There’s a yellow rose in Texas that I am a going to see
No other darky knows her, no one only me
She cryed so when I left her it like to broke my heart
And if I ever find her we nevermore will part
She’s the sweetest rose of color this darky ever knew
Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew
You may talk about dearest May and sing of Rosa Lee
But the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee. – Anonymous
The legend of Emily Morgan ties into so many of the topics we’ve discussed lately, such as Creole women, 19th century history of the American south, songs about sexy ladies and even “human trafficking”, that it’s been going around my mind for the past few days. And even though Miss Morgan is not known to have ever officially espoused our profession, her demonstration of the way a woman can use her sexuality to achieve a desired goal directly contradicts the modern dogma that such a strategy is “inherently degrading and humiliating”, which makes her a woman whores can admire and her story a fit topic for this blog. I use the word “legend” because most of the story’s details are derived from one original source and may have been embellished by tradition; indeed, some modern (male) historians claim that the story has no basis in historical fact at all, despite documentary evidence to the contrary. And since the idea that whoring oneself can be a positive and even heroic action is not politically correct, modern historians have a strong motivation to make such revisionist claims (as we talked about in the commentary on my August 18th column); my readers will therefore forgive me if I tend to lean a bit on the lady’s side.
In 1830 James Morgan, a businessman from Philadelphia, emigrated to Texas in order to speculate on the cheap land and other business opportunities available in what was then a Mexican colony. Since slavery was illegal under Mexican law, Morgan had his 16 slaves legally converted into indentured servants with 99-year contracts. Morgan and the other American settlers soon conceived of an idea to flood Texas with American settlers so they could then declare independence from Mexico and become an American state; to further this plan he travelled to New York in 1835 to recruit colonists. While on this trip he met a beautiful 20-year-old Creole woman named Emily West, possibly from Bermuda; Morgan described her as possessed of “extraordinary intelligence and sophistication.” Though born free Emily accepted indenture in order to cover her expenses and avoid the difficulties deriving from racial prejudice, and so changed her last name to that of her master (as was the custom at that time).
By the beginning of 1836 Texas had declared independence from Mexico and the rebellion, led by General Sam Houston, was fully in progress. James Morgan’s settlement, New Washington, was now fully established near the mouth of the San Jacinto River, and he donated oranges, produce and beef to Houston’s army; the grateful Houston therefore appointed him a colonel and assigned him to guard the Port of Galveston about 50 km away. Morgan left his trusted servant Emily in charge of loading the flatboats which carried the donated provisions, and on April 18, 1836 she was captured when Mexican troops under the command of General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna (pictured above) occupied New Washington. The General, who fancied himself a ladies’ man, was immediately taken by Emily’s beauty and so claimed her as one of the spoils of war along with the cattle and produce. Rather than waste her energy in unproductive demonstrations of protest, the clever young woman decided to play on her captor’s colossal ego in order to gain advantage for the Texans.
Santa Anna had also captured a Creole boy named Turner and had talked him into leading the Mexican scouts to Houston’s camp, but before they left the next morning Emily convinced Turner to escape from the scouts en route and rush ahead to warn Houston of Santa Anna’s approach. Upon hearing of the boy’s escape the general insisted on immediately setting up camp near the river, despite the protests of his officers that the spot was indefensible; Houston, upon learning of the army’s location from Turner, quietly moved his troops into the woods only a kilometer or two from the hasty Mexican encampment. But Emily was not yet done leading Santa Anna around by the balls; she pretended to find him irresistible and thus diverted him from the preparations he should have been making. On the morning of April 21, General Houston himself climbed a tree to spy into the Mexican camp and saw Emily preparing a champagne breakfast for Santa Anna; upon his return he told one of his officers, “I hope that slave girl makes him neglect his business and keeps him in bed all day.” And she did exactly that; when the Texans attacked a few hours later the Mexicans were taken completely by surprise and Santa Anna was literally caught with his pants down. He fled from the battle in his silk nightshirt, and when he was captured by Houston’s men the next day it was found concealed under the uniform he had pillaged from a dead Mexican soldier in order to disguise himself.
Emily made her way back to New Washington, and when James Morgan returned from Galveston a few days later Emily told him of the battle and her part in it. He was so impressed with Emily’s heroism that he repealed her indenture and gave her money and a passport back to New York; she left Texas in March of 1837 and unfortunately disappeared from history thereafter. But her former master refused to let her vanish into obscurity; for years afterward he told her story to anyone who would listen, and also recorded it in his journals. One of his business partners in New York, Samuel Swartwout, repeated the story in one of his letters, and it also appears in the journal of his friend, the ethnologist William Bollaert (whom Wikipedia dismisses as an “English tourist”). It was from Bollaert’s journal that the story was rediscovered in the 1950s and quickly spread into legend; Emily’s deeds are now commemorated at San Jacinto every April 21st by an organization called The Knights of the Yellow Rose of Texas.
But what does any of this have to do with the well-known song whose title this column shares? Soon after the battle, copies of the poem which forms my epigram began to circulate around Texas; it appears to have been written by one who was either a black soldier in the conflict or using the narrative voice of such a soldier. The poem expresses his love for a Creole woman (“yellow” was the adjective commonly used at the time to describe their skin color), and given its popularity it was perhaps inevitable that it quickly became associated with the story of the “yellow rose” named Emily Morgan. Within a few years the poem had been set to music and turned into a song; by the 1860s its lyrics had been altered and extended, and it became a marching song for Confederate troops from Texas:
There’s a yellow rose in Texas that I am going to see,
No other soldier knows her, no soldier only me;
She cried so when I left her, it like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her we never more will part.
(refrain) She’s the sweetest little flower this soldier ever knew,
Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew,
You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosa Lee,
But the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee.
Where the Rio Grande is flowing, and the starry skies are bright,
She walks along the river in the quiet summer night;
She thinks if I remember, when we parted long ago,
I promis’d to come back again, and not to leave her so.
(refrain)
Oh! now I’m going to find her, for my heart is full of woe,
And we’ll sing the song together, that we sung so long ago;
We’ll play the banjo gaily, and we’ll sing the songs of yore,
And the yellow rose of Texas shall be mine for evermore.
(refrain)
By 1955, when the Mitch Miller recording of the song made #1 in the US and #2 in the UK, its lyrics had altered still more, but neither the meaning nor the tune had altered for a century. And despite the fact that the song probably had nothing to do with Emily West Morgan, its association with her is still very strong and serves to remind us that a woman’s sexuality, rather than being a source of shame and degradation at the hands of “patriarchal oppressors”, is actually her greatest source of influence over men and can therefore be both a powerful force for good and an effective way for a woman to improve her place in the world.
I’ve been hearing this song since long before I ever moved to Texas, and at last I have some idea of what it’s about.
I’ve never set foot NEAR Texas (I’m from Canada) and even I’ve heard the song before… then again, My mother was always a Country Western music fan… that’s probably the source. 😛
a woman’s sexuality, rather than being a source of shame and degradation at the hands of “patriarchal oppressors”, is actually her greatest source of influence over men and can therefore be both a powerful force for good and an effective way for a woman to improve her place in the world.
When I talk to ‘good’ feminists — i.e. those who think a bit more than the rank-and-file — I’m told they are not against a woman using her sexuality, even in this way; but that there are moves in this game which are wrong, to the detriment of either women, or men, or both. So the woman who uses her sexuality to seem to be a better professional than she is by getting men to do part of her work (haven’t we all met her in college and in the workplace) is not making a legitimate use of this power. Conversely, the men who badmouth a woman and consider her less good than she is only because they think her success ‘of course’ had to be due to her looks, not to her skills, are also not playing fair.
Feminists would fear that nobody would believe women were really capable of great things unless they did these things by themselves, not using their sexuality. And at least some men (even today) do seem to believe that women are not capable of anything other than displaying their sexuality. Two sides of a coin that leads to many an accusation, many an overgeneralization, many a conspiracy-theory worldview.
You mean, just like some men are not capable of accomplishing anything without their physical prowess? Yet nobody minds that. 🙁
The thing is, if a man, even a beefy man, at an accounting firm get ahead, few people will claim, “it’s just because of his muscles.” But if a woman, a busty woman, at an accounting firm gets ahead, many (women and men alike) will assume, “it’s just because of her tits.”
Male chauvinists, neofeminists, egalitarians, etc, all agree that a woman’s sexuality is powerful. But sometimes it’s assumed that this is the ONLY power women have, so ANYTHING she accomplishes must have been done with sex-power. A man who gets ahead in a non-muscle business isn’t assumed to have done it with his muscles, because we recognize that men have more to offer than muscle.
Perhaps, if we accepted female sexual power instead of trying to fight it, we’d notice that women have other things to offer as well. I suppose that if we were constantly disparaging the use of male muscle to make a living, we’d forget that sometimes, men get ahead with math or inspiration, and not always with muscle.
Give that man a cigar! And if he doesn’t smoke, make it a chocolate one. 😉
Chocolate it is!
Which reminds me: I have an electric cigarette for guests who smoke, but have let my sister borrow it. I need to get it back from her. But not right now; I don’t get many smoking guests these days.
Those things are re-useable?
Yes they are, though a semi-disposable version seems to be gaining in popularity. In the semi-disposable variety, the battery-and-chip part is still reusable (and rechargeable), but each nicotine cartridge has its own vaporizer, and the cartridge and vaporizer are both thrown away after use. Since vaporizers wear out faster than batteries, this is seen as more convenient (you don’t go to “smoke” and find out your vaporizer is kaput). My sense of waste-not-want-not prefers to see a vaporizer used until it IS kaput, and why not just keep a spare on you? If you were going to carry an entire pack of cigarettes anyway…
What I like about the e-cig (other than the gadgetry of it) is that it doesn’t stink up my place, my clothes, or even the air. Unless it’s blown directly into my face, I don’t smell it.
I’m now waiting for somebody to ask the two questions which are always asked about this device.
Seems you waited about 11 months. Patient man! ^_^
Hmm…
…
…
Actually no, I don’t have one question about it, let alone two, despite that I’ve never heard of them before now.
Sorry. (really! 🙁 )
The two questions are always, “How much did that cost?” and “Could you smoke weed with that?”
The answers are, “$75, counting S&P, but that’s for two batteries, three vaporizers, the USB recharger, the wall recharger, the box, the manual, and a dozen cartridges. By the time you buy two or three cartons of regular cigarettes, you’ve spent as much.”
“You couldn’t just stuff weed in it; that would just break your e-cig and waste your pot. If you had a THC extraction (maybe some Marinol) and mixed that with propylene glycol or food-grade glycerin, then yes, you could get higher than a kite. And, nobody would be able to smell it.”
I’m reminded of another Confederate version, which has to post-date the Battles of Franklin and Nashville (November-December 1864):
My feet are torn and bloody, and my heart is full of woe,
I’m goin’ back to Georgia, to find my Uncle Joe,
You can talk about your Beauregard and sing of Bobby Lee,
But the gallant Hood of Texas, he played hell in Tennessee!
The CS Army of Tennessee basically disintegrated after the massacre at Franklin and the rout at Nashville, and its scattered elements re-formed in Georgia under the command of Joseph Johnston. They later surrendered (on the same day John Wilkes Booth was killed) exactly one hundred years before I was born. 🙂 Nothing to do with Emily West Morgan, of course, but I think about that every time I hear “Yellow Rose.”
The gallant Hood had already gotten my g’g’g’-grandfather killed at Atlanta back in July of ’64. Placing him in charge was what Marines would call a “poor command decision.”
I am also told that the song is the “service anthem” of the Cavalry Branch of the U.S. Army (in the same way that “Caissons Go Rolling Along” is (or was) the “service anthem” of the Field Artillery).
The conventional explanation is that the “cavalry color” on the uniform is yellow. (Artillery: red. Infantry: blue.) Hence, the yellow stripe on the legs of their trousers; hence also the name supposedly given to cavalrymen by tribes in the west — “yellowlegs.”
Not sure whether this was before or after the tune was used as the theme song of the eponymous movie that starred John Wayne.
Love the history!