I found my uncle, W. G. Bakewell, on board making the trip to New Orleans, and my journey was as agreeable as it could be, where all my associations were of a melancholy nature. I thought of past joys and friends dead and scattered since the days when I knew this country so well.
The river was very high, and the desolation of the swamps, the lonely decaying appearance of the clay bluffs, picturesque as they are, added to the eternal passing on of this mighty stream towards its doom, to be swallowed in earth's great emblem of eternity, the ocean, told only of the passing of all things.
February 18th. Four days from Cairo found us at New Orleans, and a few hours enabled me to find hotels for our party, and at six o'clock I was able to tell Col. Webb that I had done all I could that night and would be with him at nine next morning, and left for the quiet of my aunt's[4] home.
February 19th was spent in running all over New Orleans, ordering horse and mule shoes, bacon, flour, bags, tools, ammunition, and making arrangements to change our certificates of deposit for such funds as would pass in Mexico. I called with Col. Webb on General and Mrs. Gaines and was most kindly received by both, and afterwards asked to call again, but had no time, as every minute was occupied with my business.
Two of our men had to be returned from this place of bars, billiards and thirsty souls, and one of our otherwise best men was dismissed because he met some of his old "friends" (?) who would insist not only on a jovial dinner, but masked balls and all the other concomitants, and after four days of this, a unanimous vote of the company expelled him.
Sunday is selected at New Orleans for the departure of vessels to all parts of the world and at ten o'clock on the morning of March the 4th, we left in the steamer "Globe" for Brazos, north of Rio Grande. We descended the river to the mouth, but anchored there, as there is a dangerous bar, and the weather not looking favorable the Captain of our frail vessel deemed it prudent to wait until dawn before attempting to go further. We left our anchorage at daybreak, the cross seas of the outer bar breaking over the bows at almost every wave, and I felt that if a real gale came up from the south-east our trip to California would soon end. The day continued as it had begun. I went to my berth and could not have been persuaded that it was not blowing hard if I had not been able to see the water from my porthole. The night came on with a full moon and the trade wind of the Gulf just fanned a ripple on the old swell to send millions of sparkling lights in petty imitation of those spangling the heavens.
Three such nights and four days of hot sun, and we were running over the bar at Brazos in only seven or eight feet of water. Not a landmark more than ten feet high was in sight, but we could see miles and miles of breakers combing and dashing on the glaring beach, broken here and there by dark, weather-stained wrecks of unfortunate vessels that had found their doom on this desolate shore.
Brazos, like Houston in 1837, is nothing if you take away what belongs to government, a long flat a mile wide, extending for a good distance towards the Rio Grande, is kept out of reach of the sea by a range of low sand hills, if drifts of eight to ten or fifteen feet deserve the name; so like those on all our low shores from Long Island to Florida that every traveller knows what the island of Brazos is. The inner bay, however, looking towards Point Isabel is beautiful, and but for the extreme heat would have given me a splendid opportunity for one of my greatest pleasures, sailing.
We found a few cases of cholera had occurred here, and Major Chapman[5] with the kindness so generally shown by our officers to their countrymen, sent off our party at once in the government steamer "Mentoria." At New Orleans I could not insure our money over the bar of the Rio Grande without an immense premium, so I, with Biddle Boggs and James Clement, having landed the horses brought with us, went overland from Brazos to Brownsville opposite Matamoras, thirty-two miles, long ones. We took all our money with us, and started in buoyant spirits. At 10:30, March 8th, I found myself riding along the beach of this barren island; for six or eight miles we went merrily on, watching the little sand-pipers and turn-stones, and enjoying the invigorating sea-breeze, as the sun was intensely hot, and when, from time to time we passed through narrow lanes of chaparral where the breeze was shut out, and the dust followed our horses, we were exceedingly oppressed.
We had all seen Texas before, and like sailors once familiarized with the sea whom an hour restores to old habits and thoughts, so with the man of the prairies, and we all felt at home at once. The country is flat, showing here and there in the distance some of those bold prominences of clay represented so beautifully by the Prince de Neuwied in his wonderful illustrations of the West.[6] These near the Rio Grande, are, of course, only miniatures of the "Chateaux blancs" of the northern Mississippi. After our long ride of thirty-two miles, with only a hard boiled egg each for our mid-day meal, at three o'clock we reached Brownsville where the rolling of bowling-alleys and the cannoning of billiard balls was all that seemed to enliven the village at that hour. I went to find the Quartermaster to know where to put our money for safety, and was most kindly received by Major Brice[7] who took charge of it and put it in the strong box at Fort Brown. From this place we had next morning a fine view of Matamoras, and the American-like appearance rather startled me from my old belief of the low standard of all things Mexican, for it was the only town like a town I had seen; but I resumed my old opinion when I was told that all the good houses had been built by Mr. McGown, who had resided there for years, and so far I have not seen anything in the shape of architecture worthy the name, except the old missions about San Antonio de Bexar.