Don Francisco, a Mexican, and father-in-law of Clay Davis, was sheriff for the time, as the cholera had taken off the regular officer of "Star County." Whether Don Francisco was taking a midnight walk to see the fate of the "Californians," or watching what others might be doing to them, we could never find out, but either he had followed White and Hughes until they separated, after which he could only watch one, which he did until the thief had buried his share, which the Don promptly removed; or else, with the wonderful power of trailing which Indians and Mexicans possess, on the fact of our loss being made known to him, he may have found and followed the tracks of the thieves, and on discovering the money thinking this was all, have given up any further search, until the trails were obliterated by the footsteps of others. I may add here, that Don Francisco generously refused any compensation for what he had recovered, saying we had suffered enough.
The "Tom McKinney" which had taken our party to Roma brought back eighteen or twenty of the men on the way back to New Orleans. At first I thought they had returned to be of some assistance, but judge of my disappointment when I learned the truth. The Bensons, Bradys, Barclay, Tallman, Follen, Cowden, Ely and others were determined to go home. The Bensons came to me and said they were sorry to leave me, but they found they were not fit for such a journey as they had undertaken; many of the others went with a simple "Good-bye," and some did not even come up the hill to see me, and among these were some of whom I did not expect it, Walker, especially, for I thought a good deal of him, and had entrusted him with the care of the sick on their way to Roma; he never sent me any reason for not bidding me good-bye, but I attributed it to the sudden news of Harrison's death.
Desolate, indeed, did I feel as I watched the boat start on her return trip taking some of my very best men, or those I had thought were such, and I realized how little one can judge from appearances or when all is going smoothly. I was now left with only Simson, Clement, John Stevens, Nic Walsh, Mitchell and Elmslie, with Shipman very ill. We were, however, encouraged by good reports of those at Roma, Langdon Havens was recovering, and out of fifty-two more or less ill, only two had died, though twenty were yet too weak to move.
Horde, Upshur and Simson were taking most vigorous measures to recover our stolen money, and we again had Hughes on trial. He swore falsely again and again, that he knew nothing of it. We stood guard on him until we were compelled to rejoin our party, having recovered only about three thousand five hundred dollars, and lost all my papers, receipts, accounts up to date, besides letters of credit and introduction. I walked down to Camp Ringgold to see if possibly I might have a letter from home by a steamer just arrived, and on the road met Lieut. Browning on his way to join our company. I introduced myself to him and appointed an hour to meet him at the hotel at Davis's rancho, and went on to Major La Motte's tent for letters. He was engaged when I arrived, and too weary to sit down, I stretched myself on the rushes he had for the floor of his tent and commenced a conversation with Captain McCown, on the subject of our troubles. He did not know me, and began by: "The Audubons are well known in their profession, but——." I interrupted him by telling him he was too hard on me at first sight, and he was a little confused, but his frank apology soon put us on a friendly footing.
On my return to Davis's rancho, I saw poor Dr. Kearney who had undertaken the medical charge of the party; and I heard of the lives he had saved, and hoped still to have his aid for our suffering company. But the fatigue he had undergone was too much for him, and the day following this he was no more. He was buried at Camp Ringgold, where he had been cared for by Dr. Campbell, and nursed by his cousin, John K. Rodgers, one of my friends, who was so debilitated that he was obliged to return north.
Having done all we could to recover our money we left for Mier, via Roma, at the hottest hour of the day, three o'clock, hoping to arrive before dark, but after two hours stopped for shade and rest, for the heat, owing to our debility, was insupportable; at dusk we went on and reached Roma about eleven at night.
Roma, named after General Roman of Texan celebrity, is situated on a sandstone bluff, perhaps a hundred feet high, but like all the rest of the country on this line, with no trees, only an interminable chaparral of musquit, cactus (of three species), an occasional aloe, maguay[12] and wild sage, at this season covered with its bluish-purple flower, almost as delicate as the light green of the leaf. With the exception of the large, coarse cactus, which ought to be called "giganteus," almost all the plants are small leaved; worst of all, every tree, shrub and plant is thorny to a degree no one can imagine until they have tried a thicket of "tear-blanket" or "cat's claw." The distant view was exquisitely soft, hill and valley stretching for miles about us, looking like a most beautifully cultivated country, the bare spots only like small fields, and the rest deluding the weary traveller in the belief that the distance is a change from the arid, bleak country through which he is riding.
We turned in at a small store, found a loaf of bread and some whiskey, and lay down on the floor with our saddles for pillows, and blankets for beds, and slept soundly. At daylight I made up our party, saw them over the river in a small flatboat and rode on, thinking of our situation and wondering again and again how I could have been so thoughtless as to entrust our money to anyone, even with Dr. Campbell's advice, and what course to take now. I could, of course, do nothing but await my interview with Col. Webb, who had written to bring the prisoners along and he would get the money. The difficulty was that by the laws of Texas a man can not be taken out of his own county to be tried, and it is also against the law to lynch him. Then, too, five men could not easily remove a desperado with some twenty accomplices, through twenty-five miles of wilderness.
I was so weak I was but just able to continue to ride, and so depressed in spirits that I was almost in despair. We reached our camp on the Alamo River, a little creek three miles from Mier, and I was surprised to see a carriage as we rode up. In a minute I saw Col. Webb sitting in it with one foot on the back seat and Dr. Trask bathing it. He had had a touch of diarrhœa and had hired a carriage to ride down from S—— where he had received my letter advising him of our loss, and jumping out of the conveyance hastily, had sprained his ancle and was in great pain. I found all in disorder, and the men came flocking round me, and, as I told them our experiences since I had written, they, in return told me of their own adventures.
Tonight, March 21st, Col. Webb was taken very ill with bilious cholera, and we thought he would have died; we worked over him until morning when he was better.