Memoirs of Mrs. Florida
Tunstall Sharpe
Florida Tunstall Sharpe is buried in San Antonio's National Cemetery.
My
father was Warwick Tunstall, and our home in San Antonio was near the site of
the famous old Molino Blanco on St. Mary’s Street, near the Fourth Street Bridge.
I lived in that house from the time I was six years old until I was in the
sixties. It was a house that my father planned himself; it was a square or
octagon with very unequal lines, most original. When we first came to Texas we
rented a place on the river down on Commerce Street. Finally, we had to give
that house up, and my father bought up the property from what is now North St.
Mary’s where the bridge crosses, and from the 7th Street Bridge to
the 5th Street Bridge. It was then a peninsula and inside of that
the river turned and the house was built in the narrow part of the peninsula.
This was in 1855, and I am now 89 years old; I was four when we came to Texas
and six when my father bought that house.
I first
remember Colonel Robert E. Lee when I was just six years old.
Lieutenant-Colonel Robert E. Lee arrived in San Antonio, Texas, in March, 1856 he
passed through San Antonio en route to Ringgold Barracks. Again in March, 1857,
he passed through here en route to Camp Cooper, and he lived here from July to
October, 1857. Returned again in
February 20, 1860, and lived in San Antonio for nearly a year. I remember it
was about the time we went to live in that house and he lived in a house
diagonally across from the Gunter Hotel. It was a two-story house made of the
same kind of concrete that Mexicans made their houses of and was quite
unusual—because it did have two stories. The house sloped down to the river and
was beautifully situated. In front of it were two large pecan trees where we
used to pass with our nurse to visit a friend of Mother’s. Colonel Lee and his
Aide used to sit under these same trees and he would call to us to come in and
then would take me sister on one knee and me on the other, after kissing us.
Then he was ordered away to the frontier to work among the Indians there. He
and my father used to be very intimate friends as young men.
The
next time I remember about Colonel Lee, I was about ten years old, and I have
such a vivid recollection of it. It was in ’61, February 18, and he was on his
way to Washington. My father came home from the office very late. He said that
he had spent all the afternoon with Colonel Lee and he had never seen a man in
such deep distress. Colonel Lee had asked what he should do if it came to a
fight. He was a Virginian and all his family were Sothern and still he was
educated and served in the United States Army. “There is only one thing to do:
and I will resign for I can’t fight against the South. I will go back to my
farm in Arlington, Virginia.”
Then
the last time I remember seeing Colonel Lee I didn’t speak to him at all. It
was the year that war was declared and I didn’t speak to him at all. It was the
year that war was declared and he came through San Antonio. One of my sisters
was very sick and Mother couldn’t leave her, and the other sister went in to
say goodbye. I was out playing in the yard and had a dirty dress on. There was
nobody about to change my dress, so I never got to see him. But there was a
crack in to door and I peeked through it and saw him (Colonel Lee) kiss my
other sister goodbye. I will never forget the feeling I had—that I wasn’t there
to be kissed also. Then he went out to his house. He was riding a great big
black horse. He rode out the back gate to say goodbye to some officer’s wife. I
heard him go around and knock at the door while the
orderly held his horse, but he didn’t get in then. He
mounted his horse and went on up the street. I stood there and watched him
until he was entirely out of sight and I thought my heart strings would break
as he rode further and further away.
But
that impression of Colonel Lee riding off on that black horse is just as vivid
as though I had seen it today, and I felt as if my heart was being torn out of
my body. I hated to see him go so badly.
After the War Between the States the Yankee troops came to
San Antonio. The cholera came in the summer after the close of the Civil War
and everybody went out of town who could; but since we lived out in the suburbs
we all stayed at home. My Mother had lived through a terrible epidemic in
Kentucky and she said, “Just eat carefully and live normally and don’t think
about it.” We did that and didn’t have a case of cholera in our family.
The
Commanding Officer at San Antonio was a German. Doctor Herff was here at the
time, and he was a great man. He had gone to Germany after the war, and upon
returning he was the head of the whole profession. Though there were not many
good doctors here then, he was really good enough to be outstanding anywhere;
but when he got sick, he always had to have an Army doctor. After the Federal
troops came here, we would dance the quadrillion with them; but we wouldn’t be
introduced to them for they had of a society of their own. The young men would
have their parties at the Menger, and, of course, the army people always went
to these. Then, too, there were lots of Northern sympathizers.
The
summer after the War, cholera broke out in Texas very badly. We had a miserable old German Commanding
officer who hated everything here. The majority of the officers were not like
him in that respect. Dr. Sharpe was in charge as chief surgeon of the hospital
during the cholera epidemic. There were over a thousand soldiers here. They
would put up their tents in the lots nearby and would install the sick there in
the tents. Overnight cholera broke out in San Antonio. There were these troops
stationed all over everyone’s back yards, and Doctor Sharpe being the surgeon
in charge, said that they must be sent out of town. He went to a place twelve miles
out (Major Tom Howard’s ranch), where the Commanding Officer was. He went to
the commanding officer, this German man I spoke of, and told him that the
troops had to be moved out. The officer said, “I won’t do anything of the
kind.” Doctor Sharpe said, “Why, you have to. The people will die like flies.
You have to do something.” On receiving another “no” in answer, Doctor Sharpe
replied, “Very well, then, if you absolutely refuse to move the troops, I will
go right now to give the order that there mustn’t be a soldier left in San
Antonio by 12 o’clock tonight. Do you know Army regulations? Such regulations
rest with the chief surgeon, so I will telegraph now to the Chief Surgeon in
Washington to telegraph me an order to have all these troops removed at once.
I’m going to dot it, and then I’ll send you the reply to what I’ve done.” The
old Dutchman knew that he had to obey or he himself would be court-martialed;
so he said, “Come back I’ll give it to you
and the soldiers can be moved out of town.” And they were out by
midnight and the whole camp area was cleaned up by that time. Doctor Sharpe
kept his headquarters in town and also out of town. When he came back he was
put on the Board of Health right away. Doctor Herff took the greatest fancy to
Doctor Sharpe now and had such faith in this ability and initiative that he
trotted him around to see all of his own bad cases.
I finally met Doctor Sharpe at church. We had
some mutual friends who were not connected with the Army. These friends
arranged the meeting, and it was love at first sight if there ever was such a
thing. Father’s finances were all gone and after we took this house by the
river we had boarders. One couple from the North were always wanting to
introduce us, but Doctor Sharpe didn’t wish to be so introduced without my
parent’s permission. We were both taken home from a party and met in the same
carriage without either of us knowing that the other one was to be included in
the homeward ride. So we met. My brother asked Mother to invite Doctor Sharpe
to supper, but he couldn’t come. He said he knew I would never care for him, so
he did not want to even meet me.
I
married Doctor Redford Sharpe in ’69, when I was twenty years of age. He was
nineteen years older than I was. We had been engaged for two years. We were
married in San Antonio in the old house near Molino Blanco. Our next station
was Fort McKavett.
We drove in an ambulance to Fort McKavett; this was an
escort wagon drawn by four mules. Mrs. Kendall, Georgian Fellows, my
bridesmaid, came out with some of the bridal party as far as the Kendall ranch
(owned by George W. Kendall, and located near Boerne, Texas) and we left from
there for Fort McKavett. On the next day at Fredericksburg we met our military
escort—ten soldiers and a sergeant. The first night out of Fredericksburg we
camped out at a favorite Indian camp. We had three wagons, a maid and a driver
in one with our baggage; the escort; and our own wagon. Mules scent Indians as
far as fifteen miles away and they will stampede.
At night,
when we camped, we corralled our three wagons and our ambulance, making a
circle with the wagons facing the circle, and having the soldiers inside the
circle. At twelve o’clock this first night we were in the midst of the Indian
country we had a stampede by the mules. They kicked, brayed, and made a great
noise. My horse broke her halter and ran away. (A friend gave me this very fine
racing horse which he bought right off the race track, and I made friends with
her before I actually rode her. She had only been ridden on the tracks.) She
came to the ambulance where I was sleeping and I felt something working at my
curtain. There was the horse’s head right on my shoulder. She refused to leave,
so was tied at my wagon where she could touch me with her nose. Her name was
Belle Warren. Having been a race horse she always wanted to keep ahead of every
other horse so I could never ride with company. We rode side saddle in those
days. Indians were within a quarter of a mile but they never bothered us. They
had to have an advantage before they attacked.
One
night the guard watching the horses turned suddenly and surprised an Indian at
the stables as he was about to stab him. The guard covered him with his gun and
so saved the horses. I later found out that there were twelve Indians waiting
outside to come on in and capture the horses.
When we
were at Fort McKavett the hospital was built of hewn logs; and when I returned
about ten years later the post had been bought and used for a ranch—and they
had turned the hospital into a home. It was hauled over to the ranch and was
being used just as it had been set up at Fort McKavett. A new brick hospital
was put up in its place at the post. We were only stationed there one year and
then were brought back to San Antonio.
I had one narrow escape from death.
It has been sixty-seven years, so the details are hard to remember. The most
terrible fright I ever had was not from Indians but from cattle thieves. They
branded the young calves from the large ranches. Soldiers were kept out to
watch from these thieves.
We were in the stage, General
Lawton (Lieutenant Henry W. Lawton who was afterward killed in battle in the
Philippines.) and I, taking my sister with me, a girl of ten years of age.
Fortunately General Lawton had come into town from a leave and he heard from
the stage office that I was going alone so he decided to go too. We got past a
log cabin close to the road. It was headquarters of the cattle thieves and
there was always trouble between the colored soldiers and these people. There
was a country girl who lived in this place and she took up with a very good
looking colored soldier. After she had written the soldier a letter, asking him
to come to see her, he felt that it was all right. When her father discovered
this, however, he killed the soldier and this act brought a lot of bad
feelings. Well on this trip we drove past this log cabin where the killing had
taken place. We found the cabin had been burned and there was not a soul in
sight; so we knew there had been trouble of some kind for the cabin was still
burning down. As we came into the nearby town we saw the cattle thieves coming
out of the bushes. The doctor (apparently her husband was with Mrs. Sharp and
General Lawton, although she did not mention the fact.) wanted me to get under
the seat but I refused and said: “I’d rather be killed with you. I don’t want
to be left alone among these hyenas.” With that I put my hand on my pistol. The
men gathered around us, after which they went off and consulted together and
they decided not to bother us. We got through that but we were late and had to
go a mile from the station after we got to Fort McKavett. We didn’t get to the
place where we usually stayed all night because we were delayed by a drunken
driver and also a flood sixteen miles from the post.
[These notes were made
during interviews from 1936 to 1940. Martin L. Crimmins]
