about among the freezing beach party, Captain James Cummings, the principal pilot of Caballo Pass, whose house was three miles inland, gave what comfort he could. He had seen the Palmetto go to her end, and during the rescue work had built beacon fires to guide the boats; and now he offered his house—the only one for miles around—to the number it could accommodate. Among them was Lamy, who, with others, went to take food and drink with the pilot. They would stay with him until he could arrange for boats to come and carry the survivors to Indianola, in the next day or two.
On the morning after the wreck, all that could be seen of the Palmetto was “one wheelhouse remaining above water.” The ship, a total wreck, was not insured, being a condemned vessel. One thing all agreed upon—Captain Jeremiah Smith had performed his hard duties during the disaster with “intrepid, cool, and humane conduct.” When three days later the shipwrecked company reached Indianola, several members came together to memorialize their thanks to Captain Smith and Captain Cummings. On 12 January, they drafted and sent to the Daily Picayune at New Orleans “A CARD—TO THE PUBLIC,” which the paper printed in its issue of 21 January 1851:
We, the undersigned, passengers by the steamboat Palmetto feel it incumbent upon us to publicly express our warmest gratitude and thanks to Capt. Jeremiah Smith, all the officers and crew, for their gallant conduct during the whole of the dreadful catastrophe that occurred to that boat on the 9th inst. No set of men ever made greater exertion for the safety and well-being of those under their care and could not have had less regard for self than did these heroic men. Capt. Smith during the whole time displayed the greatest coolness and courage, and but for his excellent judgment and self-possession, we fear that we would not now have this opportunity of thanking him, deeming it more than probable that we would have been lost. Nor can we permit this opportunity to pass without returning our sincere thanks to Capt. Jas Cummings, who, after rendering as much assistance at the scene of the disaster, kindly afforded all possible relief to the sufferers at his house near the beach, and did much for making them comfortable under all the circumstances.
Eleven men signed the “card,” of whom the last was “Rev. J. Laury”—a misprint for Lamy, who in his calligraphy of that time wrote the “m” of his name in three small peaks which together looked like “u” and “r.”
Galveston citizens presently followed with another printed testimonial in praise of Captain Smith—he was their fellow townsman—and in the courtly rhetoric of that formal time, he sent his reply to the Galveston News, 14 February 1851:
Gentlemen: I have this moment received your note of today [10 February], in which you manifest the feelings of the citizens of Galveston towards me, as commander of the late Steamer Palmetto. If anything, Gentlemen, could have added to the kind feelings which I have always enjoyed towards my fellow citizens, it certainly would have been the tenor of your note of invitation to a public dinner, as expression of the estimation in which I am held there; and while I feel a pride in your manifestation, I regret that I have not words to express, in accordance with my feelings, the satisfaction I have in the knowledge of your confidence. This confidence shall to the best of my experience, be preserved unblemish’d under which circumstances I cannot refuse the compliment; therefore I will name Friday next, 14th inst., as the day on which I shall have the honor to greet you, with a seaman’s heart, overfull from your kindness, and remain respectfully, your obliged fellow citizen and sincere friend, J.S.
The amenities concluded, those at Indianola gradually managed their next steps. The little town was a rival of Port Lavaca as the sea-water harbor for San Antonio, which lay inland a hundred and forty miles westward in a direct line. Indianola was soon to be thought of as “a great railroad terminal between the Atlantic and the Pacific.” Centuries earlier, Matagorda Bay had been the scene of an ambitious colonization by the French, when on 31 August 1685 La Salle had established Fort St Louis on its protected shore. But none of such great enterprises came to fruition, and Indianola itself vanished, to become only a name on antique maps.
The Gulf flats, in all their sea hues of oyster-colored sand, olive and russet bush, and gray grass, where a single tree even as far as eight miles inland was an event, gave way now and then to dunes in regular intervals of rise and fall—waves of dune made by wind just as waves of water. In the cold of January, over a sandy trail which dragged at wheels and feet, the stranded travellers made their way finally to Port Lavaca. Lamy reflected upon his losses in money and objects, and knew that he must appeal for their replacement to an arm of the Church with which, now, as a bishop, he would correspond directly. This was the Society for the Propagation of the Faith, with offices at Paris and Lyon. He would lean on it heavily for help in all the years ahead.
v.
San Antonio
MERCHANT TRAINS OF WAGGONS went from Indianola to San Antonio. Two-wheeled, covered carts were available for hire, pulled by three-mule teams. Lamy arranged for a “German or Mexican” cart to carry him inland. The old “Cart Road” was well established via Victoria, Goliad, and Floresville. All the way to San Antonio, crossing gentle land swells and little rivers, it rose in shallow ascent on the ancient sea bed whose character changed from the Gulf-side barrenness. Bladed marsh grass gave way to live oaks and scattered prickly-pear cactus. Mistletoe and Spanish moss clung to the gray trees, and cardinal birds whistled and streaked among them. The gray-green hills, where the earth was exposed, showed pale coral pink and beige color. The air grew warmer. After many days on the commercial road, Lamy and his fellow travellers forded the Salado River and came into a broad shallow valley and saw San Antonio with its low church domes and blunt towers, and the flat roofs of the one-storey town, among green groves which cooled the earthen streets.
San Antonio was the largest United States military outpost in Texas, with a population, mostly Mexican, of thirty-five hundred in 1851. The parish church of San Fernando (later a cathedral) faced the military plaza. Mingled with the flat-roofed adobe and masonry houses of the Mexican period were new, pitched-roof two-storey houses and stores built by the eastern Americans. Scars of the Texan war of independence were still visible—the empty mission of the Alamo faced its plaza in a ruined state. The town was ringed by four other great stone missions, also unused and broken since the change of sovereignty in 1836. In Commerce street, business was lively—merchants sold French candies, German toys, Boston biscuits, silks, champagnes and liquors, all brought by the Gulf steamers to Matagorda Bay and carted overland. There was an active market in hides and wool, reflecting the ranching of the region. It was an inviting town with its mild climate, the grace of its Latin people, and the style of the United States garrison.
There Lamy reckoned up what was lost, and wrote to the Society at Paris, asking for a loan of five thousand francs. This letter never reached Paris, and he had to write again later, citing the total sum of ten thousand francs, most of it borrowed, some of which had gone to pay for all he had bought for his journey, the rest to be held for its continuing expenses, which “will be three times greater than I expected.” Until help should come from Paris, he must again take out loans to send him forward. “Poor Bishop Lamy has made a disastrous beginning to his labours,” wrote a priest of Cincinnati to Archbishop Purcell, who was in Europe that spring, “… but he is an apostolic man and God will certainly guide and protect him in his most arduous labors …”
Once again Lamy set about organizing his approach to New Mexico. He made the acquaintance of Major General William S. Harney, commander of the department of Texas, whose headquarters were at San Antonio. It was to be a useful connection. At regular intervals the Army sent supply trains across the southern plains to the garrison near El Paso and others up the Rio Grande in New Mexico. With one such supply train Lamy and his small party were welcome to travel when he should be prepared to go. One thing he must replace was his New Orleans carriage. While waiting for Machebeuf, he bought a stout Mexican waggon and a span of “bronco mules,” and gave further thought to his long day with Odin at Galveston; for on 8 February Odin was writing to Archbishop Blanc, “I
