THE LAND OF SUNSHINE.
"All aboard for San Antonio! and remember, young lady, you are to make
yourself as small as possible and look out the window when the
conductor comes around so that he will not insist on my paying full
fare for such a big, overgrown child as you are."
"Now, Uncle! Every dress Gene bought for me is seven-year-old size,
and not one of them had to be shortened."
"Hm! I thought you told me that you are 'going on' eight. Well, never
mind, let us hope that you will grow longer and broader in the
wonderful Texas climate."
Mary looked with some curiosity about the sleeper, for this was her
first trip of more than two or three hours. She leaned toward her
uncle and whispered, "I mean to try ever so hard, Uncle, to keep awake,
but I really don't see how I can do it for three nights and two days."
And she was almost ashamed of the way the Doctor laughed.
"I do not see how I can do so, either, pet; but perhaps you will let me
put my head on your shoulder and take a little nap now and then, and
you can do the same with me." And he went off in another peal of
merriment.
A few hours later she exclaimed, "Why--why, Uncle! Look at that
porter! He is pulling down the roof of the car!"
"Watch him a few minutes, and your fears will be set at rest."
Mary's eyes grew rounder and rounder as she saw the porter jerk down a
mattress, blankets, pillows, and everything necessary to make up the
lower berth; but her wonder became greater when he began on the upper
one.
"Uncle! he is making a two-story bed! Did you _ever_ see anything like
it!"
"Very often indeed. To save time, I travel at night whenever possible,
you know."
"Hm! I think I ought to get off this train and go straight home to
Gene."
"A nice way to talk when I am taking you away for your health, miss!
What fault have you to find with this train? Isn't it far more
comfortable than you expected it to be, eh?"
"Of course it is, Uncle; but oh! you are _such_ a tease!"
"So I am; but I do not often find anyone who forgives a teasing as
readily as you do. Come, let us move into the opposite section and
give the porter a chance to make up our berths. Do you think you can
climb into the upper one?"
"I am afraid you will have to boost me up there, Uncle, and ask the
porter to put a little railing across the front so I won't fall out."
"No, no, pet, I am only joking. I shall do the climbing."
Through the snow-clad mountains of Pennsylvania, across frozen rivers
and great white plains sped the train until at last the Doctor said,
"We shall soon see the 'Father of Waters.'"
"Is Mr. Waters an old friend of yours, Uncle?"
Many a laugh had the Doctor enjoyed since leaving New York, and often
the passengers had been forced to join him, though they had not always
heard what Mary had said. "I forgot that you have not studied
geography, dearie. I am speaking of the Mississippi River, which is
called by that name. We change cars at St. Louis, a fine old city on
its banks."
The next afternoon when Mary awoke from her nap, the Doctor called her
to see some Indians. Instead of looking out the window, she caught up
Amelia Anabelle's white coat and wound it around her head, insisting,
"Tie your muffler or something white around your head, Uncle! Oh, be
quick! Do you think they will come on the train?"
The Doctor looked at the child in surprise.
"O Uncle! Please, _please_ hurry! If they do come, they may try to
scalp everyone; and if they see our heads tied up, they will think we
have already been scalped."
"Is that the way you would try to deceive the poor Indians? I am
surprised at you! Come here and take a look at them."
Mary timidly peeped out the window; but instead of a band of braves in
war paint and feathers, she saw only two men standing on the platform,
quietly talking.
"You don't mean to say those are _Indians_, Uncle! Why, they look just
like men."
"And what are Indians, eh? birds?"
"Now, Uncle! But I s'pose those are tame Indians, not wild ones."
"Yes, those men are civilized. We are now in Oklahoma, and by bedtime
we shall be in Texas with one more night's ride before us."
The little girl was delighted that the journey was nearing its end.
Though the Doctor had taken her out to walk and run about on the
station platform whenever the train had stopped for any length of time,
she was tired of sitting still so long and would have been quite happy
if she could have left the train and enjoyed a good romp over the vast
plains which stretched as far as the eye could see.
The next morning, Mary was perfectly sure that she knew just how Rip
van Winkle felt when he came down from the mountain after his long
sleep. She and her uncle had boarded the train in New York in the
midst of a whirling snowstorm; and they stepped off it at San Antonio
into the very mildest of spring weather. She looked with delight at
the grass and trees and beautiful palms, some of them as high as the
second story windows; and if it had not been for Amelia Anabelle's
wraps and the new books and games in her trunk, she could not have
believed that scarcely two weeks had passed since Christmas.
Instead of staying at a hotel, the Doctor had arranged to board at a
big, old-fashioned house, standing far back from the street in the
midst of fine old trees. Mary liked this plan very much, and soon
became a great favorite with everyone there. She spent most of the
time outdoors; and in the fresh air and warm, bright sunshine, she grew
stronger day by day. The Doctor, true to the promise he had made when
she found she could not go to Rome with her parents, lost no time in
getting a pony for her and a horse for himself; and every morning they
went for a ride through the parks of the city. The one Mary liked best
was Brackenridge Park, where long, gray streamers of Spanish moss hang
from the trees, and bright redbirds flit among the branches. She liked
the plazas, too,--big open squares in the heart of the city, laid out
like little parks with fountains, trees, and beautiful flowers. And
she liked the San Antonio River, the "Old Santone," as the natives
lovingly call it, with its banks bordered with myrtle and cresses and
shaded by old trees. And as they rode through the beautiful city, the
Doctor told the little girl of the saintly Franciscan Fathers, who,
more than a century before La Salle sailed down the Mississippi, and
almost a century before the Mayflower brought the Pilgrims to Plymouth
Rock, came to the great, wild, lonely, Texas plains to bring the light
of Faith to the savage Indians roaming there. It was the Monks of the
same order who founded the city of San Antonio in 1689, and who built
the Cathedral of San Fernando and the Mission Chapel of the Alamo;
also, the four other Mission Churches which lie from two to eight miles
outside the city.
One of the first buildings they visited was San Fernando Cathedral.
Its old gray walls, built in 1734, are still in good condition; and
inside, the soft light from its stained-glass windows falls on
beautiful statues and pictures of our Blessed Mother and the saints.
When they left the church, the Doctor pointed out the time-blackened
roof at the rear of the building, where the Mexican general, Santa Ana,
planted his cannon so as to fire on the Alamo, the fort and Mission
Chapel, "The Cradle of Texas' Liberty," as it is fittingly called. As
they walked over to it, Mary listened eagerly to her uncle's story of
Texas' brave fight for freedom from Mexico, to which country it
belonged until 1836. He told her of the terrible siege of the Alamo,
which took place in the early spring of that year, when less than two
hundred Texans held the fort against six or seven thousand Mexicans
until not one of the brave little band remained alive; and of the
battle of San Jacinto a month later, in which the Mexicans suffered
defeat, and Santa Ana was taken prisoner. Soon after this, Texas
became a republic; and some time later, asked to be admitted to the
United States.
A feeling of awe came over the little girl as they entered the Alamo
and walked along its dim hallways and stood in the rooms where the
fearfully unequal hand-to-hand fight was carried on. She saw the
Chapel where Mass had so often been said, and the burial place of the
Monks. But this sacred old building is no longer used as a chapel. It
is now the property of the State, and is visited by travelers from all
over the country.
Other spots which were of great interest to Mary were the old Missions
outside the city. Several times the Doctor drove her out along the
beautiful country roads to visit them; and as they had all the time
they needed, he stopped by the roadside as often as Mary wished to get
out to examine the cactus blossoms or to pick the other wild flowers,
especially the bluebonnet, the State flower of Texas.
Built during the eleven years between 1720 and 1731, the Missions are
now in ruins, but they stand as silent witnesses to the courage and
zeal of the saintly Monks who gave their lives to the work of
converting the Indians. The Mission San Jose, or Saint Joseph, is
still very beautiful. It is said that the front of this church with
its carvings and statues of saints above the door, was brought all the
way from Spain to Mexico City, then overland, through forests, across
rivers, over mountains to where it now stands. The Doctor showed Mary
the part of the building which had been used as a school for the
Indians, and explained that, besides being a church, school, and home
for the Monks, each Mission served as a place of refuge from unfriendly
Indian tribes.
Another place Mary liked to visit was Fort Sam Houston, one of the
largest military posts in the country. It was here that Roosevelt
trained his famous "Rough Riders." Some little distance from it is a
beautiful convent school; and one day as they rode past it, Mary reined
in her pony and sat watching the children at play. The Doctor proposed
a visit to the Sisters, and Mary promptly agreed, hoping that the
little girls would invite her to join in their games. This they did,
and she spent a happy hour with them.
And so the winter passed, bringing the days when every shanty was
almost hidden by the beautiful roses which climbed over it, and violets
peeped out from places where one would least expect to find them. Only
one thing marred the pleasure of these sunny months. This was the
death of Gene's father. The Doctor had placed him in the care of a
famous specialist; but though everything possible was done for him, he
failed very quickly. Mary felt better about Gene's loss after her
uncle had explained to her that, even had Mr. Donnelly lived, he would
always have been a great sufferer.
The little girl never tired of seeing the Mexicans, who live in and
around San Antonio, in their native costume. Often on the roads to the
Missions, she and her uncle met one of the men dressed in light-colored
breeches, white shirt, a gay sash around his waist, and a very
broad-brimmed sombrero trimmed with silver braid and ornaments on his
head. Usually, he had a tiny donkey, or burro, with him, almost hidden
by a great load of hay or mesquite wood. They saw the women in their
miserable huts, or jacales, built of a few sticks driven into the
ground and covered with old blankets and thatches of straw. These
women were always kneeling at the open door, pounding out tortillos,
the Mexican johnny-cake, in the matat, or very old-fashioned corn mill;
or they were down at the little ditch, washing their coarse linen,
using a great flat rock for a washboard. The men make beautiful things
of clay, feathers, grasses, leather and wool; and the Doctor bought
small jugs, baskets, little pocket books, and many other trinkets for
Mary to take to her friends at home. As for the Mexican candy, the
little girl was sure she had never tasted any better.
On the twenty-first of April, she saw a sight which she never forgot.
This was the Flower Parade, followed by the "Battle of the Flowers," in
memory of the battle of San Jacinto. Foremost in the parade marched
the soldiers from the Fort. They were followed by automobiles and
carriages decked with beautiful flowers. One small auto in particular
made Mary clap her hands in delight. It was entirely covered with pure
white flowers so arranged as to represent a swan. The flowers were
built up in front for the long neck and head, and bright yellow
blossoms formed the bill. As it glided gracefully along, it was
greeted with cheers on all sides. In the evening, a fierce battle was
waged in Alamo Plaza, ladies and gentlemen on horseback pelting one
another with flowers. But Mary enjoyed the parade better. She loved
flowers too much to wish to see them fall and be trampled under the
horses' hoofs.
A few days later, she and her uncle said good-bye to San Antonio and
set out on the long journey to New York.