Recollections of Early Texas (20 page)

Coming to Texas at an early day they at once identified themselves with her in all her struggles for independence and freedom, always being among the first to strike for her defense and preservation. A large family, consisting of five boys and two girls, they came and took hold of the rough wild life as true men and women, having the courage and the good sense to adapt themselves to all its circumstances. And as the years rolled on, they mastered the many difficulties and trials of the situation, rising above its discouragements.

The new era of peace and prosperity found them all alive and prosperous, and now comes the tragedy all untimely and terrible as such things always are. It was after 1845. A time of peace was here. Men had almost forgotten the old days, when savages lurked in cruel malice, waiting for the unwary and the helpless. The youngest boy, Daniel, and a Mr. Adkinson went out fishing on the river. Mike Hornsby, who told me this incident, says he remembers very distinctly the morning they left home. He was a very small child, but begged and cried to accompany his Uncle Daniel on the fatal excursion. His request was refused, but the desire and grief with the added horrors resulting fixed the facts upon the child's mind.

The two young men went unarmed, without fear or suspicion, and soon settled down to fish under a high bluff on the river's bank. No note of warning mingled with the liquid flow of the winding waves; no whisper of treachery or murder came in the south wind's kiss—no shadow dimmed the spring sunshine. But from behind, a cruel death came suddenly and surely. A band of Comanches slipped up and announced their deadly purpose by sending a shower of arrows down upon their unarmed and helpless victims. Hemmed in as they were on the river's brink, the water was their only refuge and into its depths they sprang, and made vigorous strokes for the opposite bank. Immediately at their heels came the band and into the river they also plunged. The lifeless bodies of the unfortunate young men bore terrible evidence of the ending of that dark day's deeds.

It seemed that they would come in reach of young Adkinson and strike or cut him with their sharp arrows and spikes, as his body was badly gashed, and finally coming to shallow water they overtook, killed, scalped, and as a crowning outrage, disemboweled him. His body was quickly and easily found. It was a harder matter to learn anything of the fate of young Daniel Hornsby, however. From all signs he escaped the ruthless touch of their barbarity, and they never caught him at all. Mercifully the cooling waters had closed over him, giving him peaceful escape from so violent a death. After considerable difficulty, delay, and agonizing suspense, the poor dead boy was drawn from his watery grave and thus came the highest sacrifice borne by this heroic family!
¹

Texas history holds the name of Colonel Jack Hays prominently among those of her brave soldiers. Coming from Tennessee to Texas before her annexation to the United
States, he was commissioned by President Houston to raise a ranging company for the protection of the western frontier. This is said to be the first regularly organized company of rangers in the service of this western country. John Wilbarger, in his recent
Indian Depredations in Texas,
says, “With this small company, for it never numbered more than three score men, Colonel Hays effectually protected a vast scope of frontier country, reaching from Corpus Christi, on the gulf, to the head waters of the Frio and Nueces Rivers.”
²

From a number of his brave adventures and raids I have procured the following account from my old fellow soldier, [Cicero] Rufus Perry,* who participated in the scenes herein described. The old soldiers call it “Hays's Fight on the Pinta Trail,” which took place near the head of Salado Creek. In the summer of 1844 a company of only thirteen men under Colonel Hays started from camp at Hackey Madea in search of Indians. After traveling for some time, they discovered five Indians some distance off, close to a thicket. Instead of attacking these five, Hays came right on through the brush and charged the main band, which was forming line behind the others. The Indians charged, too, and ran right through our lines two or three times. Three or four warriors would come together. Here Colt's five-shooter was first used—two cylinders and both loaded. The Indians were astonished and terrified at the white men shooting their “butcher knives” at them, and soon retreated in confusion and dismay. One of the boys killed their chief and this added to their consternation. However, they fought as they retreated, the running fight continuing for about ten miles. Sam Walker and Ad Gillespie determined to kill one Indian apiece and started
after them. The Indians, resorting to an old trick, fell in behind them and speared the both severely, but both got well, and lived to give faithful service for Texas afterward. Finally both of them were killed in the Mexican War.

In the fight two horses and saddles were taken, but not one Indian. On the next day two of the men, Peter Fohr
³
and Andrew Erskine,
⁴
who were left at camp during the fight, saw five Indians coming toward the camp and killed all of them. Peter Fohr was killed and Andrew Erskine wounded. See what odds here! Eleven white men against sixty Indians out in the open prairie, and back at camp two white men against five Indians!—and this was only one adventure of the many through which they passed.

In 1847 General Winfield Scott called for volunteers. Colonel Hays took half the force and made a raid into Mexico while [Col. Peter H.] Bell held the other half on the frontier for protection. The first fight of any note made by Hays in Mexico occurred then, and the whole campaign or raid was full of interest. At Vera Cruz they took line of march for Mexico City, and being the first soldiers after Scott they naturally anticipated an attack all the time. Their fears were, however, unfounded and from Puebla they were ordered one hundred miles south.

The object of this raid was the capture of Mexican robbers. At this time the guerrilla band might have been termed an organized army, working systematically and with telling effect upon the peace and prosperity of Texas. Traveling thus far without sign of danger or trouble of any kind, the officers grew very lenient—even lax—and our men enjoyed every privilege.

At Matamoros they found abundant quantities of whiskey and various Mexican drinks, as well as government stores and fine horses stolen and held by the guerrillas. The bowl went merrily around, and next morning they marched back for Puebla, thoroughly out of fighting trim in every respect, and seldom did soldiers ever march in greater confusion and disorder.

Captain [Jacob] Roberts' company was in advance, and the “lively” little squad suddenly received a charge from a guerrilla band, numbering about eight hundred! They retreated in double-quick time back to the main army. General Walter P. Lane ordered the discharge of artillery, and the men who manned the cannon were too drunk for action! There was no time for deliberation or delay. The need of the hour was action, prompt and voluntary. Hays and two or three others, dismounting, fired the cannon and then charged with about one hundred men right into the enemy's ranks. Meanwhile, excitement and danger had in a measure sobered the men. As the fight continued up a long slant or hill, Lieutenant Ridgeby, a brave soldier and an officer from the United States Army, called out, “Boys, I am shot all to pieces!” Upon being urged to go back and find a doctor, he answered, “No, I will fight till I die,” which he did.

At the top of the hill they received a fresh charge from another band, and Hays ordered a retreat. Now they fought between two guerrilla forces, and soon it was a hand-to-hand fight, in which the Texans and Mexicans were all mixed and commingled, going and coming. Captain Roberts had his horse shot from under him just as the retreat commenced, and several of our men were killed, but another discharge of artillery finally dispersed the Mexicans.

At Matamoros a good many oxcarts had been “pressed” and loaded with government arms, and now on the homeward march the teams began to fail, until at night orders were
received to burn the carts, break the sabers, and destroy all the confiscated property, which had become only an impediment to the progress of the army. It was very dark and a slow, miserable drizzle made the surrounding night seem indeed “a darkness to be felt,” as the blaze of the burning carts flared and flashed in the gloom. Just as the fire was getting under good headway a fresh charge from an unknown enemy came, and men stood in doubt while bullets whistled up and down. The volley was quickly over, however, and upon investigation loaded muskets were found to have been burned with the carts, causing the “fresh charge.” Marvelous to say, nobody was hurt.

From Puebla on to Mexico City, where Scott held headquarters, they traveled slowly but surely. At dusk one evening they marched for Toulon Singo. Traveling in a gallop across a mountain it was wonderful to note the variations of temperature or climate, even in a single night. At dark they left tender young orange shrubs, with leaves just “wooed from out the bud” by the balmy air and dewy freshness of springtime. On they galloped, and at midnight they found themselves in an icy winter clime on the summit of the mountain, the weather literally freezing cold. Still forward and daylight revealed to them a glorious summer land, where they could gather ripe oranges in passing.

Finding no guerrillas at Toulon Singo, they kept an unbroken march on to Secqualtapan, about one hundred miles distant, and there they found a very large guerrilla band, quartered or stationed over the town. By thorough and cautious reconnoiter of the place they soon learned the whereabouts of the different guerrilla quarters, and the command scattered, different companies going to different localities.

Colonel Ford was adjutant. Captain Roberts being sick, his company was commanded by Lieutenant Dan Grady,* my neighbor, who is another loyal and devoted Texan, the
greater part of whose life has been spent in active service for our state. His company charged upon one of the guerrilla quarters, and one man was instantly killed and several were wounded. The Mexicans had every advantage, being safely housed, and Grady soon ordered Private Swope to fire their quarters. Climbing from the tremendous gate to the stone wall, thence the shingles were easily fired, as the roofs were very low. No sooner did the shingles blaze than a white flag was shoved out in token of surrender. The bodies of the dead, with the quarters, were burned by the time the prisoners and wounded could be taken out. This occurred in one of those long dry spells so common in that section, and timber burned like powder. Sheets of burning shingles were raised by heat and flame and borne to adjacent roofs, which in turn would blaze and burn like a flash. Destruction of the town was so rapid that the army had to tear down buildings in order to save quarters for the night. Upon leaving the next morning, another touch of the match, another blaze, and the army of Texans looked back as they marched out to see only a mass of smoke and ashes, where yesterday stood a town.

Our entire body of men were cavalry, while the captured guerrilla forces were on foot, but commanded by their own officers, who quirted them along as if they had been beasts of burden, keeping them in a trot along with the cavalrymen, meanwhile bearing the wounded men on litters. Four men were thus hurried forward with a litter until broken down, then four fresh ones would pass under and take the burden, while the tired ones would trot on without a halt in ranks! And thus the march was continued to headquarters in Mexico City.

While there one of our men, an old gray-haired Dutchman, was found in one of the hardest, roughest portions of the city, murdered—terribly cut and mutilated. Our soldiers
avenged his death by killing a few in the immediate locality. This in turn aroused others, until about forty Mexicans were killed as a result of the death of the old Dutchman.

Five or six hundred soldiers collected and were eager to rob the whole place and kill its inmates, and only firm interference of the officers subdued the spirit of insubordination until they reached Texas soil again.

Now came one of the last, as well as most effectual raids ever made against the Indians. It occurred in 1847. Captain Samuel Highsmith
⁵
had commanded a company under Hays during the Mexican War. It was detached to protect the frontier, which was still often and severely troubled by Indian invasion. The company was stationed near what is known as the “Enchanted Rock,” fourteen miles from Fredericksburg, on Crabapple Creek. This rock, by the way, is a very remarkable freak of nature, being solid granite and covering an area of six hundred and forty acres of land, it is studded here and there with a kind of glittering material that resembles diamonds.

All through this vicinity the Indians had found easy victims among the German settlers. Captain Highsmith, camping on Crabapple Creek, sent out a small scouting party, consisting of white men and one Delaware Indian. Returning in a short time they reported a large Indian trail coming from the Fredericksburg vicinity.

Highsmith started out immediately with his company, following the trail with all possible speed. They soon came upon about forty Waco Indians encamped on the Llano
River. The warriors were at dinner and did not perceive the whites until they were right on them and in gunshot distance. Highsmith, however, thought it best to parley, wishing to discover the character and intentions of the band before any attack was made upon them. So John Connor, the Delaware scout,
⁶
was appointed spokesman and interpreter. He first called for the chief of the Wacoes. Upon appearance of the old chief a few questions were asked, which the chief answered in a surly, defiant manner. Connor, seeing that they were hostile, warned Highsmith to open fire upon them.

Noting the words of the Delaware, the Waco chief, helpless to give other aid to his men save that of warning, placed his hand behind his back and motioned for his men to run. Seeing the preparations among the whites for battle, he himself turned to run, but was killed instantly by Highsmith as he turned. When this happened the Indians retreated in disorder and confusion with the whites at their heels, firing as they ran. Without thought of anything but their great and imminent danger, the Indians ran to the river, which was one hundred yards wide at that point, and plunged wildly into its depths.