by Paul Horgan
Lamy’s sister Margaret, and Marie, the daughter of his brother Etienne, saw with him much to wonder at during the voyage, now with amusement, at other times with sorrow and distaste—and so did Machebeuf, who followed on a river steamer some weeks later in January 1851. Machebeuf was a lively and constant letter writer, and his own observations of river travel captured the typical.
There was always a mixed passenger list—American, Dutch, English, French, Pole, Italian, Irish, Catholics and Protestants, priests, laymen, and Negro servants who were slaves. The crews were both white and black. To the animation of the persons aboard was added the dense animal presence of more than 160 mules or horses, 100 beef cattle, 400 sheep, 60 or 80 fighting cocks which had been bought for twenty-five francs each at Louisville and were destined to amuse the spectators of New Orleans. There was other cargo: 400 bales of cotton, 200 or 300 tons of wheat—and Negro slaves for sale.
Lamy used river-time to study a new language. English or French would not, it was supposed, be generally useful to him where he was going. Spanish was the language of the people, and had to be learned, as English had had to be mastered for Ohio. As the wide, fancy-decked, scroll-sawed steamer wound slowly southward Lamy would work at his Spanish, and later he and Machebeuf were amused to compare notes on the resemblances they found between that language and much of the common speech of Auvergne, despite differences in pronunciation. “La vida” seemed to them close to “la vie” “aqua” to “l’eau” “la mitad” to “la moitié” Putting the language together in discourse would, however, be another matter, as they would learn.
The steamers hove in for passengers and cargo all down the river. While the ship was docked for several hours at Memphis, there was an event not to be forgotten by strangers, though it was familiar enough to others. In the evening her cargo of slaves was taken to the slave market by the trader in charge, who, in a “revolting scene,” sold two young black women to a local customer. This buyer examined his prospective goods thoroughly. He directed them to walk, to speak, asked them what they could do, why their previous owner had sold them, and, finally assured that he would get his money’s worth, paid 650 piastres each for them and led them away in their rags. It moved the observer to compassion to see them walking slowly off behind their new master. (Machebeuf naively felt obliged to add—having no doubt heard as much from cordial southern passengers—that many slave-owners took great care of their human property, and that even if offered their freedom many slaves would never leave them.)
Here and there when the steamer tied up at the bank to take on wood for her furnaces, the travellers could see some of the great Mississippi plantations, which often looked like small villages, centered about the great two-storey brick mansion of the master, with the slave quarters set to one side, where they stood thirty or forty feet from each other. Each Negro family had its own cabin and little garden, and the inhabitants were obliged to work for nothing in exchange except their food and coarse clothing.
As the voyage proceeded, the climate gradually changed—overcoats even in mid-winter were no longer needed, the trees bore leaves, and the land was green, and as they drew close to New Orleans, the travellers would see orange groves before nightfall. The river widened. The city would be both a destination and a point of departure. Lamy’s sister was ailing so rapidly that on arrival he must enter her into the hospital of the Sisters of Charity, where she could await the sailing of the ship which would take her home to France, back to her motherhouse, for she was no longer able to be active in America. Little Marie Lamy would go to school to the New Orleans Ursulines with the blessing of her uncle the bishop. He cared greatly for her, and during all his life she would be devoted to him.
They docked at New Orleans in early December and carried out their arrangements. Lamy was lodged with Archbishop Blanc, who had a lively interest in his affairs. From Blanc’s experience and the letters of Bishop Odin of Galveston, Lamy could draw on a great fund of advice. Blanc had already written to Purcell at Cincinnati that he expected Lamy, and would receive him as a “friend and brother,” but could not understand why he had to go to Santa Fe by way of New Orleans, as the St Louis route was so much quicker. It may have been that those who always raised the question did not know of Lamy’s sense of responsibility for taking proper measures himself for his sister and his niece at New Orleans, or if they knew, did not feel so strongly as Lamy in this duty. Another possible reason for the New Orleans route was that soon after arriving there, he was to go to Mobile, Alabama, to assist at a consecration; and New Orleans was the most suitable place from which to go to Mobile.
Once in New Orleans to plan his next steps westward, Lamy had plenty to do. The city was busy—an ocean and river port both. The waterfront was clustered with steamers for the river trade, and also with others which voyaged into the Gulf of Mexico and into the oceans. The Mississippi was as wide as a sizable lake. Signs of industry lined her shores. Canal street was like one half of a great Parisian boulevard with two traffic lanes separated by a park with walks, lawns, lamps, and trees. Horse-drawn passenger cars moved along parallel to the river; and in the inner streets, winding between gas lamps and houses with lacy iron balconies, the glass hearses and black broughams of funeral processions bearing away cholera victims could frequently be seen by people on the sidewalks—men in frock coats who bared their heads at the sight, bonneted women who said a prayer, a black woman carrying on her head a round basket of flowers for sale. Facing the river across a formally planted park, in the midst of which General Jackson in bronze doffed his cocked hat while his charger reared beneath him, was the Cathedral of New Orleans. Its tall central spire and two lesser ones were almost black in color, above an ornate façade of pale plaster. Behind the cathedral was an enclosed garden with great trees and flowering bushes. There Lamy, like his host, could read his daily office, or enter the rear door of the church to say his Mass.
Waiting for Machebeuf, he went ahead with his preparations.
ii.
S.S. Palmetto
FROM A LOOK AT A MAP, he could see where his course would take him next, and from a search of the New Orleans newspapers—the Picayune and the Commercial Bulletin—he could work out a schedule of the Gulf steamship sailings. ‘For Galveston and Matagorda Bay—Regular N. Orleans and Texas U.S. Mail Line of Low Pressure Steamships,” read the announcement of the shipping line of Harris and Morgan, 79 Tchoupitoulas street. “The public are respectfully informed that hereafter a steamship of this line will leave New Orleans for Galveston and Matagorda Bay on the 5th, 10th, 15th, 20th, 25th, and 30th of every month.” Additional announcements advertised the “Superior coppered and copper-fastened Steamship PALMETTO, J. Smith, Master,” to leave “as above” for “Galveston, Indianola, and Port Lavaca.” An added note stated that passengers for all points in Matagorda Bay—which was where Lamy was going—would be landed at Indianola. Ships would dock several hours at Galveston for unloading and loading of passengers and freight, during which time through-passengers would be required to stop on shore. Lamy could plan to spend his day in Galveston with Bishop Odin. At the end of his sea voyage, he could look forward to the transshipment of his luggage and other cargo from the port at Indian Point, also called Indianola, and to his passage overland to Port Lavaca, Texas, where Gulf steamers could not dock.
Bishop Odin knew from Archbishop Blanc that Lamy was coming, and wrote practical suggestions for the entire trip, dispatching these to Blanc by an eastward run of the Palmetto.
Odin would be “charmed” to see Lamy at Galveston, only regretting that the hospitality he could offer would not match that of Blanc at New Orleans. He wished it were possible to accompany Lamy as far as the western boundary of the Galveston diocese—at that time the region of El Paso—or at least to San Antonio, but duties and lack of funds had to prevent this. He confirmed that the quickest way for Lamy to go must be by one of the Gulf steamers from New Orleans to Galveston, and from there to Port Lavaca. The ships docked at Galv
eston in the morning, and resumed their voyage in the evening, arriving at Port Lavaca at mid-morning the next day. He wished Lamy would spend a week with him, leaving his first ship and taking the next one west-bound—same expense. If he were to do that, he should send all his luggage straight through to Port Lavaca, addressed to Major Kerr, though the ship’s captain would no doubt plan instead to unload all at Indianola, twelve miles over a wretched road from Port Lavaca. From Lavaca, he should transport all his belongings to San Antonio by “Mexican or German carts,” which would cost up to a piastre and a half per hundredweight. Lamy and his companions—at first, he expected to have three priests with him—should then go direct by the stage coach to San Antonio. Odin advised that he not buy mules at New Orleans, as the Gulf voyage would be hard on them; better to buy them at San Antonio, where, if they were not so powerful as United States mules, they were anyhow less expensive. As for the overland trip from San Antonio to El Paso, Odin had little to suggest, except that Lamy should conclude arrangements with the United States quartermaster to travel with an Army train, and buy whatever he needed at San Antonio, where merchandise was plentiful. He ought to engage a Mexican waggon to carry his books, vestments, and altar vessels. If Lamy was not used to riding a horse, he should buy at New Orleans a travelling carriage, and then, perhaps after all, two mules used to the traces. Odin had made a journey of two thousand miles during the previous summer using only one horse all the way, but the season was good, the grass abundant; but now in winter, and crossing the plains westward, there was little grass, water, or wood. Only mules could subsist on the land. In any case, said Odin, “I am an old enough Texan to predict” for Lamy “great fatigue and many obstacles on his hard journey, and I whole-heartedly wish him a good and heavy purse.…”
It was excellent advice, and Lamy followed most of it. All it lacked was a useful plan for a calamity no one could foresee. At New Orleans, Lamy discussed accommodations on an Army ship with the commander of troops who would sail for Indianola, and later form part of the overland train with which Lamy would travel. The officer said the Gulf voyage was offered to him gratis, a great saving. Lamy accepted, even though it must mean leaving New Orleans ahead of Machebeuf.
He made his farewells in early January. His sister, at the hospital, was by now extremely ill. Their leave-taking was particularly sad. Marie, at the Ursulines, would see her uncle again when his travels permitted him to return to New Orleans. He bought a beautiful small carriage for his later land journey, but no mules. When he went to embark on the Army transport, he found that he had missed her sailing by two hours. The consequences would be unhappy.
In haste, he made new arrangements for his passage and the shipment of his carriage for the following day, 6 January 1851. The Harris and Morgan liner Palmetto was sailing and he would be on board. She carried “829 bbls. flour, 147 do whiskey, 4 do brandy, 110 sacks corn, 100 do coffee, 70 boxes cheese, 110 kegs lard, and sundries.” Lamy’s trunks and boxes held his sizable collection of books, his ecclesiastical objects, and clothing.
If it was not openly talked about, there were those who knew that the Palmetto, for all her “superior” low-pressure head of steam and her copper-fastening, had been condemned as unseaworthy; yet the Harris and Morgan line continued her scheduled operations.
Having left a letter for Machebeuf with orders to follow as soon as possible to meet him in San Antonio, Lamy saw New Orleans recede under the nacreous skies of the delta as the Palmetto on schedule was piloted away from the sloping levees and the tangles of moored shipping there. The three black towers of the cathedral rose highest on the city’s skyline. Low brick warehouses lined the waterfront. The river was heavy with earth roiled by the current. He was leaving much behind to which he was devoted—but he was carrying with him much experience to give him confidence in the unknown lands of his mission. One always saw the strange through the vision of the familiar. Any departure was likely to make the heart go somewhat heavy. The city grew smaller and smaller—the three black spires stood clear, but steadily diminished. On the low right bank: little habitation, wide grassy flats, groves of trees. The Palmetto steamed along cautiously, for the river was always full of heavy debris—logs, foundered small boats—which were carried along just under the opaque surface by the current. Presently, on the left bank: Jackson Barracks, with its reminders of the battle of New Orleans a generation ago.
At the rate of her movement, the Palmetto must take a long while to reach the open Gulf. Looking back to New Orleans—and even beyond—time, distance, had strange new aspects, as if related to another life. The clouds of the littoral were low and changed slowly, light seemed different in a long progression of changes; at Nine Mile Bend, the city was lost to view. Only the future was in sight, and that only in the faulty imagination. The New Orleans Commercial Bulletin for 6 January 1851 listed that the “steamship Palmetto, Smith (master), for Galveston, Harris & Morgan,” had cleared the harbor, and before nightfall, the ship paused at Pilot-Town downriver, at the mouth, a community of plank shacks, marsh grass, long wooden jetties, where the pilot was discharged in a row-boat for shore. Captain Smith took over, the Palmetto turned westward in the Gulf in the long twilight.
iii.
Interlude at Galveston
ON 8 JANUARY in the morning, she tied up at Galveston for a day’s dockside work. Lamy went ashore to find Bishop Odin.
When they met that morning, Odin saw his visitor as “ce cher Seigneur,” and was at once animated with extensions of his original advices and also with new persuasions. He listened to Lamy’s immediate plans. Lamy intended to hurry to Santa Fe, make a brief appearance there, ostensibly to secure his throne, and then leave very soon for Europe to recruit a band of clergy upon whom he could lean from the very beginning of his” mission.
Odin disagreed with this program, and could not help saying what he would do in Lamy’s place. He made a well-argued case for his differing view, and he urged it upon Lamy with all the force of experience and shrewdness. It would, he said, be a mistake to go to Santa Fe initially without the support of from six to a dozen zealous and entirely devoted newly imported priests. He explained his reasons. In New Mexico, Lamy would find scandalous native clergy, and a public, especially among the Anglo-Americans, who were waiting for reforms with the arrival of the new bishop. What could Lamy do alone and without support? If he should have occasion to banish a recalcitrant priest, without having someone to replace him, might not the people protest, and perhaps insist on keeping the excommunicated priest in defiance of their bishop? If he should succeed with God’s grace in peacefully taking possession of his see, would it not be more suitable to remain at his post, at least for a few years? A brief appearance, followed by a long absence, might do immense harm to his mission.
Therefore, continued Odin in the warmth of his conviction and the pleasure of his foresight, he must counsel Lamy to go—immediately—not to Santa Fe, but to France (as Bishop Rappe had also advised), and to bring back with him a number of priests who would absolutely be needed. Moreover, during such a journey to France, he could perfect himself in the study of Spanish, so that he could speak the language adequately upon at last entering his mission. Yet more—he could procure new vestments and the rest to replace the old rubbish which he would find in all the New Mexican churches, and he would thus instantly correct a great scandal in that country. Odin himself had been shocked, on his own journeys up the Rio Grande, on seeing the filth of the churches in which he had officiated. Time and again he had had to use his own portable vestments rather than the dirty and torn ones offered him locally. To go on, then—on arriving at Santa Fe (under the ideal plan so far proposed), Lamy would not need to take any precipitate action, but could await the moment when conscience and prudence should move him to act. If there were incorrigible priests, he would have replacements for them. In a parish—there were many such—where the congregations were too large, he could add one of his new young priests. Even if all the clergy of New Mexico we
re worthy of his trust, the new priests could be sent about to hold missions, which were greatly needed in that land where the word of God was never preached.
Lamy was hearing a rich account, through what was urged, of what was needed. Polite and respectful, in his usual habit, he heard Odin to the end.
Preaching, even in imperfect Spanish, on his Rio Grande travels, Odin had found that it was impossible to imagine the joy with which his little exhortations had been received. If Lamy’s new men did no more than simply teach, this would be a work which would bear fruit. He might deceive himself, but Odin would hate to see Monseigneur Lamy go west without stout reinforcements, and above all Odin could not bring himself to believe that it would not be actually imprudent to absent himself too soon from his apostolic vicariate after having merely shown himself there. No doubt the mission would briefly suffer by a delayed arrival after a trip to France, but Odin thought it better to keep the status quo for five or six months rather than to go there at once without the means to introduce necessary reforms.
The bishop of Galveston at last rested his case. In the end, the eloquent arguments made no difference—Lamy must follow his own intention, and, indeed, would not even stay out the week and take the next boat west, as Odin urged, but would reboard the Palmetto that evening and sail on for Port Lavaca and the overland trail to San Antonio and Santa Fe.
Lamy was Odin’s peer as a bishop—there was no question of orders to be given by the older man. Resignedly, Odin turned to other matters, described conditions to the west, and assigned three Mexican villages near El Paso del Norte which lay in his jurisdiction, under Lamy’s episcopal care. It was obvious that places so remote could hardly be well administered from Galveston. Lamy would see them on his westward journey. They were Socorro del Sur, Isleta del Sur, and San Elizario, on the north bank of the Rio Grande. Lamy accepted the charge. The two prelates parted as sailing time drew near.
