One morning, near the last of December, the captain announced a fair
wind. He weighed anchor, hoisted sail, and with a stiff breeze pushed
out to sea. The vessel only drew five feet water, yet she touched three
or four times on the bar; but did no apparent damage. I stood upon the
deck, until the land, trees and houses faded away in the distance.
Texas, like a beautiful damsel, has many charms and attractions, but
is not entirely faultless. Indeed, there is no such place as a perfect
elysium on earth. And those who have formed their opinion of the
country from some of the many late publications concerning it, will
feel some disappointment on their arrival. But its many beauties will
hide a multitude of faults; or render them light and easily borne. I
must say of Texas, as Cowper said of England, "with all its faults,
I like it still;" and although I had experienced some hardships and
inconveniences while in the country, yet its mild climate, pleasant
streams, and enchanting "fields of living green," I left at last with
serious regret.
The fall of the year is the best time to move into Texas; or into any
of the western States. There are four good reasons to give for this
preference: 1st. It is then better travelling; both on account of the
dryness of the roads, and the mild temperature of the weather--neither
too hot or too cold. 2d. It is more healthy on the road--not so much
danger of contracting disease on the way; and to be there at the
opening of the spring, and become accustomed to the climate and warm
weather by degrees, there will be a fairer prospect of continued
health. 3d. It is the time of the year when provisions are the most
plenty and cheapest; an emigrant can, therefore, the more readily
supply himself on the road, and after his arrival. 4th. It is the
shortest time a person can be in the country, and raise a crop the
ensuing season. To arrive in October, or the first of November, he will
have plenty of time to build a log house, split out rails and fence in
a field by the coming spring, so as to raise a crop.--Were he to go in
the spring, he would be obliged to support himself and family a whole
year before he could get a crop into the ground.
To go from the north to Texas, the better way is to take a passage
on board a vessel bound to Galveston Bay, the river Brazos, or the
Colorado. But if a vessel cannot readily be found, going direct to
Texas, a passage may be taken to New-Orleans; and from thence, a
person can go up the Red River to Natchitoches, and across the country;
or by water through the Gulf, to almost any port on the bays and
rivers. The distance from Boston by water, is three thousand miles;
by land, it is not quite so far. From the city of New-York, vessels
frequently may be found going direct to Texas. The most convenient
places for landing in Texas are Harrisburg, on Galveston Bay; Velasco,
at the mouth of the Brazos, and Metagorda at the mouth of the Colorado.
It would be advisable to get a protection, more especially, if a person
goes by water.
Speculation--ever busy, active speculation, pervades the world.
It rages with violence in Maine, disturbs the quiet villages of
New-England, keeps the western world alive, and visits the shores
of Texas. I was at a loss to know how speculation could get hold of
Texas lands; for they are only granted to the actual settler and only
one grant given to each. Human ingenuity has devised a plan. When an
emigrant arrives in the country, he is met by a land speculator, who
tells him he knows of a good location, and if he will go and settle
on it, he shall have one half of the league for nothing. The land is
entered at the land office in the emigrant's name, the speculator pays
the fees, and takes a deed of one half, from the emigrant. This is not
the worst kind of speculation in the world. It, probably, may prove
beneficial to both parties. The emigrant at least, seems to have no
cause for complaint. He gets twenty three hundred acres of land, as
much as he can ever cultivate, and pays nothing at all for it.
We had four passengers on board; two of whom were afflicted with that
lingering disease called the fever and ague. They had resided a few
months in the lowlands of Texas, and became so severely afflicted,
they were returning to the United States for health. The other was a
physician, who had gone up the river as far as Columbia; did not like
the country and was on his return home to Tennessee. I informed him, he
had not seen the most desirable portion of the country. And such was
the fact.--But he had read some of the descriptions of the "beautiful
river Brazos and the fine country adjacent," and was thereby completely
deceived.
A sea voyage is always unpleasant to me. The wind blew a strong breeze,
the waves rolled high, and made our vessel dance over them like a
feather. We all became dreadfully sea sick. It is a terrible feeling;
and those afflicted with it, probably endure as much excruciating pain
and distress, as the human system is capable of sustaining. In two
days, the wind abated in a measure, and the sea became comparatively
smooth. We crawled out upon deck, our sickness abated, and soon left us
entirely.
On the fifth day, just at night, we saw the light at the southwest pass
of the Mississippi. It soon became dark, and the captain in attempting
to enter the mouth of the river, run the vessel aground near the
shore. A scene here occurred, that somewhat startled us. We were in
the cabin and felt the vessel strike and heard the waves dash against
her.--We ran up on deck, and there saw the captain seated upon the
windlass, writhing in agony, and groaning like one in despair! The idea
struck us in a moment, that the captain saw our danger to be imminent,
the vessel would dash in pieces, and we must all perish. But we were
immediately relieved from our apprehensions. In the darkness of the
night, and hurry of the moment, the captain had been thrown across the
pump, and severely injured; and it was from actual pain of body, rather
than anguish of mind that made him groan so bitterly. We did not,
however, feel entirely at ease. We were exposed to the open sea; and if
the wind should rise, and blow hard on shore, the vessel must be dashed
to pieces, and we escape the best way we could.
But we were highly favored. The wind died away and the sea became quite
calm. We retired to our berths, and slept quietly. In the morning,
we carried out an anchor; at flood tide, hauled the vessel off; a
steamboat took us in tow, and at the dinner hour, we were gallantly
gliding up the river. So change the scenes of life.
The Mississippi steam tow-boats have engines of immense power. Our
boat had six vessels in tow, and it carried us along at the rate of
four miles an hour, against the strong current of the river. From the
mouth of the Mississippi to New-Orleans is one hundred and fifteen
miles, and we performed the trip in about twenty-eight hours. The price
charged for towing up the river is a dollar a ton; and the amount the
boat received from all the vessels was about five hundred dollars. The
vessels are towed down stream for half price and sometimes less.
Fifteen miles from the sea, the Mississippi divides itself into three
channels, each having a lighthouse near the mouth; but the southwest
pass is the only one in which ships can enter when loaded. The river
continually pushes its banks further out to sea. They are formed of mud
and logs, and soon become covered with a rank growth of rushes.
The banks of the river are low, and too wet for cultivation, for fifty
miles from the sea. Soon after passing fort Jackson, which is about
forty miles up the river, we came to sugar plantations on both sides,
and these continued to the city of New-Orleans. On many of these large
plantations we saw elegant houses, surrounded by orange trees, loaded
with fruit. In the rear, sugar houses, and steam mills for grinding
the cane, and long rows of neat looking negro houses; and large stacks
of rice standing near them. The planters were all busily engaged in
making sugar; and we saw armies of negroes in the fields, cutting and
transporting the cane to the mills. January had already commenced, yet
there had been no frost to destroy vegetation, and the cane looked as
green as in midsummer. The crop of sugar was unusually large, and of an
excellent quality.
The sugar cane, in size, stalk and leaf very much resembles the
southern corn. It has, however, no spindles at the top like a corn
stalk, but terminates in a tuft of long leaves. It does not appear to
produce any seed in this country but the crop is annually renewed, by
planting short slips of the stalk. Its juice is sweet, pleasant and
nutritious.--The negroes are very fond of chewing the stalk; and I saw
some bundles of it at the vegetable market in New-Orleans for sale.
When the cane comes to maturity, it is cut up and ground with smooth
nuts, which in fact only compress the stalk, and force out the juice.
This is caught in a large trough underneath, and undergoes the same
process of boiling in large kettles, as the sap of a northern maple,
when made into sugar. When the boiling is completed, the sugar is put
into a large cistern full of holes in the bottom, where it remains a
number of days, that all the molasses that will, may drain out. It is
then put into hogsheads and sent to market.