USA > Texas > The evolution of a state, or, Recollections of old Texas days > Part 12
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The government bought a lot of United States army clothing, consisting of pantaloons and runabouts, which were sent up to Coleman for the rangers. As it was all rather under size, we agreed to distribute it by lots, an arrangement which was productive of some laughable re- sults.
Isaac Casner, who tipped the beam at 200, got a suit that would have been a snug fit for a man of 140. As the old fellow couldn't begin to get into them he took them on his arm and went round among the boys trying to effect an exchange. We all liked Uncle Isaac and the largest suits in the lot were brought out. He tried them one after another, but like the "contraband's" song, "they didn't go half way round," and but for the ingenuity of Mrs. Casner the old man's suit would have been a total loss. Clothes were scarce, though, so Mrs. Casner ripped open the outside seams of the pantaloons and set in stripes to extend them to the necessary dimensions, also setting a stripe down each sleeve and in the center of the jacket, with a false front to expand it over his aldermanic propor- tions. A stranger would have taken him for commanding officer on account of his stripes.
Wolfenberger, who would have measured six feet bare- footed, got a suit of which the bottoms of the pantaloons struck him about half way to his knees, the jacket failing to connect with them by full six inches, and his arms pro- truding a foot beyond the end of the sleeves. He pre-
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sented a ludicrous appearance as, amid shouts of laughter, he stalked up and down like an animated scarecrow, try- ing to negotiate a trade. Failing in that, he pieced them out with strips of blanket and was quite as comfortable as the rest of us.
The Indians were not depredating in our beat, probably because they found better game elsewhere. In the mean- time Coleman had been relieved of command and Captain Andrews appointed.
Coleman was not popular with the settlers, his men were allowed too much license in the way of foraging, and, when one of his inferior officers inhumanly murdered one of the enlisted men, the settlers and the comrades of the victim preferred charges against Colonel Coleman, on which he was relieved from command and ordered to report to the war department at Columbia. While the investigation was pending, Coleman was out in a boat hunting, when the boat capsized and he was drowned.
The circumstance which led to his removal was this : There was in Coleman's company a man who had been a United States regular; some said a deserter. However that may be, he was, by virtue of his military knowledge, raised to the rank of lieutenant, upon which he proceeded to visit upon his subordinates the abuses which he may have undergone at the hands of some upstart cadet. Among the men was one poor fellow who had a weakness for intoxicants, which he would indulge whenever an opportunity offered. Having imbibed too freely, Lieuten- ant R. ordered him tied up to a post all night to sober off. The man was so completely under the influence as to be unable to maintain an upright position ; his limbs gave way, and he sank down so that the cord about his neck literally hung him. The outburst of indignation fright- ened R. and he skipped out, leaving Colonel Coleman to bear the odium of the inhuman deed.
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One evening early in the spring of 1837 we were out on the parade, which was lighted by the silvery rays of a crescent moon, whiling away the time between supper and taps. The soft night wind regaled our nostrils with the mingled fragrance of the millions of wild flowers with which nature so lavishly adorned the hills and prairies ere the advent of the white man forced them, like their con- temporaries, the Indian and the buffalo, to give place to prosy corn and cotton.
The older men were smoking and spinning yarns, the younger ones dancing, while I tortured the catgut. The festivities were brought to a sudden close by a bright flame that suddenly shot up on a high knoll overlooking the present site of Austin from the opposite side of the river. Fixing our eyes steadily on the flame, we distinctly saw dark objects passing and repassing in front of it. Our scouts had seen no sign of Indians, still, we knew no white men would so recklessly expose themselves in an Indian country, and at once decided they were Indians.
Hastily summoning Captain Andrews, we held a con- sultation as to the measures to be adopted for their cap- ture. We surmised they had but just struck camp, other- wise they would have known their camp fire could be seen from the fort. The Indians, being on the other side of the river near their regular crossing, Captain Andrews suggested that we take an early start and intercept them at the ford. My plan always was, when there was a momen- tous job on hand, to go right at it and get it over with. So I urged that we start at once and surprise them in camp.
"Well," said the captain, an casy-going old fellow, "I hate to order the boys out after night."
"No need to order them," I replied ; "just call for volun- teers."
To this he assented. A call for volunteers was respond-
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ed to by almost every man in camp. Lieutenant Wren offering to lead the expedition. Selecting fifteen of the best mounted men, we were soon ready to start. The moon was getting low, and having the river to cross, we made all haste to get across before it went down. With the disappearance of the moonlight clouds blew up, ob- scuring the stars and making it difficult to keep on our course. We had the river to guide us, however, and, hav- ing scouted the country till we were familiar with every hill and ravine, we moved slowly forward. Lieutenant Wren, Jo Weeks and myself formed the advance. Pick- ing our way through the brush, and stumbling over rocks, we watched and listened for any sign that might indicate discovery, and, satisfying ourselves on that point, returned to bring up our comrades.
In this way we consumed the greater part of the night. Away on toward day, when we knew we must be nearing the locality of the fire we had seen the evening before, and were therefore proceeding with extreme caution, we sud- denly found ourselves in the midst of a caballado, which, startled by our sudden advent among them, sprang to their feet, snorting and stamping. There were a number of mules in the drove, which at once set up a friendly bray- ing. Fully expecting the commotion would arouse the In- dlians, who we knew must be in the immediate vicinity, we kept perfectly still till the horses and mules, having recovered from their fright, began to feed. We knew the animals had been stolen and, as the Indians always traveled night and day after having made a haul till sure they were beyond the reach of pursuit, we surmised they were tired when they struck camp, which accounted for their sleeping so soundly. Wren, Weeks and I then dis- mounted and, leaving our horses with the other boys, started out to locate the marauders.
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Their fire had died out, leaving no trace to direct us in our search. I had eyes almost equal to an Indian's thien, and, after carefully reconnoitering the ground, led off toward a clump of cedars. After going a hundred yards we descried several dark objects lying motionless under a spreading live oak. We were close upon them before we discovered them. There was something suspicious about them, so we crouched low and waited for some sign by which to determine their character. At length one of them turned himself and grunted. That was sufficient.
We stole back to our waiting companions and arranged the plan of attack. Securing our horses behind a clump of trees, we divided our force into parties, Wren taking one division and going up to the right under cover of a ravine, while I led the other up in front.
In making the detour Wren mistook the tree under which our game was sleeping, getting away beyond. I could hear the boys stumbling over obstructions, and momentarily expected the sleeping savages would be awakened thereby.
By this time the twittering of birds announced the ap- proaching day; still the Indians lay wrapped in slumber, unconscious of the enemy only waiting for the signal to pour a deadly fire upon them.
I had just raised my gun to see if I could draw a bead on the Indian nearest me, when he raised himself to a sitting posture, and began to sing his matin lay, “ha ah hah."
Upon hearing the song, Wren perceived his mistake and, hastily retracing their steps, the boys made noise enough to wake the dead.
The Indian's ear caught the sound and, springing to his feet, he turned his face in the direction whence it pro- ceeded, his back presenting such a good target Jo Weeks
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could not resist the temptation, and, without waiting for the word, raised his gun and fired, bringing down his game. The other Indians rose running. We fired a vol- ley after them, but they got into a ravine, from which they fired back, one ball striking Philip Martin in the head, killing him instantly. I had stepped over Jo Weeks' Indian when we charged the camp, supposing him dead, but when we went to look for him he was gone. So we didn't get a scalp to show for our night's work; but we got all their horses and camp equipage, and, but that we had a dead comrade to carry home, would have been very well satisfied with our raid.
Poor Philip Martin was one of the best men in camp; a genial, warm-hearted son of old Erin. We carried him back and buried him with the honors of war outside the fort on the north side, beside the victim of Robel's cruelty.
CHAPTER XII.
COLEMAN'S FORT.
The Indians were worsted for the time being, but they played for even and won hands down. Not long after our unceremonious call upon them Lieutenant Wren, with half a dozen men to assist him, took the horses out to graze. The government didn't furnish feed for the horses, nor to any extent for the men either. It was quite early in the morning, and, there having been no recent irrup- tions of the Indians in that vicinity, we had grown care- less. So little apprehensive were we of a raid, that the guards were not even mounted.
The horses were feeding towards the creek, and when near the timber, half a dozen Indians suddenly dashed out blowing whistles and yelling. The horses snorted and started to run, when an Indian mounted on a quick horse
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rushed in ahead of them, leading off up the creek, the other Indians following, still yelling and whistling.
It was all so quickly and neatly done that the guard only fired at them without effect. A number of the horses, however, broke away and started back towards the fort, and the Indians, no doubt realizing that "a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush," didn't stop to recover them. My horse, a fine American, of which I was very proud, buying corn for him, struck straight out for the fort. I threw the gate open, and he ran in.
Felix McClusky, a wild Irishman, had just saddled his horse to go out and herd the caballado while the men on (luty came in for breakfast. I hastily saddled my horse and we two started after the horses that had escaped from the Indians and were tearing madly off down towards Hornsby's station.
Old Isaac Casner, who had left the service and was then living at Hornsby's, had been up to the fort and was jogging along leisurely on his return. He had crossed the creek and gained the open prairie when he heard the clat- tering of hoofs coming in his rear. He turned in his saddle and took one look behind. The frightened animals pursued by McClusky and myself were bearing right down on him. We had lost our hats in the wild race, and our hair flying in the wind gave us much the appearance of Indians. Uncle Isaac, who, as previously stated, weighed about 200 pounds, laid whip to his horse, which was a good animal, and led off across the prairie to Hornsby's station, about a mile distant, the horses following in his wake and we trying to get in ahead of them. McClusky's sense of fun took in the situation. "Be Jasus," said he, "look at him run!" and the reckless creature could not refrain from giving a war whoop to help the old man along.
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Hearing the racket the men at Hornsby's fort ran out, and seeing the chase, threw the gate open. Breathless from fright and exhaustion, Casner ran in, gasping, "In- juns."
Before the inmates of the fort had time to do anything we dashed past, running down into the bend, where I succeeded in getting ahead of the fleeing horses and stop- ping them. As soon as I got breath enough I took Mc- Clusky to task for yelling at poor Casner. With ready Irish wit he promptly explained : "Be Jasus, I was thryin' to stop him." We drove the horses back to the fort, pretty well tired out ourselves and the horses so badly winded that we were obliged to let them rest till the next morning before we could pursue the Indians.
The crafty marauders had laid their plans well, having marked out the trail they proposed taking by bits of white rags, which they didn't stop to remove. We followed them three days and never found where they had stopped long enough to make a fire.
We came across the remains of a horse from which they had cut portions of the flesh, which they must have eaten raw as they ran.
On the third day we got out on the head of the San Gabriel, where there were a great many mustangs, and their tracks having obliterated the Indians' trail, we were forced to abandon the pursuit, returning home empty- handed.
The rascals were doubtless gratified to find some of the very same animals among their haul that we took from them a short time before.
President Houston suspended Lieutenant Wren, but we all liked him and knew that no power on earth could have held those terror stricken animals after the Indians made their dash. So we unanimously petitioned the president
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to reinstate him, a petition which was granted. After that, however, we didn't go out on foot to herd the horses, but just the same the Indians again stampeded the caballado and got away with a portion of it.
There was no braver or better man in the service than Lieutenant Nicholas Wren. I know not whence he came nor whither he went, but had I been sent on a perilous mission I know of no man I would have chosen before him to bear me company. When his term expired he left, and I never knew where he went.
The Indians, apparently satisfied with their reprisal, gave us a respite and we had an easy time of it at the fort, hunting being now our principal occupation. I was out alone in the river bottom one day riding along a narrow trail through the thick underbrush, when I heard my dog, which had run ahead of me, baying something out in the brush. As it was impossible to ride through the tangle I dismounted, and, tying my pony, started to see what kind of game the dog had flushed. I had proceeded but a few steps when I hear a snort and then a crash of brush coming in my direction, so near that there was no time to untie my horse and mount; the brush was so thick there was no chance to get out of the trail, but there was for- tunately a fallen tree across the path, which had lodged so as to rise some four feet above the ground. Catching a limb, I hastily swung myself upon the tree just as an old buffalo bull rushed into view, closely pursued by the dog. On seeing me the dog redoubled his attack, bring- ing the bull to bay right under my perch, the bull snorting and fending him off, sometimes striking the tree in his angry lunges, almost jarring me off. The tree was a mere sapling and afforded a very insecure footing, but I clung to another sapling with one hand and to my rifle with the other. Watching my. opportunity, I put the
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muzzle of my gun right over his loin and fired, breaking him down, after which I finished him at my leisure. There are a good many things I would rather face than an angry buffalo bull.
Reuben Hornsby and Jacob Harrell were out on the prairie togetlier, and seeing a band of buffalo, concluded to replenish their stock of meat. They shot a buffalo, which, not being immediately disabled, made toward them. There was a small mesquite tree near, the only tree around there. Hornsby was quite agile in spite of his years and 180 pounds weight. He sprang for the tree, which bent under his weight.
"Climb, Harrell, climb!" he shouted. Jake was busy loading his gun. Just before the wounded animal reached them it fell, and Jake gave it another shot before it could rise.
"How did you expect me to climb, Hornsby, when the only tree near was bending with you?" "O, by guinie, that was your own lookout," Hornsby replied. The say- ing became proverbial.
Jake Harrell used to tell a story about some negroes who were talking about buffalo.
"What you do Pomp, if buffalo git arter you?" asked one.
"I'd climb," said Pomp.
"Ah, boy," said an old blind sage, "you 'pend on dat, you pend on broken stick; buffalo climb, too."
Another time a squad of us were out scouting on the head of Gilleland's creek. The country was mostly open, but here and there were motts of chaparral and prickly pears, forming a veritable stronghold for any animal that chose to avail himself of it. In passing one of these motts we saw a large panther run into it by a narrow pathway. We immediately circled his lair, and whenever
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a fellow caught sight of the game he blazed away, regard- less of those on the further side.
One or more shots taking effect, the panther assumed the offensive. We had a green fellow along, Butler by name. Not being able to handle a rifle, we armed him with a musket. Anxious to distinguish himself he dis- mounted and started into the jungle on foot to "beard the lion in his den."
Just then the enraged beast came into view from my position, making straight for Butler, its hair turned the wrong way, its tail erect, and eyes like balls of fire.
"Look out, Butler, he's coming !" I shouted. Just then Butler caught sight of the panther.
"The Jesus!" he cried, "look at his eyes !" And drop- ping his musket he crashed through the brush and prickly pears, regaining the open just as the infuriated animal made a spring for him. Fortunately the panther was so crippled that his spring was rendered ineffectual, and be- fore he could collect himself for another I shot him dead. It took Butler some time to get rid of the cactus needles, and he never got rid of the joke while he remained in the service.
When Coleman went up to build the fort he recruited a company from the men who were mustered out at Co- lumbia. Generally speaking they were as little fitted for the position as men jobbing around cities usually are. Colonel Coleman himself was a lawyer, commanded a company at the battle of Concepcion, and was a staff offi- cer to General Houston in the brief but glorious campaign of '36.
Many of his company were not mounted -- in fact, didn't know how to ride, and so unskilled in the use of fire arms that the only possible way in which they could have killed an Indian would have been a la Fitzsimmons; their fists were big enough and there was "beef" enough behind them.
CAÑON OF SAN FELIPPE.
APACHE PASS.
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On one occasion a couple of men came in from the fort on Little river to get ammunition. Captain Andrews, fearful of an attack being made on them, sent an escort back with them, most of the men detailed being these raw recruits, who were on foot. When we reached the San Gabriel without having seen any signs of Indians, we dispensed with the "infantry," myself and one other man going out to Little river and returning next day, leaving the boys to take care of themselves during our absence.
Game, which was the principal source of food supply, was so abundant that we never thought of taking anything along but salt when we went out on duty. So these bold soldier boys camped without grub, and when we returned next day were half famished, with droves of buffalo and deer all around them. Their stock of ammunition was nearly exhausted and they hadn't even drawn blood. Re- membering my own failure in that line when I first came to the country, and therefore heartily sympathizing with them, I at once started out to relieve their distress, bid- ding them all remain in camp, but their gnawing hunger would not admit of their quietly biding the time and they must perforce accompany me. Several times I was in the act of shooting when "bang" went a musket and away went the buffalo. Becoming exasperated, I at length turned on the crowd and swore roundly that if they didn't immediately return to camp I would, and they might starve.
This gentle admonition had the desired effect and, re- lieved of their presence, I succeeded in killing a nice fat cow, packing my horse with the meat and walking back to camp.
It was about sundown when I got in, and the ravenous crew couldn't wait for the meat to cook; they snatched it off the fire before it got warm through, bolting it like hungry dogs; I left them eating when I went to sleep,
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and there was scarcely enough left for our breakfast next morning. I fully expected they would be sick from the effects of the gorging, but perhaps the long tramp back to the fort saved them. A conspicuous member of the company was Cy Gleason. His father being a well-to-do merchant in New York, Cy had been accustomed to liv- ing on the fat of the land, and being a good eater, was consequently a good forager, ranging the country over in search of chickens, eggs, etc. I was passing his mess one clay when he called to me to "come in and eat something."
"Why, Cy, I'm not hungry," I replied.
"Well, goll darn it all, eat for fear you do get hungry."
When he first went into the ranging service he had a fine horse, but he had probably never had a horse before -certainly never had the care of one, for he seemed to- tally oblivious to the fact that there was a limit to the endurance of a horse. He chased every coyote and jack rabbit he came upon, never giving his horse a grain of corn and not even changing his stake pin once a week. The horse soon began to show the effect of such treatment. He came to me one day and in his peculiar drawl said :
"See here, Cap, I wish you'd come and look at my horse; I gol, there's somethin' the matter with him; he grows poorer."
I laughed outright. I told him it didn't need a doctor to diagnose the case, and gave him a prescription that was warranted to cure. Not satisfied that I had probed the trouble, he offered to trade horses with me, and hav- ing great faith in my prescription, I traded. Under my regime the horse soon began to recuperate and I was quite proud of him. By and by, however, he developed un- mistakable signs of fistula, a disease which was beyond my skill. Some one told me that old Natty Moore cured fistula, so I got leave of absence and rode out to his place.
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The old man said oh, yes, he had cured many cases. I unsaddled the horse and the old man took up an old, rusty hatchet, and, taking the bridle, started to lead him away, bidding me remain. After a time he returned without the hatchet.
"Now," said he, "don't do anything to it; just let it alone and it will go away."
I was curious to know what he had done to it.
"Well," said he, after a moment's consideration, "I'll tell you if you will keep it to yourself. Just take a horse that has fistula to where two roads cross, stand his fore feet right in the center of the cross, and with some old, rusty hatchet or knife mark three times lengthwise and three times crosswise of the afflicted part and throw the instrument behind you without looking round, and the fistula will go away."
I was completely nonplussed, not to say mad, to think I had gone all the way out there on that fool's errand, but the old gentleman was so kind and friendly and evi- dently believed so implicitly in his remedy that I con- cealed my chagrin and offered to pay him.
"Olı, no," said he, "that would break the charm." Well, I concluded I would wait a few days and see how the charm worked, but I saw that the fistula was growing, so I applied to Reuben Hornsby and he gave me a prac- tical prescription, which proved so effective that I will repeat the formula for the benefit of any one who may be in need of it.
Take the root of the poke weed and boil it till it be- comes soft, then mash it into a pulp and apply it hot, also bathing the afflicted part with the water.
The next time I saw Uncle Natty he inquired how my horse was getting on. "Finely," I told him. "O, I never knew it to fail," said he, gratified at the success of his
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conjuring. I never did tell him how I cured that horse, and he was wont to cite that as an instance of his skill. Some time after one of his sons came to me and asked how I cured my horse, as he had one that he wished to treat.
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