Hero of the Revolution

This is the final in a series of excerpts from Sheer Will: the Story of the Port of Houston and the Houston Ship Channel, highlighting the roles of Galveston Bay and Buffalo Bayou in the birth of the Texas Republic.

Fate, fortune, Providence, or whatever it was shined its light on the Texians and their struggle. It shown brightest where the Buffalo Bayou and the San Jacinto River converge. The Battle of San Jacinto is a commonly told story in Texas. And while it has earned its place in military history—being one of the most decisive outcomes of any battle in history—it shares aspects with another historic battle in ancient Greece. General Sam Houston attacked the Mexicans at approximately 4:30 pm on 21 April 1836. He picked the time to attack for specific reasons. First, it was unconventional for the era. Attacks were usually formed up in the early morning, resulting in mid-morning battles. Houston, however, waited for the sun to move just above the hill from where his forces would charge—burning in the face of the Mexicans. And, Santa Anna’s men still lingered in their tents from their midday rest. None of the Mexican generals expected any action.

A few thousand years before, Themistocles, the Athenian general, performed a late-day naval attack against the Persians in narrow waters not far from Thermopylae. Both Houston and Themistocles attacked superior forces late in the day, inflicting heavy losses on their enemy. Unlike Themistocles, however, Houston’s victory resolved the issue between Texas and Mexico. An 18-minute fight sent Santa Anna fleeing the battlefield on horseback, and what was left of his army fell captive to Houston’s men.

Map detailing the San Jacinto battlefield.

The revolution is noteworthy in the Port of Houston tale because the events surrounding the final weeks of conflict all centered on Buffalo Bayou. It had become a crucial lifeline for the provisional government and the primary link to fortified Galveston (the unneeded last stand). Sam Houston’s triumph had further shed light on the value and viability of the bayou as an avenue between the Texas interior and the outside world. No longer was the Buffalo an obscure stream oozing its way through uncharted jungle. It was a hero of the revolution.

Destiny Takes a Hand

This is the third in a series of excerpts from Sheer Will: the Story of the Port of Houston and the Houston Ship Channel, highlighting the roles of Gavleston Bay and Buffalo Bayou in the birth of the Texas Republic.

One of the first things that helped turn the tide of war against Santa Anna was that one of the ships of the makeshift Texas Navy, the Invincible, went back to early Texas roots and pulled a "Laffite." In other words, the Invincible and her crew assaulted and seized the ship Pocket in an act of piracy. Texians picked the Pocket clean of its cargo that was originally bound for the Mexican army moving across the Texas prairie. That caused one of the splinters of Santa Anna’s overall force to slow down. What’s more, the supplies were sent to Harrisburg in order to help the people in the refugee camps that were popping up all along Buffalo Bayou. The sudden swell of population strained the resident population of Harrisburg, too.  So the food and supplies were a welcome relief. Additionally, ammunition recovered from the Pocket went to fortifications underway on Galveston Island. The final insult was the Pocket itself—she became a ship of the line for the Texas navy.

Another item history glosses over is the capture of the Mexican couriers by General Houston’s scout, Deaf Smith. Smith encountered and ran down the couriers on a patch of ground that is now Bellaire, Texas—a small city surrounded by the Houston metropolis. During the revolution, it was a combination of open prairie and patches of trees and brush clinging to the banks of Brays Bayou. The bounty of Smith’s acquisition is a turning point in history because the information obtained in the pouches of the couriers convinced Houston it was time to stop, turn, and fight. His men were already fired up for a scuffle with Santa Anna, and the fact that the couriers were using the monogrammed saddlebags of William Barrett Travis, the martyred commander of the now fallen Alamo, just threw gasoline on the flames.

By the third week in April, Santa Anna’s force of about 1,000 men marched through the Buffalo Bayou area; he was in hot pursuit of the Texas provisional government. He thought that if he captured them and executed them for treason, the whole insurrection would be over. Upon arrival in Harrisburg, Santa Anna found that the provisional government was gone; he’d just missed them by hours. They had escaped down Buffalo Bayou aboard the Cayuga. Furious, Santa Anna sent a patrol of horsemen stampeding after them. Circumstances favored the rebel government because even when the patrol came upon President Burnet in a canoe and paddling his way out to the Cayuga, they didn’t recognize him and went on about their frantic search for the fugitive government.

Buccaneers, Bushwhackers, and Other Weird Connections

This is the second in a series of excerpts from Sheer Will: the Story of the Port of Houston and the Houston Ship Channel, highlighting the roles of Gavleston Bay and Buffalo Bayou in the birth of the Texas Republic.

Texas history is an ensemble cast of some really divergent characters. One of them is perhaps the most lovable rogue in all of piracy—Jean Laffite. He came into the Texas epoch as one of many pirates marauding ships in the Gulf of Mexico. Laffite was quite well known in his day, and much to the chagrin of Andrew Jackson, then president of a very young United States avidly defending itself from an England still stinging from an embarrassing defeat by the colonials. Laffite was a crucial ally during the Battle of New Orleans in the War of 1812 when the British tried and end run invasion through Louisiana. Suffice it to say that Laffite helped Jackson backhand the British. But that's not the interesting part.

Lafitte (L) is introduced to President Jackson (R).

Lafitte gets credited with historical dibs on envisioning the commercial benefits of Galveston Bay and its feeder bayous. During the Mexican War of Independence, Laffite acted as a spy for the Spanish government. At least that was his cover story. As such, he headquartered himself on Galveston Island—then little more than the summer home for the native Karankoawa tribe, as well as a camp for Louis-Michel Aury. Aury was Laffite’s pirate competitor and a spy for the embattled Republic of Mexico. Laffite liberated the island from Aury sometime around 1817. Thus Galveston became Laffite’s homebase from which he raided ships in the Gulf and ran a smuggling operation between Galveston and New Orleans.

One historical footnote: Laffite’s smuggling network included the infamous bushwhacker, Jim Bowie. Bowie was a well-known slave trader and Jean Laffite's partner before his martyrdom 18 years later at the Alamo. They used the various bayous, hidden rivers, and streams of East Texas to smuggle slaves into the United States. Laffite eventually left Texas behind for opportunities elsewhere, and less pressure and prying by the United States. But before all that, he'd have a lasting impact on region and all of Texas. 

What makes Laffite’s role so crucial is its timing. Spain and the young American republic were squabbling over territorial boundaries resulting from the Louisiana Purchase—including what are now east Texas and the upper Texas Gulf Coast. In the middle of the whole thing, supporters of the exiled Napoleon decided to colonize the lower banks of the Trinity River that emptied into Galveston Bay. You remember Napoleon—the more than naughty little emperor of France with a penchant for invading everyone around him. Naturally when Napoleonic supporters show up in the backyard, one is apt to raise an eyebrow. 

In response to the perceived French squatters, a skittish United States charged an emissary by the name of George Graham with warning off the trespassers. Spain, in the meantime, ramped up its military force and dispatched troops to the Trinity River. While this set up seems a lit fuse to a powder keg of three opposing parties, it fizzled pretty quickly. By the time Graham and the Spanish troops converged on the bay area, the Napoleonic colonials had already abandoned their plans—actually they seemed to just disappear. It was all much ado about nothing. But, the foray did result in Graham’s fortuitous meeting with Laffite.

An 1827 map illustrates what a mystery the Texas coast was. 

Most of Texas, including the coast, was virtually unknown. Maps were so off the mark that Galveston Bay was represented as barely more than an inlet. Some maps even omitted Galveston Island. Consequently, George Graham got a big surprise during his visit with Lafitte. From their first moments, Graham realized that the entire bay area constituted a potential, if not probable heart for commerce—a large safe harbor with various rivers and bayous offering access to the interior of Texas. In fact, Graham saw that it was a key to Texas. Of course, Galveston Bay and its tributaries were not without their hazards. They were a mix of ever-changing tangles and shifting sandbars, populated by sometimes friendly natives (and other times not so friendly), pirates and privateers, along with intrepid souls willing to make their isolated homesteads in dense thickets and vast prairies. Still, when Graham reported back to Washington D.C., he was emphatic that if pirates and freebooters could overcome such obstacles, imagine what legitimate private enterprise and a free citizenry might accomplish.

So, how does all this factor into the weeks building to the fight for Texas independence? That'll be covered next time.

Breaking Away

This is the first in a series of excerpts from Sheer Will: the Story of the Port of Houston and the Houston Ship Channel, highlighting the role of Buffalo Bayou in the birth of the Texas Republic.

The Texas Revolution “busted” wide open in the fall of 1835. Within the first three months, Texian rebels achieved six victories to their credit. However, the brazen freedom fighters might have taken a lesson from a quote by the great Carthaginian general, Hannibal. He said, “Fortune is the most fickle thing in the world, and inclines with decisive favour now to one side and now to the other on the slightest pretext, treating mankind like young children.”

In other words, things change quickly—and they did. Antonio López de Santa Anna, Mexico’s president and commander-in-chief, implemented a severe and brutal campaign winning all five major engagements between February and April of 1836. The provisional Texas government was scattered and on the run. Pushing eastward ahead of Santa Anna, General Sam Houston, along with his makeshift militia, tried to buy time to ready his troops and maybe find a place to fight—or flee Texas altogether until he could muster a real fighting force.

Things looked bleak for Texas.

While it seemed as if Texians were up a creek without a paddle, victory actually lay along the slow-moving currents of the Buffalo Bayou. It began with the heads of Texas’ provisional government, President David G. Burnet and Vice President Lorenzo de Zavala. Their faith in the Buffalo led the provisional government to take refuge on its banks. In their view, Buffalo Bayou provided an easy escape to the sea and on to New Orleans, if needed. It also afforded a reliable line of communication with the outside world. Conventional wisdom was that the road north to Nacogdoches was the better choice, but a small Mexican force could easily have severed that route. Hordes of refugees must have agreed since they poured over the Brazos heading for Harrisburg so they might catch a steamer, a barge, or even a canoe that headed anywhere but where Santa Anna was going.

The Cayuga depicted as it chugs up Buffalo Bayou.

Moreover, the provisional government decided that if necessary, Galveston Island would be the last stand for a fight with Santa Anna. His army would have to make a beach landing on the island, leaving his forces vulnerable to rebel defenses. Any Mexican ships trying to invade the bay had to pass within spitball distance of Galveston and, thus, were susceptible to its artillery fire. If for some reason things completely fell apart, the island made a perfect jumping off point for an exodus east to New Orleans. Consequently, a small fleet of vessels spent the better parts of March and April making their way up and down Buffalo Bayou. Led by the Cayuga, the cavalcade included two other paddle wheelers, the Laura and the Yellow Stone, as well as the schooners Flash, Kosciusko, and Shenandoah. But it was the paddle wheelers that bore the oxen task of ferrying men, timber, and supplies in order to fortify Galveston. Indeed, later roles played by these paddle wheelers grew ever more important as the early Port of Houston story unfolded. But at the moment, they were the liberty ships of the Texas Revolution.

"Fortune is the most fickle thing in the world..."

Texians were an optimistic bunch despite the dire reality of their situation. Santa Anna’s force of thousands had just levied slaughter at the Alamo and Goliad, and he was sacking every town he came to while chasing Sam Houston. The Mexican dictator was on a bloodthirsty drive to catch Houston so that he could fight the deciding battle that would be his final solution to the rebel problem. Ahead of the Mexican army was a surge of refugees gobbling up the diminishing stores in and around Harrisburg while overloading the ever-dwindling number of transports out of harm’s way. And yet again, fortune was fickle.

Romance on the Water

An excerpt from Deep Water: The story of Beaumont and its port, chapter three - Belles on buttery-smooth water. 

Exploring exactly why it is that any vessel on water somehow brings out or enhances the intimate interpersonal relationships between young couples would likely require some censorship. Suffice it to say that as today, back in the day, watercraft often set the stage for romantic interludes. Now, there are no claims that the ole riverboats sliding their way up and town East Texas rivers were in any way akin to luxurious cruise ships of today. No, but for their day, and considering their primary duty as freighters, they were just fine.

This was the Victorian era, where the veneer of propriety reigned. Hence the need for hideaways aboard riverboats where young couples might play the eternal cat and mouse game they’ve played since Adam and Eve. And, too, there is and was something about Texas on a sultry night aboard a gentle moving boat over buttery-smooth water reflecting moonlight—the smell of blossoms and the rhythm of night sounds, which conspire to spark romantic intentions or compliment the consummation of matrimony. It’s a question to ponder: How many Beaumonters were conceived on such a night aboard the Laura or the Neches Belle? 

The barge Mona ferries passengers to the Neches Belle.

Passenger traffic on the riverboats supplemented revenues when cotton seasons ended. A moving boat offered a breeze, along with decent food, adult beverages, and dancing. And while built for, or adapted for specific use as freight vessels, some of the boats had some level of appointments. The Neches Belle had her reputation as a comfortable dame of the Neches, including electric lighting. The Florilda, too, served as a parlor for festivities, as described by Henry R. Green in 1859.

“ . . . attended a party last evening, given on board the ‘Florilda,’ whose use was cleverly tendered to the citizens of [Sabine] Pass by her gentlemanly commander and where there was a great deal of beautiful women, funny dancing, a few ugly men, much pleasure, exchanges of friendly feelings, and the most stupendously- accursed wine ever administered to saint or sinner.”

Also according to Mr. Green, other vessels with his approval included the Falvey and Doctor Massie. They made scheduled weekly runs up and down the Neches.