Life and select literary remains of Sam Houston of Texas/Chapter 29
CHAPTER XXIX.
The early domestic troubles of the hero of San Jacinto have been briefly detailed. Gen. Houston rarely, if ever, alluded to them, nor did he in anywise reflect upon the character or memory of the first Mrs. Houston.
The history of his relations to the second Mrs. Houston is alike honorable to all parties, and a noble tribute to the exalted excellence of a pure, lovely, well-developed female character.
The second Mrs. Houston, Margaret Moffette Lea, daughter of Temple and Nancy Lea, was born in Perry Co., Alabama, April 11, 1819. She received the best advantages of the schools of Alabama, and through all her life continued to improve her intellectual powers by reading and study. Associating with the most cultivated people of Alabama, possessed of winning manners and conversational powers, she attracted no little attention from men of eminence in Church and State.
She was a thorough student of the Bible, and was devotedly attached to the principles of practical Christianity. The writer first met her in Marion, Alabama, in 1839, at a time when she was regarded as the most attractive and fascinating young lady in that part of Alabama. She became a member of Siloam Baptist Church, Marion, and was baptized by Rev. Peter Crawford, then pastor of that church.
On a visit to Mobile she first met Gen. Houston. He was at that time given to occasional excesses in drinking, by which he had acquired the name among the Indians of " Big Drunk." His romantic history, his brilliant career as the savior of Texas, his commanding figure, winning manners, and vivacious conversation, won the heart of the young Alabamian.
She was asked by the writer why she ran the risk of unhappiness and misfortune by consenting to link her destinies with those of Gen. Houston, at a time when he gave way to such excesses? She replied, that "not only had he won her heart, but she had conceived the idea that she could be the means of reforming him, and she meant to devote herself to the work."
According to her wishes, and to the astonishment of her friends, she was married to Gen. Sam Houston in Marion, Alabama, May 9th, 1840. It was not long before her influence induced him to give up strong drink, to which he never returned.
"There is a sorrow which even the hero can not bear. The storms of life may beat against the frail dwelling of man as wildly as they will, and the proud and the generous heart may still withstand the blast. But when the poisoned shaft of disappointment strikes the bosom where all we love or live for is treasured, the fruit of this world turns to ashes, and the charm of life is broken. Then it is that, often, reason and bliss take their flight together."
When this dark cloud fell over the path of Houston, he buried his sorrows in the flowing bowl. His indulgences began with the wreck of his hopes, and, like many noble and generous spirits, he gave himself up to the fatal enchantress. But his excesses were exaggerated a hundredfold. We believe no man can say that he ever saw Houston rendered incompetent, by any indulgence, to perform any offices of private or public life a single hour. But the days of his indulgences passed away. When the sunlight of domestic happiness again shone through his dwelling, and he was sustained once more by that great conservative principle of a man's life, a happy home, illumined by the smile of an affectionate and devoted wife, his good angel came back, and for years no man was more exemplary in all the duties and all the virtues of the citizen, the father, and the husband. From that moment he espoused the great cause of virtue and temperance with all the earnestness of his nature. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, he has eloquently spoken, in public and in private, in favor of that beneficent movement which has restored many thousands of generous but misguided men to the long-abandoned embraces of weeping families, and to the nobler duties of citizenship. And who could better tell the horrors and woes of the poor inebriate's life than the man who had experienced them? Who could more eloquently and winningly woo back the wanderer to the fold of virtue than he who had just returned to its hallowed enclosure? Blessings on the head of the devoted and beautiful wife, whose tender persuasions prove too strong for the clamors of appetite and the allurements of vice! In winning the stricken wanderer back to the pure charities of home she saved one of its noblest citizens; and so benign has been the influence of his wonderful example, and so calm and so holy a light beamed around the altars of his prairie home, that his children will, with the nation he saved, rise up and call him blessed. Houston's indulgences never were carried so far as to give a shock to his constitution. They were only occasional at any period.
As a woman, Mrs. Houston was as remarkable as was General Houston as a man. True to principle, firm in her convictions, spiritual in her ideas of religion, devoted to her husband and her children, she considered the strict performance of the great duties of domestic life as an achievement of moral heroism. The good of the land were always welcome to her fireside, and cordially entertained at her hospitable board.
While thus absorbed in home duties, Mrs. Houston was busied with her pen; her private letters and her magazine contributions all being tinged with the one aim of her life; as the moral and religious guide of her children, and the guardian angel of her husband's private and public life. During his Senatorial career Houston was never so happy as in receiving her weekly letters, in reading portions of them to his trusted friends, and in writing his Sunday afternoon replies. The contributions of Mrs. Houston to the Mothers' Journal, of Philadelphia, were as highly prized by its numerous readers as by him who rejoiced that their sentiment and their suggestions were realized in his own household.
Eight children blessed their married life: 1st, Sam; 2d, Nancy Elizabeth; 3d, Margaret Lea; 4th, Mary William; 5th, Antoinette Power; 6th, Andrew Jackson; 7th, William Rogers; 8th, And. Temple; all grown and married, except the two younger ones, and all occupying commanding positions in society The following lines of poetry will evince respectable poetical talent and strong affection:
To My Husband.
December, 1844, on Retirement from the Presidency.
Dearest, the cloud hath left thy brow,
The shade of thoughtfulness, of care.
And deep anxiety; and now
The sunshine of content is there.
Its sweet return, with joy I hail;
And never may thy country's woes
Again that hallow'd light dispel,
And mar thy bosom's calm repose!
God hath crown'd thy years of toil
With full fruition, and I pray
That on the harvest still His smile
May shed its ever gladdening ray.
Thy task is done; another eye
Than thine must gnard thy country's weal;
And oh! may wisdom from on high
To him the one true path reveal!
When erst was spread the mighty waste
Of waters, fathoms wide and far,
And darkness rested there, unchased
By ray of sun, or moon, or star.
God bade the gloomy deep recede.
And so young earth rose on his view;
Swift at his word the waters fled,
And darkness spread its wings and flew.
The same strong arm hath put to flight
Our country's foes; the ruthless band
That swept in splendid pomp and might
Across our fair and fertile land.
The same Almighty hand hath raised
On these wild plains a structure fair,
And well may wondering nations gaze
At aught so marvelous and rare.
This task is done. The holy shade
Of calm retirement waits thee now.
The lamp of hope relit hath shed
Its sweet refulgence o'er thy brow.
Far from the busy haunts of men.
Oh! may thy sou! each fleeting hour
Upon the breath of prayer ascend
To Him who rules with love and power.
Our Daughters.
Our eldest is an autumn bloom.
Just as the summer rose grew pale
She smiled upon our woodland home.
The brightest flower in all the vale.
The second April came with showers,
The buds to ope, and vines to wreathe,
And left the sweetest of its flowers
Upon my joyous heart to breathe.
Sweet month! but two short years had past.
And lo! with smiles again she came,
And left a bloom fair as the last,
A strange bright flower for me to name!
Almost two years had passed away,
And winter looked upon my flowers
With meaning smile that seemed to say,
"I bring no vine-wreath for your bowers,"
No spring bird's song, nor summer breeze,
Nor leaves of autumn's glowing hue.
To throw around my lone, bare trees;
But winter has its offering too.
And oh! the brightest rose there lay
Upon his hand! " It is thine own."
He whispered, as he passed away,
"Oh, guard it well, the fragile one."
My beauteous gifts! fiow carefully
Their tender branches I must train!
That each fair plant on earth may be
A household joy! And yet in vain
My fondest care without that aid
The blessed Lord alone can give.
Father! these earthly blooms must fade.
But let their souls before Thee live.
My buds of innocence in time
Be formed to bloom beyond the skies.
Within the cloudless spirit's clime
Unfading flowers of Paradise.
Huntsville, Texas, March 14, 1856.—M. M. Houston.
After the death of Gen. Houston Mrs. Houston returned to their former residence at Independence, Texas, for the purpose of educating her children in Baylor University and Baylor Female College. Her health was much impaired by asthma, still she availed herself of all opportunities of doing good, and signalized her sympathy with the suffering and dying during the prevalence of yellow fever and kindred diseases in Texas in the summer and fall of 1867. Just at the close of that season she was herself prostrated by disease, of which, in entire resignation to the Divine will, she died December 3, 1867, leaving a noble example of a blameless and useful life to her children, who survived her.
Gen. Houston's remains are buried at Huntsville, while Mrs. Houston's remains are buried alongside of those of her mother, at Independence, Texas. A simple, small, plain slab is placed over the hero's grave, with these words: "Gen. Sam Houston, born March 2, 1793. Died July 26, 1863." Nothing as yet signalizes the spot where the remains of his companion lie.