The Men Who War the Star: The Story of the Texas Rangers (34 page)

THE TAYLOR AND
Sutton factions had been fighting each other for almost seven years by the time McNelly’s men were sent to DeWitt County. The conflict erupted shortly after the end of the Civil War as a power struggle between the anti-Reconstruction Taylors and the pro-Reconstruction Sutton faction. Both groups had an extensive network of blood kin, inlaws, and close friends who rallied to their cause. The bloodshed outlasted Reconstruction, and by the time it ended, much of the prairie between San Antonio and the Gulf Coast was aflame with violence. DeWitt County, center of the storm, was virtually depopulated of decent citizens. As one Ranger noted, “It takes five large counties to bound DeWitt, and it is an awful strain on them to hold it all.”
⁶

The Taylor-Sutton Feud gave rise to a young tough whose name would become all too familiar to Rangers and other lawmen throughout the West—John Wesley Hardin. Known variously as John Hardin, Wes Hardin, or Jack Hardin, he was nineteen years old with several killings to his credit when he allied himself with the Taylors in the spring of 1873. A year later, on March 11, 1874, he orchestrated the murder of Bill Sutton, one of the leaders of the opposing faction, then fled to his family seat in Comanche, some two hundred miles to the northwest.

The Sutton murder and ensuing reprisals prompted District Judge H. Clay Pleasants, who presided in DeWitt County, to call for state intervention. At Pleasants’s insistence, Adjutant General Steele came down from Austin, and he spent the first week of July interviewing citizens of the area. Steele’s grim report, reprinted in the July 15 issue of the San Antonio
Daily Express,
brought statewide attention to the feud.
⁷

MCNELLY AND FORTY
Rangers arrived in DeWitt County at the end of July. Court was ready to convene in Clinton, the county seat. The ordinary citizens took comfort in the presence of the Rangers, hoping that for once some indictments would be returned and put a stop to all the killings. As things stood, both factions were armed to the teeth, and terror reigned every day after sunset. The situation wasn’t lost on Ranger T. C. Robinson, who supplemented his state salary by writing dispatches to the Austin papers under the pseudonym “Pidge.”
⁸

“They have a cute way to carry their six-shooters without breaking the law,” Pidge commented. “Every man carries his coat tied behind his saddle, and in its folds is a peace preserver of the Smith & Wesson persuasion, ready at all times to demonstrate to any officious individual that his views on certain questions are not sound, and his argumentative position untenable unless he is behind a tree.”
⁹

Assessing some of the leaders of the feud, he wrote that Joe Tumlinson of the Sutton faction “goes about like Robinson Cruso [
sic
] with a gun on each shoulder and two Smith & Wesson’s (No. 3) in his belt . . . he has the frosts of sixty winters on his head, and green spectacles on his nose, and, it is said, can see with his naked eye farther than any hawk on this side of the Rio Grande.” On the opposing side, Pidge noted John Taylor, who, “when on foot, reminds one strongly of an old sundried bucket about to fall to pieces; when on horseback his powers of endurance are almost incredible.”
¹⁰

McNelly realized these men were not impressed by conventional law enforcement or by the courts. Although the grand jury was in session and he believed the jurors would return indictments against both the Taylor and Sutton factions, he doubted the indictments would have any impact. In a report to Steele, McNelly said he personally had seen Tumlinson “at the head of seventy five well armed men,” and speculated he could muster as many as 150, all loyal exclusively to him. Tumlinson would not appear in court without armed support from the Suttons, and the Taylors were equally determined. Both sides handled unpleasant legal cases by murdering witnesses.

“They are all alike Taylor & Sutton equally turbulent, treacherous and reckless,” McNelly commented. “I need Winchester rifles[;] these people are all armed with them . . . and if I am compelled to fight I don[’]t want to get whipped.”

McNelly’s assessment was correct. When court convened in Clinton to hear a case against Tumlinson, the room was crowded with his heavily armed supporters; witnesses suddenly suffered memory loss. “Court has adjourned, and Tomlinson’s [
sic
] trial is postponed till next term,” Pidge Robinson observed.
¹¹

THE TAYLOR-SUTTON
Feud continued, but by the fall of 1874 the rate of killing on both sides was beginning to drop. Many of the leaders were dead, and the survivors had exhausted themselves, each other, and the people of DeWitt County. It was particularly evident in public gatherings. Pidge told his readers about a church service in Clinton.

Not an old man was seen in church, not a silverhead could be observed, and I suppose that old people are never seen in DeWitt. If they are not killed they hide out in a country above here called “the brush,” where the words of the gospel will never reach them unless used as wads for a double-barreled shotgun.
¹²

One of the few old men left to attend church was Sutton leader Joe Tumlinson, and he had become regular about it. Perhaps sensing his own approaching end and conscious of all the blood on his hands, he was baptized and spent the final weeks of his life in prayer and penance. Some of the Taylors questioned his sincerity, but were willing to let the matter go. Joe died in late fall 1874, and with his death the feud lost much of its steam—at least for the time being.

The district court convened again in December and, as usual, took no action against any of the feudists. The remarkable thing was that the session was quiet. McNelly’s men departed for the Mexican border, where their presence was deemed more necessary, and an uneasy calm settled in DeWitt County.
¹³

For almost two years, the Taylors and Suttons maintained the shaky truce. But given the longevity of the feud, its scope, and the hatred it engendered, the two sides could keep the peace for only so long. The killing flared up again in 1876, culminating with the apparently pointless double murder of Dr. Philip Brassell and his son, George, on the night of September 19. By morning, word of the killing had spread throughout the area, and the people of DeWitt County had had enough. Dr. Brassell was a respected member of the community who had no particular quarrel with either Taylors or Suttons. Public indignation was so great that it was no longer safe for anyone to ally himself with or condone the murderers, and Judge Pleasants took advantage of the situation to once again demand the Rangers.
¹⁴

In response, McNelly dispatched Lt. Lee Hall, who arrived in Clinton with a squad of Rangers on November 23 and camped in the pasture behind Judge Pleasants’s house. Hall noted that local law enforcement, unaware that the judge had called for the Rangers, was unpleasantly surprised to see them on the streets of Clinton the following morning. The DeWitt County Sheriff’s Office was holding about 150 murder indictments, not one of which had ever been served, and the presence of the Rangers only pointed up the inability—or unwillingness—of the county authorities to do anything about the feud.
¹⁵

THE RANGER COMMANDER
was born in North Carolina on October 9, 1849, as Jesse Leigh Hall. When he was nineteen years old, he went to Texas in search of excitement. Upon arrival, however, he found he had to support himself by teaching school in Grayson County, where the tendency of parents to mispronounce his middle name as “Lay” prompted him to change the spelling to “Lee.” He was also called “Red” because of the color of his hair. During his first two years in Texas, he often volunteered to assist local peace officers, until, finally, he gave up teaching to become city marshal of Sherman, the county seat. He established a reputation as an honest, dependable officer and was appointed sergeant-at-arms to the state legislature for the spring and summer of 1876. In August, he was named a lieutenant of McNelly’s company.
¹⁶

Court was scheduled to convene in Clinton to try criminal cases on December 18. Two days before the docket was to be called, Hall wrote Adjutant General Steele:

I am confident of arresting the murderers of Dr. Brazzell [
sic
] and his son. I hold now thirty-one murder indictments and know where I can find the men. All of these criminals have friends throughout the county, because more than half of the county is mixed up in this matter. They are so involved in deeds of blood that they cannot afford to have any member of the brotherhood sent to prison. The people are completely terrorized and cowed by the assassins and cutthroats who got their hands in, shedding blood during the Taylor-Sutton troubles, then joined so-called vigilant associations, and are now killing off witnesses and intimidating juries by threats of violence, so that we believe it is impossible to secure a conviction.
¹⁷

Despite Hall’s misgivings, the grand jury met as scheduled and indicted Deputy Sheriff Bill Meador, Deputy Sheriff Joe Sitterlie, William Cox, Jacob Ryan, David Augustine, Frank Heister, and Charles Heissig for the murders of Dr. Brassell and his son. All the suspects were members of the Sutton faction. Hall received the warrants on December 20 and, with Judge Pleasants’s blessings, determined to execute them as soon as possible.

“I want you to do your part,” the judge told the Ranger, “and I will see that the courts deal justice. Together, we can bring order out of chaos.”
¹⁸

HALL KNEW JOE
Sitterlie planned to get married on December 22, and the Sutton faction would be out in force to help celebrate. He decided to round up the suspects during the festivities. The night was cold and drizzly, and the dance was held at a home a few miles outside of Cuero.
¹⁹

While the Suttons partied, Hall rode into the Ranger camp and told his men to saddle up.

“We won’t go far, so you needn’t take any blankets,” he said. “We’ll be back tonight.”

About two hundred yards from the house where the party was under way, Hall ordered the men to dismount. They slipped up to the house, which was a “dog trot” consisting of two separate rooms connected by an open gallery. It was brightly lit, and the Rangers could see dancers through the windows. Ranger George Durham remembered the fiddlers playing “Cowboys’ Christmas Ball” as the caller chanted the words. Only Joe Sitterlie and Bill Meador, the two deputies, were armed. The others had checked their guns at the door in deference to frontier custom.

Hall positioned his men around the building. Four Rangers with double-barreled shotguns were put at the ends of the long porches. The music changed to “Oh, Suzanna!” After making certain each man was in place and ready, Hall walked into the house, armed with a carbine.

“Do you want anyone here, Ranger?” Joe Sitterlie demanded.

“We’re Rangers. Joe Sitterlie, you’re under arrest.”

“You go to hell,” Sitterlie replied.

“You’re under arrest,” Hall repeated. “Come with me.”

“Go to hell, Ranger,” Sitterlie said again. “This is my wedding night. I ain’t coming. If you got enough men come and get me.”

“I’ve got enough men,” Hall told him. “I’ve got papers here for six others: Bill Meador, Bill Cox, Jake Ryan, Dave Augustine, Frank Heister, and Charley Heissig. If you don’t want to come peaceably, then clear the women and children from the room. We’ll take you.”

After years of bloodshed, the Sutton women were used to gunfights and didn’t flinch. One of them asked: “Mr. Big Texas Ranger, would it be all right if we women stood alongside this wall where we could see?”

“Lady, you can do as you feel like,” Hall said. “I’m here to take out these seven men.”

After more arguing and tough talk, the Sutton men began to realize they were outgunned by the Rangers surrounding the house. They began to back down. One of the women suggested allowing the dance to continue until morning, after which the men would accompany the Rangers. Sitterlie gave his word they would go quietly. After taking Bill Meador into immediate custody as a hostage, Hall agreed.

“But remember,” Hall cautioned, “he dies if any attempt is made to break him loose. That’s a Ranger law.”

The dance continued, and several Rangers joined the festivities under the watchful eye of their lieutenant. Then, at sunup, the Rangers took the suspects into custody. Judge Pleasants ordered them held without bond.
²⁰

ATTORNEYS FOR THE
accused spent a week filing motions for habeas corpus, apparently disputing the evidence against their clients. When court convened, the Rangers disarmed every spectator so that, for the first time, fear and intimidation within the courtroom were not factors in DeWitt County. Three Rangers, their carbines cocked, stood by Judge Pleasants as he prepared to rule on the motions.
²¹
The judge regarded the crowd for a moment, then said in a calm but firm voice:

This county is and has been for years a reproach to the fair name of the State of Texas. Over it have roamed bands of lawless men, committing terrible outrages, murdering whomever met their disdain, shooting down men from ambush in the most cowardly manner possible. Here in this very room, listening to me now, are murderers who long ago should have been hanged. At this time, I do not speak of the prisoners at the bar, but of you who yet are free. You are murderers, bushwhackers, midnight assassins.

Some of you have dared to threaten me with cowardly, unsigned letters, and I have needed to bring state soldiers into this court of justice. I learn that you have blamed the sheriff of this county for calling upon the Rangers to assist in restoring order. No, it was not the sheriff who had the Rangers sent here; it was I. I called for them and I am going to see that they remain here in this county until it is as peaceful and law-abiding as any in the State—as quiet and orderly as any in the Union. I tell you now, beware! The day of reckoning is surely coming. It is close at hand. When you deal with the Texas Rangers, you deal with men who are fearless in the discharge of their duty and who will surely conquer you.