Unlike the other Southern States, Texas was never invaded and devastated by the Union armies. Considered in the light of a necessary evil, as a terrible educator, or rough civilizer for the barbarian element in Texas society, it might have been a good thing, perhaps, if she had been overrun, and this low element thoroughly subjugated, and made feel and understand that there was another force in the world besides Texas outlawry—that of law and order. But all things considered, it is probably as well she was saved from such a scourging. The innocent would have suffered with the guilty, and many lives and much property been sacrificed.

Texas was never whipped in spirit, only nominally whipped, in being surrendered by the official act of General E. Kirby Smith. Like "dog Tray," she was found in bad company. Indeed, so far from being whipped in spirit was she, that the proposition was seriously made and entertained, after Lee's surrender, that Texas could carry on the war by herself, and alone win what the whole South had failed to achieve together. General Magruder issued a bombastic proclamation to this effect. But the more sensible people understood it as a shrewd blind on his part, to facilitate his escape to Mexico, which he made immediately after.

By no means would we leave the impression that the whole population felt this way. The intelligent and better classes plainly saw, and admitted their cause was irretrievably lost, and in justice to them we must say they were willing to accept the situation in good faith, and govern themselves accordingly. One of this class said to the writer: "I have fought the fight, been whipped, and now I submit and say, the United States Government is good enough for me, and hereafter I am as good a Union man as the best."

But we must say of the other class that swallowed Magruder's proclamation, that they did not accept the situation in good faith, have not yet, and never will so long as they can keep the waters muddy. For the benefit of this class, if they could have suffered alone, one could have desired Sherman's or Sheridan's army to pass through the country and give it a touch of devastation. You wish to know what class they were. We give the following description: They were a mixed class with very little of the good in the mixture. They didn't have horns on their heads, nor were they cloven-footed except in character; and in this respect they bore strong resemblance to their father, the old "cloven-foot" himself.

The masses of them wore spurs on their heels, generally the immense wheel-spur, and though they were not born with them on, yet they might as well have been, for they not only rode in them, but walked in them, ate in them, and slept in them. Their clanking as they walked was like a man in chains. They wore belts around the waist, suspending one or two revolvers and a bowie knife; were experts in the saddle, had a reckless dare-evil look, and were always ready for whisky and a big chew of tobacco, and the handwriting of passion and appetite was all over them. They were cow-boys from the wild woods and prairies, and sons of the low class planters, with a strong sprinkling of the low white trash, clay-eaters, so plentiful in the Atlantic Southern States.

In such a flock the one that has killed his man or more is hero and leader. This class of desperadoes were tools of the more accomplished, genteel, oily-tongued, respectable scoundrels in society, who sat behind the screens in the green-room of iniquity, and were the wire-pulling prompters of crime—such as intimidation, robbery, assassination, and so on. Especially was this the case during the war. It is impossible to understand, without experience, the situation of unmitigated horror created by such surroundings. One can talk or write about it, and the hearer or reader can imagine, but experience alone realizes the full horror.

We have said that Texas was never invaded, but she was pretty thoroughly blockaded on the coast; and artillery duels between land and sea frequently took place, but seldom to Confederate disadvantage. General Hebert was first in command of the Department of Texas, but he proved to be a man of no military force or practical genius, though a West Pointer, and had enjoyed the advantages of military associations in Europe, the reflex of which appeared rather to damage his usefulness than otherwise. He brought with him so much European red-tape-ism, and being a constitutional ape, that he preferred red-top boots, and a greased rat-tail moustache, with a fine equippage, and a suite of waiters, to the use of good, practical common sense. Cannon, heavy siege guns, that had cost weeks of time, and thousands of money to transport from Virginia by rivers, through floods, storm and mud, lay on the wharves at Galveston, for months, waiting orders from the commandant to be placed in position on the fortifications erected at divers points on the island beach. Everybody became tired and disgusted with the General and his policy. He was too much of a military coxcomb to suit the ideas and ways of a pioneer country; besides, he was suspected of cowardice.

In May, 1862, the naval fleet outside made a demand for the surrender of the city, giving four days for a decision. The demand was refused. It was believed, of course, that Hebert would at least make a show of fight for the reputation of it, if for nothing more, and that a handsome artillery duel might be expected any hour. This expectation was strengthened by an order for all non-combatants to leave the island in a given time. The next few days witnessed a general stampede of people and valuables up country, the writer and his family with the multitude, to save them from the dangers of flying shot and shell. Every dray and available vehicle was brought into requisition to convey people and goods away from the city. Anything that could freight a thousand pounds or more, could easily command five dollars a load, four miles to the bridge, where the cars stopped. It was hurrying times.

On the fourth or fifth day a gun-boat ran in and opened fire on "Fort Point," near the entrance to the inside harbor. According to secret order, previously given, the fort responded with one gun, and then it was abandoned. Meanwhile the General and staff, with most of the troops, were making safe retreat to Virginia Point, four miles down the bay, on the main land side. Thus the city was left to be occupied by the Union forces. The naval fleet entered the bay in peaceful triumph, and no doubt they felt a contempt for the Confederate General in command, who had so ignominiously fled, when they looked around and saw the facilities he had for defense.

The intervening space between city and railroad bridge was neutral ground, not occupied by either party. Non-combatants were freely allowed passes to and from the city. This cowardly flight so incensed the people against Hebert, that they petitioned for his removal, and it was granted. In the fall of 1862 he was replaced by General Magruder—the gay, dashing, and festive Magruder; and this suited Texas. But Magruder soon saw that Texas expected him to retrieve the disgraceful loss of Galveston, the metropolis of the State.

So in a quiet and undemonstrative way, without giving out to the expectant public either time or mode, he prepared to recapture the Island City and the fleet in her bay, of which the celebrated and staunch "Harriet Lane" was the flagship, and stood at the wharf in central raking attitude to the city.

A few miles below the city of Houston, on Buffalo Bayou, at a point of narrows, where the huge forest trees on either bank locked arms across the waters, and the shade thereof made still deeper by the mustang vine, and the ever creeping old ivy, might have been seen three or four old steamer hulks being transformed into rams and gun-boats, whose sides were barricaded with compressed cotton bales. And this was the naval force with which to attack Uncle Sam's heavy iron-clads. Magruder had called to his side for consultation, upon the feasibility of his daring enterprise, his predecessor in command, who laughed him to scorn, as a dreaming fanatic, with more courage than brains. But not being disheartened by Hebert's wet blanket, he prosecuted his plans and purpose to completeness of preparation. Hebert left, and went to some private retreat up country, where he would not be considered by any implication, of word or circumstance, to be partaker in so wild and reckless a scheme.

Outside it was not yet known what time Magruder would make the attack. The secret was yet in his own breast, or, at most, was confined to himself and staff. But a few days prior to the event, it was rumored that Magruder intended making the State a new-year's present. So on the 31st day of December, A. D. 1862, the fleet weighed anchor, and proceeded, while yet daylight remained, down the bayou to Red Fish bar, within fifteen or twenty miles of the Federal fleet, and there anchored and waited till the dark hour of morning should come, named in "special orders."

The ugly-looking crafts were manned by volunteers for the occasion, and though never yet in a fight, they had even more than the determined spirit of the "veterans." They were spoiling for the fray. One fear only served to dampen their ardor. The waters might be flowing at low tide on Red Fish when the hour came to pass it, and they could not pass it before, for fear of discovery by the Federal fleet, to whom they intended a complete surprise.

The land forces were at Virginia Point, ready to cross the two-mile bridge, and move up the island toward the city. Just at the dying of the old year, and the birth of the new, the two forces began to move; the one by water, the other by land, with flying artillery. The rolling wheels were muffled in the sand, and with silent roll and tread they moved on, and took-well chosen positions. The two forces were to co-operate. They were to strike together at the moment when the moon should be gone to rest, which was at five o'clock in the morning. The land forces were there, and ready to open fire at the time, but waited till a few minutes after, hoping to hear the signal gun from the fleet first. But not so; the fleet then was hanging on Red Fish in low tide, as feared. Fatal detention, if not soon released, and taking part in the action now progressing. They could hear the booming cannon miles away, and in panting mood, and with desperate effort, they float once more, and steam to the scene of action, two hours late—but "better late than never." Victory was trembling in the balance between the contending forces. One ram made direct for the "Harriet Lane," firing as she went, and struck her obliquely on the hind quarter. The rigging of the two vessels became tangled together so that they could not separate. The boarders rushed upon the deck of the "Harriet Lane" with cutlasses, knives, and navy shooters, and demanded her surrender. But her commander, Captain Wainwright, refused. And then they fought, bravely fought, hand to hand, on both sides, until Wainwright fell, shot through the heart, on his own deck, saying as he expired: "Tell mother I defended the 'Harriet' as long as I could." Sherman, his first lieutenant, was mortally wounded. By this time the deck was running with blood from the dead and dying, and the white flag was run up to the masthead, and the whole fleet in the bay thereby surrendered. Meanwhile one of the Confederate gun-boats had sunk, being struck by a cannon-ball below water mark. One of Magruder's couriers was at this moment carrying an order to the troops to cease fighting and retreat; and another courier rushed to headquarters with the news of the surrender, and the General ordered him placed under arrest for bringing a false report. But he was soon released, for, sure enough, it was 8 o'clock, the victory was won, and the "New-Year's gift was made."

Touching incidents sometimes occur on such occasions. There was one deeply so on this occasion. General Sherman, whose history ran back to the stirring times of the Texas Republic, was in command of the Confederate ram that fought the "Harriet Lane." Lieutenant Sherman, just fallen on her deck, was his son. There they had met in deadly strife, father and son, the latter mortally hurt, and life fast ebbing away. But they did not recognize each other till the bloody contest was over, and then, at the moment of recognition, the son exclaims in feeble tones: "O, is that you, father? and have we been fighting each other? The day is lost, and I am dying now, father! Can I not have the holy sacrament to my comfort before I die?" We will not attempt to describe the agony of that father's heart, as he bent to embrace his dying boy, and to say, "Yes, my son; O, my darling son!" The sacrament was given and taken together by living father and dying son, who in one short hour afterward as each said—"Forgive me, father," and "Forgive me, my son"—breathed his life out sweetly, lying on his father's bosom. The next day a solemn military procession, with soft and reverent tread, passed to the cemetery, where the father himself read the sublime service of the Episcopal Church—of which father and son were both members—over his boy's grave. Solemn salutes were fired in honor of the noble dead. The victory and the defeat were alike forgotten, and regretted for the day, under the sublime touch of a human scene so tender, so grandly holy! We know the father well, a good man, though a rebel.

The news of the victory passed over the State with an electric thrill, and gave the people an elevation of spirits, from which they never fully came down, even at the close of the war. This, with an easy victory obtained at Sabine Pass, about the same time, by an Irish company of artillery in fortifications, by which a fleet was repulsed, and one or two of the largest vessels disabled and captured, gave Texas somewhat of a feeling of invincibility.