand.
Austin.
Tis well for us to have meanwhile exchanged Our mutual thoughts, e'en though the despot's grain He here has sown, is not yet ripe for harvest. Hence let us wait and watch, ere we proceed To force and arms; for alway these remain A last resort, e'en in a righteous cause.— But see that horseman coming toward us In anxious haste, with loosened rein; his steed Is decked with foam and blood on flank and bit. Who can he be? 'Tis Jack! What may he bring?
[Some colonists go to meet Jack, and to lead him before the men assembled.]
Scene II.
Enters Wm. H. Jack, who is cordially greeted by all present.
Austin.
Both joy and grief are apt to wing our feet; Which of the two, friend Jack, has urged thy haste?
Jack.
Oh! would I were Joy's fleeting messenger! But as it is, no mission is so sad As mine, since it announces misery For every homestead in the land; 'tis—War '
Austin.
It cannot be! Speak plainly, friend!
Jack.
So list!
Scarce had the mail from Vera Cruz arrived At Fortress Anahuac yestereve When Colonel Bradburn, its commander, sent A squad of soldiers to the town, who seized My brother Patrick Jack and William Travis And Munroe Edwards, took them to the fort, And without hearing, without trial locked Each separately into a prison-cell.
Russell.
Has Colonel Bradburn a sufficient cause To warrant this unusual proceeding?
Jack.
His only warrant is that stale excuse Of servile knaves: his duty to obey His master's order, whether right or wrong.
Russell.
But is it proven he has received such order?
Jack.
He has, of which this document bears witness. Which he transmitted unto Nacogdoches E'en yestereve through one of his couriers, Though intercepted by our vigilance He and his letter never reached that place.
[He hands the letter to Austin.]
Austin.
[Reads aloud.]
To the commanders of the garrisons In every Texan fort and post our greeting: Whereas we are most credibly informed, That every day the spirit of defiance 'Gainst our authority grows rampant more Among your colonists to whom we gave The privilege of settling on our lands,— You are advised, to use your utmost power, That the rebellious spirit may be curbed, To this effect imprison every person Whose discontent is shown in writ or word And check the influx from the United States. As has the statute never been repealed Which says, that persons of our Catholic Faith Alone can hold positions and estates In Mexico, it is herewith revived.<poem>
Don Juan Bustamente, President.
The colonists, in utter astonishment, remain silent for a while; then break forth into almost simultaneous expressions of indignation.
A Colonist.
<poem>Our friends imprisoned without law or cause!
Another.
Our speech o'erawed, our liberties assailed!
A Third.
Our faith attacked, our property endangered!
A Fourth.
We cannot, will not bear it!
All.
We must fight.
Jack.
Not to forestall your brave decision, friends,
I have till now withheld from you the knowledge
Of the resolve, to which your countrymen
At Nacogdoches and at Anahuac,
Imbued like you with deepest indignation.
Have come: it is, to storm, this very night,
The forts which there the Mexicans have raised.
Austin.
What, friends, is then your wish, that here be done?
A Colonist.
Captain ! I move, that following the example
Set by our countrymen, we storm to-night
The Fort Velasco.
Another.
I support that motion.
Austin.
'Tis moved and seconded, that we to-night
Attack and storm the fortress at Velasco. Who are in favor of the motion?
All.
Aye.
Austin.
Who vote against it? None? The motion is carried.
[A solemn silence]
Russell.
[With inspiration.]
As gathered in their azure ocean's sight The noble Greeks hurled back the despot's threat,— As at their crystal glaciers' feet, by night, To break their yoke, the gallant Switzers met,— As our forefathers on the common's green Assembled to protest 'gainst wrongs of power,— So we amid our prairie-evening scene Uplift our hands at this inspiring hour, To call to witness God in Heaven above, That not our will, but sorest need alone Calls us to arms, to shield what most we love. Our faith, our rights, the hearth and home we own. He who has freed the others through His hand Will not withhold His aid from this, our land.
Austin.
<poem>Time presses, friends! so let us homeward haste,
Prepare our arms, call out our countrymen, And gather at my door two hours from now, To storm the fort, when night has spread her shade.
[Exeunt]
Scene III.
A gloomy vault in the Fort of Anahuac, lighted by one single window near the ceiling. Opposite to the side which contains the window, is an adjoining dungeon from which Wm. B. Travis steps forth, absorbed in reverie.
In prison! Ha! why startles me this name All of a sudden, which like other words Of daily speech I hitherto pronounced Unmoved, unstirred, scarce thinking of its import? Why now rebels my inmost soul against This sound, as though it were a mournful dirge? Why dreads my foot to step upon this floor That, cold and stern, sends shudders through my frame? Why sinks my head involuntarily Betwixt my shoulders, wishing there to hide Against this frowning ceiling's pressing weight? Why shrinks my hand to touch these circling walls That slowly, stealthily, with every moment Seem drawing, creeping closer up to me? Because here is the sum of human horrors, The acme of distress, a living grave,
The thought of which appals the hero's courage, And pales still more the coward's fear-blanched cheek.
[He steps on a chair standing beneath the grated window and looks without.]
In prison! ah! and beams not there the sun Which our Creator poised upon the arch Of heaven to shine alike on good and bad,— The sun through which all beings live and thrive, To which the tiniest blossom turns its eye, Without which Heart and Nature grow a waste? And spread not there " the gardens of the desert,' The swelling prairies, quick with life and motion, And farther off, near the horizon's brink, The glassy main, as free and wide as they, To whose expanse and breeze-pervaded air Man's spirit feels a kindred intimate, When over them he strides or sails away? There goes the daring hunter with elastic step And hopeful breast, to lurk, to spring, to conquer; There sails the buoyant mariner to brave The tempest's rage, to venture and explore; There rides the thoughtful merchant on his route To bargain and to risk and win,—all, all With bosoms thrilled by wishes and desires Which to pursue and gain forms their delight.
[He steps down]
In prison! ah! and what, if it enshrines The height of sorrow, the abyss of woe?
It is as well the soil for human greatness,
The atmosphere of highest, noblest virtue.
Its solitude has nursed the poet's fancy,
The martyr's faith, the hero's stout resolve,
And Socrates, St. Paul and Galileo
Found here the source of their immortal thoughts.
When Truth and Courage thrill the bosom's cells,
When Love of God distends the heart's confines.
The gates give way, the circling walls are rent,
The unchecked spirit vaults the frail barrier,
And like an eagle, free and high in air.
It soars aloft to reach the source of Light.
In prison! ah! and bear I not as well
A precious, priceless germ within my breast
That I may propagate and fondly cherish
Beneath this thought-inspiring atmosphere.
Till it attain a higher, fuller growth,—
The conscious, deep, all-sacrificing love
For this, my country, which e'en now has spread
A tangled network through my veins and feelings?
As fairest blooms the lovely hyacinth
That charms our eye in winter's frosty clime.
When nursed beneath the tepid cellar-air,
So also my ideal shall germinate
From here to joy my winter through its bloom.
This prison—Heaven record my vow—shall be
The place of birth of Texan Liberty.
Scene IV.
Elsie Bradburn, admitted by the jailer through the door in the rear, has entered during Travis' last words which she has overheard, and stands for a moment quietly behind him. Travis.
Travis.
[Turning and perceiving Elsie, who sinks into his arms.]
What ? Elsie, thou?
Elsie.
My Travis! thou in prison
Unjustly, most unworthily confined!
Than whom none else delights so much in sunshine,
In balmy air, in freedom from restraint.
Thou canst not live beneath this damp-cold vault,
But wilt fall sick, and as the prairie-flower.
Transferred into a sunless room, will fade,
So thou canst not endure this cruel doom.
Travis.
Grieve not, beloved! since I hold thee now.
This dungeon seems a paradise to me!
Behold these walls! they bloom like rosy bowers;
This ceiling spreads a verdant canopy
Through which the sun, the sun of Love, sends in
His warming beams into my gladdened heart.
But tell, how couldst thou gain access to me?
Elsie.
Oh, Travis! my unmaidenlike transgression, In what a light must it appear to thee?
Travis.
Unmaidenlike, thou say est! Ah, as high As are the heavens above the earth, as wide As lies the East divided from the West. So is thy step from impropriety. 'Tis true, the charm of gentle womanhood Blooms in the even path of sweet retirement. In the pursuit of calm domestic life O'er which, as Springtime strews the earth with flowers, She sheds a grace of loveliness and peace. And wantonly to overstep these bounds. By nature set, is to destroy her balance. But when the hand of stark Necessity Has broken in upon a woman's fate And threats to tap her feeling's holy fount. When staking, offering up her all for one. When disregarding usage, scorn and power. Acknowledging no law save this: her love,— At last she rises like an earth-born Titan And irresistibly, victoriously Clears every obstacle that blocks her way. She adds the highest earthly glory then, A heroine's halo, to her womanly crown.
Elsie.
Ah! were I free to soar that lofty flight To which my spirit's impulse leads me on! Alas! so soon I try to rise, I feel The sinews of my pinions cut in twain Through fatal powers which hold me to the ground. Thou seest my father, an American, Deaf to his better nature's inward voice, Blind to the sad results of his career, Employed in deep-disgraceful vassalage To tyranny, whose orders he obeys Implicitly with servile doggedness, As if to gain his master's sneering praise Made up his glory's highest aspiration. To drown his bosom's stern reproof, to kill His honor's glimmering spark, he has enwrapt His reason with the ice of self-made doctrines Which, ah! my tears have tried in vain to melt, And woven round him a net of sophistry Through which my prayers not yet could penetrate. Oh, it is hard, when filial lips which ought To overflow with tender reverence, Must breathe reproach alone and accusation 'Gainst one whom fain we would respect and worship.
Travis.
Interpret not my hesitating counsel I give thee now, as cruel egotism!
As oft to save a life by wounds imperiled A surgeon hazards some unusual cure, So also on the battle-field of Life A false position and a wayward course May oft be righted by a daring step Which in the eyes of men may meet with censure, But gains its palm before the eye of God. Withdraw from here a while, if still thy father Persists to be the tyrant's ready tool. And from the distance lure him on to thee By frequent proofs of unchanged filial love. He soon will feel the utter loneliness That yawns around him here, the aimlessness Of his career, and yearning to rejoin The only heart that on this earthly round Still beats for him, he will depart from here. The first step which he takes to reach the ship That carries him to thee, will disentangle The Gordian Knot of his embarrassment.
Elsie.
It cannot be! A sacred vow has chained My destiny forever to his lot. My mother, well foreseeing at her death The threat'ning crisis which must overtake him Inevitably as wrongs of heart or mind Draw after them remorse and punishment,— Exacted from my lips this oath, that never
I would desert my father's side, as long As he continues in this baneful service, But watch, a guardian angel, over him, Till I behold his life-ship safely anchored Upon the roadstead of his native land. Alas! since then his headstrong will has lashed To still more furious haste and maddened run The fiery steeds that draw his chariot Which neither tears nor prayers of mine could stay Instead of hovering o'er his fate-doomed path As friendly and inspiring genius,— I self behold me dragged resistlessly With every moment farther from the start, Where left behind me lies the blooming wreath Of all my fondest hope and happiness; Where stand my friends in sorrow o'er my fate. But impotent to check my doomed career. So wretched must the exile feel, who leaning Against the vessel's bord, that bears him 'way Sees more and more his native country's coast Fade out of sight, till it is gone for ever.
Travis.
Ah! it is so! and clearly now I see. How by my course I added to thy woe. The attitude, which I have here assumed, Of bold defiance to thy father's will Must even more embitter him and cause
Still greater grief to thee. This must be changed. I will resign my duties here, when freed, And leave this country, elsewhere to await Our union under fairer auspices.
Elsie.
And thinkest thou so mean of me, thy maiden, That I would cheer this plan by my assent, Which, if pursued, at once would controvert The glorious mission thou hast set before thee: To free this country from the tyrant's yoke? No, no! thou only spakest so to try me, To test my spirit's metal, if it were Not all too far below thy lofty standard. Behold! when entering here a while ago, I overheard thy vow, sent from a spot Whose very air, as mildew blights the flowers, Is death to hope and courage, then meseemed I saw a radiant halo o'er thy head Through which in fiery letters blazed the words: " His patriotism will realize his vow!" Should I then meanly, selfishly divert Thy manly race, bold as the torrent's sweep, Into the path of common-place stagnation? Should I, short-sighted, narrow-minded, wrest The palm of fame and victory from thee? Should I, in fear about my happiness, For ever blast the hopes of many thousands?
No, Travis, no! when beams thy name resplendent Upon the heaven of glory and renown, May then with it the woeful history Of my resigning sacrifice be blent To serve as proof, that for her country's freedom A Texan maiden deems no price too high.
Travis.
Now art thou wholly as I wished to find thee! Oh, happy I! since for me beats and throbs The noblest heart that ever dwelt in woman! But think, beloved! can no way be found To spare from thee this woeful suicide Of every hope and earthly joy, whom thus Resigningly thou lay'st on Freedom's altar?
Elsie.
If there exists a way, it lies with us. But not with thee; thy cause is great and just, And must remain so, like the polar-star's Unaltered station on the starlit sky. So it is we it is my father's course That must be changed, if all shall yet be well. That would restore thy freedom at a time When needs this land thy arm and counsel most; That would enroll with active sympathy His heart and mine upon the patriot's side; That that alone, if Heaven should will it so.
Would blend our lives, as now our hearts are blended.
Hence I will go and try once more to move him
By fervid prayer to which I mean to add
My strongest argument, my treasured secret,
The sweet confession of my love for thee.
Hence pray, that He, who melts the earth in fire
May touch my father's bosom and inspire
My speech to break the rigor of his heart.
Beloved, fare thee well! I must depart.
[Travis accompanies Elsie to the door in the rear, through which she leaves the prison. This done., he himself enters the chamber at the side.]
Scene V.
Col. Bradburns room in the Fort of Anahuac. Col. Bradburn stands near a table in the centre of the room, holding a letter in his hand.
"One hundred thousand dollars in the bank
Of Vera Cruz inscribed to thy account!"
My agent writes—At last I have attained
My life-work's goal and crown; the longed-for day
Whose coming joy through all these weary years
Has warmed my life, that day has now arrived.
Why then so gloomy and cast down, my heart?
Alas! the wealth I wrung from unkind Fortune
By dint of patience and devoted service,
E'en now her cruel hand withholds from me, And by a treacherous breach of confidence She asks me to perform some overwork, Before I can obtain my well-earned fee. For the intention to resign my post. So soon the prize should be within my reach, I must defer in face of this revolt Which hydra-like lifts its defiant head Before my very eye-sight in this land. To leave it now in this disordered state, To seize my wealth, to flee with it abroad, Is out of question; the suspecting eye Of Despotism would soon detect my motive And find in it a good pretense to lay His grasping hand upon my property. Was it a wicked spirit's tempting voice That seven months ago, when ninety-thousand Were not enough for me, has shut and deafened My ear and heart to Elsie's tearful prayers? So true it is, that Fortune's envious powers. In their dislike to man's self-shapen course, W^ill quietly oft allow him to approach His prize, when lo! 't is wrested from his hand. But courage, Bradburn! why these mournful thoughts, When not a cloud yet darkens thy horizon? Proceed to work, e'en though the task be weary, And see how it may swiftest be accomplished!
[He meditates a brief while, then exclaims exultingly:]
E'en now I have it; yea! I found the way! The obstacle that keeps me from my prize Shall be the very bridge, o'er which I reach it. I will hand o'er to the authorities Of Mexico for judgment and garotte The captured leaders of this base revolt, That Jack, that Travis and that Edwards, Which clearly will attest my loyalty, Will call me hence for presence at the trial, And pave withal a way for my retirement!— Retirement! happy thought! sweet as the balm Of eventide upon a sultry day, When for the dismal gusts of wintery care The slumberous peace of quiet summer-eve Shall permeate my bosom's corridors, As swells an organ's long-drawn harmony Through a majestic minster's colonnades,— When gratefully, as sees the husbandman His harvest-wagon's last return, I shall Enjoy in ease my labor's benefits,— Wlien my old age shall be prolonged and cheered By her, for whom alone I took on me These mounts of care, these centuries of sorrow, My daughter Elsie.
[He turns abniptly with a profound horror.]
Who is here? [With astonishment] No one?
And yet meseemed, as if a stealthy step Had crept behind me and an ice-cold hand
Had lightly tapped my shoulder,
[Smiling embarrassedly.] It was nought,
Nought save perhaps a draught, an ocean-breeze. I'll close the window!
In the act of shutting it he looks without.]
Ha! what means that flash
Of sunny light, like a reflex of arms? And moves not there a band of weaponed men. In far off distance o'er the hazy plain?
[Seizeing a telescope he surveys the neighborhood.]
Once more my fancy has belied my eye; It is a forest-isle I so mistook That mute and still lies on the prairie's breast. Still, as precaution is the sire of wisdom, I'll go and send my cavalry to scour The country o'er, and order to enforce The guards upon the walls and at the gates.
Scene VI.
When Bradburn goes toward the door., Elsie enters.
Elsie.
My father, stay! grant me a moment's hearing!
Bradburn.
Defer, I pray, till later thy request; For urgent business claims my presence elsewhere.
Elsie.
[Clinging to him.]
I must not, can not! see as Jacob spake, As writes the Book: "I will not let thee go, Except thou bless me!" even so I say!
Bradburn.
And what, I ask, makes thy demand so pressing? What is its purport? matters newly risen. Or merely a rehearsal of the old? Were it the last, my time might well be spared.
Elsie.
And has not yet a voice within thy breast A spark of light before thy mind arisen, That tell thee where thy way must lead thee to? A wand'rer, unacquainted with the road Thou chosest one, that seemed,—but only seemed, A safe and worthy way to travel on; Thy choice was wrong, in judgment, not in heart. But,—when thine every step thou onward takest Shows thee thy error and reveals to thee What dread abysses lie thy path beside, Which deepening, yawning, more and more, invade Its breath and menace its continuance,— When from afar a kindly warning voice,
Thrilled by the truest prophecy of love, Beseeches thee, implores thee, to retract Thy wayward steps, and thou thou hearest not,— Thy error's slight offence becomes—a crime!
Bradburn.
Tut, tut, my child! I cannot see, why now My way is all at once so dangerous, So criminal, as when I entered it. The land we live in, its society. Its kind relations to the neighboring states. Are they not quite the same as formerly?
Elsie.
My father, they are not, for if they were Thou wouldst not hear thy daughter's pleading voice. When broke the Mexicans the Spanish yoke. Ten years ago, then for some time indeed, A free and lofty spirit thrilled the race. Well worthy of our countrymen's support. But ah! too soon the wakened flame died out. Too soon they bowed to thraldom worse than erst, Too soon they proved the axiom's truth, that people, Unable to sustain by strength of arm and mind Their freedom, merit not its blessed boons. When priest-craft took the reins of government Into its hands, when civil feuds arose. And from their whirpools selfish autocrats Sprung up as mushrooms will from rotten soil,
Already then thy time was to resign. But thou didst not, and now a vengeful fate, Or, much I fear, thy master's base designs Have placed thee, where a new embarrassment, Still more a source of danger, joins thy others. Thou shalt—such is thy stern superior's will— Oppress the colonists, thy countrymen, Shalt act the tyrant's part to those whose hearts, As thine should do, detest that very name, And shalt oppose the will of Providence, Which here through them intends to found a state, As free and glorious as their native Union. Against such odds thy might cannot prevail. E'en though thine army numbered many millions; Thou must succumb, with—what is worst—disgrace.
Bradburn.
Who gave thee such ideas? To found a state With such materials as they here exist? Such thoughts dwell only on the lips and brains Of men who in disorder and rebellion Expect to reap the harvest of their schemes. Of demagogues, such as that William Travis, That Patrick Jack, that Munroe Edwards are.
Elsie.
Nought is beknown to me of Jack or Edwards, Though people tell me they are worthy men;
[Fervidly.]
But William Travis, father, I feel bound With all that is within me to defend.
Bradburn.
And knowest thou, my daughter, him so well?
Elsie.
That thou wilt lightly from my pleading tell. I claim for Travis no unusual dower; No talent's gift, no learned wisdom's power, No eloquence, no spell of wit are his. But what he owns in fullest scope, is this: An honest heart within a noble breast, A harmony of truth that lies exprest O'er soul and body, over thought and deed. Whose blended charm the blindest eye can read. His gait and stature, manly and erect, A character of moral strength reflect; His eye, clear as the sapphire firmament, Bespeaks his bosom's tender sentiment. His vaulted brow betokens ardent zeal For Mankind's highest interest and weal, And all these virtues,—wouldst thou know, from whence They spring?—it is his faith in Providence!
Bradburn.
I cannot err,—Elsie! thou lovest him!
Elsie.
Father, I do! My heart resistlessly
Went out to him as if by witchery. Though he be far, I fancy, that his eye Upon me casts its glances from on high; His voice rings in my ear both day and night, His figure ever stands before my sight, Of him I think, when I my vigils keep. Of him I dream, when I am wrapt in sleep.
Bradburn.
And knows he, pray, thy ardent love for him?
Elsie.
Why should he not? when this life's highest weal, This heaven on earth, when all I am and feel Are due to him, when through his magic word My latent powers are from their slumber stirred; When through the inspiration from his soul My spirit wings its flight to higher goal. When the possession of my treasured prize Makes hundredfold my self-esteem arise— O, father, father! come what may, this love Will be my happiness here and above.
Bradburn.
My child! the dreams of youthful age are nought But the reflection of its rosy cheeks; These gone, the dreams are gone, which proves too well Their fleeting worth, their idle vanity. A better bottom than their quicksand is
Required to lay a firm foundation wall Whereon to frame a happy life; such ground, Is wealth, is rank, are family connections. These once obtained, their benefits secured. Life's other Graces follow in their wake. The first two are e'en now in my possession; Through prudent husbandry and skilful trade I have amassed a fortune, while my title, Well-earned in service, will command respect. So it is caste alone, which I still need, That shall wipe out my offspring's low descent And link my name with races of renown. For it must be a glorious consciousness To trace one's lineage upward on the rounds Of generations to the grayest age. This latter to secure depends on thee. Depends upon thy alliance with the scion Of some old house whom thy accomplishments, Thy wealth, thy father's rank will easily Secure for thee. Therefore it is my plan: That we return to the United States, My native country, as it was thy mother's, There settle down in ease and affluence, And self-contented, envied and respected. Ascend the smooth and level road that leads Into the hermitage of our old age.
Elsie.
How long ere thou wilt enter on this journey?
Bradburn.
So soon I have suppressed this insurrection.
Elsie.
Then wilt thou never see thy plan fulfilled, And it is best so, as thy gross injustice Were certain to react on thee as curse Whose magnitude my spirit dreads to fathom. Far better in both nature and result Would be the plan which I have in my mind.
Bradburn.
Make proof then of thy ingenuity!
Elsie.
Espouse the cause of Texas with the zeal Thou hitherto hast squandered on her tyrants Enroll thee as the patriots' stoutest friend As till to-day thou wast their foremost foe; Help to restore this land to Liberty As thou till now hast labored to enslave it. And thine will be a rank and titled name For which the proudest king will envy thee, And thine will be a wealth untold and grand, Surpassing far the treasures of the. East; And thine will be a fame of ancestry Of which thy latest progeny will boast. Is that, pray, not a better plan than thine?
Bradburn.
My oath of fealty bars its execution.
Elsie.
Resign thy office and thy oath is void.
Bradburn.
The Mexicans will confiscate my wealth.
Elsie.
So forfeit it and feel relieved in conscience.
Bradburn.
Thou knowest not the pangs of poverty.
Elsie.
They must be comforts 'gainst the pangs of shame.
Bradburn.
Why ride Rebellion's billows, when our barks Can lie at anchor in the haven of order?
Elsie.
A gallant ship prefers the tempest's wrath To rotting in some stagnant navy-yard.
Bradburn.
'Tis folly to emprise an undertaking Which lacks the faintest prospect of success.
Elsie.
Success is but the foot-rule of the world; Right is the measure God in Heaven applies.
Bradburn.
And if thy zeal, thy honesty and courage Could win me o'er to thee and overthrow Mine every plan, mine every principle, One obstacle will always still remain, 'Gainst which thy arguments cannot prevail: My love for thee! To think thee lone and helpless 'Mong strangers, war and passionate party-strife, I cannot, must not, dare not list to thee.
Elsie.
[In utter despair.]
Again thy ear is deafened to my prayers, Again thy heart is hardened to my tears. Poor father, oh! how wilt thou rue it once! For come it will, that stark, that dreadful hour, When every word I spake just now, will ring Within thine ear, like mockery of devils. When every tear I shed just now will burn Upon thy soul like drops of hellish fire! Oh, knewest thou, how bleeds my heart within me, Couldst thou but see those visions 'fore my mind, Couldst thou but hear the warnings in my ear. Thou wouldst, thou wouldst relent for thine own good. 'Tis not to be! Let God's will then be done!
[Proceeding more calmly.]
One more request I have to lay before thee. Thou hast upon thine own authority,
Imprisoned William Travis and his friends. So promise then to me, that e'en to-morrow Thou lawfully wilt try the charge against them. I ask no favor, or for me or them, I only plead the human right of justice. As is the sun the source of every life, So, so is Justice Mankind's other light. As he dispelled the chaos' mighty gloom So led her genial hand the human race From beastly state, when might alone was right, To kinder, purer, better sentiments; As without him no being could exist, So without her Life were a baneful curse; As shine his beams alike on worm and lion So equally she pours her benefits O'er rich and poor, and o'er the weak and strong. Sin, father, not against her holy law, For great as are her blessings, is her vengeance.
Bradburn.
Remember, child, I am not here to judge, But only to attend my master's orders; Yet at thy pleading I will fain extend What little mercy's scope is given to me, Beyond its limits e'en, if they deserve it. To prove my word's sincerity to thee, I instantly will speak to William Travis.
[He taps a bell. A soldier enters]
Inform the jailer that I wish to see The prisoner, William Travis, led before me.
[Exit soldier.]
Leave us alone now, child, and rest convinced. That day and night my every thought will aim Thy welfare to promote. My love shall yet Prepare for thee a radiant sky of life. E'en though light clouds obscure it now. Good night.
[He kisses Elsie's forehead. Elsie leaves the room with signs of great despondency]
Scene VII.
Bradbun at first alone. Afterwards Travis.
Bradburn.
A new embarrassment! When will they cease? As if conjured by some magician's wand, Who bears me ill, so from the ground they start And try to block my way to peace and rest. But triumph not too soon, ye cruel powers! As sailors throw the deck-load over-board To save their battered ship from total wreck, So shall not scruples, hitherto revered, Nor principles, observed till now, debar me From the reward of my laborious life. This rising spectre of my daughter's love For that rebellious upstart must be crushed,
Crushed, crushed, by every means that might controls, That, right or wrong, will consummate the end. He, first of all, must be removed from here, Must be dishonored in my daughter's eye, For which, methinks, I know a proper way. Provided that his pride will not defeat it.
[He sits down at the table to write. Enters Travis escorted by the jailer.]
Leave me alone a moment with that man.
[Exit jailer. Bradburn having risen and standing near the table, surveys Travis from under his eye-brows; the latter, with arms crossed over his breast, stands frankly before him.]
Well, William Travis, must I still behold thee Maintaining thy defiant attitude. Which ill becomes at any time a captive, But even less avails as hiding mask The base destroyer of a maiden's peace? Abject enough is an ungrateful rebel. But language fails in epithets for him Who makes a trusting maiden's love The ambuscade of his nefarious schemes.
Travis.
Thou wieldest here the sword of tyranny Unscrupulously; why then delay est thou To join wiih it thy fatherly revenge?
Bradburn.
A coward hurls his bold defiance only
When feeling him secure. Thou knowest well
That striking thee, I also strike my daughter.
Travis.
A despot rarely makes such nice distinctions.
Bradburn.
That I do make them proves thy word as false.
Travis.
Words oft must serve as substitutes for truth.
Bradburn.
Enough, this idle interchange of speech
Which neither mitigates the culprit's guilt,
Nor elevates the judge's majesty.
The packet-boat lies ready at the wharf,
To-morrow even to convey from here
To Vera Cruz thee and thy fellow rebels
For trial at the court of Mexico.
Your death is certain; for the Mexicans,
Justly embittered o'er the foreigners
Who wantonly disturb the peaceful realms
Of their domain by stirring strife and discord,
Long since have clamored, that a stern example
Of justice should be meted out to them.
Therefore, I ween, they hardly will forgive me
If I deprive them of the welcome show, To see three prominent Americans Transported through the streets of Mexico Amid the hooting of the populace. But as it is, they must this time forego The spectacle, unless thy stubbornness, Unwarranted by either hope or fear, Force me to disregard my daughter's tears. Here, sign this contract, knowing that on thee Depends thy life, as well as thy companions'.
[Bradburn hands Travis the note he had been writing at the latter's entrance.]
Travis.
[Reads aloud.]
This is to certify that I agree To leave forthwith the Mexican domain, And never after thither to return. If Colonel J. D. Bradburn will consent To pay into my hand the full amount Of thousand dollars gold at my departure.
[He tears the paper into shreds]
Well, well conceived, John Bradburn! this design Does credit to thy ingenuity.
[Smiling.]
The more a pity, that it must remain Shelved in the storehouse of thy fertile brain.
Bradburn.
In earnestness I made to thee this offer; What then provokes thy rude hilarity?
Travis.
Forgive! the thought, how many mice John Bradburn Aims to inveigle in a single trap, Just now appeared to me quite ludicrous.
Bradburn.
What meanest thou? I understand thee not.
Travis.
The better thou art understood by me. By my acceptance of thy offered bribe Thou mean'st to place me as a renegade And wretched knave before my countrymen; Thou mean'st to free thee of a bold opponent, Who e'en in fetters is to thee a terror,— Thou meanest to efface my name inscribed Upon thy daughter's heart as undeserving Her love, her admiration, her esteem. And what is the equivalent thou givest? An insult couched as promise in disguise, When not the wealth of all the earth can buy From me my countrymen's regard and friendship, My zeal for freedom and thy daughter's love.
Bradburn.
[Furiously]
Enough, enough! henceforth expect the worst! Thou shalt yet rue thy obstinate refusal! In chains and irons like a criminal I'll have thee laid forthwith—I will to-morrow Send thee to Mexico;— I will—
Voices outside.
Hurrah!
[A shot fired from without shatters a window in Col. Bradburn s room.]
Bradburn.
[Trembling]
Ha! what is that? what can this noise portend?
Scene VII.
A great confusion and the footsteps of hurrying persons are heard from the corridor leading to Col. Bradburn's room. The door is violently opened, through which several Mexican officers, among them Capt. Patcho, enter, all greatly excited.
Patcho.
Oh, Colonel, we are lost! a band of rebels Have scaled our outside ramparts by surprise
And turned our cannon 'gainst our barrack-doors.
Flight or resistance are alike in vain.
Bradburn.
Oh, my presentiment! Why slept our guards,
And failed to mark the enemy's approach ?
Close all the gates immediately and place
Two men at every window ; then collect
The others in the corridor below,
Prepared for the sortie I myself shall lead.
[The officers rush out, Bradburn having locked the room, the key of which he leaves in the lock, follows them.]
Travis.
What have I heard? My countrymen are here?
Have occupied their ramparts, seized their guns ?
Can it be true, and should the blessed hour
Of my deliverance have—approached so soon?
{{right|He goes to the window.] Yes ! it is true ! for there they stand! God bless them!
[He waves his pocket-handkerchief]
Hail, hail, my brave, my faithful comrades, hail!
To save your friends from prison and from death
You have not lost an hour, but thrown aside
Your comfort, your employments and your safety.
Your friendly service to repay, may soon
An opportunity arise for me!—
But is it possible? and see I right?
There Elsie stands among them ! How came she
To join my countrymen!
[He strikes his forehead with his hands.]
Oh, loving heart !
Now first, now I divine thy stratagem.
Thou wast the guide, that brought assistance here,
When every other means proved unavailing!
What seemed confused, entangled hopelessly,
Quickly the magic of thy love dissolves;
What deemed impossible my doubting mind,
Thy loving courage lightly executes.— But see! what means that joyful agitation
And curious flutter 'mong my countrymen ? Ah, I observe! my Elsie's magic charm
Has proved effective; for a flag of truce
Advances from the barrack-gate. 'Tis Bradburn!
How hard, how grievous must his every step
Appear to him ! how painful his defeat!
How ominously he must around him feel
The pinions of the gloomy spirits waft,
Whose counsels lured him on his giddy way,
Whose voices shut his ear and heart against
The warnings of his better genius,
And whose triumphant mockeries and sneers
Now point him to the wreck of all his plans.
So it has been, and so 't will ever be:
The harvest sown upon the poisonous soil
Of tyranny, will bear no other fruit
Save ruin and disgrace to serf and master.
But see! the parley is at end! it means
Surrender and exchange of prisoners,
As I infer from seeing Elsie freed
From her captivity : will she come here?
Scene IX.
Enters Elsie. Travis leaves the window and comes to meet her.
Elsie.
Oh, Travis! freedom smiles on thee again!
Travis.
And twice as gratefully, since I receive it
Given through thy hands and from thy lips announced.
Elsie.
Thou know'st what has occurred ? Pray, tell me how?
{{center|Travis.
My knowledge rests on inference alone,
Since I beheld thee 'mong our countrymen.
Thy own lips must impart to me thy venture.
Elsie.
My tale is brief. Sad and disconsolate
About my father's unmoved stubbornness,
I went, while yet he was engaged with thee.
To seek my garden-arbor, there to muse, And weep and pray, when suddenly there sprang Armed men from every bush and every shrub. Rushed o'er the little bridge I had let down, And scaled the walls, while I remained their captive. Who served as welcome hostage in their hands.
Travis.
Thou knew'st then nought beforehand of their coming? Thou wast then not the guide who led them here?
Elsie.
Unconsciously,—I see it now,—I served As means through which thou hast regained thy freedom.
Travis.
My erring mind, dear Elsie, just ascribed A heroine's glory to thy conscious deed. My seeing spirit must attribute now That higher crown to thee, an angel's halo! Oh! would thou couldst forever thus remain My intercessor with the powers of fate!
Elsie.
In spirit, yes! through daily, hourly prayer I'll be with thee as friendly genius, Though now our ways must part here, since my father Will henceforth more than ever need my aid.
Travis.
Oh! must the glorious dawn of Liberty, Oh! must the day, that oped my prison-door Consign thy life to night? It cannot be!
Elsie.
Yes, it is night, that henceforth will enshroud My soul and heart, but mind thee! not the night Of bleak despair, of crying agony; No, that of holy sadness which becomes, The more it grows, the dearer to the heart. For from afar the radiance of thy course Will cast a sweet reflection on my path, Not too resplendent as to jar by contrast, And not too feeble as to fail in comfort. So will my life be henceforth like a chapel. Among whose sombre aisles and colonnades The sunlight, falling through the colored panes. Pours out a mellow-tinted "clarobscuro," The sweetest light, 'neath which to dream and pray.
Travis.
Oh, happy talent of the female heart, Whose heavenly instinct knows how to detect Some light upon the darkest sky of sorrow, Some hope amid the wildest sea of woe. Oh, give me but an atom of that balm. Thy childlike faith, and I will part in peace.
Elsie.
Fain I extend to thee that comfort, couched In the relation of an incident Which, though it happened many years ago, Is deeply graven on my memory, And seems to me a fitting simile To show, how once our mystery may be solved.— When, still a child, I tarried with my father. Then stationed at some far-off western fort, We were beleaguered by a furious band Of wild Comanches, who with yells and shots Essayed to storm the ramparts. Overcome By childish fear, I hid me underneath The altar of the Mission. So concealed, I trembling sat beneath that gloomy spot, When I observed amid that sombre light An iron bolt. I pushed it back and raised A secret trap-door, which revealed to me A frowning passage-way. With fleeting steps I then procured a torch, and by its light, Explored the yawning path. For many hours I wandered through its jet-black gallery. Until, arrived upon its end, there burst The glowing sunlight through some window-panes Upon my dazzled eyesight. I had reached Another Mission, far remote from ours. Where I was safe from injury and harm.
[With the highest solemnity of inspiration.]
Dark as that subterranean corridor, So lie our lives our anxious gaze before, Illuminated only by the glimmering light Of our unwavering love. But as the night Which wrapt my transit through that secret way Was changed to unexpected, welcome day, So, too, for us shall dawn the glorious hour. When God, the Lord, through His mysterious power, Shall re-unite us, nevermore to part! Let this assurance alway cheer thy heart!
Travis.
[With great enthusiasm.]
Speaks God through thee? hast thou become His angel. Such as of old proclaimed His truth to men? It is,—it must be so, as thou hast said: For I behold it in the radiant beams, Shed o'er and round thee with transfiguring glow; I hear it in thy deep-inspired tone, That strikes my ear with heavenly melody; And self I feel it in the fervid ardor Which has replaced my bosom's icy chill: Such is not earthly joy; it is the splendor Of Heaven above, and God alone its sender.
Elsie.
[As above.]
Yes, trust in Him! pursue thy manly way, Deliver Texas from the tyrant's sway,
Unwaveringly, till thou hast reached the goal, And shouldst thou fall, then will thy Elsie's soul Soar hand in hand with thee the airy flight To yonder homes of happiness and light, While in a thankful nation's memory Thy name and hers live for eternity.
[A long embrace.]
Scene X.
Enters Bradburn with a paper in his hand. He is followed by some Mexican officers, who station themselves on the left side of the stage. Behind them enter Frank W. Johnston, commander of the patriots, Don Lorenzo de Zavala, Wm. H. Jack, and several other patriots, who occupy the right side of the stage, with the table between them and the Mexicans.
Bradburn.
[Who enters a little in advance of the others, steps between Travis and Elsie.]
Part!
Elsie.
[Waving her hand to Travis.]
Fare thee well!
Travis.
[Stepping toward the right.] Fare ever, ever well! [Exit Elsie?]}}
Johnston.
[Just entering.]
Hail, Travis, friend! thou art revenged, art free!
Jack.
[Coming behind Johnston., to Travis.]
Thank God, thou livest still! Our fears are calmed.
Zavala.
[Following Jack., likewise addressing Travis.]
Have now thy pupils earned their master's praise?
Travis.
[Shaking hands with all.]
Thanks, thanks to all of you; no more I say! Your kindness, friends, has opened every sluice That in my heart held back the founts of joy. Which unobstructed now burst forth and drown Each word of thanks, as on my lips it steps: The better shall my future deeds bespeak them.
Bradburn.
[Who, immediately after his entry, had sat down at the table., to copy the articles of surrender agreed upon, has finished them now and signaling to two Mexican officers to sign them., rises from his seat., and addresses the Texans.]
The articles are ready to receive Your signatures: yet ere they are affixed, Ere by the pen you irrevocably Will ratify the actions of your hands, I deem it just, once more to warn you all Against the bitter fruit, which must spring forth From your defiance to authority.
Johnston.
Waste not the efforts of thy eloquence; Ours is the best authority of all: The vindication of our sacred rights.
Bradburn.
[With a Sneer.]
I never heard of that authority.
Johnston.
As he puts down the pen, wherewith he has signed the articles, in which proceeding he is followed by Jack and Zavala:]
The die is cast! 't is Liberty or Death!
Bradburn.
All matters settled now, we leave the fort; So fare ye well, till here we meet again.
Johnston.
Nought is impossible with God. Farewell.
[Bradburn and his Mexicans leave the room.]
Travis.
This fort has fallen. But what about the others?
Johnston.
An hour ago we have received the news From Nacogdoches, that the patriots Have driven the Mexicans from fort and town.
Travis.
Indeed? Then why not start to take Velasco?
Johnston.
Brave Austin may have ta'en it by this time.
Messenger.
[Entering with other Texans.]
Hail, countrymen! I bring you happy news! Velasco has surrendered! Captain Austin Has sent me to convey to you these tidings.
All present.
Cheer, cheer!
Johnston.
So bear with thee to thy commander As joyous a report as thou hast brought,
That Nacogdoches and our Anahuac Are likewise in the patriots' hands.
Messenger.
I will. [Exit].
Zavala.
As sunny rays the snows of April melt, So quickly has our tyrants' might succumbed Before our first spontaneous enterprise. When thus so strikingly the hollowness Of their pretended magnitude is proven, And while they left us without law and rule, Why not declare us here immediately Free and absolved from every fealty, Now and forever, to a Mother-State, Which, ever deaf to our most just complaints, Will find in our revolt sufficient cause For still severer measures of oppression?
Travis.
My friend, forgive me, if I must declare Thy well-meant counsel out of time and place! Thou once hast told me, that through us thou first Hast learned to loathe the bane of tyranny And to concede to every man his birth-right Of Liberty and Justice. Hence reject Another lesson not, which unaware We have imbibed e'en through our mother's milk.
And which our native country's mighty breath Since then has fanned into a conscious truth. Self-government—the capability To rule as well as to be ruled,—that is The only true and safe palladium That guarantees a stable permanence Of peace and freedom and prosperity. Self-government—that is the corner-stone On which alone a State can safely rest, From which it draws, as from a root of life. Strength to withstand misfortunes, storms and wars. Self-government—that is the magic wand Through which each one's peculiar gifts and powers Are instantly aroused and reared and turned Into a boon and benefit for all. Self-government—that is the fount of youth Through which each day a land is born anew, And shielded 'gainst the stagnant influence Of ruling classes and monopoly.— Hence when this new-awakened strife of passion Gives way before our reason's calmer sway, Let us select from every town and borough Such men as most deserve our confidence, To meet in council, to review our wants, And to propose their well-considered plans For our acceptance or rejection. So We shall avoid the cliffs of anarchy. And safely reach the haven of ordered state.
Jack.
That, Travis, is the just and only way.
Johnston.
No doubt it is! yet while the radiant fire Of patriotism casts heavenward its flame, We ought to foster it and have a care, That everyday-life's little interests Not quench the once-awakened stir of hearts. This to achieve, what agent is so strong. So universal as the power of Song? Like as a lusty eagle, bold and fierce. By it the soul will soar to heavenly spheres, Like as a tempest, so this God-sent dower Will swell our hearts with all-resistless power. Hence, countrymen, intune with deep-felt glee The stirring " Hymn of Texan Liberty," And bear it home and spread it through the lands. Where'er a homestead lies, a cottage stands, And where you be, together or alone, Let rise your hearts on its inspiring tone. Rise, freemen, rise! your watchword be: "For Texas and her Liberty!"
[During the whole progress of this scene more and more Texan Volunteers have quietly entered the room.which is now filled with them to its utmost capacity. Rising from benches on which they have taken their seats, they now intune]
THE HYMN OF TEXAN LIBERTY
I.
Rise, valiant yeomen, one and all, And take your swords in hand; For hear you not the thrilling call Of Freedom through the land? So let her not appeal in vain, But raise for her a holy fane: Rise, freemen, rise! your watchword be: "For Texas and her Liberty!"
2.
Leave wife and child, drop tool and plow, Your home, your work forsake! A higher prize of yours is now In danger and at stake: Your faith, your honor and your right Are threatened by the tyrant's might; Rise, freemen, rise! your watchword be: " For Texas and her Liberty!"
3.
No earthly treasure is too high. Too great no sacrifice. E'en though it were to bleed and die For Freedom's lofty prize;
Happy, if gains your sword and toil For you a grave in Freedom's soil: Rise, freemen, rise! your watchword be: "For Texas and her Liberty!" 4. And if the tyrant loudly boasts Of greater might than ours: Our Ally is the Lord of Hosts, With all His gifts and powers; He aids us, for our cause is fair; Who will then tremble and despair? Rise, freemen, rise! your watchword be: "For Texas and her Liberty!"
[Curtain.]