TRAVELING THROUGH TEXAS--NEARING THE RIO GRANDE.
Once in Texas, we moved around with our fast-vanishing _lares et
penates_ as business or convenience required. The dear baby succumbed
to the first illness he ever had, and one beautiful April day his
little body was carried to the cemetery at Houston and buried, as was
our blessed Saviour, in a tomb belonging to another. The cradle that
had been kindly loaned us by a neighbor, and the various little cups
and mugs, also borrowed, were returned, the medicine-bottles put out of
sight, and I sat down desolate and lonely in the empty room, with no
heart to do any more, feeling that there was nothing now to do but to
lie down and die.
My husband, whose energy was all-controlling, and who knew no such word
as fail, rose above every emergency. It seems now, when I recall it
all, the heavier were the blows, the stouter his resistance. I actually
learned in those days to feel something discouraging had happened when
he came into my presence with a brighter smile and more cheerful words
than usual. His was one of those rare natures to persevere and resist
against the blows that would have prostrated almost any other man. He
had contracts to move Government cotton to the frontier, which afforded
him opportunities to move his own; and in following up that cotton we
took more than one trip to the Rio Grande, repeating the camping out,
minus the tent, which was patriotically turned over to General Magruder
upon our arrival at Houston.
We now made our bed in the ambulance; only two could possibly occupy
that. Sometimes Henry shared it with me, and his father lay upon the
ground underneath the vehicle, and often the boy slept on Mother Earth.
We still had that “prairie-schooner” of a wagon to carry our clothing,
provisions, cooking-utensils, and a servant-woman. Our ablutions were
performed habitually in the horse-bucket, and the towel--we were
reduced to one, the others having been ruined or blown away while
camping out--the precious towel, pinned to the ambulance-curtain,
flapped in the breeze and dried as we rode along.
It was not always plain sailing; adventures were frequent. We had the
ill luck, on the first trip to the Rio Grande, to put up in Victoria
at the meanest and dirtiest hotel I ever dreamed of. It was not half
so comfortable as the ambulance and the horse-bucket, but that could
not be found out until it had been tried. The room assigned us was
immediately over what they were pleased to call the office, but which
was really a bar-room; and one unacquainted with Texas in those days
can not understand what a bar-room pure and simple was. I was too tired
and sleepy to fight long with the various creatures in the bed that had
previous possession, which is nine points of the law. By and by, giving
up the battle, I fell sound asleep.
My husband, being a light sleeper, was easily roused by outside noises.
He spent the greater part of the night with ear and eye at the cracks
in the floor, that furnished a pretty good view into the bar-room
beneath, and then and there heard the thirsty, boisterous couriers
from General Bee to General Magruder tell that the Federals were in
Brownsville, and that the place was evacuated. The ubiquitous Yankees!
Even away out on the borders of the Guadalupe River we had to hear the
old story--“Pickets down dat road!”
What to do was the question that concerned us now. The couriers
fortified themselves with drinks, and were off to Magruder before the
dawn. By the time I was awake, my husband had procured a dilapidated
old map, and was studying out the situation. Our cotton was on the
road to Brownsville; the news soon came, however, that General Bee
had ordered all the cotton-teams back, and directed them to Laredo.
To Laredo we prepared to go. At General Bee’s urgent advice, it
was, at the last moment of starting, decided that Henry, my negro
servant-woman, and I, should return to my brother’s in the interior
of Texas. My husband and a few men, on the same cotton errand, joined
together for mutual protection, but they did not relish the additional
care of two women and a great white covered wagon, that could be seen
for miles over the flat prairie country, only broken with a low growth
of chaparral and prickly-pear. All this was being discussed during
the first day’s ride from Fernando Creek, where we met General Bee.
My husband could see, by my burning face and resolute eye, that I was
inwardly protesting the whole time.
When we camped that night, the mules were chained to the wagon-wheels,
to provide against a chance of stampede; the men, with loaded guns,
were detailed to stand watch, with eyes and ears on the keen alert. My
husband and I crept into our ambulance, buttoned the curtains closely
down, and, while he held a dim candle in a bottle, I divided in half
the few pieces of gold coin we had; sewed twenty pieces for him in a
broad, coarse cotton belt, and twenty for me in the bosom and hips of
my corset. Then began the division of our scanty bedding; his eyes
were filled with tears--that resolute man, who had borne every blow
so bravely! We could not talk, our hearts were too full; each dared
not unnerve the other by a word. The division took place in absolute
silence; he held the candle, and I did the work. Then we lay down for
the last time together; we, who had fought such a brave fight side
by side, were to separate now, because the dangers to be encountered
were too much for the woman. Lying very quiet, each hoping the other
would sleep, oh! how the thoughts surged through my brain the short
remnant of that night; how earnestly I prayed to be shown the right
way; how I petitioned the all-wise God to shut from my view all feeling
of _self_--myself, himself--and show me the way, whether to turn back
alone or go on by his side! At the earliest dawn I took advantage of
a slight move to ask if he was awake, and then told him in emphatic,
plain, unmistakable terms that I was _not_ going back. He pressed me
to his thankful heart without a word. As we journeyed on with the rest
of the little company, we laughingly proposed that all the money and
watches be trusted to my keeping, for, if the Mexican outlaws should
pounce upon us, surely they would not search the only lady in the party.
The next night our camp was by the ruins of an abandoned well. Only
twenty-four hours after, a party of four men were attacked by Mexican
bandits at that very spot, and robbed of everything, even their horses.
We did not know of our narrow escape till some days afterward, when the
rifled men wearily tramped into Laredo. It was a four-days’ trip, and
in that exciting and perilous journey I am sure that Henry and I were
the only ones that slept.
The sportsmen of our party often varied the bill-of-fare with game. On
several occasions early in the journey one of the number, Mr. Dodds,
brought down a fine wild-turkey. A particularly handsome one furnished
me with a “turkey-tail fan,” the ragged edges of which are still in my
possession.
Nearing the Rio Grande, the country was so barren that the only growths
were prickly-pear and mesquite, except on the banks of the few streams.
Even in that desolate region an occasional mule-eared rabbit was
brought to camp and made into a delicious stew.
Desiring to accomplish thirty-five miles each day, we always started
at the earliest dawn, fortified with a cup of black coffee and a
cracker. At noon a halt was called of a half-hour or so, and at four
we camped for the night, when _the_ meal of the day was leisurely
prepared and enjoyed. Frequently we were able to procure a kid. One
of the men, who had made the overland journey to California in the
fifties, and therefore was endowed with envied experience, was very
expert in finding, where no one else could, Mexican _jeccals_ (huts)
and kids, and preparing the meat in a variety of tempting ways; so by
common consent Mr. Crossan became our commissary and _chef_. Being
the only lady in the company, I was allowed to do nothing, and ate
the hard-tack and salt pork, when there was nothing better, with the
relish that stimulating air and exercise always impart, immensely
enjoying the savory roasts and stews. Many chats Mr. Crossan and I
had while I reclined on an improvised divan and watched him stretch
the kid on cross-sticks and incline it over the fire _à la barbecue_;
as he turned and basted it, there arose an appetizing odor that was
absolutely delightful. I was constantly reminding the kindly man by my
presence, of one trip he made to California when his young wife was the
only woman in the company; and the tempting, dainty dishes he contrived
for me, and the laughable stories he told to while away the time, I
always considered a tribute to the memory of that other woman who was
so patient and brave.