"'Tis the light that tells the dawning
Of the bright millennial day,
Heralding its blessed morning,
With its peace-restoring ray.
* * * * *
"Man no more shall seek dominion
Through a sea of human gore;
War shall spread its gloomy pinion
O'er the peaceful earth no more."
BURLEIGH.
It was a dark, tempestuous night in December, and the keen piercing
blasts whistled around the corners and swept moaningly across the
Plaza. Silence reigned over the town. No sound of life was heard--the
shout of laughter, the shriek of pain, or wail of grief was stilled.
The voices of many who had ofttimes hurried along the now silent and
deserted streets were hushed in death. The eventful day had dawned
and set, the records of its deeds borne on to God by the many that
had fallen. Oh! when shall the millennium come? When shall peace and
good-will reign throughout the world? When shall hatred, revenge,
and malice die? When shall the fierce, bitter strife of man with
fellow-man be ended? And oh! when shall desolating war forever cease,
and the bloody records of the past be viewed as monster distortions of
a maddened brain? These things shall be when the polity of the world
is changed. When statesmen cease their political, and prelates their
ecclesiastical intrigues; when monarch, and noble, and peasant, alike
cast selfishness and dissimulation far from them; when the Bible is
the text-book of the world, and the golden rule observed from pole to
pole.
The 11th of December is marked with a white stone in the calendar of
the Texans. During the fortnight which elapsed from the engagement of
Conception, the Alamo had been closely invested by General Burleson,
and brief though bloody struggles almost daily occurred. The besiegers
numbered only eight hundred, while the fortress was garrisoned by
twenty-five hundred Mexican troops. Yet well-directed valor has ever
proved more than a match for numerical superiority. On the morning of
the 11th a desperate assault was made, a violent struggle ensued,
and ere long victory declared for the "Lone Star." With unutterable
chagrin General Cos was forced to dispatch a messenger bearing the
white banner of submission to the Texan commander, and night saw the
Alamo again in Texan hands, and General Cos and his disheartened band
prisoners of war.
Dr. Bryant had received, during the engagement, a wound in the arm,
which he caused to be dressed, and, placing the injured member in a
sling, strove to soothe the dying and relieve the wounded. Early
he dispatched tidings of his safety to his anxious sister, and now
devoted himself to the suffering soldiery. Midnight found him beside
the couch of pain, and even as he bent to administer a sedative, a
hand was lightly laid on his shoulder. Looking up, Frank perceived the
muffled form of a female, though unable to determine who stood beside
him, for the face was entirely concealed by the mantilla.
"Can I do anything for you, Señora?"
"Dr. Bryant, will you leave your people here to see a dying
Mexican--one who fell fighting against you?"
"Most assuredly, if I can render relief; but, Inez, you should not
have ventured here on such an errand; could no messenger be found? It
was imprudent in you to come at this hour."
"No matter; I felt no fear of your people, and mine would not molest
me. But I have little time to wait. Mañuel is sorely wounded: we bore
him from the Alamo, and he lies at my father's. Can you do nothing for
him?"
"I hope it is not too late to render assistance; we will go
immediately." And drawing his cloak over the wounded arm, he followed
her to Don Garcia's. Neither spoke till they reached the threshold;
then Frank said:
"Inez, does Mañuel know you came for me?"
"Yes; he objected at first, but as the pain grew more acute, he begged
us to do something for him. I told him there was none to help save
you. He frowned a little, but nodded his head, and then I lost no
time."
They entered the apartment of the sufferer, and Inez started at the
change which had taken place during her temporary absence. Mañuel
feebly turned his head as the door opened, and his eyes brightened
as they rested on Inez. He motioned her to sit beside him, and she
complied, lifting his head and carefully leaning it upon her bosom.
Dr. Bryant examined the wound, felt the pulse, and stooping over him,
asked:
"Nevarro, do you suffer much?"
Mañuel laid his hand on the bleeding side, and feebly inclined his
head.
"Inez, I can only use one hand, will you assist me in binding this
wound?"
She attempted to rise, but Nevarro clutched her hand and gasped--"Too
late--too late!"
Resolved to do something, if possible, for his relief, Frank beckoned
to the Don, who stood near, and with some difficulty they succeeded
in passing a bandage round the mouth of the wound. The groans of the
dying man caused even the cheek of the fearless Inez to blanch. She
who scorned danger, and knew not fear, could not witness with out
a pang the sufferings of another. She moaned in very sympathy, and
stroked gently back the straight raven hair, now clotted with blood.
The exertion necessarily made proved fatal; the breathing grew short
and painful, the pulse slow and feeble. Appealing was the look which
the wounded one bent on Inez: he strove to utter his wishes, but,
alas, it was indeed too late. The blood gushed anew from his side,
crimsoning bandage and couch, and dyeing Inez's dress. Dr. Bryant took
one of the cold hands and pressed it kindly. Mañuel opened his eyes,
and looked gratefully on one who had at least endeavored to relieve
him. Convulsively the fingers closed over his physician's hand; again
he turned his face to Inez, and with a groan expired.
Frank took the lifeless form from her arms, and laying it gently back
upon the pillow, closed the eyes forever, and covered the face.
No words, save "Holy Mary!" escaped the Don's lips, as he quitted the
room of death.
Inez's lips Quivered, and the convulsive twitching of her features
plainly indicated her grief at this mournful parting with the playmate
of her youth--with her affianced husband. Yet the large dark eyes were
undimmed: and her tone calm, as though the "King of Terrors" were not
there in all his gloom.
"Inez, I sympathize with you in this affliction, and sincerely regret
that the fatal wound was inflicted by one of my nation. Yet the past
is irretrievable, though painful, and many are, like you, bereft of
friends and relatives. Inez, in your hours of gloom and sadness can
you not think of your reunion with Mañuel, where death and parting are
unknown!"
She had averted her head, and a look of unutterable bitterness rested
on the pale, stern face.
"I thank you for coming; though you could not give Mañuel relief. It
was good and kind in you to try, and none but Frank Bryant would have
done it: again I thank you. I shall not forget this night, and you,
Señor, shall be requited. I trust you are not suffering with your arm;
why is it bound up?" And she laid her hand softly on it.
"I received a slight though rather painful wound during the
engagement, and placed it in a sling for convenience and relief; but,
Inez, it is well-nigh day, see how the stars are waning. You
need rest, so good night, or rather morning; I will see you again
to-morrow." And Frank sought his sister, knowing full well her
anxiety, and wishing speedily to allay it.