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?”
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“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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
