In 1881 the old capitol at Austin was burned, and with it many priceless relics of the earlier days of Texas. Among these was the old monument dedicated in 1857 to the heroes of the Alamo. It was built of stones from the ruined fortress and stood on the porch of the capitol. It was inscribed with the names of Travis and his men; and the four sides of the shaft bore the following inscriptions:
North. “To the God of the fearless and the free is dedicated this altar, made from the stones of the Alamo.”
West. “Blood of heroes hath stained me. Let the stones of the Alamo speak that their immolation be not forgotten.”
South. “Be they enrolled with Leonidas in the host of the mighty dead.”
East. “Thermopylæ had her messenger of defeat, but the Alamo had none.”
A new monument, upon whose summit stands, rifle in hand, the statue of a Texas ranger, has been placed in the capitol grounds.
The legislature which met soon after the burning of the old capitol provided for the erection of a new one. Three million acres of public lands were set aside to meet this expense. The new building was finished and dedicated in 1888.
The historic old church of the Alamo was purchased by the state in 1883. The battlefield of San Jacinto has also become the property of the state. This beautiful spot, consecrated by the blood of heroes, is guarded by the same encircling trees, which, clad in the green of spring’s livery, looked down upon the birth of freedom on that long-past 21st of April. May the coming centuries see them still standing, mute witnesses to the bravery of men who had no peer!
X.
THE NEW CENTURY.
The last year of the nineteenth century witnessed in Texas a calamity which wrapped the state in gloom and stirred the entire country to instant and generous sympathy. This was the Great Flood at Galveston.
Earlier in the same year (April 7) the city of Austin had suffered a severe loss through water. The wonderful barrier of granite—the largest dam in the world—which imprisoned the waters of the Colorado River between the wooded hills on either side, thus forming an artificial lake thirty miles long, had suddenly given way; the mighty torrent set free had poured through the gap, carrying ruin with it and leaving havoc behind.
In August, 1899, there had been a flood of unusual magnitude in the Brazos River. An angry sea had swirled down from the Red Lands above; the long and fertile valley of the Brazos was laid waste; several lives were lost, and much valuable property was destroyed. But these floods were dwarfed in importance by the tidal wave from the sea which on September 8 and 9, 1900, beat against the Gulf coast and fell with special violence upon the Island of Galveston.
A blinding storm of rain fell ceaselessly throughout the whole of the first day; a furious wind drove the salt spray across the island from Gulf to bay. By nightfall the streets were submerged; the lower floors of many dwellings were under water. During the night of horror which followed, the railroad bridge connecting the island with the mainland was swept away, and the city lay isolated and helpless at the mercy of the hurricane. As the hours passed the people huddled together in their rocking houses, climbed to the upper stories and out upon the roofs, with the savage flood climbing after them. Thousands were swept to death from these insecure places of refuge. Whole blocks of buildings crumbled like so many sand houses into the waters; the foamy waves were strewn with a mass of wreckage: shingles, beams, furniture, household goods, animals dead and dying, human beings battling for their lives in the darkness or drifting stark and stiff with the storm.