A Texas Cowboy; Or Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony

A Texas Cowboy; Or Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony CHAPTER I. MY BOYHOOD DAYS. It was a bright morning, on the 7th day of February 1856, as near as I can remember, that your humble Servant came prancing into this wide and wicked world. By glancing over the map you will find his birthplace, at the extreme southern part of the Lone Star State, on the Peninsula of Matagorda, a narrow strip of land bordered by the Gulf of Mexico on the south and Matagorda Bay on the north. This Peninsula is from one to two miles wide and seventy five miles long. It connects the mainland at Caney and comes to a focus at Deskrows Point or "Salura Pass." About midway between the two was situated the "Dutch Settlement," and in the centre of that Settlement, which contained only a dozen houses, stood the little frame cottage that first gave me shelter. My father who died when I was only a year old, came from the sunny clime of Italy, while my dear old mother drifted from the Boggs of good "ould" Ireland. Am I not a queer conglomerate--a sweet-scented mixture indeed! Our nearest neighbor was a kind old soul by the name of John Williams, whose family consisted of his wife and eleven children. In the fall of 1859 I took my first lessons in school, my teacher being a Mr. Hale from Illinois. The school house, a little old frame building, stood off by itself, about a mile from the Settlement, and we little tow-heads, sister and I, had to hoof it up there every morning, through the grassburrs, barefooted; our little sunbrowned feet had never been incased in shoe-leather up to that time.