in nacogdoches there is a wonderful elm, a tree which stood in the primeval forest perhaps before the foot of the white man ever trod its paths. its leafy branches toss in the wind, green and beautiful against the blue sky. its old trunk has turned into sap for its own growth the sunshine of more years than any living man can remember.
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as a springing sapling it may have greeted hernando de soto on his westward march. it may have looked down on la salle journeying through the forest to his untimely death; and on tonti of the iron hand, seeking tidings of his murdered friend. don ramon, lying in its shade, may have watched the slow building of the mission of our lady of nacogdoches; and st. denis, riding by, may have paused to cut switches from its down-drooping branches. nolan, herrera, magee, long, many a soldier, and many an indian chief in his war-paint and feathers,—all these the old tree has seen come and go.
a soldier of another sort stood in its shade one day in 1821, and looked upon the small yet motley group of people gathered about him. there were a dozen or more frontiersmen, bronzed and bearded, and armed to the teeth; there were a few mexican soldiers, a mexican woman or two with coarse mantillas on their heads, and several wide-eyed mexican children. the man facing this group held a small book in his hand. he was not armed. his eyes shone with a soft light, and when he spoke his voice was full and sweet.
this was the rev. henry stephenson, a methodist preacher who had come into the wilderness, not to found a republic nor to set up a free and independent state, but to preach the gospel and to make straight the paths of the lord.
that day, under the old elm, the first protestant sermon was preached in texas. at its close a sweet old hymn, which many a man present had learned at his mother’s knee, was begun by the preacher, and one by one, and at first half ashamed, the bearded frontiersmen took up the strain until it floated up and away beyond the clustering leaves of the old tree, and soared into heaven.
eyes long unused to tears were wet when the hymn was ended; and with softened hearts the singers pressed about the man of god to bid him good-bye. for he was on his way to carry the gospel to the utmost western border of texas.
even the gentle mexican women joined in the cheer which followed him as he entered the lonely forest and passed on out of sight.
