In the spring of 1848 there appeared on the streets of Austin a young
man wearing a costume which attracted much attention. It was composed of
gray stockings and knee breeches, with a black velvet tunic and
broad-brimmed, gray felt hat. The rather dashing-looking stranger was
evidently French, but he called himself an Icarian. He was, in fact, on
his way from New Braunfels, where he had been living, to Icaria, a new
settlement near the Cross Timbers in Fannin County.
This settlement was founded by Etienne Cabet (Ca-bā), a Frenchman who
dreamed of establishing a community where nobody would be rich and
nobody would be poor, but all money and other property would be held in
common. Devotion to women and children, honesty, and the ability and
willingness to work for the good of the brotherhood were the chief rules
of the fraternity. They numbered in France in 1847 many thousand persons
of all classes.
Cabet obtained from the Peters Immigration Company in 1847 a million
acres of land in North Texas. The land was given to him on condition
that a settlement should be made upon it before the 1st of July, 1848.
In January, 1848, the first cohort, numbering sixty-nine persons,
embarked at Havre, France. They arrived at Shreveport, Louisiana, the
following April. From there they marched on foot to their chosen home in
Texas, carrying firearms, household goods, and provisions.
“Oh, if you could see Icaria!” they presently wrote back to the
brotherhood in France. “It is an Eden. The forests are superb; the
vegetation rich and varied. We have horses, cows, pigs, and chickens in
abundance.... Many Texans come to see us. They are good-natured and very
honest. We camp and sleep out of doors. We lock up nothing and are never
robbed.”[36]
Houses were built and fields ploughed and planted. By midsummer the
Icarians in their cosy hamlet were on the lookout for the second cohort
of colonists. But before it arrived the cholera broke out in Icaria.
Many of the settlers died; nearly all those who were left abandoned
their homes in a panic and returned to New Orleans, where Cabet himself
joined them with several hundred recruits from France. A new and more
fortunate Icarian settlement was finally made in Missouri.
A few years later (1853) a procession, also composed of French
emigrants, passed along Main Street in Houston. They had just landed
from the steamboat _Eclipse_ on the bayou at the foot of the street. At
their head walked a tall gentleman in a velvet coat and three-cornered
hat. He carried a drawn sword in his hand, and the tricolored flag of
France floated above his head. His long white hair streamed over his
shoulders. The whole company, men, women, and children, sung the
Marseillaise hymn as they marched along.
The tall gentleman was the Count Victor Considerant. He had come with
his followers from France to Texas to found a Phalanstery, a community
much like that already attempted by Cabet. His watchword was “Liberty
and Equality.” The faces of the emigrants lighted with joy as they
traveled away over the prairies, following this beautiful vision.
They founded their town on the east fork of the Trinity River, in Dallas
County, and called it Reunion. But the brotherhood soon fell to pieces.
The emigrants scattered over the country, finding it pleasanter to own
homes in a land of true liberty and equality, than to live by the
count’s fine theories.
Many descendants both of the Icarians and of Count Considerant’s
colonists are to be met with in North Texas.
Sam Houston succeeded Runnels as governor in 1859. When he took his seat
at Austin, clouds from more than one quarter were gathering in the clear
sky of Texas. Roving bands of Indians from the Territory came across the
border and murdered in cold blood a number of families. At first they
stole in, made their raids, and dashed back in a single night. But they
grew more and more bold and insolent, until the governor was obliged to
send the rangers to their old work of watching the frontier.
Lawrence Sullivan Ross, afterward governor of Texas, was at this time a
lieutenant in the ranging service. He was a gallant and dashing soldier.
During a raid on the Indians, on Pease River (1860), he rescued Cynthia
Ann Parker, a white woman, who had been carried away by the Comanches,
when but nine years of age. She had been a captive twenty-four years and
had forgotten her native tongue. She was the wife of Peta Nocona, a
Comanche chief, and the mother of several children. Lieutenant Ross
returned her to her kindred with her little daughter Ta-ish-put (Prairie
Flower). But she was not happy among these long-unknown white people;
she pined for her dusky adopted kinsmen; and four years after her rescue
she died, little Ta-ish-put soon following her to the Happy
Hunting-grounds. Inanah Parker, one of her sons, became a Comanche
chief.
During this period a Mexican bandit named Cortina crossed the lower Rio
Grande into Texas at the head of four hundred men. Their object was
plunder, and in their forays a great many innocent people were killed.
The governor appealed to the general government at Washington for
protection along the Mexican border.
The War Department in response ordered Colonel Robert E. Lee (afterward
famous as commander-in-chief of the Confederate States army), then
stationed at San Antonio, to attack the bandit and drive him out,
crossing the Rio Grande, if necessary, in pursuit.
Some United States troops, with several companies of rangers, were at
once put in the field, and Cortina’s band was soon broken up.
These troubles were light, however, compared with those which were about
to follow.
The two sections of the United States, the North and the South, had for
some years been drifting apart. Their views differed widely on several
important questions, particularly the question of states’ rights, and
there seemed to be no chance of a mutual agreement. In 1860, at the time
Abraham Lincoln was elected President, the Southern States determined to
withdraw from the Union. They believed that each state had a right to
withdraw or secede from the Union whenever that Union became for any
reason undesirable to it, as the individual members of a family may
leave the paternal home if they wish to do so. But the Northern States
did not agree to this. They believed that the Union should be preserved,
and that the states should be held together—even by the power of the
sword.
South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union. Texas, on
hearing of this news, was filled with excitement. Military companies
were formed all over the state; the air was thick with the flutter of
secession flags; the ground echoed the tramp of awkward squads drilling
under the eyes of officers as awkward and inexperienced and enthusiastic
as themselves.
Governor Houston, as well as some other patriotic and true-hearted
Texans, was bitterly opposed to secession, but his voice was lost in the
loud clamor of public feeling.
A convention was held in Austin in January, 1861. A declaration of
secession was drawn up and submitted to the people (February 23). Texas
by a large majority voted herself out of the Union, which she had
entered fifteen years before.
There was wild rejoicing over the state. The capitol at Austin was
brilliantly illuminated, bonfires were lighted, bells were rung, the
Confederate flag was run up on all public buildings, and the work of
mustering troops into the Confederate States army instantly began.
[Illustration: Confederate Flag.]
All state officials were required to take the oath of fealty to the new
government. Governor Houston, true to his convictions, refused to do
this. When the day came for the ceremony (March 16), the hall of
representatives was filled to overflowing. “The presiding officer, amid
a profound silence, called three times: ‘Sam Houston! Sam Houston! Sam
Houston!’ but the governor remained in his office in the basement of the
capitol whittling a pine stick, and hearing the echo of the noise and
tumult above his head. Houston was declared deposed from his office, and
Edward Clark, the lieutenant-governor, was installed as governor.”[37]
Houston left Austin and retired to his place near Huntsville. To the end
of his life he continued to declare that, although opposed to the war of
the States, his sympathies were with Texas. “My state, right or wrong,”
he said. One of his sons entered the Confederate army with his consent
and approval.
He died July 26, 1863, at the age of seventy years. His last words,
whispered with dying lips, were: “Texas! Texas!”
And Texas, forgetting all her differences with him, and remembering only
his ready and gallant services in her hours of need, mourned his loss as
that of a well-beloved son.
VIII.
GALVESTON.
(1861-1865.)