ttle-travelled trail that followed
the river to the Seminole village on the Nacimiento. The day's journey
was without incident, other than our amusement at what seemed to us the
Captain's overzealous caution in keeping scouts out ahead and to right
and left of the column, and in posting sentries about our night camp.

The following morning, a Sunday, after much good advice, the kindly
Captain bade us a reluctant farewell, and led his troops down-river
toward home, while our little party of six headed westward up-river.
Near noon we sighted the Seminole village, and shortly entered it, a
close cluster of low jacals built of poles and mud. Odd it looked, as
we entered, a deserted village, no living thing in sight but a few
dogs. Thus our surprise was all the greater when, nearing the farther
edge of the village, our ears were greeted with the familiar strains of
"Jesus, Lover of My Soul," issuing from a large _jacal_ which we soon
learned was the Seminole church. Fancy it! the last thing one could
have dreamed of! An honest old Methodist hymn sung in English by
several score devout worshippers in the heart of Mexico, on the very
dead line between savagery and civilization, and at that, sung by a
people all savage on one side of their ancestry and semi-savage on the
other.

Before the singing of the hymn was finished, startled by the barking of
their dogs, out of the low doorway sprang half a dozen men, strapping
big fellows,--one, the chief, bent half double with age,--all heavily
armed. The moment they saw we were Americans we were most cordially
received, and even urged to stop a few days with them, and give them
news of the Texas border. But for this we had no time; and after a
short visit--for which the congregation adjourned service--we filled
our canteens, let our horses drink their fill at the great Nacimiento
spring that burst forth a veritable young river from beneath a low
bluff beside the town, and struck out westward for Alamo Canon. Our
afternoon march gave us little concern, for our route lay across
rolling, lightly timbered uplands that offered little opportunity for
ambush. That night we made a "dry camp" on the divide, preferring to
approach the Alamo in daylight.

Having struck camp before dawn the next morning, by noon we saw ahead
of us a great gorge dividing the mountain we were approaching--great in
its height, but of a scant fifty yards in breadth, perpendicular of
sides, a narrow line o