Hiring a Judge for Assistant Mule Driver—Wild Hogs Breathing in My Face—Rat Ranches—Encountering General Magruder—A Theatrical Evening with the General—Mule Driving Is an Art—A Violent Storm—Stopping at King’s Ranch—Scorpions, Prairie Wolves and Rattlesnakes—Well-Cooked Polecat Is As Tasty As a Pig—How Texan Females Take Their Snuff—Fighting for a Mudhole—I Am Called a “Right Good Companion for the Road”
13th April (Monday)—I breakfasted with General Bee, and took leave of all my Brownsville friends.
M’Carthy is to give me four times the value of my gold in Confederate notes.* 1
We left Brownsville for San Antonio at 11 A.M. Our vehicle was a roomy, but rather overloaded, four-wheel carriage, with a canvas roof, and four mules. Besides M’Carthy, there was a third passenger, a young Jewish merchant. Two horses were to join us, to help us through the deep sand.
The country, on leaving Brownsville, is quite flat. The road is a natural one, sandy and very dusty, and there are many small trees, principally mesquites. After we had proceeded seven miles, we halted to water the mules.
At 2 P.M. a new character appeared upon the scene, in the shape of an elderly, rough-faced, dirty-looking man, who rode up, mounted on a sorry nag. To my surprise he was addressed by M’Carthy with the title of “Judge,” and asked what he had done with our other horse. The Judge replied that it had already broken down, and had been left behind.
M’Carthy informs me that this worthy really is a magistrate or sort of judge in his own district; but he now appears in the capacity of assistant mule driver, and is to make himself generally useful. I could not help feeling immensely amused at this specimen of a Texan judge.2
We started again about 3 P.M., and soon emerged from the mesquite bushes into an open prairie eight miles long, quite desolate, and producing nothing but a sort of rush. After this, we entered a chaparral, or thick covert of mesquite trees and high prickly pears. These border the track and are covered with bits of cotton torn from the endless trains of cotton wagons. We met several of these wagons. Generally there were ten oxen or six mules to a wagon carrying ten bales, but in deep sand more animals are necessary. They journey very slowly towards Brownsville, from places in the interior of Texas at least five hundred miles distant. Want of water and other causes make the drivers and animals undergo much hardship.
The Judge rides on in front of us on his “Rosinante,” to encourage the mules. His back view reminds one in a ludicrous manner of the pictures of Dr. Syntax.
Mr. Sargent, our portly driver, cheers his animals by the continual repetition of the sentence, “Get up, now, you great long-eared G—d d—d son of a —.”
At 5 P.M. we reached a well, with a farm or ranch close to it. Here we halted for the night. A cotton train was encamped close to us, and a lugubrious half-naked teamster informed us that three of his oxen had been stolen last night.
In order to make a fire, we were forced to enter the chaparral for wood, and in doing so, we ran many prickles into our legs, which caused us great annoyance afterwards, as they fester, if not immediately pulled out.
The water at this well was very salt, and made very indifferent coffee. M’Carthy called it the “meanest halting place we shall have.”
At 8 P.M. M’Carthy spread a bullock rug on the sand near the carriage, on which we should have slept very comfortably had it not been for the prickles, the activity of many fleas, and the incursions of wild hogs. Mr. Sargent and the Judge, with much presence of mind, had encamped seventy yards off, and left to us the duty of driving away these hogs. I was twice awoke by one of these unclean animals breathing in my face.
We did about twenty-one miles today.
14th April (Tuesday)—When we roused up at 4 A.M. we found our clothes saturated with the heavy dew; also that, notwithstanding our exertions, the hogs had devoured the greatest part of our pet kid, our only fresh meat.
After feeding our mules upon the Indian corn we had brought with us, and drinking a little more salt-water coffee, the Judge “hitched in,” and we got under way at 5:30 A.M. The country just the same as yesterday—a dead level of sand, mesquite trees, and prickly pears.
At 7:30 A.M. we reached “Leatham’s ranch,” and watered our mules. As the water was tolerable, we refilled our water barrels. I also washed my face, during which operation Mr. Sargent expressed great astonishment, not unmingled with contempt.
At Leatham’s we met a wealthy Texan speculator and contractor, called Major or Judge Hart.
I find that our Judge is also an M.P., and that, in his capacity as a member of the Texan legislature, he is entitled to be styled the Honorable ——.
At 9 A.M. we halted in the middle of a prairie, on which there was a little grass for the mules, and we prepared to eat. In the midst of our cooking, two deer came up quite close to us, and could easily have been killed with rifles.
We saw quantities of rat ranches, which are big sort of molehills, composed of cow-dung, sticks, and earth, built by the rats.
Mr. Sargent, our conductor, is a very rough customer—a fat, middle-aged man, who never opens his mouth without an oath, strictly American in its character. He and the Judge are always snarling at one another, and both are much addicted to liquor.
We live principally on bacon and coffee, but as the water and the bacon are both very salt, this is very inconvenient. We have, however, got some claret, and plenty of brandy.
During the midday halts, Mr. Sargent is in the habit of cooling himself by removing his trousers (or pants), and, having gorged himself, he lies down and issues his edicts to the Judge as to the treatment of the mules.
At 2:30 the M.P. hitched in again, and at 2:45 we reached a salt-water arm of the sea called the “Aroyo del Colorado,” about eighty yards broad, which we crossed in a ferryboat. Half an hour later we “struck water” again, which, being superior to Leatham’s, we filled up.
We are continually passing cotton trains going to Brownsville, also government wagons with stores for the interior. Near every well is a small farm or ranch, a miserable little wooden edifice surrounded by a little cultivation. The natives all speak Spanish, and wear the Mexican dress.
M’Carthy is very proud of his knowledge of the country, in spite of which he is often out in his calculations. The different tracks are so similar to one another, they are easily mistaken.
At 4:45 P.M. we halted at a much better place than yesterday. We are obliged to halt where a little grass can be found for our mules.
Soon after we had unpacked for the night, six Texan Rangers, of Wood’s regiment, rode up to us. They were very picturesque fellows: tall, thin, and ragged, but quite gentlemanlike in their manners.
We are always to sleep in the open until we arrive at San Antonio, and I find my Turkish lantern most useful at night.**
15th April (Wednesday)—I slept well last night in spite of the ticks and fleas, and we started at 5:30 P.M. After passing a dead rattlesnake eight feet long, we reached water at 7 A.M.
At 9 A.M. we espied the cavalcade of General Magruder passing us by a parallel track about half a mile distant. M’Carthy and I jumped out of the carriage, and I ran across the prairie to cut him off, which I just succeeded in doing by borrowing the spare horse of the last man in the train.
I galloped up to the front, and found the General riding with a lady who was introduced to me as Mrs. ——, an undeniably pretty woman, wife to an officer on Magruder’s staff. She is naturally the object of intense attention to all the good-looking officers who accompany the General through this desert.3
General Magruder, who commands in Texas, is a fine soldierlike man, of about fifty-five, with broad shoulders, a florid complexion, and bright eyes. He wears his whiskers and mustaches in the English fashion, and he was dressed in the Confederate gray uniform.4
He was kind enough to beg that I would turn back and accompany him in his tour through Texas. He had heard of my arrival, and was fully determined I should do this. He asked after several officers of my regiment whom he had known when he was on the Canadian frontier. He is a Virginian, a great talker, and has always been a great ally of English officers.
He insisted that M’Carthy and I should turn and dine with him, promising to provide us with horses to catch up to Mr. Sargent.
After we had agreed to do this, I had a long and agreeable conversation with the General, who spoke of the Puritans with intense disgust, and of the first importation of them as “that pestiferous crew of the Mayflower”; but he is by no means rancorous against individual Yankees. He spoke very favorably of M’Clellan, whom he knew to be a gentleman, clever, and personally brave, though he might lack moral courage to face responsibility.5
Magruder had commanded the Confederate troops at Yorktown which opposed M’Clellan’s advance. He told me the different dodges he had resorted to, to blind and deceive the latter as to his (Magruder’s) strength. He spoke of the intense relief and amusement with which he had at length seen M’Clellan with his magnificent army begin to break ground before miserable earthworks, defended only by 8000 men.6
Hooker was in his regiment, and was “essentially a mean man and a liar.” Of Lee and Longstreet he spoke in terms of the highest admiration.
Magruder was an artilleryman, and has been a good deal in Europe; and having been much stationed on the Canadian frontier, he became acquainted with many British officers, particularly those in the 7th Hussars and Guards.
He had gained much credit from his recent successes at Galveston and Sabine Pass, in which he had the temerity to attack heavily armed vessels of war with wretched river steamers manned by Texan cavalrymen.
His principal reason for visiting Brownsville was to settle about the cotton trade. He had issued an edict that half the value of cotton exported must be imported in goods for the benefit of the country (government stores). The President had condemned this order as illegal and despotic.
The officers on Magruder’s staff are a very good-looking, gentlemanlike set of men. Their names are—Major Pendleton, Major Wray, Captain De Ponté, Captain Alston, Captain Turner, Lieutenant Colonel M’Neil, Captain Dwyer, Dr. Benien, Lieutenant Stanard, Lieutenant Yancy, and Major Magruder. The latter is nephew to the General, and is a particularly good-looking young fellow. They all live with their chief on an extremely agreeable footing, and form a very pleasant society.
At dinner I was put in the post of honor, which is always fought for with much acrimony—viz., the right of Mrs. ——.
After dinner we had numerous songs. Both the General and his nephew sang. So also did Captain Alston, whose corpulent frame, however, was too much for the feeble camp stool, which caused his sudden disappearance in the midst of a song with a loud crash. Captain Dwyer played the fiddle very well, and an aged and slightly elevated militia general brewed the punch and made several “elegant” speeches. The latter was a rough-faced old hero, and gloried in the name of M’Guffin. On these festive occasions General Magruder wears a red woollen cap, and fills the president’s chair with great aptitude.
It was 11:30 before I could tear myself away from this agreeable party; but at length I effected my exit amidst a profusion of kind expressions, and laden with heaps of letters of introduction.7
16th April (Thursday)—Now our troubles commenced. Seated in Mexican saddles, and mounted on rawboned mustangs, whose energy had been a good deal impaired by a month’s steady traveling on bad food, M’Carthy and I left the hospitable mess tent about midnight, and started in search of Mr. Sargent and his vehicle. We were under the guidance of two Texan Rangers.
About daylight we hove in sight of Los Animos, a desolate farmhouse, in the neighborhood of which Mr. Sargent was supposed to be encamped; but nowhere could we find any traces of him.
We had now reached the confines of a dreary region, sixty miles in extent, called “The Sands,” in comparison with which the prairie and chaparral were luxurious.
The sand being deep and the wind high, we could not trace the carriage; but we soon acquired a certainty that our perfidious Jehu had decamped, leaving us behind.
We floundered about in the sand, cursing our bad luck, cursing Mr. Sargent, and even the good Magruder, as the indirect cause of our wretchedness. Our situation, indeed, was sufficiently deplorable. We were without food or water in the midst of a desert: so were our horses, which were nearly done up. Our bones ached from the Mexican saddles; and, to complete our misery, the two Rangers began to turn restive and talk of returning with the horses. At this, the climax of our misfortunes, I luckily hit upon a Mexican, who gave us intelligence of our carriage; and with renewed spirits, but very groggy horses, we gave chase.
But never did Mr. Sargent’s mules walk at such a pace; and it was 9 A.M. before we overtook them. My animal had been twice on his head, and M’Carthy was green in the face with fatigue and rage. Mr. Sargent received us with the greatest affability, and we were sensible enough not to quarrel with him, although M’Carthy had made many allusions as to the advisability of shooting him.
We had been nine and a half hours in the saddle, and were a good deal exhausted. Our sulky Texan guides were appeased with bacon, coffee, and $5 in coin.
We halted till 2 P.M., and then renewed our struggle through the deep sandy wilderness; but though the services of the Judge’s horse were put into requisition, we couldn’t progress faster than two miles an hour.
Mule driving is an art of itself, and Mr. Sargent is justly considered a professor at it.
He is always yelling—generally imprecations of a seriocomic character. He rarely flogs his mules; but when one of them rouses his indignation by extraordinary laziness, he roars out, “Come here, Judge, with a big club, and give him h—ll.” While the animal is receiving such discipline as comes up to the Judge’s idea of the infernal regions, Mr. Sargent generally remarks, “I wish you was Uncle Abe, I’d make you move, you G—d d—n son of a —.” His idea of perfect happiness seems to be to have Messrs. Lincoln and Seward in the shafts.
Mules travel much better when other mules are in front of them; and another dodge to which Mr. Sargent continually resorts is to beat the top of the carriage and kick the footboard. This makes a noise and gratifies the mules quite as much as licking them. Mr. Sargent accounts for his humanity by saying, “It’s the worst plan in the world licking niggers or mules, because the more you licks ’em, the more they wants it.”
We reached or “struck” water at 5:30 P.M.; but, in spite of its good reputation, it was so salt as to be scarcely drinkable. A number of cotton wagons, and three carriages belonging to Mr. Ward, were also encamped with us.
We have only made sixteen miles today.
17th April (Friday)—Having spent last night in a Mexican saddle, our bullock rug in the sand appeared to me a most luxurious bed.
We hitched in at 5 A.M., and struck water at 9 A.M., which, though muddy in appearance, was not so bad to drink.
I walked ahead with the Judge, who, when sober, is a well-informed and sensible man. Mr. Sargent and I are great friends, and, rough as he is, we get on capitally together.
A Mr. Ward, with three vehicles—a rival of Mr. Sargent’s—is traveling in our company. He drove his buggy against a tree and knocked its top off, to the intense delight of the latter.
We breakfasted under difficulties. The wind being high, it drove up the sand in clouds and spoiled our food.
We went on again at 2 P.M. I had a long talk with a big mulatto slave woman, who was driving one of Ward’s wagons. She told me she had been raised in Tennessee, and that three years ago she had been taken from her mistress for a bad debt, to their mutual sorrow. “Both,” she said, “cried bitterly at parting.”8 She doesn’t like San Antonio at all. “Too much hanging and murdering for me,” she said. She had seen a man hanged in the middle of the day, just in front of her door.
Mr. Sargent bought two chickens and some eggs at a ranch, but one of the chickens got up a tree, and was caught and eaten by the Ward faction. Our camp tonight looks very pretty by the light of the fires.
18th April (Saturday)—At daylight we discovered, to our horror, that three of our mules were absent; but after an hour’s search they were brought back in triumph by the Judge.
This delayed our start till 6:30 A.M.
I walked ahead again with the Judge, who explained to me that he was a “senator,” or member of the Upper House of Texas—“just like your House of Lords,” he said. He gets $5 a day whilst sitting, and is elected for four years.***
We struck water at 8:30 A.M., and bought a lamb for a dollar. We also bought some beef, which in this country is dried in strips by the sun, after being cut off the bullock. It keeps good for any length of time. To cook it, the strips are thrown for a few minutes on hot embers.
One of our mules was kicked last night. Mr. Sargent rubbed the wound with brandy, which did it much good.
Soon after leaving this well, Mr. Sargent discovered that, by following the track of Mr. Ward’s wagons, he had lost the way. He swore dreadfully, and solaced himself with so much gin that when we arrived at Sulphur Creek at 12:30 both he and the Judge were, by their own confession, quite tight.
We halted, ate some salt meat, and bathed in this creek, which is about forty yards broad and three feet deep.
Mr. Sargent’s extreme “tightness” caused him to fall asleep on the box when we started again, but the more seasoned Judge drove the mules.
The signs of getting out of the sands now began to be apparent; and at 5 P.M. we were able to halt at a very decent place with grass, but no water. We suffered here for want of water, our stock being very nearly expended.
Mr. Sargent, who was now comparatively sober, killed the sheep most scientifically at 5:30 P.M. At 6:30 we were actually devouring it, and found it very good. Mr. Sargent cooked it by the simple process of stewing junks of it in a frying pan, but we had only just enough water to do this.
19th April (Sunday)—At 1 A.M. this morning our slumbers on the bullock rug were disturbed by a sudden and most violent thunderstorm. M’Carthy and I had only just time to rush into the carriage, and hustle our traps underneath it, when the rain began to descend in torrents.
We got inside with the young Jew, whilst Mr. Sargent and the Judge crept underneath.
The rain lasted two hours; and at daylight we were able to refresh ourselves by drinking the water from the puddles, and effect a start.
But fate seemed adverse to our progress. No sooner had we escaped from the sand than we fell into the mud, which was still worse.
We toiled on till 11:30 A.M., at which hour we reached King’s Ranch. For several days I had heard this spoken of as a sort of Elysium, marking as it does the termination of the sands, and the commencement of comparative civilization.
We halted in front of the house, and after cooking and eating, I walked up to the “ranch,” which is a comfortable, well-furnished wooden building.
Mr. and Mrs. King had gone to Brownsville; but we were received by Mrs. Bee, the wife of the Brownsville general, who had heard I was on the road.
She is a nice lively little woman, a red-hot Southerner, glorying in the facts that she has no Northern relations or friends, and that she is a member of the Church of England.
Mr. King first came to Texas as a steamboat captain, but now owns an immense tract of country, with 16,000 head of cattle, situated, however, in a wild and almost uninhabited district. King’s Ranch is distant from Brownsville only 125 miles, and we have been six days in reaching it.
After drying our clothes and our food after the rain of last night, we started again at 2:30 P.M.
We now entered a boundless and most fertile prairie, upon which, as far as the eye could reach, cattle were feeding.
Bulls and cows, horses and mares came to stare at us as we passed. They all seemed sleek and in good condition, yet they get nothing but what they can pick up on the prairie.
I saw a man on horseback kill a rabbit with his revolver. I also saw a scorpion for the first time.
We halted at 5:30 P.M., and had to make our fire principally of cow-dung, as wood is very scarce on this prairie.
We gave up the Judge’s horse at King’s Ranch. The lawgiver now rides on the box with Mr. Sargent.
20th April (Monday)—I slept well last night in spite of the numerous prairie wolves which surrounded us, making a most dismal noise.
The Jew was ill again, but both Mr. Sargent and the Judge were very kind to him; so also was M’Carthy, who declared that a person incapable of protecting himself is always sure of kind treatment and compassion, even from the wildest Texans.
We started at 5 A.M., and had to get through some dreadful mud—Mr. Sargent in an awful bad humor, and using terrific language.
We were much delayed by this unfortunate rain, which had converted a good road into a quagmire. We detected a rattlesnake crawling along this morning, but there are not nearly so many of them in this country as there used to be.
We halted at 9 A.M., and, to make a fire for cooking, we set a rat ranch alight. This answered very well; but one big rat, annoyed by our proceedings, emerged hastily from his den, and very nearly jumped into the frying pan.
Two Texan Rangers, belonging to Taylor’s regiment, rode up to us whilst we were at breakfast. These Rangers all wear the most enormous spurs I ever saw.
We resumed our journey at 12:30, and reached a creek**** called “Agua Dulce” at 2 P.M. M’Carthy and I got out before crossing, to forage at some huts close by. We got two dozen eggs and some lard; but, on returning to the road, we found that Mr. Sargent had pursued his usual plan of leaving us in the lurch.
I luckily was able to get hold of a Mexican boy, and rode across the creek en croupe. M’Carthy dismounted a Negro, and so got over.
We halted at 5 P.M.
After dark M’Carthy crossed the prairie to visit some friends who were encamped half a mile distant. He lost his way in returning, and wandered about for several hours. The Judge, with great presence of mind, kept the fire up, and he found us at last.
The heat from nine to two is pretty severe; but in Texas there is generally a cool sea-breeze, which makes it bearable.
21st April (Tuesday)—We started at 5 A.M., and reached a hamlet called “Casa Blanca” at 6. We procured a kid, some Indian corn, and two fowls in this neighborhood.
We had now quitted the flat country, and entered an undulating or “rolling” country, full of live oaks of very respectable size, and we had also got out of the mud.
Mr. Sargent and the Judge got drunk again about 8 A.M., which, however, had a beneficial effect upon the speed. We descended the hills at a terrific pace—or, as Mr. Sargent expressed it, “Going like h—ll a-beating tan bark.”
We “nooned it” at a small creek; and after unhitching, Mr. Sargent and the Judge had a row with one another, after which Mr. Sargent killed and cooked the goat, using my knife for these operations. With all his faults he certainly is a capital butcher, cook, and mule driver. He takes great care of his animals, and is careful to inform us that the increased pace we have been going at is not attributable to gin.
He was very complimentary to me, because I acted as assistant cook and butcher.
Mr. Ward’s party passed us about 1 P.M. The front wheels of his buggy having now smashed, it is hitched in the rear of one of the wagons.
We made a pretty good afternoon’s drive through a wood of post oaks, where we saw another rattlesnake, which we tried to shoot.
We halted at Spring creek at 6:30 P.M.; water rather brackish, and no grass for the mules.
The Judge gave us some of his experiences as a filibuster.9 He declares that a well-cooked polecat is as good to eat as a pig, and that stewed rattlesnake is not so bad as might be supposed. The Texans call the Mexicans “greasers,” the latter retort by the name “gringo.”
We are now living luxuriously upon eggs and goat’s flesh; and I think we have made about thirty-two miles today.
22d April (Wednesday)—We got under way at 5 A.M., the mules looking rather mean for want of grass.
At 8 A.M. we reached the Nueces River, the banks of which are very steep, and are bordered with a beautiful belt of live-oak trees, covered with mustang grapes.
On the other side of the Nueces is Oakville, a miserable settlement, consisting of about twenty wooden huts. We bought some butter there, and caught up Ward’s wagons. The women at Oakville were most anxious to buy snuff. It appears that the Texan females are in the habit of dipping snuff—which means putting it into their mouths instead of their noses. They rub it against their teeth with a blunted stick.
We reached grass about 10 A.M., and nooned it, the weather being very trying—very sultry, without sun or wind.
We hitched in at 1:15—Ward’s wagons in our front, and a Frenchman’s four-horse team in our rear. At 4 P.M. we reached the Weedy, a creek which, to our sorrow, was perfectly dry. We drove on till 7 P.M., and halted at some good grass.
There being a report of water in the neighborhood, Mr. Sargent, the Judge, Ward, and the Frenchman started to explore; and when, at length, they did discover a wretched little mudhole, it appears that a desperate conflict for the water ensued, for the Judge returned to us a mass of mud, and presenting a very crestfallen appearance. Shortly after, Mr. Sargent appeared, in such a bad humor that he declined to cook, to eat, to drink, or do anything but swear vehemently.
Deprived by this contretemps of our goat’s flesh, we had recourse to an old ham and very stale bread.
We met many cotton trains and government wagons today, and I think we have progressed about thirty-four miles.
23d April (Thursday)—The wily Mr. Sargent drove the animals down to the mudhole in the middle of last night, and so stole a march upon Ward.
Our goat’s flesh having spoiled, it had to be thrown away this morning. We started at 5:30 A.M., and reached Rocky at 7:30; but before this two of Ward’s horses had “caved in,” which completely restored our driver’s good humor.
Rocky consists of two huts in the midst of a stony country; and about a mile beyond it we reached a pond, watered our mules, and filled our barrels. The water was very muddy to look at, but not bad to drink.
The mules were lazy today; and Mr. Sargent was forced to fill his bucket with stones, and pelt the leaders occasionally.
At 8 A.M. we reached an open, undulating prairie, and halted at 10:30. Mr. Sargent and I killed and cooked the two chickens.
He has done me the honor to call me a “right good companion for the road.” He also told me that at one time he kept a hotel at El Paso—a sort of halfway house on the overland route to California—and was rapidly making his fortune when the war totally ruined him. This accounts for his animosity to “Uncle Abe.”*****
We hitched in again at 3 P.M., and after pushing through some deepish sand, we halted for the night only twenty-four miles from San Antonio. No corn or water, but plenty of grass; our food, also, was now entirely expended. Mr. Ward struggled up at 8:15, making a desperate effort to keep up with us, and this rivalry between Sargent and him was of great service.
This was our last night of camping out, and I felt almost sorry for it, for I have enjoyed the journey in spite of the hardships. The country through which I have passed would be most fertile and productive (at least the last 150 miles) were it not for the great irregularity of the seasons. Sometimes there is hardly any rain for two and three years together.
24th April (Friday)—We made a start at 4:15 A.M., and with the assistance of M’Carthy, we managed to lose our way; but at 6:15 a loud cheer from the box, of “Hoorraw for h—ll! who’s afraid of fire?” proclaimed that Mr. Sargent had come in sight of Grey’s ranch.
After buying some eggs and Indian corn there, we crossed the deep bed of the river San Antonio. Its banks are very steep and picturesque.
We halted immediately beyond to allow the mules to feed for an hour. A woman was murdered at a ranch close by some time ago, and five bad characters were put to death at San Antonio by the vigilance committee on suspicion.
We crossed the Selado river at 11, and nooned it in its neighborhood.
Mr. Sargent and the Judge finished the gin; and the former, being rather drunk, entertained us with a detailed description of his treatment of a refractory Negro girl, which, by his own account, must have been very severe. M’Carthy was much disgusted at the story.******
After bathing in the Selado, Mr. Sargent, being determined to beat Ward, pushed on for San Antonio; and we drew up before Menger’s hotel at 3 P.M., our mules dead beat—our driver having fulfilled his promise of “making his long-eared horses howl.”
Later in the day I walked through the streets with M’Carthy to his store, which is a very large building, but now desolate, everything having been sold off. He was of course greeted by his numerous friends, and among others I saw a Negro come up to him, shake hands, and welcome him back.
I was introduced to Colonel Duff’s brother, who is also a very good-looking man; but he has not thrown off his British nationality and become a “citizen.”
The distance from Brownsville to San Antonio is 330 miles, and we have been 11 days and 4 hours en route.
* The value of Confederate paper has since decreased. At Charleston I was offered six to one for my gold, and at Richmond eight to one.
** A lantern for a candle, made of white linen and wire, which collapses when not in use. They are always used in the streets of Constantinople. The Texans admired it immensely.
*** I was afterwards told that the Judge’s term of service had expired. El Paso was his district.
**** All streams or rivers are called creeks, and pronounced “criks.”
***** General Longstreet remembered both Sargent and the Judge perfectly, and he was much amused by my experiences with these worthies. General Longstreet had been quartered on the Texan frontiers a long time when he was in the old army—August, 1863.
****** However happy and well off the slaves may be as a general rule, yet there must be many instances (like that of Mr. Sargent) of ill-treatment and cruelty. Mr. Sargent is a Northerner by birth, and is without any of the kind feeling which is nearly always felt by Southerners for Negroes—July, 1863.