Recollections of Early Texas (7 page)

It took us a whole day to traverse that Brazos bottom, a distance of only
four miles!
As soon as we reached dry land, we camped, and after one day's rest, struck out for the Sabine—getting near the United States. The road was simply terrible, and upon reaching the Trinity River at Robbins' Ferry,
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we found that stream five miles wide and the bank was literally lined with families waiting to be crossed over, there being only one small ferryboat. Following the old, just rule of first come first serve, we had to wait a week before our turn came to be put across.

Just as we were getting on the ferryboat, we heard news of the Battle of San Jacinto on the 21st of April, but doubts were entertained as to its truth, there being so many false alarms flying through the country all the time. Going on five or six miles farther, however, we learned the particulars of the battle—the capture of Santa Anna, etc., which relieved us from present dread of Mexican troubles. After a week's rest, the refugee families scattered, some going farther east, while a few, among whom was my mother, came back to our same old home in Bastrop County on the Colorado. We had a pretty hard struggle getting along about then; two houses in the town had been burned and the country was sacked of everything except a few hogs.

It was now about the first of May, but the settlers hustled
around and soon had good prospects for a late crop. Then we occasionally had good beef. Some of the settlers, among whom were the Hornsby, Duty, and Rogers families, moved out of Bastrop and on to their respective localities above, and were trying to make a late crop. But now after a singular session of quiet in that quarter, Indian troubles began once more. The first tragedy occurred in the Hornsby neighborhood.

Messrs. Williams, Haggett, and three Hornsby brothers were at work in a field about a half-mile from old Reuben Hornsby's house. Williams and Haggett were working some distance apart from the Hornsby brothers, and seeing a band of ten or fifteen Comanches riding up, were naturally alarmed, but as they came nearer they saw that the warriors bore a white flag, which was always a token of friendly intentions. They therefore stood and were brutally shot down, after which the wretches made a rush for the Hornsby brothers, who ran for dear life, swam the river, and lay concealed in the bottom until dark, then crawled cautiously up to their home, expecting to find the inmates all dead, and Indians perhaps still there. Upon their approach, they found everything quiet. Fearing some trick, they hesitated a moment, then by way of a venture threw a stick at the house, whereupon their father spoke, and upon going in there was indeed a joyful meeting, for all were safe.
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Immediately after this a second murder occurred, equally cruel and unprovoked, and of course, the excitement and alarm increased among our citizens. Reuben Hornsby, in moving back to his home after the Runaway Scrape, had thoughtfully taken a supply of ammunition and it became generally known; the neighbors would frequently go to him for ammunition. Jim Craft,* Joe Rogers,* and another man had been there for ammunition and were on their way home. Within a mile of Joe Duty's house,
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they looked back and saw a band of Comanches charging in full speed upon them. There was a terrible race and they, at length, overtook Joe Rogers and killed him with a lance, in sight of the house.

Again, Conrad Rohrer went out to saddle his horse and was shot at his own gate
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by an Indian who had crawled up and awaited his opportunity. At the firing of the gun thirty or forty Indians ran off. The excitement became so intense and the Indians so bold in their outrages that all the families again left their homes and got together in Bastrop. Men went out from town in armed squads, and worked their
farms together, still tugging away at their late crops. Even this did not afford security from the savages, however, who seemed constantly on the alert.

Matthew Duty* and Mike Hornsby were driving cattle into Bastrop, when, noticing the cows in front raise their heads and give sign of seeing something unusual, they suspected that Indians were coming, and just did get home in time to escape a band of Indians who were pursuing hard behind them. Soon after this, Matthew Duty, who belonged to a squad working the Duty neighborhood, rode out one evening to look over the crop. He was just out of sight when guns were heard and in a minute his horse was seen coming back at full speed, without his rider. Blood on the saddle corroborated the dark truth suggested by the shots, and runners springing upon their horses broke for Bastrop. A squad of men went out and found him killed and scalped.

In the midst of all the excitement and horror of these Indian outrages, news came to us of another Mexican invasion. A fresh panic at once seized the families, and we had the Second Runaway Scrape. All of the families had gone in this escapade except the Woods, Berrys, and Harrises,
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and they had crossed the river and camped at the Cunningham place,
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about fifteen miles below Bastrop. At sunrise the next morning eighteen or twenty Comanches stampeded the horses, running them off, and one of our men, Alex Harris, barely escaped being taken by them. Realizing the danger of
the route, they decided not to go on by the Gotier [Goacher] Trace as first intended, but to come back and go down the river to La Grange. Arriving at the Barton place, three men, among whom was Monte Woods, had to go back to the Cunningham place for some stock or something that they had left behind. When about three-quarters of a mile from the house, they heard loud calling and screaming from their friends, and looking back, they found that the Indians were behind them, having come between them and the house. Now came a race for life, and a rough race it was, too, for the ground was just newly plowed. Several shots were fired, though nobody was hurt.

We suffered a good deal of uneasiness concerning some friends, Mr. Grassmire [Frederick W. Grassmeyer*] and Mrs. Orkenbor, who had already gone down the river in a flat boat, taking what plunder they could to La Grange. We thought the savages would surely find and kill them, but somehow they, too, escaped and reached their destination in safety.

Some of the Crafts had moved their families into the Cole's settlement in Washington County and were on their way back to their farms in Craft's Prairie. In three miles of home, coming to what is known as the J. D. place, a small cabin situated on a bluff belonging to J. D. Morris, they stopped to have lunch. While eating they heard a low peculiar hum of a song, but could not tell from whence it came. It aroused them, however, and they got their guns, when lo, a band of about eighteen Indians came up the hill. They evidently were not expecting to find white men there, for upon seeing them, they whirled and retreated in double-quick time. Old Captain Jim Craft shot and one warrior fell, or pretended to fall, then jumped up and ran on, whereupon there was a hardy laugh among them. They stopped across the creek in the prairie and a few shots were exchanged; then, seeing the
Indians were too strong for them, the white men retreated. There was a half-mile run through an open prairie, then seeing the savages in pursuit, they dodged into a thick post oak country and escaped unhurt.

The Second Runaway Scrape did not affect us as much materially as did the first, for it was not so wet, and when in fifteen or twenty miles of Washington-on-the-Brazos, we received news of Mexico's interior war, or war on herself, which quieted our fears from that source, and having brought our cows with us, we stayed awhile very comfortably. At length, however, Coleman and Billingsley brought companies up the river to protect the families, and we came on to Bastrop with Coleman's company.
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Once more the families stopped in town while the men came out into the prairie planting and working the farms, again in squads. In the fall of 1837 three families—the [Elisha] Bartons, Aliens, and ours, the Jenkinses [Sarah Jenkins Northcross*], moved across the river back to our old homes, where we found good crops awaiting us.

And still Indian assault and murder constantly threatened us. About now a man was moving a family of Negroes to Bastrop by way of the Gotier Trace, which lay through a perfect wilderness. When in about a day's travel of the Cunningham place, seeing some Indians and becoming alarmed, he drove very hard to get to the settlements that night. Failing, however, they had to camp on the Gotier Trace. They used every precaution, to be ready for the Indians, first tying their horses, and he or a Negro standing guard. Sometime in the night an Indian was discovered behind a tree with a bearskin extended, which he would
shake, trying to get the Negro to fire off his gun at that. But the Negro was too smart, so the Indian finally concluded to kill him. Again he was foiled, however, for the Negro being wide-awake noted his every move and fired at the same time, both shots taking effect, the Negro's arm and the Indian's thigh being broken. All ran off and left an old Negro woman asleep in the wagon. Coming on, they reported the attack. General Burleson took a squad of men and hastened to the scene. They found the woman unhurt, but the wagon plundered. Striking the trail, they followed it a short distance, when they were startled by a gun snapping near them. Looking around they found the wounded Indian, who was pluck to the end. Killing him they came home, without further pursuit.

Robert M. Coleman along now held a small fort
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on Walnut Creek, and one night from this fort our men saw a bright fire blaze up, away over on the west side of the river, near where Austin now stands. Immediately our light was put out. The soldiers knew the hill from which the light gleamed and after watching shadows come and go between them and the fire, they decided to go and investigate the matter, being very certain that the light was an Indian campfire. Lieutenant Wren, with a few men, was dispatched to the hill, near which they came upon eighteen or twenty horses staked out. Now came a dilemma. Of course, they knew Indians were very near, but in the deep, still darkness, who could tell where? Having secured their own and the
Indian horses, they commenced crawling around, looking for the sleeping warriors. As good luck would have it, an Indian coughed in his sleep and thus revealed their whereabouts. Wren then got his men together and crawling near waited for daylight. Just at dawn, before it was light enough for action, these savage children of the woods lay and answered the hoot of the owls and the whistling of the birds, all unconscious of their impending danger. Suddenly, as if suspecting or hearing something, one of the Indians arose to his feet and seemed listening. Joe Weeks had been appointed to fire and signal for attack, and an Irishman, Tom McKarnan, thinking it time to shoot, said in a loud stage whisper, audible all around, “Plug him, Weeks!”

Seeing they were discovered, Weeks did “plug” him, whereupon all fired and the Indians broke for a thicket close by. Just as they were entering the thicket one of the warriors, turning, fired one shot, which struck one of our men right in the mouth, killing him instantly. This ended the skirmish and bearing their dead man, our men came home without further action.
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Burleson, having heard nothing from the Gotier family in some time, grew uneasy, and went to see about them, fearing Indian assault. A terrible sight met his eyes upon arriving there. Five members of the family lay dead, and the rest gone, supposed to be prisoners. I will give the particulars of the
horrible affair just as they were given to me by a surviving son, who was among the captives and still relates the tragic story.

Old James Gotier [James Goacher*] and two sons were at work in the field a short distance from the house. Mrs. Jane Crawford, a widowed daughter of Gotier, was in the house while the old lady was rendering out lard in the yard; the children were at play nearby. She sent a little boy and girl to the creek after water and very soon she saw an Indian coming from the creek holding the girl by the throat to prevent her from screaming. They had choked the girl until she was bleeding at the nose. The old lady screamed to Mrs. Crawford, “Jane, the Indians have got your child!” and running into the house she seized one of the guns, which the men had very carelessly gone without. Jane begged her mother to let the gun alone, knowing that if the Indians saw her with it, they would kill her, but she raised the gun to fire and was killed in the act. The men in the field, hearing the gun, rushed in upon the scene unarmed and were also killed. The Indians then captured Mrs. Crawford, two brothers, and a little girl three or four years old, and struck out on foot for their village, making the captive woman carry her child and a bundle of salt. She became so tired that she concluded she would have to leave her child, and putting her down, started on, but hearing her call, and looking around, she saw the little one tottering along, trying to follow her. She turned to go back, and the Indians whipped her with quirts, or bowstrings, to her child and back, literally cutting the flesh with their blows.

They kept the unfortunate woman with her two children for several years, often treating her most cruelly. At last, however, deliverance came for them. An old trapper by the name of Spaulding found her, bought all of the family from the
Indians, and married Mrs. Crawford—bringing them all back to Bastrop.

I will now give another little Indian raid, merely as an illustration of Indian cunning and running ability. Thirty or forty Wacoes and Tawakonis made a raid on the Ebbins neighborhood about twelve miles below Bastrop and robbed the house of J. D. Morris, who would doubtless have been killed if he had been at home. Burleson, with fifteen or twenty men, took their trail, soon tracing them to a cedar brake on Piney Creek, about four miles above Bastrop. He then sent three men, Jonathan Burleson, Hutch Reid, and another man ahead as spies. The first thing they knew, they rode right into the Indian encampment, and were fired upon. They wheeled to run, but Jonathan Burleson was hemmed on a bluff nearly thirty feet high and made his horse leap the tremendous height. They all made their escape and got back to General Burleson “without a scratch.” They reported the Indians too strong for our small force and said they were in a cedar brake only three miles from town.