Recollections of Early Texas (10 page)

Soon we saw dark red objects on the side of the hill, lying perfectly still in the grass. I pointed them out, at the same time declaring them to be Indians. No, they said it was a clump of red rocks. I knew the hill, however, and was certain no red rocks lay there. Then they agreed it was some red hogs belonging to Mrs. Lentz; still I was sure they were Indians. We still advanced slowly upon them and were in
sixty yards of them when our dogs sniffed in that direction and barked. Still my companions were unconvinced.

Suddenly William Barton said, “Something moved!”—and almost instantly the red rocks were seen to be Indians, who fired upon us; the blaze of their guns seeming to almost touch us. The hill seemed to be fairly alive with their moving bodies, thirty or forty warriors rushed upon us. We ran for dear life, but Henry Lentz, who was carrying our provisions on a slow mule, came very near being caught. His mule ran off, or shied to one side and would not go, till the Indians were almost ready to grab him. We advised him to throw off the pack, which he did, whereupon the animal took fright, and such running as it did is seldom seen! After a run of two hundred yards, we saw that none of them were riding and felt more secure. I proposed to turn and fire upon them, and wheeled my horse to shoot. I saw them coming in a string, whooping and yelling. Mr. Perry said, “Don't shoot! They'll return the fire and cripple our horses, then we will be caught for
sure!”
I took his advice and hurrying on we went to Bastrop that night to raise men to follow the Indians.

Next morning, twenty-five men were on the ground, finding a tomahawk, a knife, and a broken bowstring—signs which the Indians had left—as well as a plain trail leading to their old passway. In four miles we found where they had cooked and eaten our provisions, and must have spent the night. It was no trouble to follow them, as they seemed to have gone without fear, taking no pains to conceal their route. We got so near them that our horses would sniff and snort, and our hound barked, which probably caused the Indians to scatter, for immediately we lost our plain trail. According to their custom of perplexing their pursuers they separated and we found it impossible to go farther, so at nightfall we turned back for home, tired and disappointed.

Their raids were constant, and in this same spring occurred
one which brought quite an interesting little adventure into my own personal experience. About midnight I was awakened by the running of our cattle and the snorting of a wild mule, which we had left out, having put our horses in the stable. It was a freezing night, but without stopping to dress, I took my gun and slipped out to the stable to guard the horses. I sat there some time, till nearly frozen. I could see no Indians, nor sign of Indians, except an occasional disturbance among the cattle. I went into the house, dressed myself, kindled a little fire, and awoke my younger brother, William,* then about fourteen years old. Taking a gun apiece, we went out together.

We started across the truck patch, taking a short cut to the fence, then remembering how well Indians could hide in the long thick grass lining the fence corners, we left the fence about fifty yards to our left all around. My dog was with us, and we kept him very near us all the time. On looking around once, I saw a dark object between us and the house, but concluded it was the mule. In an instant, however, I saw the unmistakable form of a man step toward the fence. I tried to cock my gun, but it would not stand. I then pulled the hammer back and it fired clear. Thinking the Indians would run at this, I raised a regular Indian war whoop. About six men rose from the grass in the fence corners, and with an answering yell, rushed upon us. Seeing the odds, and bidding William to follow me, I broke for the house.

My dog, “General Cos,” running into the thick of the crowd, must have troubled them, for he was cut in two places. The Indians were evidently trying to cut us off from the house, which I think “General Cos” prevented.

In an instant I looked back and saw William snapping his gun at them. There was a large thicket nearby, and I told him to hide in that, while I, taking my derringer, went toward the house, and when about eighteen steps from the Indians,
I exerted by lungs to the utmost in another loud and prolonged yell, firing into their midst, whereupon they stopped, and I ran between them and the house, at the same time calling for William to follow. I thought of reloading, but found I had left all my ammunition in the house when I went in to get warm. I then snatched his gun and tried to fire it, but no use, three snaps and no discharge. We went in, and reloading, expected an attack upon the house every minute. They were making every imaginable noise—crying, whooping, and yelling.

Bob Pace, who was working at Mother's, and I got our horses and prepared to follow the Indians and to notify our neighbors. They were evidently carrying off their dead warrior, whom I was confident I had killed, and hearing our horses' feet, they dropped the body in the long grass, where he was afterward found.

Five or six men were at the scene of disturbance early the next morning. Upon a thorough examination of the ground there was nothing to be found except a tin cup, with its buckskin string cut by a bullet, and some wool from an Indian blanket—not one sign of blood. The sage grass was shoulder high and, of course, it was a matter of some difficulty to trail or trace anything. We struck a trail of four Indians, but in four miles came to a gravel ridge and lost the trail, then came home once more after a fruitless search.

The next morning Mother and I went to old Comanche
¹⁴
at the mouth of Onion Creek for a wagon, which she had ordered made. We spent the night at Mr. Collingsworth's, the wagonmaker. There had been so much horse stealing that we took every precaution to secure our horses. They were tied in the chimney corner, while Mr. Collingsworth
slept with his bed by the window, where he could see and hear any attempt that might be made to take them. I am clear of superstition, but I had a dream that night which was fully corroborated by subsequent events. About midnight I dreamed that Indians had stolen our horses. So vivid and plain did it seem that I woke Judge Smith, with whom I was sleeping, and told him about it. The old man turned, muttered something about dreams, and bade me go to sleep. In a short time Mr. Collingsworth raised the alarm—all our horses were gone. The thieves had come within four feet of his bed and cut the horses loose and taken them off. We then had to strike out afoot to borrow horses before any pursuit could be made.

Early the next morning six of us took their trail and followed them to Mr. Baker's home, where they had tried in vain to get into the stables, and then moved on. We followed the trail five or six miles up Onion Creek and here we were forced to abandon our pursuit, for a violent rain and sleet storm fell upon us and we had to come back to Mr. Collingsworth's. Here Mother and I were, twenty miles from home, and on foot. Then, too, we had left home in warm, bright weather and were unprepared for cold. I had on moccasins, pleasant and light in warm weather, but the coldest shoes on earth in cold weather. Mother bought a horse and rode home, while I walked.

Upon reaching home we saw that they had found the body of the Indian I had killed, about a half-mile from the house, lying in the grass, wrapped in a fine Mackinaw blanket. Still a half-mile farther on they found another blanket, with spots of blood and a bullet hole through it, a quirt, an Indian headdress, and the grass over a space of ten feet square was wallowed down; indeed it was plain that another Indian had been badly hurt, if not killed, and carried off. If possible they always carried their wounded or dead home with them.
This was to avoid having them scalped, it being a superstition that an Indian could never enter the Happy Hunting Ground if he lost his scalp, or for that matter, any part of his body. He must be whole—no limb or member missing.

After a steady walk of twenty miles, it was of some satisfaction to find that the thieves had not escaped entirely unhurt, and although they had stolen our horses, I had killed two of them.

There was a cowardly tribe among us, the Tonkawas, who were at peace with the whites, but hated all other Indians of every tribe. Only a short time before this a band of Wacoes had killed five of them while out hunting, and of course, this increased their hatred toward Indians. Hearing that I had killed one of their enemies, they came in a body, thirty of them, and insisted that I should go with them and show them the dead warrior. As we went, their excitement and speed increased, and every now and then they would trot on faster than ever, while I trotted with them, determined to keep up and see what they intended doing. When they discovered the body, they seemed wild with delight or frenzy. They sprang upon the body, scalped him, cut off both legs at the knees, both hands at the wrists, pulled out his fingernails and toenails, strung them around their necks, and then motioned for me to move aside. Seeing they meant further violence to the body, already horribly mutilated, I demanded why I must move. They said, “We must shoot him through the head for good luck.” I tried to stop them, but they would hear nothing, said they were
compelled
to shoot him for luck.

I moved aside and they shot, tearing the head literally in pieces. They then went back to the house and camped, getting me to furnish them some beef. They boiled their beef, and the hands and feet of the dead Waco together, turning them with the same hands. Upon inquiry, I found they intended having a dance, and would feed their squaws on
the hands and feet of the dead Indian, believing that this would make them bring forth brave men who would hate their enemies and be able to endure hardness and face dangers. They erected a pole, to which they attached the scalp, hands, and feet of the Waco, and then with horrible yells and gestures, all danced around it, while the squaws constantly danced up to the pole and took bites from the hands and feet and then would go back and dance again. They would prolong these dances three, five, and sometimes ten days.

Very soon, probably a month, after Hancock's horses were regained, they were again stolen. A small squad of men went immediately in pursuit, trailing them about twenty miles, when striking a mustang range, the trail was lost. We concluded to try to intercept them at their old passway between Onion Creek and Blanco. Reaching Blanco a little before sundown, we camped, and the next morning went on in search of the trail, but mustang tracks again bothered us, and we had to abandon the pursuit.

Again in this spring, when the farmers were all busy plowing, John Bright took his little brother and went hunting by moonlight in Cedar Creek bottom—turkey hunting. Having killed one, he was about to start home, when right beneath him on the road, he discovered a fresh moccasin track. He then hurried in order to reach home, and give the alarm. Hearing his horse-bell, he decided to drive his horses on home before him. Hearing a noise, he looked back and saw three Indians coming right at him. Turning, he fired upon them, and saw they were trying to cut him off from the house. The little boy held on to the turkey, and they reached home in safety. Mr. Bright took a light and found an abundance of blood, which led him to suppose he had wounded an Indian. He then mounted his horse and notified the neighbors. The men who came to call me, frightened the savages away from
our premises—having taken down the fence, they were going to take our horses. Frequently when they could not get a stable open, they would kill a horse with lances through the cracks.

I knew of one case where a horse was hobbled with a puzzle hobble, or a hobble that could be taken off only by those who understood it. The thieves, not being able to unfasten the hobble, killed the horse and cut off his feet in order to secure the hobbles for themselves.

About sunup the next morning, William Barton, John Bright, and myself started trailing the Indians. For three miles, at every step along the trail, a large drop of blood was found, and here under a live oak tree, from buckskin strings and other signs, we saw that they had dressed a wound. Part of the crowd evidently succeeded in getting horses, for the wounded man had been put on a horse and carried off, and all along the way blood drops marked the trail, which we followed six miles, then finding from all indications that their force was entirely too strong for us, we came back home.

CHAPTER V

Comanches, Caddoes, and Cherokees

Men were “too busy,” and from recent experiences, pursuit seemed worse than useless, so things went on without change, except that the raids became more common as we became more careless, until they were of almost weekly occurrence. Often the savages added murder to theft, so that there was no security to our citizens or property. When I attempt to recall even the most important of these attacks and raids, I find it absolutely impossible to give them exactly in order as to the
time
of their occurence. Suffice to say what happened, at the same time confessing my inability to give the exact date. I will try to recount some of the most interesting trials and persecutions of our citizens, which occurred along from 1839 to 1842.

The Indians seemed to be vigilant, and did not confine themselves to their raids upon our homes; surveyors and hunters seldom, if ever, escaped their attacks, and many entire parties were overpowered and slain. Early in 1839 (I think it was), a Mr. Webster, who was living in the Hornsby neighborhood, decided to move to his headright league of land lying upon the North San Gabriel. John Harvey,* the land surveyor, collected fourteen men to accompany him in surveying and laying off adjacent land. The men were to accompany Webster and board with his family while surveying. Harvey, having some business to detain him, let the company
of men and the family start on several days in advance of him. When they were only a few miles from their destination, they were attacked by a large band of Comanches who were, however, repulsed after a considerable fight, without loss of life to the surveying party, though one or two were wounded.

They immediately retreated to Brushy, determining to wend their way back to the settlements, after encountering a force so strong—entirely too strong for their small number. Anticipating an attack from Indians, that night before retiring they took every precaution to be ready, barricading themselves behind their wagons. Sure enough, early the next morning, a little before sunrise, the savages, reinforced and protected on all sides by timber, attacked them. The fate of the little party was, of course, sealed in the face of such odds, but from all the signs left afterwards, they made a brave and desperate fight for their lives. Arrow spikes and bullets had almost riddled the wheel spokes and tongues of the wagons, and it seemed that at last the fight was hand to hand, for guns broken and lying around had evidently been used as clubs in the terrible struggle.