“Good-bye,” Aunt Brown called her final farewell, as they leaned from the carriage for a last look of the quiet white house, the orderly whitewashed outbuildings, and the trim garden.
“Our last view of home,” said Alison, her eyes moist.
But Christine was looking straight ahead with a smile upon her face. She leaned towards John. “We’re going home,” she said, “aren’t we, John?”
John’s plan to make the journey by water, so far as it was possible, seemed to involve less fatigue than any other way. Their household furniture was thus readily transported, for though the flatboats, familiarly known as broadhorns, were still in use by the poorer emigrants, the speedier method of travel was by the steamboats which could bear many a comfortable outfit to the settlements located on the rivers of Texas. From these river landings the goods and chattels were transported further inland in carts. The state was filling up rapidly, and those who did not travel by water took the slower way across country in the hooded emigrant wagons, which plodded over many a road as the new settlers poured in.
The trip down the muddy waters of the Mississippi was one the two girls never forgot. The steamboat was well patronized, and their fellow passengers represented so many different classes that it was a source of great entertainment to watch them. Here was a set of wild looking men whose whole business in life seemed to be a game of cards, there a group of traders, merchants or mechanics. Families of women and little children, made way for some silken-gowned dame on her way to the city of New Orleans; spruce young soldiers saluted portly politicians; dapper Frenchmen gesticulated to some neighbor planter. In truth the river boats were lively places, and the girls, who had not traveled far beyond their own state, were entertained hour after hour. At last came their final landing when the steamer stopped at a primitive wharf at the foot of a bluff none too easy to climb. A crowd of negroes, Mexicans, Texas rangers, and planters gathered curiously to watch the passengers. At sight of John, one tall young fellow called out: “Look there, boys, if it’s not John Ross, I’m jiggered.” Then, as the gangplank was drawn in, several from the crowd rushed forward with hearty greetings, but at sight of the two girls all but one or two drew back, and these, standing their ground, were presented. The tall young man who had first recognized John was introduced as Neal Jordan. He gave the girls a joyous smile, bowed low, and with perfect ease appropriated the hand luggage, seeming in no way abashed, and carrying on a conversation which was a strange mixture of the local vernacular and that of a man who was accustomed to greater refinements.
“You’ve had right smart of a journey, haven’t you?” he said.
“It did seem rather long,” Alison answered, “but it was interesting, for there were so many queer people on the steamboat and we liked to watch them.”
“They do give you rather a mix up,” returned the young man. “Some pretty tough customers travel down this way, but then we have a better class to offset them. John, going right on?”
“Yes, as soon as we can arrange to get conveyances for our goods. We have about twenty miles further to go before we are really at home.”
“I reckon that’s about the distance. I suppose you’ll want to rest up a little, though I don’t suppose you are as tuckered out as some of the folks are that come down on the broadhorns or in wagons. They get pretty sick of it sometimes. Going to Haller’s, John? It’s about the only place that’s half decent, and none too good for ladies at that.”