Just at dusk I entered the old Cathedral, a relic of Spanish times. The choir had in it the bishop's throne, and stalls for choristers. There were some paintings, also, which looked as if they might, in a better light, be worth seeing. But there was one thing there that possessed more interest than aught else. It was a body, waiting for burial, covered with a pall, and placed at the head of the centre aisle. It was a message from another world, a memento mori, which could not be thrust aside. How solemn it looked! and one thought of the long night watches, and of those who would remain by its side until the light of the next day should dawn, the Mass be said, and the grave receive the clay until the vivifying morning of the Resurrection.
Leaving the Cathedral we again mingled in the crowded streets, brilliant with electric lights, really now to be met with everywhere. In our stroll we saw the outside of the Alamo, which has quite a history. All had to wait, however, until next morning.
Here I may mention that our evenings on our car were always evenings at home. We had many a pleasant hour together in fun and frolic, in story-telling, in playing games, such as consequences and nonsense verses; in occasional singing, and music on the reed organ, part of our car belongings; but whatever we engaged in, we always brought our day to a close with family prayers and the singing of one or two hymns, as an act of devotion. When our closing hymn rang out from our car that night, at the depot grounds in San Antonio, doubtless many were curious to know just what we were. Since my return from our "Flight in Spring," it has occurred to me that much real pleasure and spiritual profit could be had by a mission band of clergymen making just such a tour as we made, but with the special end in view to hold services for one or more days at the points visited. I think the clergy would hail such a mission with gladness, judging from the hungry way in which Dr. Morgan and myself were constantly importuned to "stay over and preach."
One dear old brother made such a pitiful appeal, and seemed so feeble, that Dr. Morgan defied the injunction of his Vestry not to use his throat while away, and disregarded even the appealing advice of his dear wife, and did actually preach. The Doctor said that, of course, I would do the same at night. Of course, I had to consent. Then a miracle took place: our dear old brother seemed to have a new lease of life the moment his two Sunday sermons were off his conscience. He was so spry that on Sunday afternoon he suggested a Sabbath day's drive among some orange groves, which we took behind two spanking bays, the ribbons being held by our erewhile feeble brother, now in all the vigor of hearty old age, warming up to the exciting drive. On and on we went until I suggested that it would be well to turn back, as I wanted a little quiet time before church to gather my thoughts together before preaching. In the blandest way the old gentleman told us he had lost his way, and was looking for a place to turn back. I thought we never should get home; but I made the best of it, and brooded all the return way on recent events at the Philippines, of Dewey and his watchword: "Keep cool and obey orders," and at night I gave a patriotic sermon on the text: "But thanks be to God which giveth us the victory."
I felt sure that if we remained over until next Sunday, our dear brother would be again as feeble as ever, and that in our charity we could not but preach, even though we might suspect. We did not leave San Antonio until after five o'clock the next day, and that gave us a little more pleasurable time there. It is such a flowery, bright, and cheerful place, that it quite attracted us.
In the morning I went to the Alamo and gave that thrilling place an hour or so, and it is well worth it. It has been the scene of a determined bravery of which any country might be proud, and there, also, a deep tragedy took place which has in it the true spirit of the daring and the heroic.
On the exterior the Alamo has quite an ancient appearance. The front, with its characteristic Spanish look and round-topped gable, is plain and massive, with quite a handsome entablature over the arched entrance, consisting of four fluted columns, on good bases, all supporting a horizontal cornice which extends over the main door, and over a recessed niche at each side for statues. It has all, a grandiose effect, quite interesting.
Passing in through the door, you find yourself in a well-proportioned church, long since disused as such, and now owned by the State and occupied as a museum, filled with relics of the fearful scenes which took place within the sacred place. Here, in the year 1836, a band of Texans fortified themselves against the attack of General Santa Anna and some four or five thousand Mexican soldiers bent on their destruction.
The siege was laid, and the commanding officer in the Alamo, Colonel Travis, determined to withstand it to the end. The same spirit filled the hearts of his brave men. He endeavored to arouse the energies of the Texans without to come to his relief, but for some reason they did not. Jealousies and bickerings among other leaders is hinted at as the cause. The letter which the brave colonel sent tells his story in his own words. Here it is:
"Commandcy of the Alamo, Bexar,