CHAPTER II

Valuable Additions Arrive

From now until 1833 our new lives were comparatively quiet, so that we were gradually growing accustomed to the realities of the “western wilds.” The simplicity and limit of our farming operations in those days would at least be suggestive of rest and peace to the poor farmers of the present, who are trying so hard to make money under the rule of King Cotton. Our farms were comprised of about ten acres in all, most of which was planted in corn, with just a little cotton, only about ten or twelve rows!

In the meantime, the flow of immigration continued and up to date we had several new neighbors. Three families, those of [Reuben] Hornsby, [Solomon] Duty, and Dr. [Thomas J.] Gazley, had settled in Mina, and that of Major Robert M. Coleman on the east bank of the Colorado, a mile or two from the river. In that house more than fifty years ago I heard the first sermon ever preached in Bastrop County.

One evening in the spring of 1833, Martin Wells and son, riding a short distance out of Mina, returned in great haste, reporting Indians to be lurking in the hills, evidently intent upon mischief. After a brief council, the citizens planned to trap and catch the Indians. They were to stake horses on Gill’s Branch, just out of Mina, where the Indians had been seen, then hide, and watch for them to try to steal the horses, at which time their capture would be an easy matter. A nice plan if well executed, but by a little heedlessness or want of prudence they were caught in their own net. Having staked their horses, they imprudently left them without guards, and returned to Bastrop to eat supper, thinking the Indians would not attempt to take them until later in the night. They were greatly surprised upon going out after supper to find all the horses gone! The thieves in ambush had seen and seized their first opportunity. This theft left the little village almost destitute of horses, for nearly every horse owner rode his mount out to aid in the scheme. Being therefore on foot, the citizens made no pursuit, and the savages went on their way unmolested.1

Early in this year Col. James Neill, an old soldier under Jackson, came from Alabama and settled where old Mr. [Hugh King] McDonald* now lives. His bravery and experience won for him a hearty welcome in our midst, and he was of great service to us in subsequent years.

I come now to the first and most bitter experience in my life—my father’s death—sudden, mysterious, and cruel. It is painful even to touch upon the calamity, which came like a pall over my whole life, so that, even now, when old age is creeping on, the memory of my father’s death still looms up before me as most sad and harsh.

He was fast getting a comfortable start, owned a good many cattle; our home was being improved and we were just beginning to enjoy life when he was murdered—cruelly and unjustly. He was found by friends, killed and scalped under a large pecan tree out in a cornfield. It was said that Indians committed the dastardly deed, but no positive clue to the real murderers was ever found.2 I, the oldest male relative, was but a boy ten years old, and nothing was ever done to detect or bring to justice the killers. Suffice to say, Mother with her helpless family had to settle into a new life without my father, as best she might.

About now occurred the first scouting raid ever made by Edward Burleson against the Indians. An old man, Amos Alexander,* and his son were coming to these parts with a load of goods when they were waylaid and killed on the Gotier [Goacher] Trace where their bodies were found a few days afterward. Burleson raised a squad of men and after burying the bodies of the unfortunate father and son proceeded to examine the ground and everything near the scene in order to learn all he could as to the strength of the assaulting party and the direction of their flight.

From all signs the band had been quite small and on foot, but after trailing them about one hundred miles every trace was lost. The company was at a loss as to what course they should pursue. They were in camp deliberating matters when Bayt [John Bate] Berry, with one or two others, went out hunting. In the course of this hunt Berry found a solitary Caddo Indian whom he immediately brought to Burleson. The captive warrior claimed to be entirely honest and friendly, at the same time informing General Burleson that his friends in band were camping near. He was at once ordered to lead the way to their camps and very soon they came to an encampment of eight or ten warriors. The approach of Burleson’s men caused terrible confusion and alarm amongst them and two of them started off apparently in great haste. Seeing this, Burleson dispatched men to follow them. They were led to two horses which being well shod and cared for were evidently horses belonging to citizens—Indian horses were seldom well shod or cared for in any respect.

Burleson captured the entire band, having considerable evidence that they were the murderers of the Alexanders and a strong suspicion that the horses were stolen from our citizens although they claimed that they had been hired to find and restore them to their rightful owners. A vote was taken as to what should be the fate of the captives and seven were killed. The eighth was a notorious glass-eyed Caddo who had before been caught with thieving parties. He was brought to Mina, where he was held under guard a while until his identity could be fully proved, and finally released.

Many on the Trinity and Brazos rivers, who had known these Caddoes only on their trading and hunting raids, censured Burleson for their being killed, but if they had known all the circumstantial evidence pointing to them as not only horse thieves but the wretches who murdered the Alexanders, they would have acquitted him of all the blame.3

Soon after this, Major Coleman raised about eighteen men and made a raid over on the Navasota River, near Parker’s Fort, where was situated a village of Waco Indians. A scheme was laid whereby the entire village might be taken. Under cover of darkness they crawled up into the very midst of the Indians, and there lay concealed, waiting for daylight.

Jessie Holderman [Jesse Halderman*] was appointed to give the signal for action. But matters were somewhat hastened. Some dogs commenced barking, and one of the Indians arose and walked out to see what was the matter. He soon showed that he discovered the concealed whites, so Holderman, realizing their danger, fired, thereby giving signal for the fight to begin. It was a fierce and heavy fight,4 although Coleman’s eighteen men were struggling against an entire tribe. He was at last forced to retreat; three men—Holderman, Bliss, and Wallace being badly wounded, and one Mr. Wallace being killed.

Soon after this defeat, Edward Burleson and Col. John H. Moore* raised a good force of men, and made another raid against the Waco village, which they found lone and deserted, the Indians having evidently left in great fright, leaving the finest kind of corn crops growing in their fields.

Following their trail from the village for more than one hundred miles, they came upon a small encampment of Wacoes. They immediately opened fire and killed three, taking five or six captives. From these they learned that the main Indian force was encamped some distance on. It was already too late to see distinctly, so they concluded to wait until morning to pursue the trail. Starting at early daylight, they soon found, as the captives had stated, what had been the encampment of a large tribe, who had evidently left camp in great haste, for there were their own stake ropes cut. They would not tarry long enough to untie their horses! Men and horses were almost worn out, so it was thought best to come home, rest a while, and then make another effort.

So the men commenced their homeward march, bringing their captive Wacoes with them. Among these was one squaw with a bright little girl about three years old. This Indian child was much noticed and petted by the men, as she was not only bright, but very pretty. One night, while encamped on the Brazos River, a horrible incident occurred, which seems almost incredible. This savage mother, having by some means obtained possession of a knife, first killed her little daughter, and then attempted to kill herself. She was almost dead the next morning when first noticed, and there being no time for delay, Burleson called for a volunteer to kill her. Oliver Buckman came promptly forward, and volunteered to commit the deed, seemingly a brutal one, but in reality a mercy to the wretched woman, whose death was only a question of time. Taking her to the water’s edge he drew a large hack knife, which he had made himself. As she gazed unflinchingly into his face, he severed with one stroke her head from her body, both of which rolled into the water beneath.

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,5 [Thomas] Christian, and two others [James Standifer* and          Haynie⁶] 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.7

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.8

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,9 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.¹⁰ 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.

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.