19th April (Sunday).—At 1 a.m. this morning, our slumbers on the bullock-rug were disturbed by a sudden and most violent thunderstorm. M'Carthy and I had only just time to rush into the carriage, and hustle our traps underneath it, when the rain began to descend in torrents.
We got inside with the little Jew (who was much alarmed by the thunder); whilst Mr Sargent and the Judge crept underneath.
The rain lasted two hours; and at daylight we were able to refresh ourselves by drinking the water from the puddles, and effect a start.
But fate seemed adverse to our progress. No sooner had we escaped from the sand than we fell into the mud, which was still worse.
We toiled on till 11.30 a.m., at which hour we reached "King's Ranch," which for several days I had heard spoken of as a sort of Elysium, marking as it does the termination of the sands, and the commencement of comparative civilisation.
We halted in front of the house, and after cooking and eating, I walked up to the "ranch," which is a comfortable, well-furnished wooden building.
Mr and Mrs King had gone to Brownsville; but we were received by Mrs Bee, the wife of the Brownsville general, who had heard I was on the road.
She is a nice lively little woman, a red-hot Southerner, glorying in the facts that she has no Northern relations or friends, and that she is a member of the Church of England.
Mr King first came to Texas as a steamboat captain, but now owns an immense tract of country, with 16,000 head of cattle, situated, however, in a wild and almost uninhabited district. King's Ranch is distant from Brownsville only 125 miles, and we have been six days in reaching it.