His bold stand carried great moral force with it. The apathetic inhabitants of Matamoras, familiarized with political excitements, pronunciamentos, and revolutions, which kept their unhappy land in a vacillating state of unrest, either ready to accept another form of government, or overawed by the display of military force under the French banner, quietly reconciled themselves to the inevitable. Surging swarms surrounded the plaza, and gazed upon company after company of brilliantly uniformed French soldiers, with the no small contingent of swarthy natives, as they marched past the reviewing general and his staff. The review was no doubt a most imposing spectacle, but the brightest picture of the day, that recurs to me, was the unbounded courtesy and hospitality of the wealthy merchants on whose banner-draped balcony we were seated. The delicious French confections and wines they so freely offered their guests, delicacies of which we had been so long deprived, I remember, after the lapse of more than twenty years, with greater distinctness than the evolutions of the military that we were invited to witness.
Many and earnest were the conferences held between a sweet little Texas woman, who occupied quarters near our own, and myself on the subject of costumes suitable for the ball given after the review, on which occasion General Mejia was host or distinguished guest, I quite forget which, but he was the figure par excellence of the ball-room.
My dainty young friend had a pink gown that had done service before the war, and had already been twice refurbished for banquet occasions in Houston, where she had mingled much in gay military circles, her husband being one of General Magruder’s staff. This was brought forth again, carefully inspected and freshened up with such bits of lace as we could muster; while I, being entirely destitute of finery, purchased a modest white tarlatan, with lace flounces. I opened, for the first and only time in all these wanderings, my caskets, which were two large pockets made of stout linen, containing not only my own and my husband’s jewels, but the pins, studs, and chains of four soldier brothers, left with me for safe-keeping when they marched to the front. All these valuables were separately wrapped in soft cotton, and stitched into the pockets, secured to strong belts, I wore on either side often for weeks at a time, day and night, never feeling that they could be laid aside even for an hour during the dangers of camping out and temporary residence, in strange and more or less exposed places. So it was on this festive occasion; while resplendent with my own jewels, I carried those of others concealed on my person. The ball over, we Cinderellas returned to the brick floors of our humble homes and the cotton gowns suited to those surroundings. My neighbor folded away the pretty pink silk, to be opened when we met again under the Spanish flag many months thereafter, while I carefully quilted the diamonds into the pockets from which their shining facets did not emerge for a long, long time.
Finding our quarters, besides being too remote from business centers for my husband’s convenience, were rather cramped, as we were limited to two rooms, and without an out-building that could serve for a kitchen, another house-hunt was instituted, and eventually we succeeded in making ourselves very comfortable in comparison with the rough life that had been ours whenever we had previously been on the frontier. We had one long, narrow room, that had been a storage-place for saddles and harness, but the temptation of high rents put it on the market as a “desirable residence.” Another move was made. The first day was spent in flooding the brick floor with pails of scalding lye, in order to rid the building of fleas, that were so numerous that they hopped around like animated dust as we walked over the floor. When the hot-lye application was made, they jumped up the sides of the walls, till we had a well-defined dado of fleas! Preferring a stationary white one, they were mopped out with whitewash-brushes. That vigorous campaign rewarded us at last with as complete a rout of the enemy as could have been expected; but, so long as we held the fort, an occasional scout was captured and mercilessly put to death. Thoroughly tired of our wandering life, circumstances now arose that made a lengthy residence in Matamoras quite probable. So a bed, two cots, and a wire safe were bought, and a little reed-hut in the yard repaired for a kitchen; a carpenter rigged a light scantling quite across one end of the room, to which was tacked brown sheeting, thus making a partition. Then we had two rooms. Turkey-red draped across the top of the partition, and lambrequins of the same over the windows fronting the narrow street, made us feel quite civilized. A store-box on end was a bureau, and the plain deal-table served for dining and ironing by turns. We settled down to housekeeping, with our wagon-driver, Humphrey, and a little darky-girl about fourteen years old, for servants. Humphrey was cook—the Southern negro is a born cook. Beef and onions, onions and kidneys, liver and onions, stocked the Matamoras market; so his culinary skill was not greatly taxed. Bread, made by the native women, and baked in adobe ovens, was always light, wholesome, and easily procured. If one was not too dainty, and did not witness the manipulation necessary, tortillas, baked on flat iron plates, made a very acceptable variety with the everlasting fried beef and onions, and kidney-and-onion stews, that formed our chief diet.
We could get clothes washed and delivered to us rough dried, for the amazing pittance of one dollar a dozen in good Mexican silver. The monotony of my indoor life was varied by acquiring the useful knowledge, and then teaching Martha how to starch and iron clothes. The faithful young girl made herself doubly useful by often doing what I had not the physical health to attempt. My husband had business to attend to (one can readily understand this was no pleasure-trip), so that he was all day long occupied, while I sat and waited, as thousands of women have to do sometimes in their lives—waited! waited! One stormy, fearfully dark night in early February, when, in the narrow, unpaved street that fronted our door, the mud in places was almost knee-deep from the long-continued rains, my husband returned at a late hour from a grand banquet given in honor of Prince Polignac by a committee of the leading business-men in Matamoras. He found all quietly sleeping at home, but presently there was excitement and commotion in our little room. The next morning Henry heard he had a baby sister. I can never cease to gratefully remember the lovely young Texas woman who, stranger though she was, trudged through almost impassable streets to make me a helpful visit every day for a week.
Business was booming in Matamoras; large warehouses were opened and filled, vessels of every size and nationality unloaded at the Boca—several miles below the city at the mouth of the Rio Grande—and goods were hauled to Matamoras in an endless stream of wagons. A regular fast stage-line was in full operation also for business-men to travel to the Boca and back again. The whole sleepy little city woke up and rubbed its eyes one fine morning to find that it was inspired by new life, and was fast becoming a busier and noisier place than it had ever dreamed of.
The Confederate Government made stupendous efforts to procure army supplies through Mexico; but the great distance, scarcity of transportation, lack of harmony between the several branches of the service, and the unscrupulousness of speculators, interfered with well-laid plans, diminished anticipated results, and subjected the officers of the department to severe criticism for their failure to furnish the army with everything needed, and vituperation from every contractor who did not get the pound of flesh demanded. Traders shipped hither merchandise of every description, with the expectation of selling to the Confederate authorities at such fabulous profit as would warrant taking proportionate hazard in regard to securing payment, all tending to wild speculation, reckless business methods, and amazing complications.
Such a promising trade sprung up in a night, as it were, with Havana, that some enterprising New Yorkers actually started a line of steamers between the two neutral ports, to facilitate the business with the Confederacy. The pioneer steamer of the line was advertised to sail from the Boca on a certain day toward the latter part of February. My husband had urgent business in Havana, where some of his blockade-run cotton had been landed under very suspicious circumstances. He determined to take passage in the new steamer and ascertain the exact situation. Here arose another discussion. Weak as I was, I did not propose to stay behind, and pleaded my ability to go, pointing to the past as evidence that I could endure the journey, having borne greater perils than a short voyage on a comfortable steamer with a baby only three weeks old. Of course, these arguments prevailed. A very energetic man, who in the great rush of business in Matamoras had not been able to find a place to store himself and his constantly increasing stock of goods, eagerly purchased our elegant belongings, lambrequins and bureau included, at original cost price—all but the splint-bottomed rocking-chair. We packed up our trunk and Martha’s bundle. The wagon found a ready purchaser. Ever since the driver of the same sent us word, one morning, that he was “too sleepy and tired to go to market, and we had better go ourselves” we knew that he proposed leaving our employ; therefore, no arrangements were made that included him.
All dressed and bonneted, I sat in the little rocking-chair, waiting for the Boca stage, when, lo! in walked two Mexican officials, piloted by our late Humphrey, who, with an air of great importance, pointed out my servant, and Martha was arrested and conducted before the alcalde. My husband followed, in a quickly gathered crowd through the streets, and, being entirely ignorant of the whole business, and unfamiliar with the language, called our physician—a long-time resident—to his aid. Humphrey had complained that Martha was about to be taken to Cuba without her consent. By the aid of an interpreter, the alcalde questioned the young girl closely. At first she was thoroughly alarmed and confused, being, as she afterward told me, utterly unaware of the conspiracy; but when the idea dawned upon her mind that it was a matter of separation from us, she burst into tears and implored to be permitted to “go with Miss ’Liza.” His honor, being convinced that she was under no compulsion, dismissed the case. Humphrey departed with his new-made Mexican friends, and Martha was hurried back, to find the stage impatiently waiting at the door, baby and I already inside; the others were rapidly hustled in, and, amid crack of whip and the nameless shouts and yells of the driver, we soon lost sight of “La heroica Ciudad de Matamoras.”
Within the following six weeks the Confederacy fell. Lee gracefully surrendered his heroic sword, the weary, foot-sore soldiers returned to desolate homes. The busy traders of Matamoras scattered panic-stricken, and the city itself lapsed into sleepy insignificance with a suddenness that made the army of the French and the lazy natives stare. The line of steamers to run weekly to Havana began and ended in the wheezy little craft in which we made the trip—I have forgotten its name, but, as Toots says, “it’s of no consequence,” for its name is written in water: it went to the bottom the first time it attempted a more ambitious feat than crossing the Gulf.