Recollections of Early Texas (6 page)

Then too [1850], John Wilbarger,* a Mr. Neal, and Dock Sullivan belonged to a company of Rangers on the Rio Grande, and having been home on a furlough were returning to their company. Riding along near the Nueces River they discovered four or five Indians approaching. Not fearing so small a force they dismounted and made ready to fight. What was their surprise and dismay to see a large band come on just behind them, and thus they were almost surrounded! The situation was truly a desperate one. Dock Sullivan was killed instantly on the spot. Wilbarger was also killed after a race of four miles, but from all signs he must have made not only a desperate run but a brave fight for his life.

Neal alone escaped. He was on foot and running with all his might when one of the Indians riding after him asked in good English, “Which way are you traveling, sir?” Not
wasting time or breath in a reply, he ran on, whereupon the Indian fired. The shot stunned him and he fell, apparently dead. His pursuer, after scalping him, left under the impression that he was dead. In a little while his consciousness returned to him and he made his escape, and according to latest accounts, he still lives to describe his
hairbreadth
escape.

CHAPTER III

Mexican Invasion

We come now to the fall of 1835, when without reservation or mercy Mexico threw aside all obligation involved in the treaty of 1824
¹
and became so despotic in her dealings with Texas, as to venture to seal her authority even by force of arms at Gonzales. This unwarrantable piece of tyranny and oppression of course aroused every loyal Texan, and there was a general rallying to arms and preparation for war.

I was a boy in my fifteenth year,
²
but was remarkably large and stout for my age. Besides, by constant practice, possessing by nature a good eye and steady nerves, I was an extraordinary shot, and as our citizens one after another took up arms and left home to face the Mexicans, I began to use every effort to gain my mother's consent for me to enter the army. It was all in vain, however, and she positively refused to give ear to such a thing until the siege of the Alamo, when a new call came for men. Then, with several friends to intercede in my behalf, we finally overcame her scruples and objections, and she consented. Since I have grown older, I know it must have been a trying ordeal for the lone woman to give up her oldest boy.

I enlisted in Captain Billingsley's company,
³
which was organized about ten miles below Bastrop, at what is now known as the “Old Burleson Place.”
⁴
About the first of March, 1836, we struck out for the appointed rendezvous, which was Gonzales. Ah! As I found myself among old friends and acquaintances, with all of a growing boy's appetite for good beef, bread, and adventure, I thought there had never been such fun as serving as a Texas soldier marching against Mexico.

Reaching Gonzales, we joined Edward Burleson's regiment, which was already encamped there and awaiting recruits. In about two weeks our commander-in-chief, General Sam Houston, came, marking quite an era in my life. I thought I had never seen so perfect a model of manliness and bravery, and my admiration knew no bounds.

Calling the men together at DeWitt's tavern in Gonzales, he delivered a short speech setting forth in stirring words the complications of troubles that threatened our Republic, finally closing with a rousing appeal to every Texan to be loyal and true in that hour of need and peril.
⁵
I yet consider him about the finest looking man I ever saw, as he stood over six feet tall, in the very prime of mature manhood. Things began to wear a more serious aspect now that I comprehended more fully the situation in all of its bearings, and in the still hours of the night as we lay and listened to the low ominous rumbling of cannons at San Antonio, I felt that we were engaged in no child's play. I now began to take in all of the responsibility, danger, and grandeur of a soldier's life.

While at Gonzales awaiting recruits, tidings came to us of the fall of the Alamo on the 6th of March, and of the terrible loss of 180 men, besides the band of 27 Texans who during the siege made their way into the fort and were
all
slain.
⁶
Many of the citizens of Gonzales perished in this wholesale slaughter of Texans, and I remembered most distinctly the shrieks of despair with which the soldiers' wives received news of the death of their husbands. The piercing wails of woe that reached our camps from these bereaved women thrilled me and filled me with feelings I cannot express, nor ever forget. I now could understand that there is woe in warfare, as well as glory and labor. Immediately after
these tidings we were removed to the east side of the Guadalupe River, where the soldiers were at once set to work throwing breastworks and making every preparation for battle.

A heavy gloom seemed to settle upon our men after the fall of the Alamo, and the oldest, most experienced soldiers could be found at all times collected about camps discussing the situation of affairs, and it would have been amusing to note the widely different views of the various questions under consideration, if they had not been of such vital importance to our Republic and her citizens.

It was a generally conceded point that the oncoming of the Mexican army was simply a question of time. Some thought Houston's most prudential course would be a retreat, while others more daring and impatient, clamored to “stand and fight unto death! Never retreat!”

One evening Mrs. Almaron Dickinson was sent to our troops from San Antonio—she and her child were the only white persons who were spared in the terrible massacre at the Alamo. She came to warn us to be in readiness for the advance of the Mexican army. Our spies corroborated her testimony by stating that they had seen three or four hundred cavalrymen approaching.

Houston at once dispatched a reconnoitering party to discover how strong and how near were the approaching forces. At the same time, collecting our men, he proceeded to draw them out in battle array. Here and now I first took my stand in the ranks for impending action, and the prospect of immediate battle had but the effect of increasing my ardor. I felt equal to any charge with my big rifle, and grew more eager for the conflict as it seemed nearer. I remember I stood beside Sampson Connell,* an old soldier who had weathered the storms of many years and had stood at the front in many struggles. He had served under Andrew
Jackson back in revolutionary times, giving from personal experience and observation all the details of the famous Battle of New Orleans and others. I can never forget the expression of countenance and the tone of voice with which the veteran soldier addressed me. Looking down almost pityingly upon me in all of my boyish inexperience, he said, “John, you are too young for this kind of business! You ought not to be here. You stay in camp and take care of the
baggage!”
I felt that this appeal was almost an insult to my dignity as a soldier, and looking him straight in the face, I answered zealously, “No, sir, I am here to fight, and would sooner die than leave my place in the ranks.”

The preparations were in vain, however, and my courage for the time being remained untested. The reconnoitering party, after a short absence, returned and reported the alarm entirely false. A large herd of beef cattle, which were being driven beyond the reach of Mexican invasion, had in the distance assumed the appearance of an advancing army. Houston now made another short speech to his men, and I can recall the ring of confidence contained in its closing words, “Why,” he said, “three or four hundred Mexicans would be as nothing to this force of Texans!”

Between ten and eleven o'clock that night, we were ordered to get us a day's rations and make ready for retreat. After a very brief period of bustle and confusion, each soldier fell in line with “knapsack on back and rifle on shoulder.” My knapsack consisted of about two pounds of bacon wrapped in a large Mackinaw blanket. We took the road leading into what is called the Burnham neighborhood in Fayette County, and after a tedious march camped the first night on Peach Creek only about ten miles from Gonzales. Now, after one day's steady march, carrying rifle, ammunition, and rations, tired and sleepy, I began to realize what endurance and fortitude are required in a soldier's life. Immediately after early
breakfast the next morning we were once more formed in line of battle and then ordered to fire, prime, and reload our arms, whereupon we again took up the line of retreat.

Here occurred my first disappointment in General Sam Houston, and some may regard it a small matter, but the sensation of surprised and wounded pride, mingled with indignation returns to me even now, when I recall the circumstances. I suppose he must have noticed how very young I was, and how tired I seemed, for having a Negro riding along behind him, he ordered him to dismount and told me I could ride a while, at the same time bidding me to ride immediately in advance of the army and not get too far ahead. Ah! Being tired and footsore, I mounted the horse and felt that I would be willing to die for Houston, who was thus proving himself not only a great general, but also a kind friend to his men. The horse was very spirited, and I, becoming absorbed in the scenery and my own thoughts, allowed him to go a little too fast, and was rudely aroused and shocked by the voice of my hero saying, “God damn your soul! ! ! Didn't I order you to ride right here?” Of course he had cause to rebuke me, and I was thoroughly aware of the culpability of my carelessness when it was too late, but his passionate harshness and curse insulted and outraged my self-respect, young as I was. Turning and dismounting, I gave the horse to the Negro's charge, declaring that I would rather die than ride him another step; at the same time I again took my place in the ranks.

With those few harsh words, General Houston completely changed the current of my feelings toward him, and my profound admiration and respect was turned into a dislike I could never conquer. In the subsequent history of our State, when he was candidate for her honors, my vote was never cast in his favor, for memory was ever faithful in bringing back that loud curse and my feelings as I listened.

After a steady march of three days, on the evening of the fourth day we reached our destination, the Burnham neighborhood, where we lay encamped, still ever and anon receiving recruits. General Burleson occupied a twofold relation to me, being not only my commander, but also he had been my guardian since my father's death.
⁷
After a few days' stay there, he detailed four of us: Greenleaf Fisk,* Edward Blakey,* Walker Wilson* and myself to come back to Bastrop and look after the families, which had been left there, and among which was my mother. At the Grassmeyer place
⁸
we met eight or ten families, others having already gone on. Here I set in as a regular hand, driving cattle and helping in all the “ups and downs” of refugee life. And a terrible life it was, especially to the women and children. Exposed to the most disagreeable weather, wading by day through mud and water over the very worst of roads, and tentless at night, it was tedious and hard beyond description.

In Washington County on the Brazos River we met some of our neighbors, who having left the families safe at old Washington were on their way back to Bastrop County to collect and run off stock from the invading Mexicans. Sam and Andrew Neal,
⁹
Bob Pace, and old Hugh Childress* composed the party, and they brought word from my mother that I had best turn back and help them.

I was relieved to try anything new, for the work of moving the families was not only hard, but exceedingly monotonous.
We came in great haste to Bastrop, fearing we might find Mexicans already there. We found Colonel [Robert McAlpin] Williamson,* or Three-legged Willie, as he was called, with a small company of men, stationed there for its protection. I remember my shoes were worn almost entirely out when we reached Bastrop, and Colonel Williamson presented me with a pair of good boots which were indeed acceptable.

We crossed the Colorado and collected all our cattle at Judge Smith's place, a mile west of the river, then they went back to the town, leaving only Andrew Neal and myself to guard the stock. We felt the full danger and responsibility of our position and kept a close watch around us, to be ready for any emergency. Very soon we saw a man whom we decided was a Mexican spy coming on the Old San Antonio Road—just the right direction for the advance of the Mexican army. We shut the doors and pulled out a chink in order to see and to shoot if necessary. Soon we saw five or six more men and what seemed like a large Mexican force approaching. We left the house and broke for the river bottom. Immediately the army seemed to charge or rush after us, and lo, upon a nearer approach our Mexican spy proved to be a Delaware Indian who had been trapping out on the San Saba and again the advancing army was a herd of cattle being driven beyond the reach of invasion. The Delaware was fresh from the woods and knew nothing of the existing war. He had a horseload of beaver hides, the first I had ever seen.

Our men soon came on from the prairie with the balance of our cattle, and next morning we swam the river, and moved on with them. I recall a remark of Hugh Childress here, which while it was a droll and original one, seemed almost prophetic in the light of subsequent events. He called out to us in a hurry, “I smell the Mexicans now.” Sure enough, we just did get away in time, for the very next day
Cos's Division ran Williamson's company out of Bastrop, taking possession of all cattle and everything that had been left there.
¹⁰

This, the “First Runaway Scrape,” as it was justly called, ruined the prospects of our people and left us literally broken up. In the first place, most of the men were in the army and wagons or ways of transportation were very scarce indeed.

When we reached the families
¹¹
at old Washington-on-the-Brazos with our cattle we found them in great alarm and confusion, having heard that the Mexicans were at Bastrop. Immediately the work of moving commenced, and such moving! That spring of 1836 was the wettest I ever knew. First, after crossing the Brazos, we had to raft across
two or three bayous, and all along we worked to our knees in mud and water. It was pitiful and distressing to behold the extremity of the families, as sometimes a team would bog down, and women with their babies in their arms, surrounded by little children, had to wade almost waist deep in places. One very large lady, Mrs. Wilson, bogged completely down and could not move until pulled out by others.