Opposite the Alamo on the slope leading to the river stood a number of jacals tenanted by humble Mexican families, with one of whom lived a boy and girl supposed from their fair complexions, blue eyes and light hair, to be stragglers from the western white settlements, and who were known as the Americanos—the boy being called Cano and the girl Cana. Though kindly cared for by their protectors—Mexicans are proverbially patient and indulgent with children—they never affiliated with their playmates, but, holding themselves aloof, seemed to be ever brooding over some secret sorrow. The boy, smart and ingenious, was often seen hanging round the Alamo, where doing odd jobs for the garrison and making himself useful, he became a great favorite. Jesusa, generous, unselfish, sympathetic, was as popular with the Mission juveniles as the Alcalde with their elders. Noticing Cana watching her bird one morning, she invited her to come in and become acquainted with her pets. Children easily become friends, a certain free-masonry opening their hearts and drawing them together, and Jesusa, improving the meeting in the garden, became the generous patron of Cana, constantly making her presents and treating her to unexpected pleasures.
San Antonio, though isolated from social and commercial privileges and almost exclusively absorbed in religious interests, was gay and sociable, fandangoes, card parties, alfresco banquets, at which the famous Mexican dishes—tortillas, tomales, frijoles, chile con carne, dulces con fruta—were served in perfection, being of frequent occurrence. Holidays abounded, Saints’ Days, National Anniversaries, Family Fêtes being carefully and elaborately observed, and at no place was Christmas celebrated with more pomp and solemnity. Two San Antonio Christmas observances—the Pastores and Christmas Lamp—deserve special notice. The former was a species of dramatic performance intended to represent the Passion of Christ, and given every night during Christmas week; the latter was founded on the familiar legend that the Infant Jesus, descending from His Father’s Heavenly Throne to His Virgin Mother’s Arms, noticed a lighted lamp hanging near an humble home, and learning that it was intended to commemorate the guiding of the Magi by the Star of Bethlehem to His lowly manger, blessed the home and its inmates, leaving as visible marks of His Favor some desired presents.
On Christmas Eve, 183—, much excitement prevailed at the Mission, it being announced that the Alcalde had contributed a generous sum towards improving and adorning the hall to be used for the Pastores, which would be represented on a handsomer scale than ever before, and that Padre Ignacio, the San Fernando priest, who, officiating for many years at christenings, marriages, funerals, and hearing confessions, imposing penances or granting indulgences—thus becoming the Alter Ego of devout San Antonians—had, yielding to the solicitations of some influential San Fernando parishioners, consented to bless the lamps in church, thus giving them public consecration. Heretofore, they had only been blessed privately. Many of them, a few being costly and ornate, were heirlooms, having belonged to the parents, grand-parents, great-grand-parents, of their owners, and being endeared by tender domestic associations.
Until a certain age children were not allowed to handle Christmas lamps, their parents acting for them; and attaining the prescribed age, were required by fasting and prayer to prepare themselves for the ceremony, the failure of the Holy Child to notice their lamps and leave some mark of favor being regarded as the severest of rebukes. An importance somewhat similar to the assuming of the toga by Roman youths, or to the reception by sovereigns of royal courtiers, was attached to the function. The plazas de Yslas y de Armas, adjoining San Fernando, generally crowded on afternoons with rancheros driving bargains or computing gains and losses, were filled on the Christmas Eve referred to with devout lamp-bearing worshippers wending their way to church. Padre Ignacio officiated at the Vesper service, then pronouncing the benediction retired to the Sacristy, where he laid aside his altar vestments and, returning to the Church wearing his plain priestly robe, stood outside the chancel rail and awaited the lamp-bearers desiring his blessing, who, advancing in line, knelt before him. Taking each lamp in his hand he made over it the sign of the cross, and having blessed them all said solemnly: “Domine, ad adjuvandem vos festina.” It was an impressive scene, deeply moving the lamp-bearers, who, returning home, lighted and hung their lamps on previously-selected poles or bushes, where shining like stars in the quiet skies they seemed to reflect the simple, trusting faith characteristic of all sincere followers of Christ.
The Alcalde, deeply interested, burnished and prepared with his own hands his daughter’s lamp, she being too young to do so herself; then lighting it, hung it—ignoring his own preference for a secluded nook near her window—in an obscure angle of an unfrequented corner of the Alamo which she, as familiar with the Alamo as with her own home, had chosen. It happened to be just under the hall where Bowie, Crockett, Travis, and their brave comrades made their desperate stand some years later against Santa Anna and where, sealing with their blood their devotion to liberty and independence, they enriched human annals with that sublimest of all sublime records.
THE PASTORES
Picture a large barn-like hall without doors or windows, hard dirt floor, rough-plastered walls on which some oil lamps and tallow candles in wooden brackets smoke and cast a dim spectral light. A platform raised about two feet above the floor and extending across the entire back of the hall serves as a stage, and some large, striped Mexican blankets do duty as a drop curtain. The actors remain all the time on the stage, those taking part in the scenes advance to the center, play their rôles, then retire to the sides where those not acting gather behind the curtain and are supposed to be invisible. There was no attempt at scenic effect, no applause, but absorbed, unflagging attention. In front of the stage were some large chairs, in which Don Pedro, Donna Inez and other distinguished personages were seated; back of the chairs were rows of benches occupied by well-dressed men and women, and in open spaces behind and on the sides of the benches a motley crowd of women wearing rebosas and sewing, knitting, or plaiting and combing their hair, and men wearing sombreros and drinking pulque, smoking, or playing cards, sat flat on the floor. After rather a long wait, some musicians sitting near the stage sang to a guitar accompaniment some disconnected strains from church chants or masses. The curtain, parting and being drawn aside, discloses two men, the one fair, handsome and well-dressed, representing the Angel of God, the other dark, ugly, with a club foot and horns projecting above a lowering brow, representing the devil, who have an excited dispute about the advent of the expected Redeemer. These two men appear in every scene. Then follow in regular succession the Annunciation, the Adoration of the Magi, Christ in the Temple, the Temptation, the Crucifixion, the Empty Sepulchre, all being taken literally from the Bible. In the last scene the Devil kneels before the Angel of God, acknowledges the Divinity of Christ, and begs to be admitted to the community of the Redeemed.
The Alcalde’s Daughter
The Virgin was personated by a young, beautiful, pure-looking woman; Christ by a handsome, refined youth; Pontius Pilate by a large, vulgar-looking man; Herodias by a saucy, bold girl; Mary Magdalene by a pale, forlorn looking woman. There were occasional intermissions during which the singers treated the audience to some rather sweet music. A cynic, marveling that the managers of the Pastores should select scenes from a Bible they never read, might describe the performance as a travesty of a faith they would die to defend, yet he would have to acknowledge the earnest interest taken by the audience to be significant of the human sympathy always aroused by the story of Bethlehem.