In later years the rangers have served as a sort of state police. Many a stronghold of cattle thieves has been raided by them; many a nest of desperadoes has been broken up; many a bitter neighborhood feud has been settled.
At the present time (1896) there are about two hundred rangers in the service. They furnish their own horses, and receive forty dollars a month; their rations and their arms being supplied by the state.
Some of those noted for steady nerve and daring courage among the ranger captains of earlier and later times are Colonel “Rip” Ford, Lawrence Sullivan Ross (since governor of Texas, and called by his old comrades “Sul” Ross), Colonel “Buck” Barry, Lieutenant Chrisman, Sergeants J. B. Armstrong and L. P. Selker, and Captains Tom Wright, Jesse Lee Hall, and L. B. McNulty.
In the spring of 1848 there appeared on the streets of Austin a young man wearing a costume which attracted much attention. It was composed of gray stockings and knee breeches, with a black velvet tunic and broad-brimmed, gray felt hat. The rather dashing-looking stranger was evidently French, but he called himself an Icarian. He was, in fact, on his way from New Braunfels, where he had been living, to Icaria, a new settlement near the Cross Timbers in Fannin County.
This settlement was founded by Etienne Cabet (Ca-bā), a Frenchman who dreamed of establishing a community where nobody would be rich and nobody would be poor, but all money and other property would be held in common. Devotion to women and children, honesty, and the ability and willingness to work for the good of the brotherhood were the chief rules of the fraternity. They numbered in France in 1847 many thousand persons of all classes.
Cabet obtained from the Peters Immigration Company in 1847 a million acres of land in North Texas. The land was given to him on condition that a settlement should be made upon it before the 1st of July, 1848. In January, 1848, the first cohort, numbering sixty-nine persons, embarked at Havre, France. They arrived at Shreveport, Louisiana, the following April. From there they marched on foot to their chosen home in Texas, carrying firearms, household goods, and provisions.
“Oh, if you could see Icaria!” they presently wrote back to the brotherhood in France. “It is an Eden. The forests are superb; the vegetation rich and varied. We have horses, cows, pigs, and chickens in abundance.... Many Texans come to see us. They are good-natured and very honest. We camp and sleep out of doors. We lock up nothing and are never robbed.”[36]
Houses were built and fields ploughed and planted. By midsummer the Icarians in their cosy hamlet were on the lookout for the second cohort of colonists. But before it arrived the cholera broke out in Icaria. Many of the settlers died; nearly all those who were left abandoned their homes in a panic and returned to New Orleans, where Cabet himself joined them with several hundred recruits from France. A new and more fortunate Icarian settlement was finally made in Missouri.
A few years later (1853) a procession, also composed of French emigrants, passed along Main Street in Houston. They had just landed from the steamboat Eclipse on the bayou at the foot of the street. At their head walked a tall gentleman in a velvet coat and three-cornered hat. He carried a drawn sword in his hand, and the tricolored flag of France floated above his head. His long white hair streamed over his shoulders. The whole company, men, women, and children, sung the Marseillaise hymn as they marched along.
The tall gentleman was the Count Victor Considerant. He had come with his followers from France to Texas to found a Phalanstery, a community much like that already attempted by Cabet. His watchword was “Liberty and Equality.” The faces of the emigrants lighted with joy as they traveled away over the prairies, following this beautiful vision.
They founded their town on the east fork of the Trinity River, in Dallas County, and called it Reunion. But the brotherhood soon fell to pieces. The emigrants scattered over the country, finding it pleasanter to own homes in a land of true liberty and equality, than to live by the count’s fine theories.
Many descendants both of the Icarians and of Count Considerant’s colonists are to be met with in North Texas.
Sam Houston succeeded Runnels as governor in 1859. When he took his seat at Austin, clouds from more than one quarter were gathering in the clear sky of Texas. Roving bands of Indians from the Territory came across the border and murdered in cold blood a number of families. At first they stole in, made their raids, and dashed back in a single night. But they grew more and more bold and insolent, until the governor was obliged to send the rangers to their old work of watching the frontier.
Lawrence Sullivan Ross, afterward governor of Texas, was at this time a lieutenant in the ranging service. He was a gallant and dashing soldier. During a raid on the Indians, on Pease River (1860), he rescued Cynthia Ann Parker, a white woman, who had been carried away by the Comanches, when but nine years of age. She had been a captive twenty-four years and had forgotten her native tongue. She was the wife of Peta Nocona, a Comanche chief, and the mother of several children. Lieutenant Ross returned her to her kindred with her little daughter Ta-ish-put (Prairie Flower). But she was not happy among these long-unknown white people; she pined for her dusky adopted kinsmen; and four years after her rescue she died, little Ta-ish-put soon following her to the Happy Hunting-grounds. Inanah Parker, one of her sons, became a Comanche chief.
During this period a Mexican bandit named Cortina crossed the lower Rio Grande into Texas at the head of four hundred men. Their object was plunder, and in their forays a great many innocent people were killed. The governor appealed to the general government at Washington for protection along the Mexican border.
The War Department in response ordered Colonel Robert E. Lee (afterward famous as commander-in-chief of the Confederate States army), then stationed at San Antonio, to attack the bandit and drive him out, crossing the Rio Grande, if necessary, in pursuit.
Some United States troops, with several companies of rangers, were at once put in the field, and Cortina’s band was soon broken up.
These troubles were light, however, compared with those which were about to follow.
The two sections of the United States, the North and the South, had for some years been drifting apart. Their views differed widely on several important questions, particularly the question of states’ rights, and there seemed to be no chance of a mutual agreement. In 1860, at the time Abraham Lincoln was elected President, the Southern States determined to withdraw from the Union. They believed that each state had a right to withdraw or secede from the Union whenever that Union became for any reason undesirable to it, as the individual members of a family may leave the paternal home if they wish to do so. But the Northern States did not agree to this. They believed that the Union should be preserved, and that the states should be held together—even by the power of the sword.
South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union. Texas, on hearing of this news, was filled with excitement. Military companies were formed all over the state; the air was thick with the flutter of secession flags; the ground echoed the tramp of awkward squads drilling under the eyes of officers as awkward and inexperienced and enthusiastic as themselves.
Governor Houston, as well as some other patriotic and true-hearted Texans, was bitterly opposed to secession, but his voice was lost in the loud clamor of public feeling.
A convention was held in Austin in January, 1861. A declaration of secession was drawn up and submitted to the people (February 23). Texas by a large majority voted herself out of the Union, which she had entered fifteen years before.
There was wild rejoicing over the state. The capitol at Austin was brilliantly illuminated, bonfires were lighted, bells were rung, the Confederate flag was run up on all public buildings, and the work of mustering troops into the Confederate States army instantly began.
Confederate Flag.
All state officials were required to take the oath of fealty to the new government. Governor Houston, true to his convictions, refused to do this. When the day came for the ceremony (March 16), the hall of representatives was filled to overflowing. “The presiding officer, amid a profound silence, called three times: ‘Sam Houston! Sam Houston! Sam Houston!’ but the governor remained in his office in the basement of the capitol whittling a pine stick, and hearing the echo of the noise and tumult above his head. Houston was declared deposed from his office, and Edward Clark, the lieutenant-governor, was installed as governor.”[37]
Houston left Austin and retired to his place near Huntsville. To the end of his life he continued to declare that, although opposed to the war of the States, his sympathies were with Texas. “My state, right or wrong,” he said. One of his sons entered the Confederate army with his consent and approval.
He died July 26, 1863, at the age of seventy years. His last words, whispered with dying lips, were: “Texas! Texas!”
And Texas, forgetting all her differences with him, and remembering only his ready and gallant services in her hours of need, mourned his loss as that of a well-beloved son.
The early months of the year 1861 in Texas were like one long holiday. The country was dotted with white tents where the recruits were encamped, and where, amid bursts of martial music and in all the glory of brand new uniforms, the untried volunteers received their mothers and sisters, and showed them with pride “how soldiers live in time of war.”
Every few days one of these camps would be broken up, the tents and camp baggage would be loaded on wagons, and the “boys” would march to the nearest town. There the whole population would be gathered to greet them; a flag would be presented to them by the hand of some bright-eyed girl, loud cheers would echo on the air, and the company would tramp steadily away to take its place in the fighting ranks of the Confederate States army.
Many of these soldiers carried their negro body-servants with them; all had abundant stores of clothing and bedding, and of those little comforts and luxuries that only mothers know how to provide. Their young faces were eager, their eyes were sparkling, and if there were sobs in their throats as they said those last good-byes, the sobs were smothered in the ringing cheers which mingled with the notes of “Dixie” or “The Bonnie Blue Flag.”
They were soon to learn in many a tentless camp, on many a foot-sore march, on many a bloody and hard-fought field, how soldiers really live in time of war.
But the days as yet were like one long holiday, although mother-hearts ached in secret dread, and the scarred veterans of the Texan revolution and of the Mexican War were filled with inward forebodings for the future.
People along the frontier had been talking for some time about a great buffalo hunt which was to take place that winter in the Pan Handle. John R. Baylor, a noted hunter and scout, had, it was said, raised more than a thousand men to go on this hunt, and a great many scouts and Indian fighters had joined him. Among them was Ben McCulloch, who had done such gallant service in Mexico under General Taylor.
The buffalo hunt did not take place; but Colonel Ben McCulloch, with the buffalo hunters, a thousand or more strong, appeared in San Antonio on the 15th of February (1861).
General David E. Twiggs, United States army, was at that time in command of the troops in Texas. San Antonio was the most important of the United States army posts in the southwest; a large amount of military stores was in the arsenal, and soldiers were kept there ready to march at need to the relief of the frontier forts.
Colonel McCulloch, acting under orders of commissioners from Austin, demanded the surrender of all military posts and supplies in the State of Texas. General Twiggs on the 18th of February made a formal surrender of the department. The United States troops were paroled and marched to Indianola on the coast, where the Star of the West, an unarmed United States steamer, was waiting to take them home.
But when they reached Indianola (18th of April) the Star of the West and the gunboat Mohawk, which had been guarding her, had both disappeared. The officer in command was in a quandary. He did not know what to do. At length he placed his troops on two schooners and sailed across the Matagorda Bay to the Gulf.
In the meantime, on the 12th of April, at Fort Sumter, South Carolina, the first gun of the Civil War had been fired. The struggle between the States had begun.
General Earl Van Dorn, of the Confederate army, was at this time in command of the military department of Texas. His headquarters were at Galveston. The island which the pirate Lafitte had left lone and deserted when he sailed away in the Pride now teemed with a busy and prosperous people. The huts of Campeachy were replaced by stately mansions, and beautiful gardens bloomed where sandy wastes had been.
Several companies of soldiers were encamped without the city, awaiting marching orders. General Van Dorn entered the camp one day, and after a brief speech called for volunteers for an expedition which he was about to undertake. The Galveston Artillery, the Island City Rifles, and an Irish company called the Wigfall Guards, at once stepped forward, eager for duty.
The next night (17th of April), about midnight, the steamboat General Rusk, with these volunteers on board, drew up alongside the Star of the West, lying in the Gulf of Mexico, off Indianola. Captain Howe, of the United States steamer, hearing himself hailed, came on deck, and supposing these to be the United States troops he was expecting, he politely ordered the General Rusk to be made fast to his own boat. In a twinkling the Confederate soldiers were aboard of the Star of the West demanding its surrender.
“To what flag am I asked to surrender?” asked the astonished captain. Ensign Duggan of the Wigfall Guards displayed the Lone Star flag of Texas, and in his richest brogue exclaimed: “That’s it! Look at it, me byes. Did ye iver see the Texas flag on an Irish jackstaff before?”[38]
Captain Howe, having neither arms nor soldiers, surrendered, and the Star of the West followed the General Rusk to Galveston.
This was why the United States troops the next morning (April 18) found no steamer to carry them away. The two schooners upon which they embarked were also captured several days later, having on board eight hundred officers and men, with three hundred fine rifles and a large quantity of camp supplies.
But the Confederacy had no means of protecting the long stretch of Texas coast. In July a blockading squadron—that is, a fleet of armed vessels to prevent ships from entering or leaving the harbor—was stationed in the Gulf off Galveston, and in a short time the whole coast was closely guarded.
In the fall of 1861 Frank R. Lubbock, who has been called the “war governor” of Texas, was elected governor. By the close of his term ninety thousand Texan soldiers were in the Confederate army.
Early in 1862 a Texas brigade, under General Sibley, was defeated by the Union forces in New Mexico, and forced to retreat to San Antonio with a loss of five hundred men.
In October of the same year the Confederates, unable to hold Galveston, surrendered that place to Commodore Eagle of the blockading squadron, and withdrew to Virginia Point on the mainland about six miles distant. Many of the citizens of the town also left their homes; and amid a silence almost as profound as that in which Lafitte landed on the island nearly fifty years before, several hundred soldiers stepped ashore from their boats and took possession of the place. The United States flag was hoisted on the Custom-house; the soldiers settled into their quarters on one of the wharves; the imposing vessels of the Federal squadron filled the bay and the harbor. A mournful cry echoed throughout Texas: “Galveston has fallen!”
The holiday look had long since disappeared from Texas. No battles had been fought within her borders, but the blood of her brave sons had dyed the sod of many a battlefield elsewhere. For the deadly conflict was raging. The North and the South, fighting as brother against brother, were pouring out their kindred blood day by day; the smoke of their hostile guns darkened the very heavens. Many heroic deeds were done on both sides—deeds which to-day thrill us with wonder and admiration.
But there were frightful gaps in the ranks of those who had marched away from Texas to the tune of “Dixie” or “The Bonnie Blue Flag.” The gallant lads who had showed off their brave uniforms in the holiday camps were tramping about, barefoot, ragged, and hungry, in Virginia, in Tennessee, in Georgia,—wherever there was an enemy to be attacked or an outpost to be held.
Their mothers and sisters at home were making lint and cartridges, weaving and wearing homespun, making their own shoes and gloves, and cheering the far-away “boys” with letters and with home-made gifts, and praying, praying always.
There were few able-bodied men left in the state. The women with the old men and boys, aided by the negroes who remained loyal and trustworthy, made the crops. As the war went on the prices of everything rose. Old bills show that forty dollars a yard (Confederate money) was paid for calico for a little girl’s “best” dress; and seventy-five dollars was paid for a boy’s first pair of boots. A war-time arithmetic has among its examples the following:
“A cavalryman paid 200 dollars for his pistol and 4000 dollars for his horse; how much did both cost him?”
“At 20 dollars a pound, how much coffee can you buy for 40 dollars?”
“If one hat costs 120 dollars, how much would eight hats cost?”
Coffee and tea were replaced by drinks made of parched potatoes, or burnt peas, and sassafras roots. The real articles which were brought into the country occasionally by blockade-runners were known as “blockade” coffee and tea, and were kept for the use of the sick.
The blockade-runners were very daring and confident. Captain Henry Sherffius of Houston, among others, was noted for his skill in slipping through the line of big ships on watch along the coast of Texas. Once, when he was leaving on one of his trips, he was so sure of himself and his boat that he invited his friends to come to his wedding on a certain day some weeks later. He came back at the appointed time, bringing with him his wedding-cakes, baked in Vera Cruz, Mexico.
The Mississippi River rolled, a wide barrier, between the two parts of the Confederacy. Its banks were lined with Federal sharp-shooters, and its yellow waters were dotted with Federal gunboats. It was difficult to get news from the eastern side, where the greater part of the fighting was done, and terrible were the times of waiting between the first rumors of a battle and the receipt of the lists of the killed and wounded. A noble and patriotic citizen of Houston, E. H. Cushing, rendered a priceless service to Texas in this matter. He was at that time and had been for years the editor of the Houston Telegraph. His energy and his devotion to the Confederate cause were unceasing. He established a pony express between the seat of war—wherever that chanced to be—and Texas. His messengers somehow managed to get through the lines when no one else could do so. They went and came, carrying and bringing papers and dispatches, and above all, precious letters from the boys in gray. Mr. Cushing’s express also “ran” to Brownsville.
At the close of the war this true patriot supplied money from his private purse, not only to broken-down and crippled home-coming Confederate soldiers, but to the home-going Federal prisoners from Camp Ford.[39]
The Telegraph came out daily throughout the war, some of its later numbers being printed on coarse yellow, red, and blue paper.
Amid all the anxiety and hardship there was no thought of giving up. The men of the South believed themselves to be fighting for a just cause; the Northern soldiers were equally sincere in their convictions. And so the war, grim and terrible, went on.
In the fall of 1862 General Magruder, Confederate States army, assumed command of the Trans-Mississippi (that is, west of the Mississippi) Department. He determined at once to attempt the recapture of Galveston. He went to Virginia Point, where the Confederate troops were camped, and there with great caution and secrecy made his plans.
At the head of Galveston Bay, the Neptune and the Bayou City, two small steamboats, were bulwarked with cotton bales, mounted with cannon, and manned with sharp-shooters from the Confederate States cavalry and artillery. The Lady Gwinn and the John F. Carr were detailed to accompany these vessels as tenders. This crude fleet was commanded by Captain Leon Smith who had served in the navy of the Texas Republic.
About midnight on the 31st of December, the boats moved down the bay to a position above the town, where they quietly awaited General Magruder’s signal gun.
Magruder had already crossed his troops to the island. They marched swiftly through the deserted streets of the city, and, by the light of a waning moon, planted their batteries. At five o’clock on New Year’s morning, 1863, the attack began. It was a complete surprise to the Federals.
The ships of the blockading fleet, under the command of Commodore Renshaw, were nearly all within the bay. The Harriet Lane, commanded by Commodore Wainwright, was lying near the wharf. At a little distance was the iron-clad Westfield, Commodore Renshaw’s flag-ship, attended by the Owasco; still further out were the armed vessels, the Clifton and the Sachem, and the barges the Elias Park and the Cavallo.
The war-ships answered the fire of Magruder’s batteries with a terrific hail of iron; once the Confederate gunners were driven from their guns. But the Neptune and the Bayou City steamed up to the Harriet Lane and attacked her at close quarters, pouring a hot fire into her from behind the rampart of cotton bales.
The Neptune with a hole in her hull made by a cannon-ball soon sank in shallow water. The Bayou City was also disabled. The Confederate sharp-shooters leaped on board the Harriet Lane, and, after a bloody fight on her deck, captured her.[40] Commodore Wainwright was killed early in the action. First Lieutenant Lea was mortally wounded.
The Union infantry made a gallant resistance to the land attack, but they were finally obliged to surrender.
The Sachem, the Clifton, and the Owasco stood out to sea and escaped. The Westfield ran aground and was blown up to prevent her capture. Commodore Renshaw and his officers had left the vessel, but their boats were too near when the explosion took place prematurely, and they perished with her. The Harriet Lane and the barges, with several hundred prisoners, remained in the hands of the victors.
The loss in this battle on the Confederate side was twelve killed and seventy wounded. The Federals lost one hundred and fifty killed and many wounded.
Among the mortally wounded were two young soldiers, the story of whose death even yet stirs the heart to pity. One fell fighting under the starry cross of the Confederacy. The other dropped on the bloody deck of the Harriet Lane under the shadow of the stars and stripes. The Confederate was Lieutenant Sidney Sherman, son of the gallant veteran, General Sidney Sherman, who led the infantry charge at San Jacinto. The lieutenant was hardly more than a boy. The blood oozed from his wounds as he lay dying, but the smile of victory parted his lips. Suddenly his blue eyes grew soft and tender; “Break this gently to my mother,” he whispered. These were his last words.
The young Union soldier was Edward Lea, first lieutenant of the Harriet Lane. His wounds were also fatal. But as his life was ebbing away he heard his name spoken in a tone of agony. He opened his eyes. His father, Major Lea of the Confederate army, was kneeling beside him. Father and son had fought on opposite sides that dark New Year’s morning. The pale face of the young lieutenant lighted with joy; and when a little later the surgeon told him he had but a moment to live, he answered with the confidence of a little child and with his latest breath, “My father is here.”
The two lads cold in death rested almost side by side on their funeral biers that day,—brothers in death, brothers forever in the memory of those who looked upon their calm young faces.
Lieutenant Lea and Commodore Wainwright were buried with military honors from General Magruder’s headquarters, Major Lea reading the service for the burial of the dead.
The body of young Sherman was carried to his beloved mother, who in her home on the bay had listened with a beating heart to the cannonading of the battle in which her son’s brave young life had ended.
A small earthwork called Fort Griffin had been built by the Confederates on the Texas side of Sabine Pass at the mouth of the Sabine River. It was protected by five light guns and garrisoned by the Davis Guards, a company from Houston commanded by Captain Odlum. The first lieutenant of the company was Dick Dowling, an Irishman but twenty years of age.
Fort Griffin, though small, was a place of much importance. Sabine Pass was a sort of outlet for the pent-up Confederacy. Blockade-runners, in spite of the Federal ships stationed in the Gulf, were always slipping out of the Sabine River, loaded with cotton for Cuba or Europe, and stealing in with arms and supplies from Mexico.
Richard Dowling.
Soon after the battle of Galveston, Major Oscar Watkins, Confederate States navy, was sent by General Magruder with two cotton-clad steamboats, the Josiah Bell and the Uncle Ben, to annoy the blockading fleet at Sabine Pass. After a skirmish and an exciting chase, he succeeded in capturing two United States ships, the Velocity and the Morning Light (January 21, 1863).
The United States then determined to take Fort Griffin and land at Sabine Pass a force large enough to overawe that part of the country. Twenty-two transports carried the land troops, about fifteen thousand in number, to the Pass. Four gunboats, the Sachem, the Clifton, the Arizona, and the Granite City, accompanied them, to bombard the fort and cover the landing of the soldiers. The expedition was under the command of General Franklin.
When this formidable fleet appeared at Sabine Pass, Captain Odlum was absent and Lieutenant Dowling was in command of Fort Griffin. His whole force consisted of forty-two men. He ordered the “Davys,” as they were called, to stay in the bombproofs until he himself should fire the first gun. Then, hidden by the earthwork, he watched the approach of the gunboats.
The Clifton steamed in and opened the attack from her pivot gun, throwing a number of shells which dropped into the fort and exploded. The Sachem and the Arizona followed, pouring in broadsides from their thirty-two-pound cannon.
No reply came from the fort, which seemed to be deserted. The gunboats came nearer and nearer. Suddenly a shot from the fort clove the air and fell hissing into the water beyond the Arizona. The fight at once became furious. The Clifton and the Arizona moved backward and forward, vomiting huge shells which tore the earthwork of the fort and filled the air with dust. Ships and fort seemed wrapped in flame. The Sachem meanwhile was stealing into the Pass toward the unprotected rear of the fort. But a well-aimed shot from Dowling’s battery struck her, crushing her iron plating and causing her to rise on end and quiver like a leaf in the wind. She was at the mercy of the fort, and her flag was instantly lowered. The Clifton kept up the fight with great skill and bravery. But she soon ran aground in the shallows, where she continued to fire until a shot passed through her boiler, completely wrecking her. A white flag was run up at her bow, and the battle was over. The Arizona and the Granite City steamed out to the transports, whose men had watched the fight with breathless interest.
The fleet at once retired, leaving the Sachem and the Clifton to the “Davys.”[41]
Three hundred Union soldiers were taken prisoners. Captain Crocker of the Clifton came ashore with a boat’s crew, and, mounting the parapet, asked for the commanding officer. Lieutenant Dowling, covered with the dust of the fort, presented himself as the person sought.
The gallant Federal in his handsome uniform could hardly believe that this dirty little boy was his conqueror, or that the handful of men before him comprised the force which had so calmly awaited a hostile fleet and defeated it.[42]
Eight months afterward the United States gunboats, the Granite City and the Wave, were captured at Sabine Pass.
In November and December, 1863, General Banks took possession of the Texas coast, protecting it with a land force from Brownsville to Indianola. Within a short time, however, he withdrew his troops, leaving only a garrison at Brownsville. But the cruel war was fast drawing to a close. The Confederate army, thinned in ranks and in need of food, as well as of powder and of shot, could no longer be maintained. There were no men to take the place of those who fell in battle; the untilled fields gave no harvests; the coasts were so guarded that the most reckless blockade-runner, could no longer get in with supplies. On the 9th of April, 1865, General Robert E. Lee, commander-in-chief of the Confederate army, surrendered to General U. S. Grant at Appomattox Court House in Virginia.
Before this news reached Texas the last skirmish of the war had taken place near Brownsville (April 13) between some of Banks’ soldiers and a party of Confederates. The scene of this skirmish was the old battlefield of Palo Alto.
On the 30th of May Generals Kirby Smith and Magruder went on board the United States ship Fort Jackson at Galveston and made a formal surrender of the Trans-Mississippi Department.
On the 19th of June General Granger, United States army, took command at the island and announced the freedom of the negroes.
The great Civil War was over.
Several thousand Texans lost their lives in the Confederate States army during the four years’ war. Among the distinguished dead were General John Gregg, first general of Hood’s brigade, Colonels Tom Lubbock and Tom Green, the famous scout Ben McCulloch, General Granbury, Colonel Rogers, and many others. To these may be added General Albert Sidney Johnston, always claimed by Texas as her son, and who in death rests upon her bosom.
The war was over. The ragged, foot-sore, hungry soldiers who had so proudly worn the gray began to come home. Many who had gone away round-faced boys came back lank and hollow-eyed men. Many were maimed and crippled; many were sick; all were forlorn and discouraged. They saw with despair their weed-grown fields, their dilapidated houses, and rotting fences. The wives and mothers, whose husbands and sons had laid down their lives for a lost cause, looked at the more fortunate wives and mothers whose husbands and sons had been spared to them, and wept. And all wondered how they could ever take up their ruined lives again.
But time is merciful. The gloom did not last always. The Blue and the Gray clasped hands before many years had passed, and once more the Lone Star of Texas blazed in a cloudless sky.
The time indeed came when the Blue and the Gray joined hands, and the Lone Star shone once more in a cloudless sky. But that time was not yet. The years which followed the Civil War were bitter and sorrowful ones for Texas.
After the surrender General Granger continued to hold military possession of the state.
Before his arrival Pendleton Murrah, who had succeeded Lubbock in 1863, had left his office in the hands of the lieutenant-governor Fletcher S. Stockdale, and gone to Mexico.
Andrew J. Hamilton was appointed provisional governor by President Johnson. He arrived at Galveston in July (1865), and at once assumed the duties of his office.
He ordered an election of delegates to a convention which was called for the purpose of framing a new constitution.
But no man was allowed to vote who had borne arms against the United States. The majority of Texas men had fought against the Union; they therefore took little interest in an election of delegates for whom they could not vote.
The convention met (February, 1866), the new constitution was drawn up and submitted for ratification to such of the people as were “loyal to the United States, and none others”; and in June James W. Throckmorton was elected governor.
A few months later the United States government decided to place the state again under military rule. Louisiana and Texas were constituted a Military District with headquarters at New Orleans. General Philip Sheridan was placed in command, and General Charles Griffin was ordered to Texas with several thousand troops to enforce military rule (March, 1867). His headquarters were at Galveston.
All elections except those under control of his officers were forbidden by General Griffin. An oath, known as the “iron-clad oath,” was required of all voters. The newly freed negroes were for the first time placed on juries and encouraged to vote.
It was during this time that the remains of the great soldier General Albert Sidney Johnston were removed from New Orleans to Austin for final burial.
At Houston, when the funeral train rolled into the station, it was met by a procession of five hundred ladies and little girls. The coffin was borne to the old Houston Academy, where for a day and night it lay in state, amid the mournful tolling of bells.
In July Governor Throckmorton, upon reports made by General Griffin, was removed from office by General Sheridan, and E. M. Pease appointed in his place.
General Albert Sidney Johnston.
In September, 1869, Governor Pease, vexed and wearied by the strife and discord around him, resigned his thankless office. For a time there was no governor, a military adjutant performing the duties of the place.
In 1870 Edmund J. Davis was inaugurated governor and held the office four years. He was succeeded in 1874 by Richard Coke, with Richard B. Hubbard as lieutenant-governor.
The dark and stormy period from the surrender to the close of Governor Davis’ term of office has since been known in Texas as the “Reconstruction Time.”
At the time of Governor Davis’ election, the military was finally withdrawn from the state, the citizens were restored to their civil rights, and Texas was readmitted to the Union. During his administration a Homestead Law was passed, a one-per-cent tax was levied for the building of schoolhouses, and the growth of railroads was encouraged by liberal grants of land.
But there was still a great deal of trouble and discontent, and it was not until Governor Coke took his seat that the state, so long shaken by contention, began once more to breathe freely and to put forth the strength within her.
Governor Coke served from 1874 to 1876; in 1876 he was elected to the United States senate, and Richard B. Hubbard became governor (1876-1879).
The governors who guided the Ship of State from 1879 to 1895 were Oran M. Roberts (1879-1883), John Ireland[43] (1883-1887), Lawrence S. Ross (1887-1891), and James S. Hogg (1891-1895).
In 1894 Charles A. Culberson became governor, and in 1896 he was returned by a large majority to the same office. On his election by the legislature in 1897 to the senate of the United States, he was succeeded by Joseph D. Sayers, who was the chief executive of the great state of Texas at the close of the nineteenth century.
These years have been marked by many wonderful changes in Texas. Not the least of these changes has been the growth of the great public school system. The first free school in Texas was opened at San Antonio in 1844. A state public school system was organized in 1870. From these imperfect beginnings to the admirable system of to-day, when an army of earnest and gifted men and women are banded together in the noble work of teaching, and countless multitudes of children pass daily in and out of the schoolroom,—from that gray dawn to this blazing noontide, what a change!
The cause of education has indeed been ever in the minds and hearts of the people.
The Sam Houston Normal Institute.
An Agricultural and Mechanical College was founded at Bryan, and opened in 1876.
In 1879 a State Normal School for teachers, called the Sam Houston Normal Institute, was established at Huntsville, Governor Houston’s old home. A few years later the Prairie View, a normal school for colored teachers, was established.
A State University was founded in 1881. The fine group of buildings crowning one of Austin’s green hills was finished and thrown open to the young men and women students of the state in 1883.
The first president of the University Board of Regents was Doctor Ashbel Smith. After his services to the Texan Republic, Doctor Smith devoted himself to scientific study and to the free practice of the medical profession. In 1861 he enlisted in the Confederate States army. He was elected a captain in the second Texas regiment of infantry, and was promoted to the colonelcy on the battlefield of Shiloh for personal bravery. He was in command of the post of Galveston at the time of the final surrender. He was chairman of the committee sent from Galveston to New Orleans to escort to Texas the remains of General Albert Sidney Johnston.
The University of Texas.
His wise counsels were of great service during those troublous times. The joy and pride of this truly great man’s declining years was the University of Texas. He lived to see it answer to his highest hopes; and his memory should be eternally associated with its fame.
In 1895 the Board of Regents was authorized to manage all lands belonging to the University; at the same time the office of president was created.
A number of charitable and other public institutions have been added to those already in existence. The new Penitentiary at Rusk (1877), a State Orphan’s Asylum at Corsicana (1881), and two Insane Asylums, one at Terrell (1883) and one at San Antonio (1890), are among these. In 1891 the John B. Hood Camp of Confederate Veterans at Austin was taken under the kindly care of the state, and its name changed to the Texas Confederate Home.
Many state questions of importance have been considered; new laws have been made and old ones improved.
The public debt has been reduced. A new constitution has been adopted by the people (1875).
The state revenues have been materially increased by the introduction of wiser and better regulations. The school tax has been raised. Arbitration laws have been passed, greatly to the advantage of disputants; and anti-trust laws have been enforced.
In 1895 suit was brought by Texas, in the Supreme Court of the United States, for Greer County, a body of land on Red River claimed both by the United States government and by Texas. The decision of the Supreme Court (April, 1896) awarded the county to the United States.
The Old Alamo Monument.
A new court, called the Commission of Appeals, was created in 1881; the same year an admirable quarantine system was established, with a special station at Galveston.
A memorable feature of the year 1895 was the extra session of the legislature called for the purpose of making prize fighting illegal in the state of Texas. The brutal and degrading sport was promptly declared a felony, and a law was passed prohibiting it on penalty of confinement in the Penitentiary.
On the outbreak of the Spanish-American War in 1898 Texas furnished more than her quota of eager and determined volunteers to the United States army; the sons of the men who wore the gray donned the blue uniform and wore it proudly and worthily throughout the campaign.
A railroad commission was formed in 1891. In 1891, also, the United States government began at Galveston the building of jetties to improve the entrance to the harbor. These jetties, which are a double line of gigantic stone walls, reach out from the land into the Gulf. The action of the tides within this artificial channel washes out the sand, and thus deepens it. The channel, though damaged by the great flood of 1900, was not materially injured. Similar jetties were built at Sabine Pass and at Aransas Pass.
In 1881 the old capitol at Austin was burned, and with it many priceless relics of the earlier days of Texas. Among these was the old monument dedicated in 1857 to the heroes of the Alamo. It was built of stones from the ruined fortress and stood on the porch of the capitol. It was inscribed with the names of Travis and his men; and the four sides of the shaft bore the following inscriptions: