CHAPTER XVIII
THE BLACK TRAGEDY
While the raw recruits crowded one another for breath in the darkvaulted church of Goliad, a little swarthy man in a gorgeous uniform satdining luxuriously in the best house in San Antonio, far to thenorthwest. Some of his favorite generals were around him, Castrillon,Gaona, Almonte, and the Italian Filisola.
The "Napoleon of the West" was happy. His stay in San Antonio, after thefall of the Alamo, had been a continuous triumph, with much feasting anddrinking and music. He had received messages from the City of Mexico,his capital, and all things there went well. Everybody obeyed hisorders, although they were sent from the distant and barbarous land ofTexas.
While they dined, a herald, a Mexican cavalrymen who had ridden far,stopped at the door and handed a letter to the officer on guard:
"For the most illustrious president, General Santa Anna," he said.
The officer went within and, waiting an opportune moment, handed theletter to Santa Anna.
"The messenger came from General Urrea," he said.
Santa Anna, with a word of apology, because he loved the surface formsof politeness, opened and read the letter. Then he uttered a cry of joy.
"We have all the Texans now!" he exclaimed. "General Urrea has takenFannin and his men. There is nothing left in Texas to oppose us."
The generals uttered joyful shouts and drank again to their illustriousleader. The banquet lasted long, but after it was over Santa Annawithdrew to his own room and dictated a letter to his secretary. It wassealed carefully and given to a chosen messenger, a heavy-browed andpowerful Mexican.
"Ride fast to Goliad with that letter," said Santa Anna.
The messenger departed at once. He rode a strong horse, and he wouldfind fresh mounts on the way. He obeyed the orders of the generalliterally. He soon left San Antonio far behind, and went on hour afterhour, straight toward Goliad. Now and then he felt the inside of histunic where the letter lay, but it was always safe. Three or four timeshe met parties of Mexicans, and he replied briefly to their questionsthat he rode on the business of the most illustrious president, GeneralAntonio Lopez de Santa Anna. Once, on the second day, he saw twohorsemen, whom his trained eyes told him to be Texan hunters.
The messenger sheered off into a patch of timber, and waited until thehunters passed out of sight. Had they seen him much might have changed,a terrible story might have been different, but, at that period, thestars in their courses were working against the Texans. Every accident,every chance, turned to the advantage of their enemies.
The messenger emerged from the timber, and went on at the same steadygait toward Goliad. He was riding his fourth horse now, having changedevery time he met a Mexican detachment, and the animal was fresh andstrong. The rider himself, powerful by nature and trained to a life inthe saddle, felt no weariness.
The scattered houses of Goliad came into view, by and by, and themessenger, giving the magic name of Santa Anna, rode through the lines.He inquired for General Urrea, the commander, but the general havinggone to Victoria he was directed to Colonel Portilla, who commanded inhis absence. He found Portilla sitting in a patio with Colonel Garay,the younger Urrea and several other Mexican officers. The messengersaluted, drew the letter from his pocket and presented it to ColonelPortilla.
"From the most illustrious president and commander-in-chief, GeneralSanta Anna," he said.
Portilla broke the seal and read. As his eyes went down the lines, adeep flush crept through the tan of his face, and the paper trembled inhis hands.
"I cannot do it! I cannot do it! Read, gentlemen, read!" he cried.
Urrea took the extended letter from his hand and read it aloud. Neitherhis voice nor his hand quivered as he read, and when he finished he saidin a firm voice:
"The orders of the president must be obeyed, and you, Colonel Portilla,must carry them out at once. All of us know that General Santa Anna doesnot wish to repeat his commands, and that his wrath is terrible."
"It is so! It is so!" said Portilla hopelessly, and Garay also spokewords of grief. But Urrea, although younger and lower in rank, was firm,even exultant. His aggressive will dominated the others, and hisassertion that the wrath of Santa Anna was terrible was no vain warning.The others began to look upon him as Santa Anna's messenger, theguardian of his thunderbolts, and they did not dare to meet his eye.
"We will go outside and talk about it," said Portilla, still muchagitated.
When they left the patio their steps inevitably took them toward thechurch. The high note of a flute playing a wailing air came to themthrough the narrow windows. It was "Home, Sweet Home," played by a boyin prison. The Mexicans did not know the song, but its solemn note wasnot without an appeal to Portilla and Garay. Portilla wiped theperspiration from his face.
"Come away," he said. "We can talk better elsewhere."
They turned in the opposite direction, but Urrea did not remain withthem long. Making some excuse for leaving them he went rapidly to thechurch. He knew that his rank and authority would secure him promptadmission from the guards, but he stopped, a moment, at the door. Theprisoners were now singing. Three or four hundred voices were joined insome hymn of the north that he did not know, some song of theEnglish-speaking people. The great volume of sound floated out, and washeard everywhere in the little town.
Urrea was not moved at all. "Rebels and filibusters!" he said inSpanish, under his breath, but fiercely. Then he ordered the doorunbarred, and went in. Two soldiers went with him and held torchesaloft.
The singing ceased when Urrea entered. Ned was standing against thewall, and the young Mexican instinctively turned toward him, because heknew Ned best. There was much of the tiger cat in Urrea. He had the samefeline grace and power, the same smoothness and quiet before going intoaction.
"You sing, you are happy," he said to Ned, although he meant them all."It is well. You of the north bear misfortune well."
"We do the best we can wherever we are," replied young Fulton, dryly.
"The saints themselves could do no more," said the Mexican.
Urrea was speaking in English, and his manner was so friendly and gentlethat the recruits crowded around him.
"When are we to be released? When do we get our parole?" they asked.
Urrea smiled and held up his hands. He was all sympathy and generosity.
"All your troubles will be over to-morrow," he said, "and it is fittingthat they should end on such a day, because it is Palm Sunday."
The recruits gave a cheer.
"Do we go down to the coast?" one of them asked.
Urrea smiled with his whole face, and with the gesture of his hands,too. But he shook his head.
"I can say no more," he replied. "I am not the general, and perhaps Ihave said too much already, but be assured, brave foes, that to-morrowwill end your troubles. You fought us gallantly. You fought againstgreat odds, and you have my sympathy."
Ned had said no more. He was looking at Urrea intently. He was trying,with all the power of his own mind and soul, to read this man's mind andsoul. He was trying to pierce through that Spanish armor of smiles andgestures and silky tones and see what lay beneath. He sought to read thereal meaning of all these polite phrases. His long and powerful gazefinally drew Urrea's own.
A little look of fear crept into Urrea's eyes, as the two antagonistsstared at each other. But it was only for a few minutes. Then he lookedaway with a shrug and a laugh.
"Now I leave you," he said to the men, "and may the saints bring youmuch happiness. Do not forget that to-morrow is Palm Sunday, and that itis a good omen."
He went out, taking the torchbearers with him, and although it was darkagain in the vaulted church, the recruits sang a long time. Ned sat downwith his back against the wall, and he did not share in the general joy.He remembered the look that had come into Urrea's eyes, when they metthe accusing gaze of his own.
After a while the singing ceased, and one by one the recruits fellasleep in the close, stifling ai
r of the place. Ned dozed an hour ortwo, but awoke before dawn. He was oppressed by a deep and unaccountablegloom, and it was not lifted when, in the dusk, he looked at the rows ofsleeping figures, crowded so close together that no part of the floorwas visible.
He saw the first light appear in the east, and then spread like the slowopening of a fan. The recruits began to awaken by and by, and their goodspirits had carried over from the night before. Soon the old church wasfilled with talk and laughter.
The day came fully, and then the guards brought food and water, notenough to satisfy hunger and thirst, but enough to keep them alive. Theydid not complain, as they would soon be free men, able to obtain allthat they wanted. Presently the doors of the church were thrown open,and the officers and many soldiers appeared. Young Urrea was foremostamong the officers, and, in a loud voice, he ordered all the prisonersto come out, an order that they obeyed with alacrity and pleasure.
Ned marched forth with the rest, although he did not speak to any ofthose about him. He looked first at Urrea, whose manner was polite andsmiling, as it had been the night before, and then his glance shifted tothe other officers, older men, and evidently higher in rank. He sawthat two, Colonels by their uniforms, were quite pale, and that one ofthem was biting savagely at his mustache. It all seemed sinister to Ned.Why was Urrea doing everything, and why were his superiors standing by,evidently a prey to some great nervous strain?
The recruits, under Urrea's orders, were formed into three columns. Onewas to take the road toward San Antonio, the second would march towardSan Patricio, and the third to Copano. The three columns shoutedgood-by, but the recruits assured one another that they would soon meetagain. Urrea told one column that it was going to be sent homeimmediately, another that it was going outside the town, where it was tohelp in killing cattle for beef which they would eat, and the third thatit was leaving the church in a hurry to make room for Santa Anna's owntroops, who would reach the town in an hour.
Ned was in the largest column, near the head of it, and he watchedeverything with a wary eye. He noticed that the Mexican colonels stillleft all the arrangements to Urrea, and that they remained extremelynervous. Their hands were never quiet for a moment.
The column filed down through the town, and Ned saw the Mexican womenlooking at them. He heard two or three of them say "pobrecitos" (poorfellows), and their use of the word struck upon his ear with an ominoussound. He glanced back. Close behind the mass of prisoners rode a strongsquadron of cavalry with young Urrea at their head. Ned could not seeUrrea's face, which was hidden partly by a cocked and plumed hat, but henoticed that the young Mexican sat very upright, as if he felt the prideof authority. One hand held the reins, and the other rested on thesilver hilt of a small sword at his side.
A column of Mexican infantry marched on either side of the prisoners,and only a few yards away. It seemed to Ned that they were holding theTexans very close for men whom they were to release in a few hours.Trusting the Mexicans in nothing, he was suspicious of everything, andhe watched with a gaze that missed no detail. But he seemed to be alonein such thoughts. The recruits, enjoying the fresh air and the prospectof speedy freedom, were talking much, and exchanging many jests.
They passed out of the little town, and the last Ned saw of it was theMexican women standing in the doorways and watching. They continuedalong the road in double file, with the Mexican infantry still on eitherside, and the Mexican cavalry in the rear. A half mile from the town,and Urrea gave an order. The whole procession stopped, and the column ofMexican infantry on the left passed around, joining their comrades onthe right. The recruits paid no attention to the movement, but Nedlooked instantly at Urrea. He saw the man rise now in his saddle, hiswhole face aflame. In a flash he divined everything. His heart leapedand he shouted:
"Boys, they are going to kill us!"
The startled recruits did not have time to think, because the nextinstant Urrea, rising to his full height in his stirrups, cried:
"Fire!"
The double line of Mexicans, at a range of a few yards, fired in aninstant into the column of unarmed prisoners. There was a great blaze, aspurt of smoke and a tremendous crash. It seemed to Ned that he couldfairly hear the thudding of bullets upon bodies, and the breaking ofbones beneath the sudden fierce impact of the leaden hail. An awfulstrangled cry broke from the poor recruits, half of whom were alreadydown. The Mexicans, reloading swiftly, poured in another volley, andthe prisoners fell in heaps. Then Urrea and the cavalry, with swords andlances, charged directly upon them, the hoofs of their horses treadingupon wounded and unwounded alike.
Ned could never remember clearly the next few moments in that red andawful scene. It seemed to him afterward that he went mad for the time.He was conscious of groans and cries, of the fierce shouting of theMexicans, wild with the taste of blood, of the incessant crackling ofthe rifles and muskets, and of falling bodies. He saw gathering overhimself and his slaughtered comrades a great column of smoke, pierced byinnumerable jets of fire, and he caught glimpses of the swart faces ofthe Mexicans as they pulled triggers. From right and left came the crashof heavy but distant volleys, showing that the other two columns werebeing massacred in the same way.
He felt the thunder of hoofs and a horse was almost upon him, while therider, leaning from the saddle, cut at him with a saber. Ned, driven byinstinct rather than reason, sprang to one side the next instant, andthen the horseman was lost in the smoke. He dashed against a figure, andwas about to strike with his fist, the only weapon that he now had, whenhe saw that he had collided with a Texan, unwounded like himself. Thenhe, too, was lost in the smoke.
A consuming rage and horror seized Ned. Why he was not killed he neverknew. The cloud over the place where the slaughtered recruits laythickened, but the Mexicans never ceased to fire into it with theirrifles and muskets. The crackling of the weapons beat incessantly uponthe drums of his ears. Mingled with it were the cries and groans of thevictims, now fast growing fewer. But it was all a blurred and redvision to Ned. While he was in that deadly volcano he moved by instinctand impulse and not by reason.
A few of the unwounded had already dashed from the smoke and hadundertaken flight across the plain, away from the Mexican infantry,where they were slain by the lances or muskets of the cavalry underUrrea. Ned followed them. A lancer thrust so savagely at him that whenthe boy sprang aside the lance was hurled from his hand. Ned's footstruck against the weapon, and instantly he picked it up. A horseman onhis right was aiming a musket at him, and, using the lance as a longclub, he struck furiously at the Mexican. The heavy butt landed squarelyupon the man's head, and shattered it like an eggshell. Youthful andhumane, Ned nevertheless felt a savage joy when the man's skull crashedbeneath his blow.
It is true that he was quite mad for the moment. His rage and horrorcaused every nerve and muscle within him to swell. His brain was a massof fire. His strength was superhuman. Whirling the great lance in clubfashion about his head he struck another Mexican across the shoulders,and sent him with a howl of pain from the saddle. He next struck a horseacross the forehead, and so great was the impact that the animal wentdown. A cavalryman at a range of ten yards fired at him and missed. Henever fired again, as the heavy butt of the lance caught him the nextinstant on the side of the head, and he went to join his comrade.
All the while Ned was running for the timber. A certain reason wasappearing in his actions, and he was beginning to think clearly. Hecurved about as he ran, knowing that it would disturb the aim of theMexicans, who were not good shots, and instinctively he held on to thelance, whirling it about his head, and from time to time uttering fierceshouts like an Indian warrior wild with battle. More than one Mexicanhorseman sheered away from the formidable figure with the formidableweapon.
Ned saw other figures, unarmed, running for the wood. A few reached it,but most were cut down before they had gone half way. Behind him thefiring and shouting of the Mexicans did not seem to decrease, but nomore groans or cries reached him from the bank of smoke
that hung overthe place where the murdered recruits lay. But the crash of the fire,directed on the other columns to right and left, still came to him.
Ned saw the wood not far away now. Twenty or thirty shots had been firedat him, but all missed except two, which merely grazed him. He was nothurt and the superhuman strength, born of events so extraordinary, stillbore him up. The trees looked very green. They seemed to hold outsheltering arms, and there was dense underbrush through which thecavalry could not dash.
He came yet nearer, and then a horseman, rifle raised to his shoulder,dashed in between. Sparks danced before Ned's eyes. Throat and mouth,lips and his whole face burned with smoke and fever, but all the heatseemed to drive him into fiercer action. He struck at horse and horsemanso savagely that the two went down together, and the lance broke in hishands. Then with a cry of triumph that his parched throat could scarcelyutter, he leaped into the timber.
Having reached the shelter of the trees, Ned ran on for a long time, andfinally came into the belt of forest along the San Antonio River.Twenty-six others escaped in the same way on that day, which witnessedthe most dreadful deed ever done on the soil of North America, butnearly four hundred were murdered in obedience to the letter sent byAntonio Lopez de Santa Anna. Fannin and Ward, themselves, were shotthrough the head, and their bodies were thrown into the common heap ofthe slain.
Ned did not see any of the other fugitives among the trees. He may havepassed them, but his brain was still on fire, and he beheld nothing butthat terrible scene behind him, the falling recruits, the fire and thesmoke and the charging horsemen. He could scarcely believe that it wasreal. The supreme power would not permit such things. Already the Alamohad lighted a fire in his soul, and Goliad now turned it into a roaringflame. He hated Urrea, who had rejoiced in it, and he hated Santa Annawho, he dimly felt, had been responsible for this massacre. Everyelement in his being was turned for the time into passion and hatred. Ashe wandered on, he murmured unintelligible but angry words through hisburning lips.
He knew nothing about the passage of time, but after many hours herealized that it was night, and that he had come to the banks of ariver. It was the San Antonio, and he swam it, wishing to put the streambetween himself and the Mexicans. Then he sat down in the thick timber,and the collapse from such intense emotions and such great exertionscame quickly. He seemed to go to pieces all in a breath. His head fellforward and he became unconscious.