Recollections of Early Texas (22 page)

Again, Indians fell upon a white family by the name of Cavina
³
and massacred the entire household except the
father, who made his escape unhurt, and a little daughter five or six years old, whom they left for dead, having first shot her through the body with one of their tremendous arrows. She recovered, however, lived to womanhood, and as far as I know is still living.

The citizens took prompt measures to avenge and subdue this spirit of cruelty and hostility. Captain Aylett C. Buckner raised as large a force of men as possible and went out in pursuit of them. He attacked them on Battle Island, four or five miles from where Matagorda now stands, and, after a considerable fight, defeated them, forcing them into a treaty. Williams, a participator in this battle, gave me the particulars. He said that after the struggle a squaw with a baby on her back sprang up from some drift where she had been concealed. The women were very large, and he mistook this one for a warrior, so without pausing, shot. Great was his surprise and regret to find he had killed a mother and her child—the bullet having passed through both. The treaty made on Battle Island was religiously kept by the remnant of this giant tribe, which, I believe, is now almost extinct.

I have seen the defeat and subjugation of three tribes here in Texas—Lipans, Karankawas, and Tonkawas. The first named, I believe, are now totally extinct. They possessed finer, more regular features and were the most intelligent and ambitious Indians I ever knew; they were second only to the Karankawas in physical size and strength. The Tonkawas were small and comparatively insignificant, though
stronger in number, and living among the white settlers more than other tribes.

In the foregoing description and account of the Karankawas, my memory has lately been somewhat refreshed and aided by conversation with Judge N. W. Eastland, who in an early day lived near this giant tribe, and was thereby familiar with their peculiarities of form and custom.

In the interim between 1839 and 1846, the section of country in and around Austin was the scene of many deeds like this, and nearly always the perpetrators would go unmolested, for never could thieves and murderers find safer refuge than the mountains and cedar brakes about Austin.

There was a man by the name of Schriff killed near Barton Springs in 1837 or 1838.
⁴
He went riding out one evening and did not come home, so immediate search was made for him. From signs, they found where his horse had run, and could trail the animal all through the country, but for some time were unable to discover sign of the missing man. At last, coming back to the place where the horse had first taken fright, they made more thorough search and found him dead and scalped in a hollow on the roadside. He had evidently been going up a steep hill when shot, and, had fallen and rolled into the hollow, and therefore all effort to find the body was, for a time, in vain.

The county judge, by the name of Smith, was another victim. Taking his little son behind him, he rode a short distance out of town to see about stock or something and was killed in a little mot of timber by Indians, who carried off the child.
⁵

Again, an old man by the name of White, who once lived in Bastrop County, was forced to abandon his home out on Shoal Creek and move his family into town through fear of Indians. He continued work, however, on his land out there, and with two other men went out one morning to work. He was somewhat used to the tricks and dangers of the times, cautious and nearly always prepared. In the evening, taking his rifle, he walked out to look around for game and to see that the coast was clear. In a few minutes the two men heard a report which they recognized as the crack of his rifle—a very fine, large-bored gun, and immediately another firing followed. His two friends hastened into town, reported, and soon a crowd was upon the scene, finding signs of a considerable fight, but another man lay dead and scalped.

A Mr. Joynes, living in Austin, was standing out in his front yard, holding his little child in his arms, when a band of Indians came riding up to the house and introduced themselves as Tonkawas, “friendly Indians.” He stood till one of the warriors made a grab at the little child and tried with all his might to pull him out of the old man's arms. The father held to his child, however, and at length succeeded in wrenching him from the Indian, and ran for the house, whereupon they shot, killing him at his own door.
⁶
I received the particulars of this from Colonel Joe Lee, who was the first
man to reach the scene of the tragedy. He says he found the mother trying in vain to pull an arrow out of her child's arm, while her husband lay dead at the door.

A widow, Mrs. Simpson,
⁷
who lived at the edge of Austin, suffered greatly. Her little son and daughter were out at play not far from the house and were captured and carried off by a band of Comanches. This occurred only a day or two after Hays's fight on the Guadalupe, and the Indians of course had vengeance and wrath in their hearts, so that people naturally expected that little mercy would be shown the children. As quickly as possible, however, a body of men went out from Austin to overtake the Indians, and, if possible, regain the captives. On the trail as they went up the river through the mountains, they occasionally found pieces of the girl's dress, which had been torn off by thorns and branches in the flight. These shreds of calico were all, however, and finally the trail was lost, so the men were compelled to return to the bereaved mother with no tidings of her little ones.

Some time afterward the boy was regained. He gave a touching account of what he saw and felt while in the hands of the savages. He said his sister seemed to be crazed from terror, and would persist in fighting the Indians most furiously all the time, despite his repeated warning and begging her not to provoke them, assuring her that they would certainly kill her if she did not become calm and less troublesome. Still the poor child fought and struggled, till, when five or six miles above Austin, two Indians dragged her off over a mountain. They returned to the band bearing a fresh scalp to tell the tale of horror concerning the fate of his sister.
Guided by his description of the locality, the neighbors once again took a search for her body, and found a skeleton which was supposed to have been that of the little Simpson girl.

Sometimes the citizens would arouse themselves and make extra effort to secure peace to their homes and security to their lives.

In 1840 or 1841 the Indians made a raid of unusual atrocity and a squad of men went out in pursuit. They followed a plain trail all day, and could note signs of gaining upon the savages as they advanced. At dusk they found the water still muddy and unsettled in a branch which the Indians had evidently just crossed. It was too dark to discern the trail further, so they decided to wait and watch for the gleam of a campfire.

After a while a ray of light flashed down on them from the top of a bluff close to the river. The men waited a little longer, so that the savages might be asleep and at their mercy. Finally, the time for action being at hand, they slipped cautiously around and almost had the entire band in their power when one of the horses neighed and betrayed them, so the Indians fired the first shot, severely wounding a Mr. Black, though none of our men were killed. Nearly all the Indians were soon killed, and in the excitement one of the warriors spurred his horse off the bluff, down a height of fifty or sixty feet, and the mangled body of the horse was afterward found below, but no sign of the desperate rider was ever discovered.

Then in August of 1842 a company of about thirty men attempted to procure provisions and ammunition for an extended Indian campaign. We camped at Shoal Creek, about three miles above Austin, awaiting recruits and supplies, and sent to the arsenal for ammunition, but the man in charge refused to open, declaring that the store of ammunition was very small. Upon this some of our men threatened to enter the arsenal by force. He said that such a move would be
made at the risk of their lives, as he had muskets so arranged that at the slightest touch of violence they would fire into a keg of powder. After a good deal of talk he told us that, having no authority from Houston, it was impossible for him to take the responsibility of admitting them, at the same time assuring us that if we took the key out of his pocket by force, unlocked the door, and went in, he would be clear and no harm done. We found only a few pounds of old musket balls and very little powder. See the store of ammunition at the capital in 1842! Our enterprise had to be abandoned, but we lingered through there till next day.

In the previous spring, while on the Vasquez campaign, the Texas army had camped there, and in priming their guns the soldiers had fired a great many shots into the trees around, and now some of us walked about cutting the bullets out of the trees, where we had lodged them in the spring. The day following our departure for home, the Mr. Black who was wounded in the fight on the bluff, was riding through there with a friend, and both were killed on the very ground where, twenty-four hours sooner, William Barton and I had wandered cutting out rifle balls.
⁸

In 1843 two young men, Coleman and Bell by name, were riding in a buggy just below Waller's Creek, and suddenly found themselves surrounded by a band of Indians. The horse became frightened and upset the buggy, and the savages killed Bell and captured Coleman. Several men, among
whom were Joe Hornsby, James Edmondson,* and a Mr. Johnson, were just starting out of Austin for home when they came upon the Indians driving young Coleman along, who was almost naked, and bleeding from a lance wound in the back. They immediately made a dash and rescued him, at the same time giving the Indians a considerable chase. Several shots were exchanged, but nobody else was hurt.
⁹

Joe Hornsby was riding a fine horse belonging to Anderson Harrell,* which was shot through the nose just below the eyes and died from the wound. At dark the chase ended; the little squad of men returned and found two horses saddled and tied, which they carried with them into Austin. Their owners were never discovered, so they were both given to Anderson Harrell to somewhat pay him for the loss of his fine animal.

All these tales of wayside murder and desolated homes may seem out of harmony and far removed from the scenes and people of the present. Yes, many who looked upon the grand parade and ceremony attendant upon the laying of the cornerstone of our capitol (March 2, 1885) may fail to
see the connection and may deem this record of old-time tragedy and suffering simply “a tale that is told.”

There are a few of us, however, who can never forget how much it has all cost—this prosperity and development in our land. Of course, Wealth, Enterprise, Intellect, and indomitable Energy, have contributed their part.

There were noble men, who lived to lead in the great work, and justly “achieved unto themselves an undying glory.”

But we knew of others. Aye, we knew them well, whose blood helped pay for all these advantages. Theirs was no unimportant part in changing the little Waterloo into the prosperous capital city of Austin.

There were brave men who dared the dangers all in vain and fell in all the vigor of hope and courage, leaving helpless women and children amid the wild lawlessness of an unsettled country. Ah! To my mind they served most faithfully, and paid by far the highest price for the glory of Texas.

I myself commenced in my fourteenth year and served through the siege of 1874, during Coke's administration.
¹⁰
At that time I was captain of Company D of Jones's Battalion.
¹¹
We encamped about a mile below Menardville on the San Saba River. My wife was with me. Our tent was about two hundred yards from the main encampment. One night a considerable force of Indians came along right at us, even riding over my hack tongue. My wife woke me with the information that she heard Indians crossing the river. I had
some scouts out and thought they were coming in. I listened for the song or laugh or whistling which usually accompanied the march of American parties. The silence of the force was evidence enough they were Indians. A number of Dutch wagons with bells some distance off had attracted their attention and they positively failed to see us as they moved steadily, almost noiselessly forward with their shields glittering like diamonds in the moonlight. I took my gun and stood guard while my wife and boy went to alarm the main campers. Next morning we started in pursuit, running about twenty-five miles, but we never could overtake them. Evidently something must have aroused their suspicion for they were wide-awake and in a hurry. They turned back without committing any depredations, leaving the Dutch campers with their jingling bells to go on in peace.

That night we moved camp to Elm, a small stream running into the San Saba River. Scott Early and William Fravick were sent after beef. They soon came upon a party of Indians and returned, reporting at once. Lieutenant Dan Roberts
¹²
with a squad of men was immediately sent out in pursuit. They struck the Indians' trail, pursued it about ten miles, and came up with them; then a running fight ensued. Results: five Indians killed and one captured, the celebrated Little Bull. He ran on foot and hung on to the horses' tails until he was almost exhausted. Finding both flight and fight impossible he threw up his hands and turning, ran to meet Lieutenant Roberts. Not one of our men was hurt. Roberts and another man had horses shot from under them. Major Jones's escort came up just as the fight was over and we chased the Indians into a cave. Insufficient guard gave them
opportunity and they made good their escape. A moccasin was found shot through and a great deal of blood all around proved that one had received a serious wound. From all attending circumstances we were satisfied that not one Indian ever reached his destination.

In about one month another party of nine Indians made a raid in between the San Saba and the Llano. We chased them out, killing three of the little band. I was sixty-seven years old in August [1889] and the very thought of those stirring old times makes me feel a degree of excitement even now.