[The following is my grandmother's account of her first experiences in Texas. She is the widow of Robert J. Kleberg, Sr., who as a member of Baker's company participated in the battle of San Jacinto. She is now eighty-five years old. She related the story to me in German, which I have taken down and translated, preserving as far as possible her exact words.—Rudolph Kleberg, Jr.]
After landing at New Orleans, we took sail for Texas, intending to land at Brazoria. Instead, we were wrecked off the coast of Galveston Island on December 22, 1834. We managed to save all our goods and baggage, which included everything we thought needful to begin a settlement in a new country; and having built a hut out of the logs and planks which had been washed ashore, we were able to maintain ourselves for some time. There were no houses on the island, but there was no lack of game.
After a few days a large ship passed the island; and the other people who were with us went on board and landed at Brazoria. We could not afford to leave our baggage; and so my husband, the only one in the party who could speak English, together with my brother Louis von Roeder, went with them to Brazoria. Thence they proceeded on foot to San Felipe to find my brothers and sister, who had gone to Texas two years before, and from whom we had not heard since their departure.
The task of finding them was not so difficult as might be supposed. Entirely contrary to the fashion of the day, all had allowed their beards to grow and had adopted the dress of Prussian peasants. They found our people near Cat Spring. In the timber near Bostick's an Indian came toward them. My brother Louis was of course ready to shoot; but my husband restrained him. As it turned out the Indian was quite friendly, and told them where they would find the people they were seeking. He belonged to a troop of Indians who were camping in the neighborhood and from whom our relations had been in the habit of obtaining venison in exchange for ammunition. They found our people in a wretched condition. My sister and one brother had died, while the two remaining brothers were very ill with the fever.
My husband chartered a sloop to take us to the mainland. Captain Scott, the owner of the sloop, lived on one of the bayous, and we stopped at his house. He received us with the greatest kindness and kept us with him several days until we were thoroughly rested. I have never seen more hospitable people than those of Captain Scott's family. Three miles from Captain Scott, on the other side of the bayou, lived a Mr. Kokernot.
We went to Harrisburg where my husband had rented a house. As we were carrying our baggage into the house and I had just thrown down a big bundle, an Indian carrying two big hams upon his back approached me, saying, “Swap! Swap!” I retreated behind a table upon which lay a loaf of bread, whereupon the Indian threw down the hams, picked up the bread and walked off. As a matter of fact, the Indians were in the main quite amicable. They were constantly wishing to exchange skins for pots and other utensils. Quite a number of them was camping on Buffalo Bayou. I have often sewed clothes for them in exchange for moccasins. They were Coshattis, and big, strong men. There were also Kickapoos, who, however, were small.
We all lived together in the house during the rest of the winter. The house was very poor, and only in the kitchen was there a fireplace. My father carried on a butcher's trade, while my sister and I took lessons in sewing from a Mrs. Swearingen and made clothes for Moore's Store. We were all unused to that kind of work, but we felt that we must save our money; and, when required by necessity, one learns to do what one has never done before. We had our pleasures, too. Our piano had been much damaged; but I played on it anyway, and the young people of Harrisburg danced to the music. Toward summer, we all took the fever; and it seemed to me as if we would never get rid of it. We had no medicines, and there were of course no physicians.
In the fall my husband, who had been in Cat Spring, came to Harrisburg with a team of oxen to take us with him. The roads in the Brazos bottom being impassable on account of the mud, we camped at Weeten's. This was the first house on the road from Harrisburg to Cat Spring, and was a good day's journey from the former place. Weeten was a backwoods American, and carried on the trade of a “teamster.” He was the very personification of whole-souled generosity and hospitality. We also stopped at Hoff's. Hoff was a Pennsylvania Dutchman. At the time he did not have much; later, however, he became a rich slave-holder. We hired a little crib from him, and had to pay for all we got.
Upon arriving at our place at Cat Spring (near Millheim, Austin county), we moved into a big log house which my husband and brothers had built. There was neither floor nor ceiling to it, and in the only room was a big fire-place. As soon, however, as the most important field work was done, the men built an extra fine house for our parents. This had a floor and ceiling of logs.
We had most of our goods in common. When we decided to go to Texas, we put all our savings in a common treasury, part of which we invested in buying things we thought necessary to start a settlement. Our intention was to buy a tract of land to be held in common, and later to locate our individual claims. We had a president, secretary, treasurer, etc.; but the details of arrangement have escaped my memory. As a matter of fact, it did not work well, and after the war it broke up to our mutual benefit.
Circumstances were very different from the representations we had made to ourselves. My brothers had pictured pioneer life as one of hunting and fishing, of freedom from the restraints of Prussian society; and it was hard for them to settle down to the drudgery and toil of splitting rails and cultivating the field, work which was entirely new to them.
The settlers with whom we came in contact were very kind and hospitable; and this was true of nearly all the old American pioneers. They would receive one with genuine pleasure, and share the last piece of bread. Money was out of the question; and if you had offered it to those people, they would have been amazed. When you came to one of the old settlers, you were expected to make yourself at home. He would see that your horses were well fed, and offer you the best cheer he could; and you were expected to do the same when the next opportunity presented itself. In the main, everything was very quiet and peaceful. But there was great dissatisfaction with the Mexican government, which was in reality no government at all. The settlers were constantly saying that since the Mexicans gave them no government, they could not see why they could not have a government of their own and be rid of the Mexicans. This seemed to be the constant burden of their conversation. Old Mr. Kuykendall, who lived on a big plantation ten miles from us, had nothing else to say.
We lived about ten miles from San Felipe, where there were from two to four stores, besides a tavern and saloon and from thirty to forty private houses. In the stores you could buy almost anything you wanted in those days; but, of course, the prices were high. There were no churches, but plenty of camp-meetings, one of which I attended. There was considerable trade in cotton and cattle in San Felipe and San Antonio. Dr. Peebles owned a big gin on the Brazos, in which he employed a good many negroes. Captain York was another one of our neighbors.
Old Colonel Pettus brought us the first news of the commencement of hostilities. The unmarried men of our party then joined the march to San Antonio and participated in the capture of that city.
In the summer the people returned. Things were now quiet for a while, and every body began work once more. But when the news of the fall of the Alamo came, there was great excitement. Some of the people wanted to leave Texas altogether. There was quite a debate in our family as to what course it was most advisable to pursue, until my husband was seconded in his views by my father. Besides, we could not leave the State permanently, having no property elsewhere. And so it was finally decided that my father should stay with us, while my husband and brothers were to join the army. As the men left, their families began to move, intending to cross the Sabine river; and we set out like the rest. As we passed through San Felipe, my husband and my brother, Louis von Roeder, left us to join Houston's army. Having only one big ox-wagon, and being compelled to take in it four families and their baggage, we were compelled to leave behind much that was valuable. My father and I drove our cattle and packed horses; and I carried my daughter Clara, who was then a child of a few months, upon the saddle in front of me.
Most of the families traveled separately until they reached the Brazos, where all were compelled to come to a halt. It was necessary to drive the cattle across before the people could pass over; and this was attended with a good deal of difficulty. In this way there were collected from forty to fifty families who were trying to cross with their cattle, and the noise and confusion were terrible. There was only one small ferryboat, which carried a wagon and a few passengers. Many of the people were on foot. Deaf Smith's Mexican wife was in a truck-wheel cart (a cart with two wooden wheels made from entire cross-sections of a large tree) with her two pair of twins, but had no team to carry her forward. My brother Albrecht carried her with his team of oxen for a distance and then returned for us. Several other people showed her the same consideration, and thus she managed to proceed on her journey. The blockade continued from early morning until the late afternoon.
The next morning after crossing the Brazos, we stopped at “Cow” Cooper's, called thus from the large number of cattle he owned. Cooper told the people to help themselves to all the meat in his smoke-house, since he did not want the Mexicans to have it. He was then a man of about 50 years, and his sons were in the army. He had a beautiful herd of horses and a lot of negroes. The people kept together for about a day, after which they again separated. We camped near the Clear Creek, where young Louis v. Roeder was born in a corn-crib.
We intended to remain here as long as possible on account of my sister. During the night, however, my brother Otto v. Roeder came to tell us that the Mexicans had gone to the crossing below San Felipe and that we must move on. And so we once more set out, being compelled to stop again after the second day. We camped in the neighborhood of a house where a number of families had collected. Here we heard the sound of cannon, and the next morning came an old man, Georgens by name, whom we knew quite well. He told us that the battle had been fought; but when my father asked him about the result he told us that he had stayed with the army until he saw that everybody was thoroughly engaged, whereupon he decided that they were able to get on without him and he left.
Georgens, however, was not the only one who decided that his presence was not indispensable. Deserters were constantly passing us on foot and on horseback. The old men who were with the families laughed at them and called to them, “Run! Run! Santa Anna is behind you!”
One German whom we knew in Paderborn, and who had come to Texas several years before us, had caused to be posted on the trees on his land notices that he was loyal to the Mexican government, and had persuaded many of his German friends to do the same. But when the Mexicans actually appeared on the scene, our friend and his followers nevertheless got frightened and got away as fast as they could. Georgens' wife and children were stolen by the Indians; but Stoehlke and his family were captured by the Mexicans, who wanted to hang him. He told them that if they did so, he would die as innocent as Jesus Christ himself, whereupon they released him and his family. There were a good many Germans on Cummins Creek. They came from Westphalia and Oldenburg.
On the afternoon of the same day, we learned the result of the battle of San Jacinto. We did not believe the good news until we heard it confirmed by the young men whom we had sent to ascertain the truth of the report.
It was our intention to return home; but we heard that the Indians were in the country, and so we followed the example of the families who were with us, and went to Galveston Island. There were also a number of Mexican prisoners who were kept on the island by the Texan government. We received some supplies from the people of the United States, but we nevertheless here passed through some of our hardest experiences. Many of us were sick, and though there was a physician, a Dr. Jaeger, among us, who generously gave his services, yet he had no medicines. My sister-in-law, Ottilie v. Roeder (nee v. Donop) died here and we buried her under the Three Lone Trees.
My husband and brother Louis, who had both been in the Texan army all during this time, joined us here, and we first intended to remain permanently. But it was evident that this was impossible, and we decided to return to Cat Spring. When we came home we found everything we had left was gone. We had buried our books, but the place had been found and they were torn to pieces. We had to begin anew, and with less than we had when we started.
How to cite:
Kleberg, Rosa, "SOME OF MY EARLY EXPERIENCES IN TEXAS ", Volume 001, Number 4, Southwestern Historical Quarterly Online, Page 297 - 302. http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/publications/journals/shq/online/v001/n4/article_7.html
[Accessed Mon Dec 1 17:24:12 CST 2008]
