The holiday look had long since disappeared from Texas. No battles had
been fought within her borders, but the blood of her brave sons had dyed
the sod of many a battlefield elsewhere. For the deadly conflict was
raging. The North and the South, fighting as brother against brother,
were pouring out their kindred blood day by day; the smoke of their
hostile guns darkened the very heavens. Many heroic deeds were done on
both sides—deeds which to-day thrill us with wonder and admiration.
But there were frightful gaps in the ranks of those who had marched away
from Texas to the tune of “Dixie” or “The Bonnie Blue Flag.” The gallant
lads who had showed off their brave uniforms in the holiday camps were
tramping about, barefoot, ragged, and hungry, in Virginia, in Tennessee,
in Georgia,—wherever there was an enemy to be attacked or an outpost to
be held.
Their mothers and sisters at home were making lint and cartridges,
weaving and wearing homespun, making their own shoes and gloves, and
cheering the far-away “boys” with letters and with home-made gifts, and
praying, praying always.
There were few able-bodied men left in the state. The women with the old
men and boys, aided by the negroes who remained loyal and trustworthy,
made the crops. As the war went on the prices of everything rose. Old
bills show that forty dollars a yard (Confederate money) was paid for
calico for a little girl’s “best” dress; and seventy-five dollars was
paid for a boy’s first pair of boots. A war-time arithmetic has among
its examples the following:
“A cavalryman paid 200 dollars for his pistol and 4000 dollars for his
horse; how much did both cost him?”
“At 20 dollars a pound, how much coffee can you buy for 40 dollars?”
“If one hat costs 120 dollars, how much would eight hats cost?”
Coffee and tea were replaced by drinks made of parched potatoes, or
burnt peas, and sassafras roots. The real articles which were brought
into the country occasionally by blockade-runners were known as
“blockade” coffee and tea, and were kept for the use of the sick.
The blockade-runners were very daring and confident. Captain Henry
Sherffius of Houston, among others, was noted for his skill in slipping
through the line of big ships on watch along the coast of Texas. Once,
when he was leaving on one of his trips, he was so sure of himself and
his boat that he invited his friends to come to his wedding on a certain
day some weeks later. He came back at the appointed time, bringing with
him his wedding-cakes, baked in Vera Cruz, Mexico.
The Mississippi River rolled, a wide barrier, between the two parts of
the Confederacy. Its banks were lined with Federal sharp-shooters, and
its yellow waters were dotted with Federal gunboats. It was difficult to
get news from the eastern side, where the greater part of the fighting
was done, and terrible were the times of waiting between the first
rumors of a battle and the receipt of the lists of the killed and
wounded. A noble and patriotic citizen of Houston, E. H. Cushing,
rendered a priceless service to Texas in this matter. He was at that
time and had been for years the editor of the _Houston Telegraph_. His
energy and his devotion to the Confederate cause were unceasing. He
established a pony express between the seat of war—wherever that chanced
to be—and Texas. His messengers somehow managed to get through the lines
when no one else could do so. They went and came, carrying and bringing
papers and dispatches, and above all, precious letters from the boys in
gray. Mr. Cushing’s express also “ran” to Brownsville.
At the close of the war this true patriot supplied money from his
private purse, not only to broken-down and crippled home-coming
Confederate soldiers, but to the home-going Federal prisoners from Camp
Ford.[39]
The _Telegraph_ came out daily throughout the war, some of its later
numbers being printed on coarse yellow, red, and blue paper.
Amid all the anxiety and hardship there was no thought of giving up. The
men of the South believed themselves to be fighting for a just cause;
the Northern soldiers were equally sincere in their convictions. And so
the war, grim and terrible, went on.
In the fall of 1862 General Magruder, Confederate States army, assumed
command of the Trans-Mississippi (that is, west of the Mississippi)
Department. He determined at once to attempt the recapture of Galveston.
He went to Virginia Point, where the Confederate troops were camped, and
there with great caution and secrecy made his plans.
At the head of Galveston Bay, the _Neptune_ and the _Bayou City_, two
small steamboats, were bulwarked with cotton bales, mounted with cannon,
and manned with sharp-shooters from the Confederate States cavalry and
artillery. The _Lady Gwinn_ and the _John F. Carr_ were detailed to
accompany these vessels as tenders. This crude fleet was commanded by
Captain Leon Smith who had served in the navy of the Texas Republic.
About midnight on the 31st of December, the boats moved down the bay to
a position above the town, where they quietly awaited General Magruder’s
signal gun.
Magruder had already crossed his troops to the island. They marched
swiftly through the deserted streets of the city, and, by the light of a
waning moon, planted their batteries. At five o’clock on New Year’s
morning, 1863, the attack began. It was a complete surprise to the
Federals.
The ships of the blockading fleet, under the command of Commodore
Renshaw, were nearly all within the bay. The _Harriet Lane_, commanded
by Commodore Wainwright, was lying near the wharf. At a little distance
was the iron-clad _Westfield_, Commodore Renshaw’s flag-ship, attended
by the _Owasco_; still further out were the armed vessels, the _Clifton_
and the _Sachem_, and the barges the _Elias Park_ and the _Cavallo_.
The war-ships answered the fire of Magruder’s batteries with a terrific
hail of iron; once the Confederate gunners were driven from their guns.
But the _Neptune_ and the _Bayou City_ steamed up to the _Harriet Lane_
and attacked her at close quarters, pouring a hot fire into her from
behind the rampart of cotton bales.
The _Neptune_ with a hole in her hull made by a cannon-ball soon sank in
shallow water. The _Bayou City_ was also disabled. The Confederate
sharp-shooters leaped on board the _Harriet Lane_, and, after a bloody
fight on her deck, captured her.[40] Commodore Wainwright was killed
early in the action. First Lieutenant Lea was mortally wounded.
The Union infantry made a gallant resistance to the land attack, but
they were finally obliged to surrender.
The _Sachem_, the _Clifton_, and the _Owasco_ stood out to sea and
escaped. The _Westfield_ ran aground and was blown up to prevent her
capture. Commodore Renshaw and his officers had left the vessel, but
their boats were too near when the explosion took place prematurely, and
they perished with her. The _Harriet Lane_ and the barges, with several
hundred prisoners, remained in the hands of the victors.
The loss in this battle on the Confederate side was twelve killed and
seventy wounded. The Federals lost one hundred and fifty killed and many
wounded.
Among the mortally wounded were two young soldiers, the story of whose
death even yet stirs the heart to pity. One fell fighting under the
starry cross of the Confederacy. The other dropped on the bloody deck of
the _Harriet Lane_ under the shadow of the stars and stripes. The
Confederate was Lieutenant Sidney Sherman, son of the gallant veteran,
General Sidney Sherman, who led the infantry charge at San Jacinto. The
lieutenant was hardly more than a boy. The blood oozed from his wounds
as he lay dying, but the smile of victory parted his lips. Suddenly his
blue eyes grew soft and tender; “Break this gently to my mother,” he
whispered. These were his last words.
The young Union soldier was Edward Lea, first lieutenant of the _Harriet
Lane_. His wounds were also fatal. But as his life was ebbing away he
heard his name spoken in a tone of agony. He opened his eyes. His
father, Major Lea of the Confederate army, was kneeling beside him.
Father and son had fought on opposite sides that dark New Year’s
morning. The pale face of the young lieutenant lighted with joy; and
when a little later the surgeon told him he had but a moment to live, he
answered with the confidence of a little child and with his latest
breath, “My father is here.”
The two lads cold in death rested almost side by side on their funeral
biers that day,—brothers in death, brothers forever in the memory of
those who looked upon their calm young faces.
Lieutenant Lea and Commodore Wainwright were buried with military honors
from General Magruder’s headquarters, Major Lea reading the service for
the burial of the dead.
The body of young Sherman was carried to his beloved mother, who in her
home on the bay had listened with a beating heart to the cannonading of
the battle in which her son’s brave young life had ended.