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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 Galveston 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.