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UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
BY THE SAME AUTHORESS.

A Daughter of Fife.

The Bow of Orange Ribbon.

Between Two Loves.

She Loved a Sailor.







WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.



COPYRIGHT.

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
MESSRS. JAMES CLARKB & Co.



WOVEN OF LOVE
AND GLORY.



BY

AMELIA E. BARR,

Author of "The Bow of Orange Ribbon" "Between
Two Loves" 6*c., &c.




LONDON :
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.,

BEDFORD STREET, STRAND.






CONTENTS.

tA.CZ

CHAPTER I. THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS, i
CHAPTER II. ANTONIA AND ISABEL, - 14
CHAPTER III. BUILDERS OF THE COMMON-
WEALTH, - 3 1

CHAPTER IV. THE SHINING BANDS OF LOVE, 52

CHAPTER V. A FAMOUS BARBECUE, - - 85

CHAPTER VI. ROBERT WORTH is DISARMED, 113

CHAPTER VII. A MEETING AT MIDNIGHT, - 140

CHAPTER VIII. MOTHER AND PRIEST, 165

CHAPTER IX. THE STORMING OF THE ALAMO, 185

CHAPTER X. THE DOCTOR AND THE PRIEST, 206

CHAPTER XI. A HAPPY TRUCE, - - - 227

CHAPTER XII. DANGER AND HELP, - , - 252

CHAPTER XIII. ARRIVAL OF SANTA ANNA, - 282

CHAPTER XIV. FALL OF THE ALAMO, - 303

CHAPTER XV. GOLIAD, - - - - - 33
CHAPTER XVI. THE LOADSTONE IN THE

BREAST, 353

CHRPTER XVII. HOME AGAIN, - - - 39

CHAPTER XVIII. UNDER ONE FLAG, - - 41?



M705G74



>



WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

CHAPTER I.

THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS.

" What, are you stepping westward ? " " Yea."

* # * * *

Yet who would stop or fear to advance,
Though home or shelter there was none,
With such a sky to lead him on ! "

WORDSWORTH.

" Ah ! cool night wind, tremulous stars,
Ah ! glimmering water,
Fitful earth murmur,
Dreaming woods ! " ARNOLD.

IN A. D. sixteen hundred and ninety-two,
a few Franciscan monks began to build
a city. The site chosen was a lovely wilder-
ness huhdreds of miles away from civiliza-
tion on every side, and surrounded by sav-
age and warlike tribes. But the spot was
as beautiful as the garden of God. It was
shielded by picturesque mountains, watered by
two rivers, carpeted with flowers innumerable,



a WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

shaded by noble trees, joyful with the notes of
a multitude of singing birds. To breathe the
balmy atmosphere was to be conscious of some
rarer and finer life, and the beauty of the
sunny skies marvellous at dawn and eve with
tints of saffron and amethyst and opal was
like a dream of heaven.

One of the rivers was fed by a hundred
springs situated in the midst of charming bow-
ers. The monks called it the San Antonio ;
and on its banks they built three noble Mis-
sions. The shining white stone of the neigh-
borhood rose in graceful domes and spires
above the green trees. Sculptures, basso-
. os, and lines of gorgeous coloring adorned
the exteriors. Within, were splendid altars
and the appealing charms of incense, fine ves-
and fine music ; while from the belfreys,
bells sweet and resonant called to the savages,
who spell-bound and half-afraid to

lainly these priests had to fight as well as
to pray. The Indians did not suffer them to
>n of their Eden without passion-
ate and practical protest. But what the monks
had taken, they kept; and the fort and the



THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS. 3

soldier followed the priest and the Cross. Ere
long, the beautiful Mission became a beautiful
city, about which a sort of fame full of romance
and mystery gathered. Throughout the south
and west, up the great highway of the Missis-
sippi, on the busy streets of New York, and
among the silent hills of New England, men
spoke of San Antonio, as in the seventeenth
century they spoke of Peru ; as in the eight-
eenth century they spoke of Delhi, and Agra,
and the Great Mogul.

Sanguine French traders carried thither rich
ventures in fancy wares from New Orleans ;
and Spanish dons from the wealthy cities of
Central Mexico, and from the splendid homes
of Chihuahua, came there to buy. And from
the villages of Connecticut, and the woods of
Tennessee, and the lagoons of Mississippi, ad-
venturous Americans entered the Texan terri-
tory at Nacogdoches. They went through the
land, buying horses and lending their ready
rifles and stout hearts to every effort of that
constantly increasing body of Texans, who,
even in their swaddling bands, had begun to
cry Freedom !

At length this cry became a clamor that



4 WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

shook even the old viceroyal palace in Mexico ;
while in San Antonio it gave a certain pitch
to all conversation, and made men wear their
cloaks, and set their beavers, and display their
arms, with that demonstrative air of independ-
ence they called los Americano. For, though
the Americans were numerically few, they were
like the pinch of salt in a pottage they gave
the snap and savor to the whole community.

Over this Franciscan-Moorish city the sun
set with an incomparable glory one evening
in May, eighteen thirty-five. The white, flat-
roofed, terraced houses each one in its
flowery court and the domes and spires of
the Missions, with their gilded crosses, had a
mirage-like beauty in the rare, soft atmosphere,
as if a dream of Old Spain had been material-
ized in a wilderness of the New World.

But human life in all its essentials was in
San Antonio, as it was and has been in all
other cities since the world began. Women
were in their homes, dressing and cooking,
nursing their children and dreaming of their
lovers. Men were in the market-places, buy-
ing and selling, talking of politics and antici-
pating war. And yet in spite of these fixed



THE CITY 2N THE WILDERNESS. 5

attributes, San Antonio was a city penetrated
with romantic elements, and constantly pic-
turesque.

On this evening, as the hour of the Angelus

' approached, the narrow streets and the great
squares were crowded with a humanity that
assaulted and captured the senses at once ; so
vivid and so various were its component parts.
A tall sinewy American with a rifle across his
shoulder was paying some money to a Mexican
in blue velvet and red silk, whose breast was
covered with little silver images of his favorite
saints. A party of Mexican officers were
strolling to the Alamo ; some in white linen
and scarlet sashes, others glittering with color
and golden ornaments. Side by side with
these were monks of various orders: the
Franciscan in his blue gown and large white
hat ; the Capuchin in his brown serge ; the
Brother of Mercy in his white flowing robes,

' Add to these diversities, Indian peons in
ancient sandals, women dressed as in the days
of Cortez and Pizarro, Mexican vendors of
every kind, Jewish traders, negro servants,
rancheros curvetting on their horses, Apache
and Comanche braves on spying expeditions ;



6 WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

and, in this various crowd, yet by no means of
it, small groups of Americans ; watchful, silent,
armed to the teeth : and the mind may catch
a glimpse of what the streets of San Antonio
were in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred
and thirty-five.

It was just before sunset that the city was
always at its gayest point. Yet, at the first
toll of the Angelus, a silence like that of en-
chantment fell upon it. As a mother cries
hush to a noisy child, so the angel of the city
seemed in this evening bell to bespeak a
minute for holy thought. It was only a
minute, for with the last note there was even
an access of tumult. The doors and windows
of the better houses were thrown open, ladies
began to appear on the balconies, there was a
sound of laughter and merry greetings, and
the tiny cloud of the cigarette in every direc-

.

But amid this sunset glamour of splendid
color, of velvet, and silk, and gold embroidery,
the man who would have certainly first at-
tracted a stranger's eye wore the plain and ugly
costume common at that day to all American
gentlemen. Only black cloth and white linen



THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS. 7

and a low palmetto hat with a black ribbon
around it ; but he wore his simple garments
with the air of a man having authority, and he
returned the continual salutations of rich and
poor, like one who had been long familiar with
public appreciation.

It was Dr. Robert Worth, a physician whose
fame had penetrated to the utmost boundaries
of the territories of New Spain. He had been
twenty-seven years in San Antonio. He was
a familiar friend in every home. In sickness
and in death he had come close to the hearts
in them. Protected at first by the powerful
Urrea family, he had found it easy to retain
his nationality, and yet live down envy and
suspicion. The rich had shown him their
gratitude with gold ; the poor he had never
sent unrelieved away, and they had given him
their love.

When in the second year of his residence
he married Dona Maria Flores, he gave, even
to doubtful officials, security for his political
intentions. And his future conduct had
seemed to warrant their fullest confidence.
In those never ceasing American invasions
.between eighteen hundred and three and



S WOVEtf OP LOVE AXD GLORf.

eighteen hundred and thirty-two, he had been
the friend and succourer of his countrymen,
but never their confederate ; their adviser, but
never their confidant.

He was a tall, muscular man of a distin-
guished appearance. His hair was white. His
face was handsome and good to see. He was
laconic in speech, but his eyes were closely
observant of all within their range, and they
asked searching questions. He had a reverent
soul, wisely tolerant as to creeds, and he loved
his country with a passion which absence from
it constantly intensified. He was believed to
be a thoroughly practical man, fond of accu-
mulating land and gold ; but his daughter
Antonia knew that he had in reality a noble
imagination. When he spoke to her of the
woods, she felt the echoes of the forest ring
through the room ; when of the sea, its walls
melted away in an horizon of long rolling
waves.

He was thinking of Antonia as he walked
slowly to his home in the suburbs of the city.
Of all his children she was the nearest to
him. She had his mother's beauty. She
had also his mother's upright rectitude of



THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS. 9

nature. The Iberian strain had passed her
absolutely by. She was a northern rose in a
tropical garden. As he drew near to his own
gates, he involuntarily quickened his steps.
He knew that Antonia would be waiting. He
could see among the thick flowering shrubs
her tall, slim figure clothed in white. As she
came swiftly down the dim aisles to meet him,
he felt a sentiment of worship for her. She
concentrated in herself his memory of home,
mother, and country. She embodied, in the
perfectness of their mental companionship,
that rarest and sweetest of ties a beloved
child, who is also a wise friend and a sympa-
thetic comrade. As he entered the garden she
slipped her hand into his. He clasped it
tightly. His smile answered her smile. There
was no need for any words of salutation.

The full moon had risen. The white house
stood clearly out in its radiance. The lattices
were wide open and the parlor lighted. They
walked slowly towards it, between hedges of
white camelias and scarlet japonicas. Vanilla,
patchuli, verbena, wild wandering honeysuckle
a hundred other scents perfumed the light,
warm air, As they came neaf the house there



io WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

was a sound of music, soft and tinkling, with a
rhythmic accent as pulsating as a beating
heart.

" It is Don Luis, father."

" Ah ! He plays well and he looks well."

They had advanced to where Don Luis was
distinctly visible. He was within the room,
but leaning against the open door, playing upon
a mandolin. Robert Worth smiled as he of-
fered his hand to him. It was impossible not
to smile at a youth so handsome, and so charm-
ing a youth who had all the romance of the
past in his name, his home, his picturesque
costume ; and all the enchantments of hope
and great enthusiasms in his future.

" Luis, I am glad to see you ; and I felt your
music as soon as I heard it."

He was glancing inquiringly around the room
as he spoke ; and Antonia answered the look :

" Mother and Isabel are supping with Dona
Valdcz. There is to be a dance. I am waiting
for you, father. You must put on your velvet
vest."

"And you, Luis? "

" I do not go. I asked the judge for the
appointment. He refused me, Very well ! I



THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS II

care not to drink chocolate and dance in his
house. One hand washes the other, and one
cousin should help another."

" Why did he refuse you ? "

"Who can tell?" but Luis shrugged his
shoulders expressively, and added, " He gave
the office to Blas-Sangre."

"Ah!"

" Yes, it is so -naturally ; Blas-Sangre is
rich, and when the devil of money condescends
to appear, every little devil rises up to do him
homage."

" Let it pass, Luis, Suppose you sing me
that last verse again. It had a taking charm.
The music was like a boat rocking on the
water."

" So it ought to be. I learned the words in
New Orleans. The music came from the heart
of my mandolin. Listen, Seflor !

" ' Row young oarsman, row, young oarsman,

Into the crypt of the night we float :
Fair, faint moonbeams wash and wander,

Wash and wander about the boat.
Not a fetter is here to bind us,

Love and memory lose their spell ;
Friends that we have left behind us,

Prisoners of content, farewell ! ' "

" You are a wizard, Luis, and I have had a



12 WOVEN" OF LOVE AND GLORY,

sail with you. Now, come with us, and show
those dandy soldiers from the Alamo how to
dance."

r " Pardon ! I have not yet ceased to cross
myself at the affront of this morning. And
the Sefiora Valdez is in the same mind as her
husband. I should be received by her like a
dog at mass. I am going to-morrow to the
American colony on the Colorado."

" Be careful, Luis. These Austin colonists
are giving great trouble there have been
whispers of very strong measures. I speak as
a friend."

f " My heart to yours ! But let me tell you
this about the Americans their drum is in the
hands of one who knows how to beat it."

" As a matter of hearsay, are you aware that
three detachments of troops are on their way
from Mexico?"

" For Texas ? "

" For Texas,"

" What are three detachments ? Can a few
thousand men put Texas under lock and key?
I assure you not, Sefior; but now I must say
adieu!"

He took the doctor's hand, and, as he held



THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS. 13

it, turned his luminous face and splendid
eyes upon Antonia. A sympathetic smile
brightened her own face like a flame. Then
he went silently away, and Antonia watched
him disappear among the shrubbery.

" Come, Antonia ! I am ready. We mus
not keep the Sefiora waiting too long."

" I am ready also, father." Her voice was
almost sad, and yet it had a tone of annoyance
in it " Don Luis is so imprudent," she said.
" He is always in trouble. He is full of
enthusiasms ; he is as impossible as his favor-
ite, Don Quixote."

" And I thank God, Antonia, that I can yet
feel with him. Woe to the centuries without
Quixotes! Nothing will remain to them but
Sancho Panzas,"



CHAPTER II.

ANTONIA AND ISABEL.

" He various changes of the world had known,
And some vicissitudes of human fate,
Still altering, never in a steady state :
Good after ill, and after pain delight,
Alternate, like the scenes of day and night. "

" Ladies whose bright eyes
Rain influence."

" But who the limits of that power shall trace,
Which a brave people into life can bring,
Or hide at will, for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed ? "

FOR many years there had never been any
doubt in the mind of Robert Worth as
to the ultimate destiny of Texas, though he
was by no means an adventurer, and had come
into the beautiful land by a sequence of
natural and business-like events. He was born
in New York. In that city he studied his
profession, and in eighteen hundred and three
began its practice in an office near Contoit's
Hotel, opposite the City Park, One day he



AN TON I A AND ISABEL. 15

was summoned there to attend a sick man.
His patient proved to be Don Jaime Urrea,
and the rich Mexican grandee conceived a
warm friendship for the young physician.

At that very time, France had just ceded to
the United States the territory of Louisiana,
and its western boundary was a subject about
which Americans were then angrily disputing.
They asserted that it was the Rio Grande ; but
Spain, who naturally did not want Americans
so near her own territory, denied the claim,
and made the Sabine River the dividing line.
And as Spain had been the original possessor
of Louisiana, she considered herself authority
on the subject.

The question was on every tongue, and it
was but natural that it should be discussed by
Urrea and his physician. In fact, they talked
continually of the disputed boundary, and of
Mexico. And Mexico was then a name to
conjure by. She was as yet a part of Spain,
and a sharer in all her ancient glories. She
was a land of romance, and her very name
tasted on the lips, of gold, and of silver, and of
precious stones. Urrea easily persuaded the
young man to return to Mexico with him.



i6 WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

The following year there was a suspicious
number of American visitors and traders in
San Antonio, and one of the Urreas was sent
with a considerable number of troops to garri-
son the city. For Spain was well aware that,
however statesmen might settle the question,
the young and adventurous of the American
people considered Texas United States terri-
tory, and would be well inclined to take posses-
sion of it by force of arms, if an opportunity
offered.

Robert Worth accompanied General Urrea
to San Antonio, and the visit was decisive as
to his future life. The country enchanted
him. He was smitten with love for it, as men
are smitten with a beautiful face. And the
white Moorish city had one special charm for
him it was seldom quite free from Americans,
Among the mediaeval loungers in the narrow
streets, it filled his heart with joy to see at in-
tervals two or three big men in buckskin or
homespun. And he did not much wonder that
the Morisco-Hispano-Mexican feared these
Anglo-Americans, and suspected them of an
intention to add Texan to their names.

His inclination to remain in San Antonio



ANTON1A AMD ISABEL If

was settled by his marriage. Dona Maria
Flores, though connected with the great Mex-
ican families of Yturbide and Landesa, owned
much property in San Antonio. She had been
born within its limits, and educated in its
convent, and a visit to Mexico and New Or-
leans had only strengthened her attachment to
her own city. She was a very pretty woman,
with an affectionate nature, but she was not
intellectual. Even in the convent the sisters
had not considered her clever.

But men often live very happily with
commonplace wives, and Robert Worth had
never regretted that his Maria did not play on
the piano, and paint on velvet, and work fine
embroideries for the altars. They had passed
nearly twenty-six years together in more than
ordinary content and prosperity. Yet no life
is without cares and contentions, and Robert
Worth had had to face circumstances seve-
ral times, which had brought the real man to
the front.

The education of his children had been such
a crisis. He had two sons and two daughters,
and for them he anticipated a wider and
grander career than he had chosen for himself.



1 8 WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

When his eldest child, Thomas, had reached
the age of fourteen, he determined to send him
to New York. He spoke to Dona Maria of this
intention. He described Columbia to her with
all the affectionate pride of a student for his
alma mater. The boy's grandmother also still
lived in the home wherein he himself had
grown to manhood. His eyes filled with tears
when he remembered the red brick house in
Canal Street, with its white door and dormer
windows, and its one cherry tree in the strip
of garden behind.

But Dona Maria's national and religious
principles, or rather prejudices, were very
strong. She regarded the college of San Juan
de Lateran in Mexico as the fountain-head of
knowledge. Her confessor had told her so.
All the Yturbides and Landesas had graduated
at San Juan.

But the resolute father would have none of
San Juan. " I know all about it, Maria," he
said. " They will teach Thomas Latin very
thoroughly. They will make him proficient in
theology and metaphysics. They will let him
dabble in algebra and Spanish literature ; and
with great pomp, they will give him his degree,



ANTONIA AND ISABEL. 19

and * the power of interpreting Aristotle all
over the world.' What kind of an education
is that, for a man who may have to fight the
battles of life in this century ? "

And since the father carried his point it is
immaterial what precise methods he used.
Men are not fools even in a contest with wo-
men. They usually get their own way, if they
take the trouble to go wisely and kindly about
it. Two years afterwards, Antonia followed
her brother to New York, and this time, the
mother made less opposition. Perhaps she
divined that opposition would have been still
more useless than in the case of the boy. For
Robert Worth had one invincible determina-
tion ; it was, that this beautiful child, who so
much resembled a mother whom he idolized,
should be, during the most susceptible years of
her life, under that mother's influence.

And he was well repaid for the self-denial
her absence entailed, when Antonia came back
to him, alert, self-reliant, industrious, an intel-
ligent and responsive companion, a neat and
capable housekeeper, who insensibly gave to
his home that American air it lacked, and who
set upon his table the well-cooked meats and



20 WOVEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

delicate dishes which he had often longed
for.

John, the youngest boy, was still in New
York finishing his course of study ; but regard-
ing Isabel, there seemed to be a tacit relin-
quishment of the purpose, so inflexibly carried
out with her brothers and sister. Isabel was
entirely different from them. Her father had
watched her carefully, and come to the convic-
tion that it would be impossible to make her
nature take the American mintage. She was
as distinctly Iberian as Antonia was Anglo-
American.

> In her brothers the admixture of races had
been only as alloy to metal. Thomas Worth
was but a darker copy of his father. John had
the romance and sensitive honor of old Spain,
mingled with the love of liberty, and the practi-
cal temper, of those Worths who had defied both
Charles the First and George the Third. But
Isabel had no soul-kinship with her father's
people. Robert Worth had seen in the Ytur-
bide rcsidencia in Mexico the family portraits
which they had brought with them from Cas-
tile. Isabel was the Yturbide of her day.
She had all their physical traits, and from her



ANTONIA AND ISABEL. a I

large golden-black eyes the same passionate
soul looked forth. He felt that it would be
utter cruelty to send her among people who
must always be strangers to her.
1 So Isabel dreamed away her childhood at
her mother's side, or with the sisters in the
convent, learning from them such simple and
useless matters as they considered necessary
for a damosel of family and fortune. On the
night of the Seflora Valdez's reception, she
had astonished every one by the adorable
grace of her dancing, and the captivating way
in which she used her fan. Her fingers touched
the guitar as if they had played it for a thou-
sand years. She sang a Spanish Romancero
of El mio Cid with all the fire and tenderness
of a Castilian maid.

Her father watched her with troubled eyes.
He almost felt as if he had no part in her.
And the thought gave him an unusual anxiety,
for he knew this night that the days were fast
approaching which would test to extremity the
affection which bound his family together.
He contrived to draw Antonia aside for a few
moments. ;

" Is she not wonderful ? " he asked. " When



22 WO FEN OF LOVE AND GLORY.

did she learn these things ? I mean the way
in which she does them ? "

Isabel was dancing La Cachoucha, and An-
tonia looked at her little sister with eyes full
of loving speculation. Her answer dropped
slowly from her lips, as if a conviction was
reluctantly expressed :

" The way must be a gift from the past
her soul has been at school before she was
born here. Father, are you troubled ? What
is it ? Not Isabel, surely ? "

" Not Isabel, primarily. Antonia, I have
been expecting something for twenty years.
It is coming."

" And you are sorry ? "

" I am anxious, that is all. Go back to the


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