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.

Postwar Reconstruction

This is the fourth and final in a series of excerpts taken from Sheer Will: the Story of the Port of Houston and the Houston Ship Channel, Chapter 8 War and Recovery, which highlights the impact of Pearl Harbor and World War II on Houston.

A lot had changed during World War II, and more was going to change in the following years. During the depression, and then the war, badly needed new construction and upgrades to port facilities had been sidelined. That was not unique to the Port of Houston; other ports needed to make improvements too. Almost the whole of Eurasia needed to rebuild after the war. And in America, things that were neglected during the depression, and then during the war, needed to be fixed, expanded, or replaced. All combined, this caused high demands for labor and material, causing price hikes everywhere. So while money had been secured for many of these efforts, the original amounts appropriated were not enough to keep pace with postwar inflation. Nevertheless, port officials kept at it and made improvements when and where possible.

The war had its impact on port leadership, too. Various officials resigned over the course of that period to take war-related positions, departed for military service, or simply their terms ended. Frequent changes continued in the postwar years, too. Although port leadership meandered like the upper Buffalo Bayou, an operational agenda was sustained. Albert Thomas was the local congressman with U. S. House of Representatives. Much of his early focus was on the improvement of the Houston Ship Channel, resulting in a fresh channel survey in 1941. In 1944, recommendations were made to widen parts of the channel, and within a year, money was appropriated. In addition, efforts were completed to acquire the last of the city of Houston harbor facilities. In doing so, the port now had full control over all onshore public facilities along the channel. They just needed to be improved or maintained. But then, there was still the issue of labor and material.

Grain and goods shipped out of the Port of Houston to help a
war-weary world rebuild, driving Houston growth into the 1950s.

Somehow, the port seemed to make do in the early postwar years. While public facilities were slow to be refurbished or expanded, the channel exploded with industrial traffic. The wartime legacy left Houston and its port with a massive petrochemical complex emerging with new products and processes for world markets. Where possible, defense industries were retooled and converted to output for commercial purposes.

America as a whole became the breadbasket to a hungry, war-weary world. Much of the grain produced was shipped out through the Port of Houston. Moreover, America was rebuilding Europe, Japan, and much of the Pacific. With industrial output of the nation in overdrive, annual traffic between 1946 and 1952 grew to more than 3,700 vessels carrying 46.6 million tons. Over that same period, the Port of Houston became the second largest U.S. port in tonnage. And in 1948, a milestone was reached when the value of the tonnage exceeded a billion dollars and then two billion by 1952. That milestone, however, would only signal the eve of an new era for the Port of Houston and shipping as a whole. What came next revolutionized oceangoing cargo, and it began in Houston...containerization.