Recollections of Early Texas (23 page)

During the administration of Lamar and Burnet the situation of our Republic was one of intense and almost unabated excitement. Early in 1839 Canales succeeded Filisola in command at Matamoros, and strove in all possible ways to incite the hostility of the Indians against Texas. In March came the Cordova Rebellion, which has already been described. Then came the attempt to establish the
Republic of the Rio Grande,
in which not a few of our Texas soldiers took part, and which resulted in the famous betrayal and triumph of Colonel S. W. Jordan and his 260 men at Saltillo, on the 23rd of October.
¹³

President Lamar was not only opposed to annexation, but also to all conciliatory treatment of the Indians, and changed the policy of kindness as advocated by Houston into one of hostility and exclusion, proposing to “mark the boundary of the Republic with the sword” if necessary. Of course, this tended to increase the complications and arouse the hostility of the savages, whose hunting grounds were so rapidly passing from their possession.

In 1840 came the treaty with the Comanches at San An
tonio, resulting in the killing of the warriors, which has also been described. Then in August came the atrocious raid resulting in the Battle of Plum Creek. And now, in October, Colonel John H. Moore* made his second raid
¹⁴
against the Comanches, more telling in its effects than his previous one, wherein nothing was accomplished. An advantage at one time secure and promising was ignored, and like all neglected opportunities, brought disaster, defeat, or nothing. It is not only by the mistakes of others, but also by their own past blunders that wise men rectify and improve their lives. So Colonel Moore had some light from the raid of the previous year to guide him now.

He commanded between eighty and ninety Texans, and was accompanied by a small band of Lipans under their celebrated chief, Castro.
¹⁵
All necessary preparations for an extensive campaign had been made, the army carrying along about sixty beeves. Going up the Colorado and on to the Red Fork, they noted frequent signs of Indians in the curious pictures and hieroglyphics on the rocks. Even a rude, uncultured savage toys with art, and unconsciously pays tribute to various branches of science, proving it to be one of the natural instincts of humanity to find pleasure in mental exercise.

Noting their grotesque drawings and further on finding pecan hulls just lately scattered, indeed, the signs became so abundant and fresh that the command, concluding that the Indian encampment was very near, stopped in ambush under a mountain, while Castro sent out a few of his warriors to reconnoiter. The little detachment started early in the morning and was gone nearly all day. Our men grew restless and
impatient as the hours dragged along without alarm or adventure. The old Lipan chief gave special signs of uneasiness, and when evening came with no sign of his scouts, he went out on the mountain top and stationed himself “like the watchman on the tower,” eagerly waiting and watching.

At length, he called to the men below, and pointing westward, said his scouts were coming, and moreover, he said they had discovered an Indian village. Afar off, two or three miles, he had seen and understood their shield signal, and thus knew with what success their efforts had been crowned long before they reached the army. Sure enough, they came, ready to lead the way to the enemy, and the army immediately took up line of march, reaching the Comanche village in time to make the attack by daylight next morning.

The charge was made on horseback this time, taking one item from past experience—i.e., never to leave horses behind without guards. The savages were completely surprised, but made some resistance as they were driven into the river, falling as they fled before the determined Texans. Some were shot in the water and were drowned, while others lived to reach the other side of the river, where pursuit and search were still continued, for the Indians hid themselves with their characteristic cunning and quickness.

Judge Eastland and Charles Shuff of Fayette County had quite an amusing little adventure in this battle. They came upon an Indian lad about fourteen years old, who instead of surrender or flight made bold and persistent efforts to defend himself. Their first impulse was to shoot him, but seeing that he was a mere boy, they concluded to take him alive if possible. But even when they had closed in around him, snatching up a mesquite limb he kept them at a respectful distance, flailing right and left as they endeavored to catch him. Another gun was raised to shoot him, but Judge Eastland interposed and knocked it up, claiming that the boy deserved to
be spared for his bravery and pluck. So, after some time, he was captured, together with thirty or forty others, while a great many were killed. Indeed, it was impossible to estimate the number they lost, many being killed in the village, in the river, and in the prairie across the river. It was said that the water was red with human blood, but the waters of the Red Fork of the Colorado are always clay-dyed. However that might be, the slaughter was terrible, and this raid was a considerable blow to the Comanches, the most deadly and most persistent of all our savage foes.
¹⁶

A great deal of the plunder found in this Indian village was recognized as that taken from Linnville the previous summer, and this was doubtless the identical band which had made that raid.

A curious relic of civilized government and times was also found here upon one of the slain warriors. A silver medal, anchor-shaped, bearing date and seal of the United States to an Indian, but hardly to a Comanche, for that tribe cherished eternal hatred and hostility toward the white man, and it is a subject for curiosity to think how came this memorial from the highest power in our land to be treasured by one of our most bitter foes. Strange, with their cruelty and inhumanity, they possessed a rude idea of beauty, and were fond of displaying their taste for trinkets and trumpery.

The wounded Indians were left in one large wigwam in care of a few squaws, and our men, after destroying the rest of the village, struck out for home. All the way back to

Austin they were troubled by small bands of Indians, who dogged them incessantly, but skillfully escaped being caught. The Indians strove in every way to get some revenge or satisfaction, and when on the Pedernales even dared to crawl in through the guards, stealing four horses, including the fine saddle mule of Colonel Moore.

As soon as they had gone out of line of danger, they gave a keen and triumphant yell, which aroused our men, but being unable to find any Indians, all retired again, resting under the impression that they had acted under a false alarm. In the morning, though, the missing horses revealed the theft of the night, but it was too late for pursuit, so they came on, arriving at Austin with plunder, horses, and prisoners—and no loss of life in the fight.

One of our soldiers, however, died on this campaign, being seized with sore throat. This man, Garrett Harrell
¹⁷
by name, developed a choking “quinaz” [quinsy?], something very similar to, if not identical with, diphtheria.

The citizens of the now thriving young capital city were exultant over this successful campaign and gave a splendid ball in honor of the returning soldiers, nearly all of whom attended. A ditched field below Waller's Creek was selected for penning the horses, and as they were at home, guards were stationed only at the gate. While the ball went merrily on and the sentinels at the gate stood at their post, feeling secure in their vigilance, the persistent savages slipped around, filled up the ditch, and stole thirty or forty horses! So our men were partially foiled at last, and once again quite a number were compelled to walk home.

The French Minister, M. de Saligny,
¹⁸
who lived on the
edge of Austin, taking a great fancy to the young Indian lad who had wielded the mesquite brush so vigorously, received him as a present from the Texas soldiers. His subsequent history furnishes a somewhat amusing instance of the cunning and daring of the Indian, even in childhood. The residence of the minister was on a hill commanding a good view of the surrounding country. Gradually the young Comanche grew into his new life, until he seemed to feel at home and satisfied, so that he was allowed many privileges. His apparent content and good conduct won confidence, until he was trusted almost anywhere. In the evening he would ride the fine saddle horse of De Saligny all around, while the French consul would sit on his gallery and watch him without thought of fear or suspicion. Thus for a considerable time he would ride gaily around day after day, coming in every time.

One evening, however, he rode his usual round, then enlarging his circle, he went round again, and still enlarging the circle further and further, until he circled out of sight, and was never more heard of.

Judge Eastland brought home from this raid another bright, fine-looking Indian boy, eight or ten years old, whom he named Sam Houston. His succeeding history was not without interest.

Arriving at home all very dirty and very tired, Judge Eastland and Captain Dawson went immediately to the creek for a bath, taking the captive boy with them, who watched them with evident distrust at every turn, but not knowing English he could neither understand nor be understood. The weather was very cold, and they put some water in a pot on the fire to be heated; meanwhile the boy evinced greater alarm and uneasiness all the time, as he watched with increasing excitement their every movement. Months after
ward, when he had learned to speak our language, he gave an account of his fear and its cause. He said he felt absolutely certain that they intended boiling him in that pot. They cut off his hair and then dressed him in shirt and breeches, and it was indeed comical to notice how awkward he seemed in his new garb.

He was very apt, soon learning to speak English with perfect ease, and became much attached to the family, calling the judge “father,” as did his own children. After he had been here for years and was quite a large boy, he was demanded by his tribe after a treaty and exchange of prisoners. He seemed very much distressed, even weeping bitterly, and when finally forced to go, he declared that he would not live among Indians; he said he would stay with them a while, then steal some fine horses and come back to “father.”

Years afterward Colonel [John R.] Baylor, who was government agent among the Indians, saw a Comanche warrior whom he recognized as Sam. The Comanche at first feigned not to know him, but at length acknowledged his identity with the little captive boy. Now he was grown and married to one of his own tribe, with neither the intention nor the desire of ever returning to civilization.

Some time later, Colonel Baylor heard a great sound of wailing and lamentation among the Indians. Upon inquiry he learned that Sam Houston with his entire family had gone out on a thieving expedition, and all had been killed except one who escaped to tell the news, and hence this loud distress.

The oldest man I ever saw, at least judging from appearances and every available sign, went out under Castro with this command, and I think often of the poor old Lipan warrior, known as “Pole Cat.” He seemed completely dried up; he was bald-headed except for a few scattering hairs, which were long and as white as snow. He scarcely seemed like a living man, entirely within himself. He went along
unarmed and took no part or parcel in the questions and pleasures which agitated his comrades. At length, one of our men asked him why he came on that campaign, so old, so feeble, and without arms.

The broken-down old Lipan, pointing long, bony fingers to the mountains and valleys around him, answered slowly and with effort, “I came to take a last look at my old hunting grounds!”

Ah! Old warrior, you felt that your dim eyes would soon close forever! You thought of the wonderful changes you had known and would know as you gazed upon the wild scenes, amid which you had reveled when your heart was young and strong! But these mighty changes were not confined to your own waning life and strength. You are gone to your “happy hunting grounds” and so, too, that prairie and wildwood are among the things of a dead past, hewn down and buried by civilization and progress! Many of us cannot repress a sigh of something like regret or sadness as we watch new worlds of action and of life rise above them, while the resources of our land are being developed, and we are justly proud of Texas, yet we can understand something of the feeling which impelled that warrior to toil along that dreary march of near three hundred miles “to take a last look at the old hunting grounds!”

CHAPTER XI

In All Fairness . . .

Bowie's celebrated fight on the San Saba in 1831 has been often told and commented upon, and very justly, for no body of men ever displayed greater courage and heroism than was displayed by the Bowie brothers and their companions in this fight.
¹
Whenever I see an account of this desperate struggle or hear allusions made to it, however, I can but recall a few other encounters of equal desperation and courage of which I have seldom seen the slightest mention.

For instance, Captain Bird's fight with the Comanches a few years later—in 1837 or 1838. This occurred at a time when all the Indian tribes were very bitter in their hostility against the whites, and tragedies most cruel and horrible were quite common. Due to this prevalence of danger and bloodshed, several minute companies protected the frontier, one of which was commanded by Captain Bird,
²
who lived
in Washington County. In the fall, I think it was, this company, comprising not more than fifteen men, went out on a raid against the Indians.

On a little creek running into the Leon River five or six miles east of Belton, since then known as Bird's Creek, they came upon five or six Indians—merely a decoy squad. Bird's men pursued them and were led over a hill into a band of nearly one hundred Comanches, who received them with a heavy shower of arrows. Seeing the fearful odds against them our men retreated and took shelter in a hollow, one of our small number already being wounded. The affray commenced early in the morning. All through the day the Comanches charged upon the little band, who held their ground amid a shower of deadly arrows and bullets. Yes, they held their ground, while a dreadful destruction went on around them. Captain Bird was killed and several of our men fell bleeding to the ground, and still the fight went on—fiercely and almost uninterrupted all day long. Finally, in the evening, the chief of the Comanches was killed and they retreated in dismay and confusion, thus closing the terrible conflict.