Recollections of Early Texas (5 page)

As they came on homeward, they discovered two Indians on foot about a half-mile from them. The Indians were making for a timber which was still a half-mile further on. Some of the company were well mounted, and they instantly put out at full speed in pursuit. The young warriors outran the horses and reached the timber in time to conceal themselves before their pursuers came up. The whites partially surrounded the thicket, while some were sent in on foot to “drive” it. Soon they found and shot one, and all were busy hunting the other one. At length, Smith Hornsby, seeing him, shot, but missed him! The Indian then shot and wounded him in the shoulder. Having only a discharged gun and suffering from his wound, he started from the brush, at the same time calling out, “Here's the Indian!” One of the surrounding party, William Magill,* in his excitement and haste, mistook Hornsby for the missing Indian, shot, and tore the unfortunate man's arm literally into pieces. A physician who belonged to the company, after an examination, declared that amputation of his arm was his only chance for life. He positively refused to submit to the operation, declaring he preferred death to losing his arm. So, after lingering along in great pain for a day or two, he died and was buried according to the custom of the times.

The earth was packed and smoothed above the body until perfectly level, then a fire was kindled upon the spot and left burning. Thus our dead slept in peace, concealed by a seeming campfire. This precaution was observed in order to prevent Indians from digging up the bodies and taking their scalps.

On this raid, Colonel Neill adopted a singular, if not barbarous, method of sending destruction upon the Indians.
Having procured some smallpox virus, he vaccinated one of the captive warriors, and then released him to carry the infection into his tribe! Nothing was ever heard as to the success or failure of this project.

The subsequent history of one of these captives, a squaw, is not only interesting, but somewhat remarkable. After living in town a while, she seemed to have a growing and abiding horror of Indians, so that when a treaty and exchange of prisoners were made, she pleaded with tears to be allowed to remain with the whites. Sometime afterward, a Mr. [Sumner] Bacon preached in Bastrop, and never having before seen a congregation or heard preaching, she imagined that the whites were holding a council to kill her, and although several tried to quiet her she ran away that night and was never heard of again.

Our settlers now had a short period of peace, the past raid having resulted in five or six captives, besides driving the thieves far from their accustomed haunts. But the quiet was of short duration and once more our citizens were aroused to extreme indignation and horror by Indian cruelty. Josiah Wilbarger, Stranuther,
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[Thomas] Christian, and two others [James Standifer* and
        
Haynie
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] from Bastrop went above Austin and around Brushy Creek on a hunting and reconnoitering excursion. One morning in the course of their rambling they came upon the track of one Indian, which was evidently just made. They felt sure that this solitary warrior
was not far off, and pursuing his trail far enough to find signs of other Indians, they concluded to retrace their steps and get home. Four miles from Austin they camped for dinner, and while eating were attacked by a large band of Waco Indians—about thirty in number. Only two of the horses had been tied, while the other three, having been turned loose to graze, were out of sight. At the appearance of the savages, the two hunters whose horses were at hand mounted and fled, leaving their three companions above named to their fate. Each of these in their extremity took to a tree, Indian fashion, and prepared to defend himself as best he could, though against fearful odds.

Wilbarger, from his position, could see only the hip of one of the warriors, but taking aim, fired at that, the shot taking immediate effect. A shot aimed at Christian only took his powder from him, and having procured powder from Wilbarger, he was trying to make his way back to his first hiding place when he received a shot in the thigh and was forced to retreat. At the same time, Stranuther received a shot in the bowels, and retreated, vomiting as he went. Mr. Wilbarger had his finger on the trigger ready to shoot, when a ball struck him on the back of the neck, “creasing” him, as it is called. He realized that the Indians were scalping him and fainted just as Christian fired.

Upon returning to consciousness, his ears were greeted by loud yells and piercing wails, demonstrations of wrath and grief, which he supposed was caused by the death of one of their warriors. Those who stood over him went to join in the lamentations, leaving him for dead. He now had a short time in which to collect his wits and try to save the life which the savages thought they had taken. He lay very still, feigning death, and soon they returned as if to ascertain whether or not he was really dead. In their excitement they were deceived and left him without further harm. Cautiously, he
raised his head and watched them, as they caught the loose horses and disappeared. Then, almost dead from pain in neck and head, he dragged himself into a hole of water nearby, lying there a day and night, alone and in excruciating pain—twenty miles from home and friends, and in constant fear of again falling into the hands of the Indians. His suffering needs no comment, and words of description cannot touch a situation so terrible.

In the meantime the two who had escaped made all possible speed to Bastrop, where they reported their three comrades as killed, having heard the shots and knowing the strength of the Wacoes. Of course, these tidings created the greatest excitement, and immediately a crowd of citizens went out to find and bury the bodies of the unfortunate men, who only a few days before had gone out from their midst in good health and hopes, never dreaming of what horrors awaited them in the near future.

A short distance from the scene of the brief but desperate struggle the company first found Wilbarger, scalped and crippled, covered with mud and blood, and sitting under a tree, resting after having toiled himself along a few yards toward home. Poor man! It is shocking to imagine what intense agony he must have suffered, for in his wounds worms were already at work, seeming to anticipate dissolution which seemed so near. Hurriedly some of his friends brought him home, while the crowd went on to find the other two victims, of whom he had seen nothing since the last shot of Christian, which he heard just as he fainted. Very soon and without difficulty they found both killed and scalped near the scene of the encounter.

Having buried the bodies as decently as circumstances would allow, they then took to the trail of the Wacoes. Very soon they found the body of a warrior who had been shot through the head. He was carefully wrapped in a buffalo
skin and concealed in a dense thicket, which they were led to search by seeing the sky above thick with buzzards. It was doubtless the death of this warrior which caused the yelling and lamentations that saved Wilbarger's life. They also found hanging on a tree one of the scalps—the Indians having probably found some objection to it, and thus discarded it. The trail was very old and obscure, and having little encouragement to pursue it, the company at length came home. Wilbarger survived this escape several years, but his scalp wound was never entirely healed, and finally caused his death.
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Later on in the same year a young man by the name of Harris came to Bastrop from Alabama, and was soon well known in our community as a constant and most devoted hunter. Out on a buffalo hunt alone, he once discovered fresh Indian signs, and hearing a shot prudently came home. In a day or two he started again, accompanied by two of his friends, McDonald and Blakey, all still intent upon hunting buffalo below Austin. Coming to a steep bluff, two of them dismounted and were leading their horses, when a band of Indians came upon them, killing Harris and McDonald, who, being on foot, were entirely at their mercy. Blakey, however, saw the danger in time and having never dismounted escaped, bringing home the news of the violent death of his friends. Immediately a small squad of men hastened to the scene, where they found both men killed and
scalped. In addition to the scalp of McDonald, the savages had also carried off one of his arms, which was cut off at the elbow.

Finding their trail the whites followed them some distance, at length finding where a large band had been encamped on Onion Creek. Here they found the arm of McDonald, which the savages had cooked to sufficient tenderness, and then removed one small bone, from which they constructed a peculiar signal whistle, much used by them in battle and in hunting.
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Again there were two brothers, Furnash by name [sons of Charles Furnash*], who had settled on the Brazos, and together with a Mr. Gleason had gone in pursuit of some horses stolen from them by Mexicans. Finding the thieves with their horses out near San Antonio and having thoroughly “quirted” or chastised them, they started home with the horses. Late one evening, just as they were ready to camp for the night, they killed some buffalo, and it has been thought the report of their guns attracted the Indians. At any rate, it being very cold, they built a large fire and lay down to sleep. About daylight a party of Indians crawled up in gunshot, unperceived, and fired upon them, breaking the arm of Gleason and mortally wounding the elder Furnash brother. Jehu, the younger of the brothers, a boy only sixteen years old, alone escaped unhurt. Seeing the three men rise after their attack, and not knowing whether any were hurt, the Indians immediately retreated.

Amid the extreme danger of his position young Jehu lingered to saddle all three horses. Then, after trying in vain to help his brother to mount, the poor fellow being too nearly dead to ride, Jehu was at last persuaded by him to take Gleason and escape if he could, assuring him that he
was beyond help. So, with Gleason and his brother's horse, he came on to old Judge Smith's place,
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a mile east of the Colorado, and collecting four or five men he immediately started back to find and bury his brother. It was most remarkable how an inexperienced boy in a strange country under such conditions, could with unerring accuracy and without hesitation take, as it were, a beeline almost to the very spot where his brother lay dead. This was but one instance, however, out of many which had made Jehu Furnash well and widely known as a most extraordinary and almost supernatural woodsman.

About now our State entered upon a series of constant and severe troubles from the oppressions and innovations of Mexico on one hand and frequent thefts and murders by the Indians on the other, so that while Burleson held a force at San Antonio, which was comprised mostly of our men, our frontier was thereby left almost defenseless.
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The Indians were growing more and more troublesome, and Captain John Tumlinson raised a minute company of the few men and boys left at home. These held themselves in readiness for protecting the homes and families of the soldiers who were doing valiant service against Mexico. Very soon after the organization of this company a man by the name of Hibbans was traveling with his family just below Gonzales, when some Indians came upon them, killed him, and captured his wife with two children. They lashed Mrs. [Sarah] Hibbans* to a
horse, where she was forced to travel three days without rest or food, except small portions of raw buffalo tallow. It is painful to think of what the poor woman must have suffered apart from her great physical pain and fatigue, in beholding first the cruel death of her husband, and then that of her youngest child, her baby, of whom the savages grew tired and dashed his brains out against a tree.

They camped one night on the Colorado, just below where Austin now stands, and the Indians, as if to tantalize her, told her that “heap of Mexicans live just down the river a piece.” She silently put her wits to work to devise or find some means of escape, just as soon as possible. That night after the warriors were all asleep, she left her little four-year-old boy, knowing that to take him would render her escape impossible. The night was very dark, and the woman had to grope her way from the midst of the sleeping savages. While wandering still near the camp, she heard her child calling her. For a moment she hesitated. Her child was in distress, and her first impulse was to go to him and comfort him. Then thinking of finding friends who might aid her in rescuing him, she trampled under foot all the anguish of a mother's heart and moved resolutely onward.

Following the river down as well as she could, she at length came to some cows feeding on the prairie and concluded to try to drive them to their homes, thus hoping to find friends. She halloed at the cattle and fortunately their owner, Reuben Hornsby, was out after them, and hearing her voice went to her and took her to his home. As good luck would have it, Captain Tumlinson and his men were there upon arrival, and having heard the woman's tale, they immediately mounted and hastened to the well-known Indian passway—intending to intercept them there.

They came upon them just as they had finished supper. Already the captive boy was lashed to a mule, and they were
in the act of resuming their journey, when Tumlinson's men charged upon them, killing one and causing the others to stampede, leaving stolen goods, horses, child, and all. The little boy had more than one narrow escape that day, for in the skirmish, a Mr. [Conrad] Rohrer,* mistaking him for an Indian, raised his gun and tried to shoot him, but it refused to fire. Two of the whites were wounded, one, Elijah Ingrum,* had his arm shattered, and four or five years afterward, while out on a surveying excursion, was killed by Indians.

Some time about then, Bat Manlove* and John Edwards* started to Cole's Settlement in Washington County. They were riding leisurely along on the Gotier Trace when, upon turning a short bend of the road, they found themselves face to face with ten or fifteen Comanches. Extending their hands as they approached, they said, “Howdy, howdy.” Bat Manlove, knowing their friendly overtures could not be trusted, warned Edwards not to shake hands with them, at the same time dashing right through their midst, and made his escape. Edwards, not heeding the warning, was killed instantly.