The name of Travis is immortally linked with the tragedy of the Alamo, where the gallant Colonel William Travis was massacred with his devoted band in that historic fortress at San Antonio. The Rev. Alexander Travis was an uncle of the hero of the Alamo. Colonel William Travis was a resident of Alabama before he removed to Texas, and practiced law in Clarke County. Thence he removed to Texas, where he became one of the most prominent sharers in the struggle for independence.

One of the dominant traits of the Travis stock was that of cool courage. This was illustrated as much in the life of the heroic missionary in the woods of southern Alabama as it was shown by his nephew in the ill-fated fortress of the Alamo. Alexander Travis removed to Conecuh County in 1817, and was one of the pioneer settlers of that region. He was a man of peace, but this did not obscure the heroic impulses of his nature, for in grappling with the stern conditions of pioneer life, in seeking to bring them into due subordination to organized social conditions, unusual pluck was needed, not alone, but wisdom and prudence, as well.

While sharing fully in the hardships of the early colonizers of south Alabama, Mr. Travis, as a minister of the gospel, led in all movements in the emergence of that region from chaotic conditions to the higher plane of advanced society. Himself denied the advantages of an education, he was the foremost in all movements to provide for general instruction. He was the founder of the town of Evergreen, now a bustling little center on the Louisville and Nashville Railway, between Montgomery and Mobile. He founded the academy at that point, which school has given place in later years to one of the state agricultural schools.

There was a pathetic touch in the life of a man who would labor on his little farm, cleared by his own hands, in the wilds of south Alabama, and who, at night, when the labor of the day was over, would sprawl himself in his little yard before his blazing pine-knot fire, and study his plain English Bible—the only book in his library. Leaving his hut in the woods, each week, in time to reach distant settlements to preach on Sunday, he would throw his little wallet of cotton cloth across his shoulders, and set out on foot to trudge the distance, sometimes of forty miles, for the privilege of preaching to some distant community. He came to know every foot of the wide Indian trails that wound through the forests over a vast area, and knew every log on which he could cross the large streams in those bridgeless days of the long ago. Nothing foiled him in the excursions of good, for when the rains would swell the streams, he would strip himself, cram his apparel within his wallet, and, being an expert swimmer, he would hold his bag above his head with one hand, while with the other he would swim to the opposite side, redress, and onward plod his way.

Among the elements of abounding romance in our history, nothing exceeds in interest the intrepidity of this pioneer hero in contributing to the moral and spiritual side of the early days of our history. His punctuality in meeting his appointments, and his devotion to the gospel and to the people, won for him a confidence supreme. In those days when courts were not, and yet where conflicting litigants were, cases for final adjudication would be held in abeyance “till the preacher comes.” Causes were submitted, but he would never consent to a consideration of them till the contending parties would agree to abide amicably his decision. Such was the clearness and saneness of his judgment, the fairness of his spirit, and his profound sense of right, that every litigant would promptly accept this condition. He was jury, advocate, and judge, all in one, and for many years, in that interior pioneer region, he acted in this threefold capacity, while he rendered unrequited service as a missionary. His was a strange, strong, romantic life, spent for the good of others to the neglect of his own personal comfort. That class has dwindled to a list so small and rare that today, when similar devotion is shown, the world knows no higher designation for such a man than that of “crank,” yet it is the crank that turns things.

In later years and under better conditions, Mr. Travis came to ride the wide regions through on horseback, with his leathern saddle-bags beneath him. Under the tall pines which then grew in those southern parts, he would frequently stretch himself at night, on the green grass, tired and sleepy, with his head pillowed on his saddle-bags, and beneath the stars, he would be wooed to sleep by the moaning pines above him. His faithful horse was tethered close by to browse the wire grass and the native peavines, while the missionary would sleep and await the coming of the dawn. Without a cent of compensation, Alexander Travis labored through many eventful years, creating the means with his own hands with which to sustain his work, and uncheered by aught else than the consciousness of duty to humanity and to God.

With the expansion of population, and with the growth of prosperity, Mr. Travis came in the second half of his life to possess a measurable degree of wealth, but from a steady purpose of doing good, he never wavered. He was a man of commanding appearance, of natural dignity of port, and possessed of the natural assertion which these give; yet he was modest, and commanded esteem by his unquestioned qualities of leadership. There was no element of flabbiness in his character, no cant and drivel in his utterances, but in all that pertained to him he was a nobleman by nature. His judgment was incisive and discriminative, his poise collected, and while without the least exhibition of violence, he was courageous in his entertainment of views, and pronounced in their expression. In nothing did his courage so manifest itself as in his stoutness of spirit in the face of difficulty. Nothing that he regarded as possible baffled him, and while never stern, he was immovable from that which he conceived to be right, whether reinforced by others or not. He was a benediction to the state while living, and, being dead, he yet speaks.