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EPILOGUE I n the course of his long career, Gen. Walter P. Lane had suffered wounds inflicted by a Mexican lancer, Kickapoo warriors, and Yankee infantry, and survived them all, but defeating old age was a battle that no soldier could win. In October 1890, he suffered a lapse in his health. The Marshall Messenger diligently monitored his status, noting on the 18th that he was improving, “able to be on the streets again but is quite feeble.” By November 7, the newspaper reported that he was “growing stronger daily.” Unknown to the public, the general’s liver was slowly failing.1 Liquor was the likely culprit. Social drinking was a favorite pastime among many nineteenth-century men, but for Lane, it had special significance . In his memoirs, he often commented on his fondness for alcoholic beverages. During the U.S.-Mexican War, dining with his fellow officers at Camargo, Lane recalled the pleasant feeling of “having my skin well filled with champagne.” As the U.S. troops withdrew from Mexico, Gen. John E. Wool invited the Texan into his tent for a glass of wine. Lane recalled, “I went in, but took whiskey in mine, as wine was deleterious to my constitution .” He sipped Pike County whiskey with several Missourians while mining in California, and during the closing moments of the battle of Pea Ridge, Gen. Sterling Price offered Lane a swig from his canteen. “I acquiesced with great alacrity, being very dry and very thirsty, and expecting to get a straight drink.” Lane was disappointed when he took a hit of sugar water instead. No one recorded any episode where the general might have been improperly drunk, but his imbibing was well known. A rather unflattering notice in an 1882 issue of the Galveston News described the general as red-faced, adding sardonically, “though we hear it whispered that he is a prohibitionist.”2 By EPILOGUE 180 1890, decades of hard drink had weakened his liver and complicated his physical condition. In March 1891, concerned about his failing health, the general repaired to Hot Springs, Arkansas, hoping that the mineral baths would soothe his ailments. When he returned to Marshall after a week and a half, he claimed to feel “somewhat improved.” In April, Lane felt capable of traveling to Brenham , to preside over the nineteenth annual reunion of the Texas Veteran Association. By December, however, his conditioned worsened, and he was confined to bed during the week of the 11th. The Messenger maintained vigil. On January 20, 1892, the newspaper noted that Lane “is no better today,” but the next day found the old general “being able to walk around his apartments .” The 23rd and 25th found him unimproved, and on the 26th, his situation turned grave. “It was reported about 11 o’clock to-day that Gen. Lane was dying,” the Messenger informed its concerned readers, “but he rallied, and is resting well as we go to press, though he may die at any moment.”3 The General lingered, resting on his mahogany-framed bed. On January 25, he jotted off a defiant notice to the tax payers of Harrison County. “I will positively close the tax rolls this week, and all who do not come up and settle, will have to pay cost of collecting.” Lane would not be able to deliver on his promise. At six in the morning on January 28, the old veteran quietly surrendered to his disease, a month shy of his seventy-fifth birthday. The attending physician pronounced his cause of death as cirrhosis of the liver.4 A hush fell over the community of Marshall. “In every groupe [sic], where his death was announced, silence reigned for a few moments,” the local newspaper reported, “and after deep drawn sighs, such expressions of regret as each individual could command followed.” A mass meeting convened that afternoon and selected a committee—headed by Lane’s former partner, Charles H. McGill—to arrange for the general’s funeral. That evening, the Messenger released its regular issue, with its entire front page devoted to Lane’s life, death, and the plans for his funeral. “Truthfully can it be said, that no man ever lived and died in Harrison county who was more universally admired,” the Messenger observed.5 At nine in the morning on January 30, a bell rang out over the town, and the mourners—3,500 strong—gathered at the courthouse. The funeral was probably the largest in Marshall, before or...

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