We now made our bed in the ambulance; only two could possibly occupy that. Sometimes Henry shared it with me, and his father lay upon the ground underneath the vehicle, and often the boy slept on Mother Earth. We still had that “prairie-schooner” of a wagon to carry our clothing, provisions, cooking-utensils, and a servant-woman. Our ablutions were performed habitually in the horse-bucket, and the towel—we were reduced to one, the others having been ruined or blown away while camping out—the precious towel, pinned to the ambulance-curtain, flapped in the breeze and dried as we rode along.
It was not always plain sailing; adventures were frequent. We had the ill luck, on the first trip to the Rio Grande, to put up in Victoria at the meanest and dirtiest hotel I ever dreamed of. It was not half so comfortable as the ambulance and the horse-bucket, but that could not be found out until it had been tried. The room assigned us was immediately over what they were pleased to call the office, but which was really a bar-room; and one unacquainted with Texas in those days can not understand what a bar-room pure and simple was. I was too tired and sleepy to fight long with the various creatures in the bed that had previous possession, which is nine points of the law. By and by, giving up the battle, I fell sound asleep.
My husband, being a light sleeper, was easily roused by outside noises. He spent the greater part of the night with ear and eye at the cracks in the floor, that furnished a pretty good view into the bar-room beneath, and then and there heard the thirsty, boisterous couriers from General Bee to General Magruder tell that the Federals were in Brownsville, and that the place was evacuated. The ubiquitous Yankees! Even away out on the borders of the Guadalupe River we had to hear the old story—“Pickets down dat road!”
What to do was the question that concerned us now. The couriers fortified themselves with drinks, and were off to Magruder before the dawn. By the time I was awake, my husband had procured a dilapidated old map, and was studying out the situation. Our cotton was on the road to Brownsville; the news soon came, however, that General Bee had ordered all the cotton-teams back, and directed them to Laredo. To Laredo we prepared to go. At General Bee’s urgent advice, it was, at the last moment of starting, decided that Henry, my negro servant-woman, and I, should return to my brother’s in the interior of Texas. My husband and a few men, on the same cotton errand, joined together for mutual protection, but they did not relish the additional care of two women and a great white covered wagon, that could be seen for miles over the flat prairie country, only broken with a low growth of chaparral and prickly-pear. All this was being discussed during the first day’s ride from Fernando Creek, where we met General Bee. My husband could see, by my burning face and resolute eye, that I was inwardly protesting the whole time.
When we camped that night, the mules were chained to the wagon-wheels, to provide against a chance of stampede; the men, with loaded guns, were detailed to stand watch, with eyes and ears on the keen alert. My husband and I crept into our ambulance, buttoned the curtains closely down, and, while he held a dim candle in a bottle, I divided in half the few pieces of gold coin we had; sewed twenty pieces for him in a broad, coarse cotton belt, and twenty for me in the bosom and hips of my corset. Then began the division of our scanty bedding; his eyes were filled with tears—that resolute man, who had borne every blow so bravely! We could not talk, our hearts were too full; each dared not unnerve the other by a word. The division took place in absolute silence; he held the candle, and I did the work. Then we lay down for the last time together; we, who had fought such a brave fight side by side, were to separate now, because the dangers to be encountered were too much for the woman. Lying very quiet, each hoping the other would sleep, oh! how the thoughts surged through my brain the short remnant of that night; how earnestly I prayed to be shown the right way; how I petitioned the all-wise God to shut from my view all feeling of self—myself, himself—and show me the way, whether to turn back alone or go on by his side! At the earliest dawn I took advantage of a slight move to ask if he was awake, and then told him in emphatic, plain, unmistakable terms that I was not going back. He pressed me to his thankful heart without a word. As we journeyed on with the rest of the little company, we laughingly proposed that all the money and watches be trusted to my keeping, for, if the Mexican outlaws should pounce upon us, surely they would not search the only lady in the party.
The next night our camp was by the ruins of an abandoned well. Only twenty-four hours after, a party of four men were attacked by Mexican bandits at that very spot, and robbed of everything, even their horses. We did not know of our narrow escape till some days afterward, when the rifled men wearily tramped into Laredo. It was a four-days’ trip, and in that exciting and perilous journey I am sure that Henry and I were the only ones that slept.
The sportsmen of our party often varied the bill-of-fare with game. On several occasions early in the journey one of the number, Mr. Dodds, brought down a fine wild-turkey. A particularly handsome one furnished me with a “turkey-tail fan,” the ragged edges of which are still in my possession.
Nearing the Rio Grande, the country was so barren that the only growths were prickly-pear and mesquite, except on the banks of the few streams. Even in that desolate region an occasional mule-eared rabbit was brought to camp and made into a delicious stew.
Desiring to accomplish thirty-five miles each day, we always started at the earliest dawn, fortified with a cup of black coffee and a cracker. At noon a halt was called of a half-hour or so, and at four we camped for the night, when the meal of the day was leisurely prepared and enjoyed. Frequently we were able to procure a kid. One of the men, who had made the overland journey to California in the fifties, and therefore was endowed with envied experience, was very expert in finding, where no one else could, Mexican jeccals (huts) and kids, and preparing the meat in a variety of tempting ways; so by common consent Mr. Crossan became our commissary and chef. Being the only lady in the company, I was allowed to do nothing, and ate the hard-tack and salt pork, when there was nothing better, with the relish that stimulating air and exercise always impart, immensely enjoying the savory roasts and stews. Many chats Mr. Crossan and I had while I reclined on an improvised divan and watched him stretch the kid on cross-sticks and incline it over the fire à la barbecue; as he turned and basted it, there arose an appetizing odor that was absolutely delightful. I was constantly reminding the kindly man by my presence, of one trip he made to California when his young wife was the only woman in the company; and the tempting, dainty dishes he contrived for me, and the laughable stories he told to while away the time, I always considered a tribute to the memory of that other woman who was so patient and brave.