“My Juan, where do you go? “To Gonzales, mi madre.” “But why? Oh, Juan, do not desert your madre, and your country! “Desert you, madre! I am your boy to my last breath! My country I love with my whole soul. That is why I have come back to you and to her! She is in trouble and her sons must stand by her.” “Do not talk with two meanings. Oh, Juan! why do you go to Gonzales?” “We have heard that Colonel Ugartchea is to be there soon, and to take away the arms of the Americans. That is not to be endured. If you yourself were a man, you would have been away ere this to help them, I am sure.” “ME!! The Blessed Virgin knows I would cut off my hands and feet first. Juan, listen to me dear one! You are a Mexican.” “My heart is Mexican, for it is yours. But I must stand with my father and with my brother, and with my American compatriots. Are we slaves, that we must give up our arms? No, but if we gave them up we should deserve to be slaves.” “God and the saints!” she answered, passionately. “What a trouble about a few guns! One would think the Mexicans wanted the wives and children, the homes and lands of the Americans. They cry out from one end of Texas to the other.” “They cry out in old England and in New England, in New York, in New Orleans, and all down the Mississippi. And men are crying back to them: ‘Stand to your rifles and we will come and help you!’ The idea of disarming ten thousand Americans!” Jack laughed with scornful amusement at the notion. “What a game it will be! Mother, you can’t tell how a man gets to love his rifle. He that takes our purse takes trash; but our rifles! By George Washington, that’s a different story!” Juan, my darling, you are my last hope. Your brother was born with an American heart. He has even become a heretic. Fray Ignatius says he went into the Colorado and was what they call immersed; he that was baptized with holy water by the thrice holy bishop of Durango. My beloved one, go and see Fray Ignatius; late as it is, he will rise and counsel you. “My heart, my conscience, my country, my father, my brother, Santa Anna’s despotism, have already counselled me.” “Speak no more. I see that you also are a rebel and a heretic. Mother of sorrows, give me thy compassion!” Then, turning to Juan, she cried out: “May God pardon me for having brought into this world such ingrates! Go from me! You have broken my heart!” He fell at her feet, and, in spite of her reluctance, took her hands-- “Sweetest mother, wait but a little while. You will see that we are right. Do not be cross with Juan. I am going away. Kiss me, mother. Kiss me, and give me your blessing.” “No, I will not bless you. I will not kiss you. You want what is impossible, what is wicked.” “I want freedom.”