A SEA VOYAGE--A MEETING AT SEA--TORNADO--STRANGE VESSEL--IN
TEXAS--TRAVELS TO HOUSTON--HARD FARE--THE COUNTRY--SLEEPING ON THE
GROUND--VERY THIRSTY--MUST HAVE WATER--COLORADO RIVER--SOUND ASLEEP
ON ITS BANKS--CROSSES THE RIVER ON LOGS--CORN CAKE--A SURPRISE--IN
HOUSTON--GENERAL HOUSTON--THE ATTORNEY GENERAL OF TEXAS--SAN JACINTO
BATTLE GROUND--A PANDEMONIUM--BUCK WHEAT CAKES--EMBARKED FOR NEW
ORLEANS--A CONDEMNED VESSEL--ON ALLOWANCE--IN NEW ORLEANS--A
CONTRAST--AGUE AND FEVER--UP THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.
Desiring to see more of the world, I embarked for Matagorda, Texas,
on board of a brig, bound for that place. A steam tug towed us to the
Balize, and we were soon winding our way towards the destined port.
There were many emigrants on board, going to Texas, to make themselves
homes. As soon as it became known that I was a clergyman, I was invited
to hold services. I stood on the quarter-deck, my hearers, numbering
about one hundred, gathered around me--some on deck and some in the
rigging. My text was, “And he arose, and rebuked the winds, and the
sea, and there was a great calm.” I commenced by speaking of the
storms to which the sea is subject, and then spoke of that ONE, who
has perfect control of its mountain waves, and of the hurricane that
lashes the mighty deep into such fury. One word from Him turned the
headlong tornado into a calm, and the angry surges into repose. Life is
a sea, and we are all voyagers, sailing from port to port. Sometimes
we have fair weather, and sometimes foul weather. To-day the sun may
shine bright, and the air be as gentle as an infant’s breath, and our
bark may glide smoothly along, like a vessel on the mirrored deep;
to-morrow, clouds and darkness may gather around, the storms of human
passion, or of adversity may threaten the destruction of us and ours,
and in despair we may give up all as lost. But let us remember, through
the whole journey of life, that there is One who controls the storms of
life as well as the storms of the ocean, and to every troubled heart he
does or will say, “Peace--be still.” A hymn was sung, in which nearly
all, sailors and passengers, participated.
In an hour after services, a small cloud was observed in the west. The
captain, knowing what it betokened, ordered the vessel put in trim for
a gale. In a few minutes, the wind was howling through the rigging, and
the vessel plunging from wave to wave, as if eager to flee from the
wrath of the storm-king. The gale continued above an hour, when the
wind abated, the clouds dispersed, the sun shone bright, and the sea
soon became as smooth as a mirror. That latitude, at that season of the
year, is subject to such gusts of passion. A few nights after, when I
was sound asleep on the quarter-deck, for it was too hot to rest below,
one of these gales crossed our track, and a huge wave breaking over the
vessel, dashed me across the deck, when I scrambled up, and ran into
the cabin, not fancying so unceremonious a sea-bath. One night, a man
jumped overboard, and was lost--he must have been insane. Friends at
home probably waited with alternate hope and fear for his return, and,
perhaps, never knew of his sad fate. At that time, Mexico and Texas
were at war, and armed vessels were in the gulf looking after prizes.
One day, a large ship was observed in the distance, bearing down upon
us, without showing colors. Our captain was alarmed. With a pale face,
he eyed the stranger through his telescope. We were all fearful it was
a Mexican armed vessel, and that we should be taken into Matamoras;
but we were finally relieved by the ship showing English colors,
tacking eastward and leaving us.
We sailed up the Matagorda bay a few miles, but the water being
shallow, I got on board a lighter, and went to a village, the name of
which I do not now remember. When I landed in Texas, I supposed I had
delivered my last sermon. I had become tired of wandering about the
world, and had had no opportunity to settle before I had concluded
to quit the ministry. But going to Texas at that early day to find a
home, was certainly a wild and foolish project; and I had been there
but a short time, when I repented in sackcloth and ashes, for having
taken the step I had, and resolved to return to the United States, and
continue in the ministry. I immediately commenced making preparation to
go to Houston by the land route, and thence to New Orleans by water.
The distance to Houston was one hundred and sixty miles, and I resolved
to go there on foot. Being informed that there were but few inhabitants
on the road, and most of them in a starving condition, as the Mexican
army had the season previous passed through that region, I carried food
to last me to the end of my land journey. No tea, coffee, sugar, salt
or flour could be obtained for love or money. Every body lived on fresh
beef, without salt, pepper or butter, save here and there an aristocrat
who had a little corn meal in his larder. I bought some beef, cut it in
slices, and dried it in the sun.
With a good supply of dried beef, and nothing else, a tin canteen,
a blanket and a staff, I commenced my journey, on foot and alone,
through the wild prairies of Texas. I found the country to be nearly
all prairie, the surface quite level, and the soil rich and deep.
The forest trees were generally covered with ivy, which gave them
a melancholy appearance. Live oaks abounded in some localities.
Alligators flourished in the streams, and Indians, snakes, tarantulas
and horned toads on the land. I often traveled a day without seeing a
human being or his habitation. When night came on, I would stop, eat my
dried beef, drink some water, which I had carried, perhaps, all day,
and then roll myself in my blanket, lay on the ground, and go to sleep,
not knowing that there was a human being within miles of me. I was
four weeks in going to Houston, and did not sleep in a house one night
during that time.
I well remember how I suffered one day from thirst. It was a very warm
day, and my little stock of water was exhausted at my morning repast.
I expected to find more of the blessed beverage about noon in a small
grove. I reached the spot, but no water was there; the bed where there
had been a stream was dry and hard. It was a sore disappointment, for
I was very thirsty. As I could not eat my dry beef without water, I
pressed towards the Colorado river, which seemed to be about fifteen
miles distant, for I could see the timber bordering on the stream.
I reached the timber a little after dark, but how far it was to the
river, I knew not. I plunged into the forest in the direction I knew
the stream must lay, as it ran southward. The moon, which had just
risen, was my only guide, for be it known, I was on no road. It proved
to be about four miles to the river, and how I got through, I know
not. There was no path, the thick foliage of the forest admitted but
little moonlight, and the underbrush, vines and branches of trees, made
the whole distance a perfect thicket. But I went through with a rush,
regardless of scratches, snakes, or anything else, for water I must
have. About ten o’clock, I reached the bank of the river, reflecting
the full moon, which had been my guide through the dense forest; and
never did a traveler on the Arabian desert behold the long sought pool
with more delight. It seemed to be my friend, my savior; and if I had
been an idolator, I should have fallen down and worshiped it. I filled
my canteen, and drank till I was satisfied. I then bathed my head,
face, hands and feet in the glorious river. On the bank I partook of
my humble repast--dried beef and water--with a thankful heart. With my
blanket around me, I laid down on the ground and slept, never better,
till the hot morning sun, shining in my face, awaked me, when it was
about two hours’ high. I have often wondered how I dared to sleep that
night, knowing as I did, that there were alligators in the river, and
bears, wolves, and poisonous reptiles in the woods. In the morning, I
again partook of beef and water, with an excellent relish.
But a new difficulty now presented itself. A deep river was before me,
without a bridge or a boat, and I could not swim. But cross the stream
I must by some means. In the first place, I explored the river, up and
down, several miles, hoping to find some one to aid me, but not a sign
of a human being, or human habitation could I discover. I resolved to
attempt to cross the river on a log, and after much hard work succeeded
in getting two logs of sufficient size, into the water, fastened them
together with strips of my blanket, and with pole in hand, launched
into the river. The stream being quite rapid, my frail craft floated
down about one mile, but I safely landed on the opposite shore without
much trouble. After wandering in the canebrakes two hours, I struck a
road, and thanked God and took courage.
I soon came to a house, and had the good fortune to obtain a quart of
corn, which I ground in an old coffee mill, and made some excellent
corn bread of meal and water. I passed through San Felipe, where was
once a village, but only its ruins then remained, for the Mexicans had
destroyed it. Waking one morning about sunrise, I was amazed by the
presence of six naked Indians, squatted in the grass around me. I
jumped to my feet; they saw that I was astonished, but I noticed they
smiled. Taking courage by that friendly token, I walked up to them, and
extended my right hand. They offered me the pipe of peace, which was
gladly accepted. They did not understand a word of English, nor I a
word of Indian. We talked, however, in gestures. They remained an hour,
when we separated in friendship.
When within thirty miles of Houston, I sold my watch for fifteen
dollars, expecting that I should need the money to help pay expenses
to the States. After receiving the money, I heard a woman remark, “It
will do him no good, for he will spend it all for liquor in Houston.”
I suppose she would have thought I lied, if I had told her that I had
never drank a glass of liquor. Arriving at Houston, I renovated self
and clothing, for both were rather dilapidated. Samuel Houston was
then president of Texas. I was in company with him several times, and
dined once in the log-cabin, where he boarded. He was a good talker,
but an awful swearer. Oath after oath rolled from his tongue without
an effort. It is said that General Jackson was an _eloquent_ swearer,
but I have doubts of his beating General Houston in that department
of eloquence. I witnessed his departure for the interior of Texas, to
treat with some Indian tribes. The ferryman did not handle the boat to
suit the president, and he poured battery after battery of oaths on the
poor fellow’s head. On leaving, he embraced, after the French fashion,
his friends, who had followed him to the boat. I was on the San Jacinto
battle ground, a few miles from the city. It was a short but decided
contest. The Mexican forces were totally routed, and Santa Anna taken
prisoner. That battle crowned Houston with glory and honor in Texas.
The town of Houston, when I was there, was a moral desert. Vice of most
every name and grade reigned triumphant--it was a hell on earth. The
Attorney-General of Texas, while I was there, roamed the streets half
of one night, drunk, and hatless, coatless, bootless, daring any one
to fight with him. The people laughed about it as if it was a trifling
matter, and of common occurrence. It is to be hoped that the morals of
that place have improved.
Wishing to go to New Orleans by water, I went in a lighter down
Buffalo bayou to Galveston bar, where the steamer was anchored. The
passage down occupied three days, and that vessel was a perfect
pandemonium--the officers and hands were quarreling or fighting most
of the time. Dirks and pistols were freely used. Buckwheat cakes and
fat hog-sides were served to us three times a day. And oh, what cakes!
The cook baked them about an inch thick, without any rising properties,
and put them on the table stone cold. Fine cakes--thick, cold and
solid. I finally reached the steamer, and the captain promised us a
quick passage and good fare. But I soon learned, when it was too late,
that the boat was an old, rotten, condemned hulk; that provisions
were scarce, and that the captain was a scamp. Time and again the
engine broke, or some of the running gear. Water and food soon being
exhausted, we were allowed one pint of water and one Boston cracker
per day. The fuel being all consumed, we had to burn part of the boat
to get into port. We were a week in going from Galveston bar to the
mouth of the Mississippi river, when the trip should have been made in
thirty-six hours. Fortunately we had pleasant weather, for one such
squall as we had going out, would have sent the whole concern to the
bottom of the gulf.
When I returned to New Orleans it was mid-summer, and the city
presented a very different appearance from what it did when I was
there the previous winter. Then business was at its zenith, now at its
nadir; then the hotels, streets and marts of trade were crowded, now
there was plenty of room; then steamboats and vessels were receiving
and discharging freight for and from every clime, now the shipping was
very meager; then the weather was pleasant, now the heat was scorching,
burning, melting; then it was healthy, now the yellow fever and almost
every other fever, was raging. Exposure and hard fare in Texas,
ultimated in ague and fever. I had several chills while in Houston;
when at sea beyond the land breeze, I was free from them; but as soon
as I inhaled the air from shore, they returned with increased violence,
and it was two years before I entirely regained my former good health.
I was soon on board of a steamer bound for Cincinnati, and after a
voyage of two weeks, landed at Leavenworth, Ind., where I remained
three months doctoring for the ague.