Corpus Christi History by Murphy Givens

A strange story from Rockport

I have a news clip, with no date, that tells of a strange event in Rockport in the early part of the last century. The question is whether it happened and, if so, when?
   This article was sent to me by David M. Herring of Rockport. He said Helen Howard gave the clipping to him when they were collecting material for the book "Aransas." She found it in her grandmother's scrapbook.
   There's no date on the article, no byline, no source. It could have been printed in any newspaper around - San Antonio, Victoria, Corpus Christi, although the type doesn't look like the Caller's of a century ago.
   One clue in the article is the reference to Tarpon, which changed its name to Port Aransas in 1911. Another dating clue is the reference to Rockport's Del Mar Hotel, which was first the world-famous Aransas Hotel, but the name was changed sometime in the 1890s; it burned in 1919. Another clue is the use of a gasoline-powered launch.
   Herring estimates that this event happened, if it happened, about 1908, with a couple of years' margin of error, plus or minus. If anyone out there has information about this incident, give me a call.
   The headline reads, "A thrilling incident at Rockport; Out to sea drifts a child." I don't have space for the entire article, so I will synopsize the account, taking some liberties with the prose:
  
   At Rockport last Sunday an incident took place which those who saw wish never to look upon again. Their faces grew pale and their hearts sick with fear.
   Among the hundreds of visitors to Rockport was Mrs. James P. Moody of Waco. She had come down the week before to spend a month, bringing her two children, James, 5, and Minnie, 2. Her husband, at work in Waco, planned to join them.
   About 5 o'clock Sunday afternoon, when the surf in front of the Del Mar Hotel was crowded with bathers and the beach lined with people enjoying themselves, little Minnie was sitting on the sand playing with seashells. Her brother was playing in the surf with other children, the mother looking on.
   Just then an Italian vendor came along. He had a great bunch of balloons. Minnie, laughing, reached for the bright red and blue balloons and the vendor, thinking to please her, reached down and tied the cord holding the balloons around her little waist.
   She clapped her hands and jumped to her feet and, to the utter astonishment of the Italian, the little girl was lifted into the air, and a breeze began to waft her out to sea. Before people could react to grab her, she was above their heads, out of their reach, rising and drifting out over the bay.
   The mother was crying, wringing her hands. The beach in front of the hotel, the pavilion nearby, and the pier running out into the water were crowded with people. They watched, helpless, as the child, fastened to the balloons, rose higher and higher, now above the masts of the schooners. She was drifting away, with no hope of a rescue.
   Women became hysterical; men's faces were pale. The little child was being carried to sea, to land when, where and how no one wanted to think about. Nor was there any help. The child was beyond reach. The balloons could hold for hours.
   Just then a gasoline launch from Tarpon came to the landing place. Among the dozen or so people aboard was George Menefee, a railroad man from Denver. He had been spending a few weeks fishing and hunting in the area.
   Seeing the situation, the mother frantic with grief, the child drifting out to sea to an unknown but certain death, he brought his rifle up from the launch. Taking aim at one of the red balloons, he fired. Pop! The air went out of one balloon.
   The child ceased to rise, but still she drifted seaward, getting further away. Menefee took aim again, and hit another balloon. Slowly the clutch of balloons with their burden drifted across the bay, coming closer to the water all the while, with every boat along the shore following.
   At last, after what seemed an interminable time, the child came to earth again, on the sands of St. Joseph's Island, about a dozen yards from the water's edge, safe on dry land. Eagerly did the boats crowd the shoreline, and their occupants jumped into the shallow water and waded ashore to the child.
   They found little Minnie sitting on the sand, and when they picked her up she had her hands full of shells, saying, "Pretty shells for mama."
   This hour by the seashore on the eventful Sunday afternoon was one never to be forgotten by all in Rockport that day.
  

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