Frontier Times Magazine

REMARKABLE LIFE OF TOM SULLIVAN, FORMER SLAVE

2018-05-10

By Orn Warder Nolen

From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, July, 1954

Tom Sullivan was a negro, and one of the most remarkable characters in Southwest Texas. This writer interviewed him at his home in Pearsall, Texas, in 1929, and at that time he was 105 years old.

In spite of his age, evidenced by his snow-white hair, he had an astounding memory and was as mentally alert as he probably ever was in his life. He was still active physically, with none of the handicaps and infirmities that seem to be usual heritage of advanced age.

His wife, "Aunt Jane," was 80 years old, and she said Tom was an old man when she married him. In the late years of his life he gave a big birthday dinner and invited all of his white friends. When the white friends, seated at the tables loaded with a sumptuous feast, were through eating, Tom let his colored friends eat the remainder.

In telling of his life and experiences, he said:

"My mother was named Henrietta Washington for she belonged to George Washington. When he died he set her free and told Miss Sallie, one of his step-daughters, to be my mother's guardian. My mother was nine and one-half years old then.

"When my mother was grown she married a colored man by the name of Sullivan and I and three other children were born while she was under Miss Sallie's charge. Miss Sallie married a man who wanted to get her money. He told a man to kill her by driving a buggy over a stump but he only broke her thigh. While she was laid up in bed with the broken thigh some men came and got my mother and father and me and two brothers and one sister and carried us off.

"They drove around in two or three states and finally went to Mississippi and hid us out for two years. I was five and one-half years old when we was stolen. We kept hid on Tubby Creek, ten and a half miles north of Abilene, in Monroe county.

"Finally all of us but my father was sold to Mr. Redus' son-in-law. When Mr. Redus died we became the property of his son, Bill, and I belonged to him until I was set free by emancipation.

"Mr. Bill Redus moved to Texas in 1848 or 1849 and brought me along with him and he settled on Hondo Creek in Medina county.

"My first experience with the Indians was when some made a raid through the country and a bunch of us followed them. We came upon some men cutting hay and they said they bet we were looking for Indians. We told them we were, and one of the men said, `I think I shot one. I shot at him and he fell forward and grabbed his horse around the neck and you'd better watch out for him.' We rode on, following the trail, and pretty soon someone saw a blanket up a mesquite tree. We rode over to see what it was and it was the Indian the man had shot. The other Indians had wrapped him up in the blanket with his beads on and with his bow and arrows, lance and everything.

"During the Civil War most of the men went off to fight, and left the slaves and young boys at home to look after the folks. One evening a young fellow came over to our place and wanted my nephew and Mr. Ben Duncan's nephew to go off somewhere with him. I wouldn't let the boys go. I said, `I don't want you boys to go. I'm kinda uneasy. I've been seeing cattle running all day and the horses are acting restless.

"They still wanted to go, but I took the horses away from them and turned them loose. The boys went out to the cow pen to milk, and the young fellow who came after them rode off. Pretty soon I heard someone holler and I took my gun and went to see what was the matter. I found the young man who had come after the boys and he was all cut up by the Indians. They had pulled him off his horse; pulled his clothes off and stabbed him in the stomach three or four times with a knife. I carried him to the house and got a new blanket that belonged to a Mexican and laid the boy down on it, and he lived for three hours before he died.

"At another time a bunch of Indians made a raid through the country and about 200 men got together and went after them. We finally saw a smoke coming up from the top of some trees in a valley and we knew Indians were there. We rode up real close and got off our horses. Captain Owens gave me some horses to hold and the men leveled their guns on the camp and fired. A lot of the Indians were wounded and one of them ran right by me. As he came by Tom Malone shot and killed him. Three or four fellows ran over to scalp the Indian. When they got his scalp they found that none of them had a saddle pocket to put the scalp in. They gave it to me then. I stared at it for a minute, then threw it down and said, `I don't want no Indian scalp.' Captain Owens then tore off a piece of saddle blanket and wrapped the scalp up in it and took it home.

"The Indians killed Mr. Ketchum and then Mr. Rube Smith. When Kim Smith was killed I had to go out and haul his body in. The soldiers came down from Camp Verde once in a while hunting for the Indians.

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"When some people were killed where Moore Station now is a bunch of us went up there to bury them. We hadn't started to dig a hole before some men came by on the run and said they had seen Indians. We got in a hurry and tried to dig a shallow grave quick but in a few minutes here came the Indians `licketybrindle.' We all lit out as fast as we could go. Some of us had race horses, but some of the men were mounted on old scrub horses that ran two miles while we were running one. They sure did move fast when those Indians came a-yelling and a-whooping.

"One of our men, Dr. Speed was shot in the back with an arrow as we were running away. When we got to the ranch house Dr. Speed said, `For God's sake, cut this arrow out of my back," There were about 20 men there, but they were afraid to cut the arrow out, were afraid he would bleed to death or something. I had a knife with a razor blade and I cut the arrow out. Dr. Speed has a grandson living here at Pearsall now.

"One time some Indians chased me to the house and then stopped on a hill not far off and stood there in plain sight. I put all the horses in the corral, then hollered and told the Indians to come and get one. One Indian yelled at me in English, Spanish and Indian, telling me to come and get their horses, but they finally rode off. `

"Not long afterward I went over to a ranch and I recognized one of the ranch hands as the Indian who had dared me to come and get their horses. Golly, I sure was mad. He was one of those Kickapoo Indians from Mexico and he was passing himself off as a Mexican.

"I went up to him and I sure told him plenty. I told him if I ever caught him out anywhere I was going to fill his old hide plumb full of bullets. He never batted an eye while I was talking to him, and someone said for me to stop, that the fellow couldn't understand English. I told them he could, and I kept on telling him what I thought of him. When I finally stopped he said `My friend, will you please give me a match?' You ought to have seen the look on those fellows' faces when he said that right out in English.`

"Not long afterwards the fellow was working for Bud Walker. He and Mr. Walker were riding along one day and Mr. Walker had two saddlebags full of money on his saddle. The fellow rode close by Mr. Walker and tried to kill him with a knife, but Mr. Walker's horse jumped back and Mr. Walker shot the fellow between the eyes and killed him.

"At the close of the Civil War I was set free by emancipation, and a year later I went to Castroville and went to work for a merchant, John Vance. District Judge George Noonan kept after Mr. Vance to let me come and break horses for him and take care of his horse stock and I finally worked for Mr. Noonan for a year, then I went to freighting between San Antonio and the coast.

"I hauled freight between San Antonio and Port Lavaca, and also Indianola, or Powderhorn, as it was called part of the time. In 1867 I was in Indianola when the worst yellow fever epidemic in Texas hit that town. People died so fast they couldn't dig graves for them. They just dug a long trench on the beach north of town and buried them in it. When anyone ill with yellow fever began to spit black spit they was done for. In some cases they were put in boxes before they quit moving. I had to help take two girls off beds and put them in boxes before they quit moving. Only people who had been living there a long time was affected. Those who were from outside like I was wasn't taken sick with the yellow fever.

"When we was freighting we had to guard against robbers and cow skinners all the time. We would make a corral each night and put our steers in them to keep them safe. Cow skinners sure was bad in those day. They would kill anybody's cattle just for the hides. I've seen thousands of carcasses on the prairie north of Yorktown where the skinners had killed them.

"Once I saw the bodies of three men hanging from the limb of an oak tree down there on that prairie who had been hanged by the Vigilantes. One time the Vigilantes caught a man red-handed, right in the act of skinning one of their cows. They killed him, then cut the cow's paunch open and stuck the man's head in and then put up a sign warning other skinners that they would be done the same way.

"I was the first deputy sheriff in Medina county. You see, the first officials elected after the Civil War didn't serve. Some Northern men came down from Austin to install their own men in office. A district judge who had been a captain in the Northern army came down and a district attorney who had been a lieutenant in the Northern army came too. They stayed around a long time trying to find someone they could put in office. Finally they elected Voluntine Fulmer as sheriff and they elected me as deputy—they said I had to serve whether I wanted to or not, as one of the deputies had to be a colored man.

"I don't remember what that judge's and county attorney's names were, but August Kemp, county clerk of Hondo City can tell you, for their names is on the records there.

"I knew King Fisher well. One time some Mexicans stole a lot of cattle and took them across the river into Mexico. King Fisher just went right across and killed the Mexicans. He was indicted for it and brought and put in jail in Castroville. I was deputy sheriff then and I took Mr. Fisher many a cigar and drink.

"I also knew Ben Thompson well. One time when I was on Ben Duncan's ranch the Indians chased Ben Thompson to the ranch and he laid on my bed while I cooked dinner for him and two companions. I met Mr. Thompson several times afterwards in San Antonio and he always took me around and gave me a treat of some kind.

"They called King Fisher and Ben Thompson bad men, but they weren't bad men. They just wouldn't stand for no foolishness and they never killed anyone unless the fellows bothered them.

"I knew John Wesley Hardin, too. He was down in Bee and Karnes county. He was mixed up in the fight with the Taylors in those days. I knew Capt. Wallace, Bigfoot Wallace, as he was called, and hunted Indians with him. One time he was leading a bunch of us men after some Indians and we liked to have starved to death for water. The Indians went through a dry country and on up through the mountains. We got awful thirsty but Capt. Wallace wouldn't quit the trail. Finally when we thought we all was going to die we come to a little basin of water in some rocks in the mountains. Capt. Wallace wouldn't let the men help themselves. He made us all kneel down by the water and handed one of us a little gill cup, a little cup not bigger than your thumb. When one man took a little fill of water he had to give the cup to the next man and let him drink and it was passed on around that way for half an hour before Capt. Wallace would let the men drink from a big cup. Then we took our hats and filled them and watered our horses.

"When you'd see Capt. Wallace coming he'd start talking a long way off, and his hand would shake and shake and you'd never think he could shoot a gun and hit anything. But if you'd put a dime up in a tree a way off he'd knock it every shot.

"When Capt. Wallace got pretty old I met him one day and he said: `Tom, I'm going to Virginia to visit my people and I may never see you again." Pretty soon I said to him: `Captain, my boy has a book that's a history of your life, and they put a lot of things in it I know you never did.' He said, `I know it, Tom. They'd do anything for money.'

"I had a mail contract for 10 or 15 years. I carried the mail from here to Frio Town long in the '70s. Frio Town was the county seat of Frio county then. Later I carried it on another route. When I carried it to Frio Town they wasn't any railroad here at Pearsall then. Jim Harkness was sheriff at Frio Town and he was sheriff a long time. Mr. Harkness is still living here in Pearsall. My wife used to be a nurse in his family.

"I've got four children. One boy is a barber in San Antonio. Another cooks for a cattleman at Del Rio. One daughter works in San Antonio and the other lives in St. Louis. I work for the people here. Sometimes I cook for some cattleman and I works all the time.

"Tom Sullivan lived to be 113 years old. He was a remarkable character, highly respected by everyone, and many people still living in Southwest Texas felt that they had lost one of their best friends when the kindly old negro died and was gathered to his fathers.

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Killing of John Vaden at Fort McKavitt

2016-06-01

By John Warren Hunter

In 1868 Texas was under military rule and Federal troops were stationed in nearly every town of any consequence in the State. The presence of these soldiers at a time when the animosities engendered by the Civil War were yet at white heat and the tyranny, coupled with the cupidity of Federal soldiers in command, embittered the people and many of the younger men, those whose youth prevented their going into the army, and who cherished an inherited hatred towards the Yankees, were led to enter upon a career of crime that usually resulted in an untimely end at the hand of violence.

The meanest negro, whose insolence had provoked the wrath of a white man, could hasten to a Federal commandant with his plaint, a squad of soldiers was sent out, the citizen arrested and confined in the stockade, and it soon became known that however well to-do a man might be, if he ever entered one of these Federal stockades as a prisoner, he came out a poor man.

Besides the negro element there was a class of men who, under the cloak of loyalty to the Union during the war, neglected no opportunity to involve honest men in difficulties with the military authorities, and but for these men the civil officers could have enforced the law, preserved order, and there would have been no need for the intervention of the military arm of public service. It was one of this class—one Peacock—who succeeded in arraying the military authorities against Bob Lee of Collin county, a good citizen, a man who had served with merit and distinction in the Confederate army, and when General Lee surrendered, Bob accepted the situation, came home and entered upon the peaceful pursuits of civil life with the resolve to live blameless before all men. The same can be said of Cullen Baker of Bowie county, and hosts of others whose resentment against the wrongs heaped upon them by these so-called loyal Unionists and the petty officers and troops composing these garrisons over the country, that drove them to deeds of bloody retaliation. There are many living today who remember seeing at every crossroad in North Texas large posters announcing the offer of $1,000 reward for the apprehension, dead or alive, of Bob Lee, Cullen Baker and Ben Biggerstaff. All three of these men were killed and I suppose their slayers got the reward.

Billy Vaden, a righteous, God-fearing man, lived some twelve or fifteen miles north of Sulphur Springs, in Hopkins county. He had three or four sons, among whom was John Vaden. When John Vaden should have been in school he fell in with Ben Biggerstaff and became a member of the Biggerstaff gang. I do not recall the antecedents of this outlaw, nor do I know what provocation led him to declare uncompromising war against the Federal authorities in 1868, but at all events, he became a terror to the Federals and all peaceable citizens alike, but negroes and Yankees were the principal objects of his vengeance and many of these went down under his unerring aim.

A man living out in the country a few miles from Sulphur Springs had just cause to chastise an insolent negro; the latter hastened to town and reported the man to the commandant. Captain Tollman of the Sixth Cavalry with a troop of about twenty men held the post, and a detail of five men under a sergeant was sent to arrest the man who had whipped the nigger. Biggerstaff and Vaden got wind of the arrest, ambushed the party within half a mile of town, killing three or four of the soldiers and the negro and released the prisoner.

Two days after this, as an act of mere bravado, John Vaden, mounted on a little sorrel race mare, dashed through Sulphur Springs, passing within forty feet of the soldiers' barracks. Captain Tollman and his young wife were sitting on the front gallery of the Cotton hotel and as Vaden dashed by he fired at Tollman, missing his head by about one inch. Further down the street, and while under full speed, he fired the fatal shot that settled old Grimes, a noted negro about town, and before the Federals could collect their wits and give pursuit, John Vaden had vanished.

Lige Reynolds was raised at Sulphur Springs, and when the war came up he refused to renounce his allegiance to the Union. He left his wife and two little children and went to Mexico, and from thence to New Orleans, where he enlisted in the First Texas Cavalry U. S. Volunteers, and was mustered out at San Antonio in 1866. From San Antonio he came home and settled down on a place some five or six miles west of Sulphur Springs. Reynolds had occasion to go to town and while there he made a few purchases and set out on his return. That was the last ever seen of Lige Reynolds alive. Four days later searching parties found his body in the brush some distance from the main road. He had been murdered. His favorite dog that followed wherever he went had been shot and stretched across the body of his master.

Suspicion and circumstantial evidence pointed to the Biggerstaff gang but no real tangible clue was available and the matter rested. Biggerstaff was killed at Alvarado, Johnson county, shortly afterward and Vaden drifted west. Some years later he was arrested in San Angelo and taken to Sulphur Springs where he stood trial for one of the murders laid to his charge, and was acquitted. Other cases pending against him were dismissed and he returned to West Texas.

I next met John Vaden at Menardville in the fall of 1884. He had married a Miss Jackson, who was of an excellent family, her father being James Jackson who lived on the San Saba below town. An election was being held and armed with a Winchester, John stood within a few feet of the polls threatening to shoot any Mexican who refused to vote his way, and before the polls closed I saw him kick out the glass windows of the courtroom, where the election was being held, just because the votes were not cast to suit him. A deputy sheriff and the county judge were present but no one there wanted to take the risk of being killed. John Vaden was known as being a bad man and men feared him.

Of course I knew John Varden on sight but kept my own counsel and as he did not recognize me, I took no occasion to renew his acquaintance. I had not forgotten Lige Reynolds and the suspicion resting on the Biggerstaff crowd of which Vaden was a member. Lige had befriended me in boyhood, he had befriended me in Mexico before he joined the Federal army and working in conjunction with his widow and her son and daughter, who were at this time living in Mason, I was on the alert to find some clue to the real murderer.

Two years later, November, 1886, a number of men gathered after nightfall at Sam Wallick's store in Fort McKavett to wait for the coming of the Menardville mail hack. Among the number was John Vaden, who at the time and some years prior to that date, lived in McKavett. John took a seat on the office stove, a box shaped affair and began to relate some of his past experiences. Those who had known him most instantly noticed that on that occasion he was unusually loquacious. There were 11 men present; I counted them and before we adjourned at eleven o'clock I had taken the name of every man in the house. Vaden began by relating his experiences with the Mexicans while in the sheep business and the number he had killed. He reverted to the earlier years of his career and told of men he had killed in North Texas; of the raids and adventures and scoutings he had engaged in while with Ben Biggerstaff and others. He recounted his achievements on the race course and in the gambling houses and told of the unfair methods he employed to win success. And thus he regaled a group of earnest listeners until a late hour. He seemed not only boastful, but exultant, over the death of men whom he had slain and often exclaimed: "I thank my Christ that I did kill him!"

Observing his unusual communicativeness, I ventured to draw him out on the manner of Mr. Reynold's death by questioning him with regard to the shooting of the soldiers and the nigger just west of Sulphur Springs, the shooting at Capt. Tollman, the killing of old Grimes and others. He willingly related all the particulars and when I remarked, with assumed nonchalance: "Well, some of you fellows got off with that fellow Reynolds!"

"I killed Lige Reynolds myself and I thank my Christ for it!" was his startling reply.

"We fell in with him a few miles out of town. We took him off the road a short way into the brush and I shot him off his horse. I then got down to get the packages of goods he had let fall and his dog bit me right here, here is the scar," and he rolled up his pants and showed us a scar on the calf of his leg.

"Why did you fellows want to kill Reynolds? He always seemed like a harmless sort of a man," I asked.

"Because he was an infernal Yankee!" was the reply, and that reply secured for Mrs. Reynolds a pension that had been denied her for so many years.

Of the eleven men who were present that night and heard Vaden's confessions and boastings. I can only recall the names of Sam Wallick, D. T. Priest, John Q. Adams, Charles Adams and Doc Word. I think Tom Ball and Tom Elliott were also present, but of this I am not sure.

After the crowd dispersed Mr. Priest, who had known Vaden since the latter's first advent into the country, said to Mr. Wallick: "John Vaden is going to kill somebody tomorrow, or else somebody will have to kill him. I know him better than any man in McKavett and you mark my words. He is in one of his dangerous moods."

In addition to his large stock and mercantile interests in McKavett, F. Mayer owned a saloon and Ben Daniels, a deputy sheriff under J. W. Mears, was his barkeeper. Vaden had operated a saloon in McKavett but had closed out. He and Daniels had always been on good terms and only the day previous Daniels had accepted an invitation to dinner at Vaden 's house.

Early the next morning, following the gathering at Wallick's, Vaden entered the saloon and began to abuse Daniels. He set about to smash furniture and to create a rough house generally. He threw a billiard ball at Daniels, which barely missed his head and crashed into a large mirror behind the bar. Bystanders interfered and Vaden swore he would go home, only a few steps away, and get his gun. Charley Adams now living at Sonora, went with him and as they neared the house, Adams gave Mrs. Vaden the sign and she ran into the room and hid the gun. Failing to find the weapon, Vaden picked up a set of brass knucks and put them in his pocket saying something about what he would do to Daniels with these knucks. Meantime, Daniels had closed the saloon, buckled on his pistol and went into an old corral at the back of Mayer's store, where, in order to avoid Vaden, he remained until three o'clock that evening.

Finding the saloon closed and Daniels gone, Vaden next went into Wallick' s store and picked up a long shaft or wooden handle to which was attached an iron hook used in that day by merchants to take down tinware from overhead. With this and without provocation he began to thrust a Mexican, who had called to get his mail, and to tear his clothes. The Mexican said something about such treatment whereupon Vaden flew into a rage and would have killed the fellow but for the intervention of Sam Walliok and others. He next turned his attention to the horses hitched to the trees on the little square and it seemed to afford him great amusement thrusting and lacerating these poor animals just to see them jump, kick and surge against the halter. Groups of men were broken up, chased around and scattered with the same gusto and the same weapon. Brave fearless men there were in those groups, but they knew John Vaden and they did not care to kill him or take chances on being killed. It was his day off, and they let it go at that.

At about 3 o'clock in the evening, Vaden, after a brief respite, had resumed his antics with his hook and pole in front of Mayer's store where quite a crowd had assembled. He had the boys jumping sideways for Sunday, when Ben Daniels came in view. Oblivious of what had been going on during the day Ben had remained in the old corral. Supposing that Vaden had quieted down, Ben ventured out with the intention of giving Mr. Mayer the keys to the saloon and to throw up the job of bartender. It was necessary for him to enter the store through the front door. and as he turned the corner of the building, coming round to the front, he found himself facing, and within twenty feet of Vaden who at once made a dash at him as if to prod him with the sharp iron on his pole. Daniels drew his pistol and told him to desist. but Vaden gave no heed to the order and continued to advance, Daniels giving back and repeating his warnings. Finally Daniels opened fire, four shots going wild. The fifth struck Vaden about the collar bone and produced almost instant death.

The killing of John Vaden created no excitement among the citizens. On the contrary, a deep sense of relief seemed to pervade every circle. Vaden was buried the day following the tragedy in McKavett cemetery. Besides his widow and two or three bright little children there were few if any mourners. He sleeps in an unmarked grave.

The grand jury investigated the killing of Vaden and refused to find a bill of indictment against Daniels. Sometime afterward, Daniels left the country and the last news I had of him he was in New Mexico doing well. Vaden's two sons grew up and I have been told that they are useful citizens and highly respected.

Reconstruction Days in San Antonio - Taylor Thompson

2014-10-03

[From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, November, 1923]

During the period that has passed into history as the reconstruction days, the people of the southern states and especially those who had served in the Confederate army, were made the victims of many acts of cruelty and oppression. The people of Texas did not suffer so much as those of the other southern states, but heaven knows it was bad enough in Texas. All of the southern states were under military rule and all the civil offices were filled by military appointees, a horde of hungry men from the North who were known as carpetbaggers and scalawags, whose only idea seemed to be to oppress the southern people and to line their pockets. There were many men in Texas who had served in the Confederate army who had never learned "To bend the pregnant hinges of the knee, that thrift might follow fawning," who did not take kindly to the military carpet-bag rule and were outspoken in their denunciations of the many acts of tyranny practiced. Among these was Major Dan McGary, who was a lawyer of ability and a fluent writer who started out at the beginning of the war as orderly sergeant of the company to which I belonged. Soon after the close of hostilities Major McGary became editor of the Brenham Banner, a weekly paper published at Brenham. General Griffin was in command of the department of Texas at that time and he undertook to exercise a strict censorship over the press of Texas. With this idea in view he issued an order, a copy of which was sent to every newspaper in Texas, requiring the publisher thereof to send two copies of his paper to Gen. Griffin's headquarters. When Major McGary received this order he wrote to Gen. Griffin that the subscription price of the Banner was $3 per annum and to Yankees and carpetbaggers payment in advance was strictly required and on the receipt of $6 he would be pleased to send him two copies of the Banner. For this and many other utterances of a similar nature, Major MeGary was arrested and imprisoned in the county jail at Brenham and from his cell in the prison he was wont to write his editorials to the Banner, dating them all County Jail, Washington, Texas. I remember one of these editorials began with the words, Fort Worth Record "Breathes there a man with soul so dead who never to himself has said, Damn the Freedman's bureau."

For the publication of this particular article Major McGary was heavily ironed and chained to the floor of the cell. He was finally released from prison, however, and lived to see the horde of Carpet Baggers and Scallawags pack up their carpet bags and return whence they came. Major McGary died some years ago, and at the time of his death was editor of the Houston Age. For some years before his death the press of Texas always spoke of him as Uncle Dan'l.

There was at that time and is yet a regiment of the United States cavalry known as the Ninth, which was composed entirely of negroes. This regiment was ordered to the frontier to garrison the frontier forts of Texas and passed through San Antonio, near which city they camped for several weeks. There was in that portion of Texas no branch of what was known as the Ku-Klux-Klan but there were several similar secret organizations composed of ex-Confederates, which were organized for the protection of the southern people, which had their signs, grips and passwords and in which the female relatives of any member were eligible for membership. The female members were only entrusted with the signs and words to be used in cases of distress or danger. The negroes belonging to the Ninth cavalry were not permitted by their officers to come to town armed, but one day a burly mulatto negro succeeded in eluding vigilance of the guard at the camp and came to town armed with a cavalry saber. This fellow imbibed very freely and finally became about half crazed with drink. Then he mounted his horse and drawing his saber rode about the streets, cutting and slashing at everything that came in his way. He started from Main Plaza down Commerce street, whooping like a Comanche. He had only gone one block when Miss Nellie M—a beautiful young lady of that city, who was coming up Commerce street and was just in the act of crossing Victoria street when the negro ruffian, seeing her, attempted to ride her down, at the same time aiming a blow at her with his saber. In her fright the young lady shrieked out the distress words of one of the secret organizations before referred to. There were a number of men standing along the walks and in store doors watching the negro, and a volley of shots rang out and the negro and his horse both fell together, and I do not suppose either of them knew what hit them. Somebody had the curiosity to examine the body of the negro, and found that twenty-four bullets had struck him. Fifty or sixty of us were arrested and arraigned before the local agent of the Freedman's bureau, but nothing came of it, and the cases against us were dismissed.

There were in San Antonio at the close of the war several men who, although they had served in the Confederate army, affiliated afterward with the Republican party for a time. Among these was Alexander Sweet, who some years later founded a humorous periodical known as Texas Siftings and published it in Austin, and which still later was moved to New York.

Alex was city attorney in San Antonio in Reconstruction days, and any ex-Confederate who was arraigned before the federal, municipal, or any other court on any charge was usually convicted, no matter what might be the evidence. When the Democrats finally came into power, Captain George S. Deats, a gallant ex-Confederate officer, was elected city recorder, but for some reason Alex Sweet, who was city attorney, held over for several months. Captain Deats knew little of the law, but he was a man of fine common sense. One day an ex-Confederate was arraigned before Captain Deats on some trivial charge, and Alex Sweet, in conducting the prosecution, attempted to introduce some evidence which the court ruled out. Then Mr. Sweet arose and said: "But, your honor, let me read you the law on that point." Captain Deats replied: "Nevermind, Mr. Sweet, we do not propose to have so much law and a little more justice in this court in future." Alex Sweet was a born humorist, but it was some time before he found it out himself. Soon after he established the Siftings at Austin, he went over to San Antonio to visit his parents, accompanied by his eldest son, a bright boy of perhaps ten years of age. They arrived after night and stopped at a hotel instead of going to the parental home. The next morning they started out for a stroll before breakfast, and on the corner of Military Plaza met Colonel James R. Sweet, who had gone to the market. I was talking to Colonel Sweet when Alex and his little son came up. After the greetings were over Colonel Sweet patted his little grandson on the head and remarked: "Alex, that is a mighty fine, bright boy—much brighter than you were at his age. "To which Alex promptly responded: "Yes, I expect that is so, Pa; but just see the difference in the fathers of the two boys!" At which the old colonel laughed heartily and we all went to see a man.

(Editor's Note—Taylor Thompson, the writer of the above sketch, was a well-known printer and newspaper man of pioneer days. He was also a scout and ranger, and wrote many sketches of his experiences on the frontier. During the last years of his life he sat in darkness, having become blind, and had to dictate most of his writings. His death occurred in 1922 at the Confederate Home in Austin, of which institution he had been an inmate for a number of years. From time to time we will publish his narratives and we are sure our readers will find every one of them interesting.)

Texas Rangers Were First to Use Six-Shooters. - W. P. Webb

2014-10-03

[From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, November, 1923]

(Editor's Note.—W. P. Webb holds the position of adjunct professor of history at the University of Texas. He has written extensively for magazines and books about frontier life in Texas, early fights with Indians, and about the State rangers.)

It was during the Republic that the rangers won a name as fearless and brave men that has clung to them down to the present time. They have always been a mounted force, and even today there is a saying that a ranger is no better than his horse. They had to go mounted because their enemies were mounted, and they were few because the State was too poor to maintain a large force. These early rangers had to makeup in quality what they lacked in numbers. It was also during the Republic, 1836-1845, that they developed their technique of war. They were the first men to learn the use of the six-shooter, and to learn that the six-shooter was the logical weapon with which to fight the Indian on horseback. It was in Texas that the white man first came in contact with mounted Indians. The Americans had, up until the time Texas was settled, fought the Indians on foot. But when they came to Texas, they passed from the timbered area on to the plains, and on the plains and prairies around San Antonio they met the Comanches, the superb horsemen of the country. It is said that these Comanches could shoot their arrows from a running horse so rapidly that they could keep one in the air all the time. The Texans needed a weapon that carried several shots, and that wielded from the hurricane deck of a Texas mustang. It is not known when the rangers first got the six-shooter. An unsubstantiated story has it that S. M. Swenson went to New York, where he met Col. Colt who had just perfected his revolving pistol. Swenson realized at once that the revolvers would be useful to the fighters of Texas and when he returned to Austin he called them to the attention of President Houston, who purchased a number of them for the army and navy. At any rate, whether the story is true or not, the ranger did get possession of the six-shooters, and under Jack Hays they learned that these guns were good medicine for the Indians, that they made the rangers as good mounted fighters as the Indians were with their bows and arrows. It was this six-shooter that made them invincible on the Western plains.

When Texas joined the Union in 1845 the ranger thought that their work was over and that the task of frontier protection would be taken over by the Federal government. In fact, that was the agreement between the two Republics and one of the chief reasons why Texas wanted to get into the Union was in order to gain the protection of the strong and long arm of Uncle Sam. But Uncle Sam had his own ideas of dealing with Indians and these did not always accord with the ideas of the early Texans.

In the Mexican War, which followed the annexation of Texas, the rangers played a prominent role. Jack Hays was made a Colonel and he led his band into Mexico, at the head of Taylor's army. The rangers participated in the first battle of the war and they fought in the last engagements. Throughout they made a great reputation for themselves and their fame spread over the continent. They were very valuable in the war, because they understood Mexican tactics of fighting. They were an unmanageable troop, however, when no fighting was in progress, and a great trial to officers who wished to impose strict military discipline. The rangers are not soldiers, they have never worn uniforms, carried flags or assumed any paraphernalia of war outside of terribly effective weapons which they used on their horses with consummate skill. The Mexican War is the only one in which the Texas rangers have ever served as a separate military unit.

Reconstruction came with all its horrors, and there was organized in Texas what was known as "State Police." The odium that is attached in Texas to this body of men is a safe guarantee that the name will never in the future be applied to an honorable body of men whose business it is to keep peace and to protect life and property. The history of the reconstruction State police is a history entirely apart from that of the Texas rangers, and should never be confused with it.

After reconstruction Texas was filled with desperate characters as a result of war and its aftermath. Feuds broke out in various parts of the Slate, the Indians were still troublesome in the West and the need for the old organization was strong. The rangers were reorganized at this time, and the great names among them are those of Capt. McNelly and Maj. John B. Jones. Capt. McNelly broke up the Dewitt County feud in South Texas and chased a band of desperadoes almost to the Mexican border. The only reason he did not chase them to the border was that the rangers were such good shots that it was not necessary to ride that far. The story is told that McNelly had an army wagon sent out from Brownsville which gathered up seventeen bodies and brought them in and piled them up on the public square of that town the bad characters could see that law and order had returned

What Capt. McNelly did to the riff-raff of the South, Maj John B. Jones did to the Indians of the North. He established a series of posts along the Western Frontier, and in a mule wagon accompanied by a small body of men he patrolled the State from Red River south and west. It was a line held by a few men, but it was almost impenetrable to the Indians. Every trail leading "in" that is, to the settlements, was followed and the marauders punished. The Indians learned to fear and respect the diminutive Major and his stalwart men. It is an interesting fact that both McNelly and Jones were very small men, though for courage and sheer nerve and boundless energy they could not be surpassed.

John Robert Baylor—1822-1895

2014-08-02

[This account is from Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, September, 1929]

DISTINGUISHED CONFEDERATE officer and Indian fighter, was born in Bourbon county, Kentucky, on the twentieth day of July, 1822. His father, Dr. John Baylor, was a physician and was assistant surgeon of the Seventh United States Infantry. His mother's maiden name was Weidner. As assistant surgeon, Dr. Baylor and his family followed the fortunes of the regiment, for that reason, John R. Baylor spent part of his young life in Kentucky, Arkansas, Mississippi, and the Indian territory.

When quite a young man he came to Texas and lived for a short time at Marshall (1841) where he married in 1844, Emily J. Hanna, shortly after which event he moved to Fayette County, Texas, near Fayettesville, where he opened a farm and cattle ranch.

He was active in all matters of public interest, waged war on all disreputable characters, was generally elected to command any expedition against outlaws, hence his name as Captain Baylor.

During his residence in Fayette County, he was elected member of the legislature 1852-1854, also was admitted to the bar and engaged for a time in the practice of law.

In 1855 he was appointed agent for the Comanche Indians. The Indians at that time were on a reservation near Camp Cooper in what is now Stephens county . The Indian policy of Captain Baylor was not satisfactory to those in authority. He stoutly maintained that when the Indians were caught red handed with stolen horses that they should be made to surrender them to their lawful owners, and the Indians dealt with as other thieves, and when they murdered the settlers they should be dealt with as other murderers. Those in authority too just the opposite view,

Captain Baylor's ideas and views not being satisfactory, another agent was appointed in his stead in 1857. In this year he moved about twenty miles below the agency and the Clear Fork of Brazos and established the first cow ranch in Stephens county.

Almost continually from 1857 to the Civil War, Captain Baylor was engaged in warfare with the Indians. The Comanches seemed determined to stop the encroachments of the white man and the white man seemed just as determined to march onward, therefore, there was almost continuous trouble. In 1859 he, in command of a large body of men, after severe fighting, forced the Indians to leave Texas.

In 1860 the Indians killed one of his neighbors. He at once organized a few men consisting of himself and four others, followed the Indians and killed thirteen braves and took from them fifty-head of horses they had stolen in Palo Pinto county. Prior to and subsequent to this fight , he had many fierce encounters with the Indians, but was never wounded.

On March 18, 1861, after Texas had seceded, the secession convention passed an ordinance providing for a military force for the state, in which a regiment of mounted volunteers was authorized to be raised for frontier protection, John S. Ford was elected Colonel, John R. Baylor, lieutenant-colonel and Edwin Wallar, major.

In 1861, Lieutenant-Colonel Baylor, in command of part of his regiment, took an active part in compelling the surrender of the United States troops in San Antonio and surrounding posts, after which he was placed in command of the second line of defense on the Western Frontier of Texas, subsequently with a small body of Texas troops, less than two hundred in number, he moved up the Rio Grande to El Paso,upon arriving at which place he found that Fort Bliss had been abandoned and the Confederate flag flying from the flag staff. He at once took charge of all abandoned government property in that section. He also strengthened his forces by organizing companies, and conceiving the idea of capturing Fort Fillmore, then garrisoned by about seven hundred regulars under command of Major Isaac Lynde, of the Seventh Infantry. Accordingly on the 25th of July, 1861, he, with about two hundred men, after a forced march arrived near Fort Fillmore just before daylight with the intention of surprising the sleeping garrison, but a deserter from his command gave information of his presence and the beating of the long roll announced the readiness of the garrison to receive the Texans upon hostile terms.

For this reason he did not deem it prudent to make an attack at that time and passed around the post through the village of San Tomas and went into camp just above the town of Messilla. He captured seven Union soldiers in San Tomas and after getting all the information he could, respecting the location and movement of the federal troops in New Mexico, released them and permitted them to return to Fort Fillmore. At the same place the Texans captured a quantity of clothing, shoes blankets, arms and ammunition.

On the evening of July 25th, the Federal troops marched out of Fort Fillmore towards Messilla for the purpose of attacking the Texans whereupon Lieut.-Col. Baylor hastily posted his men in positions behind adobe walls, houses and corrals, and awaited the attack. About five o'clock the enemy's cavalry was discovered approaching the town by the main road and soon afterwards the infantry came in sight, bringing with them three howitzers. They formed within three hundred yards and a flag was sent in to demand the "unconditional and immediate surrender of the Texas troops. To this demand Lieut.-Col. Baylor returned answer that "We will fight first and surrender afterwards." And soon as the answer was received the enemy opened fire on the Texans with the howitzers. After four or five rounds of shell, grape and canister, the cavalry formed and advanced up to within two hundred and fifty yards preparatory to making a charge. A few well directed shots from the Texans, killing four and wounding seven of the enemy, threw them into confusion and they retreated hastily, running over the infantry. In a few minutes the enemy retreated towards the fort and Lieut.-Col. Baylor, fearing it was a feint to draw him into a trap, did not pursue.

All next day the enemy seemed to be entrenching and preparing for a vigorous defense, and Lieut.-Col. Baylor sent a courier to Fort Bliss for reinforcements with artillery. However, it seemed that Major Lynde did not intend to attempt to hold the fort, for, early on the morning of the 27th, the columns of dust seen rising on the Fort Stanton roads in the direction of Organ Mountains, some fifteen miles distant told of his retreat.

The post had been fired, but this, the Texans soon extinguished and started in pursuit with the intention of intercepting the enemy at San Augustine Pass. Upon reaching the foot of the mountain, the rear column of the retreating enemy, composed mostly of famished stragglers endeavoring to reach water, was overtaken. These were disarmed, given water and carried on to the spring. Upon arriving there, twenty-four soldiers were found fast asleep upon the ground around a spring, so great was their exhaustion. As soon as the men and horses were refreshed, the pursuit was renewed and in a short time the enemy's cavalry was drawn up to cover the retreat of the infantry through the pass. They were charged by Captain Peter Hardeman with his company, the enemy retreated in haste leaving their wagons, artillery and supplies in the hands of the Texans. Upon gaining the summit of the pass, a plain view of the road leading to the San Augustine springs was presented, showing the fainting, famished soldiers straggling along. These threw down arms as the Texans passed and begged for water. At the main spring the enemy was drawn up in line but did not resist and surrendered unconditionally. Their colors were captured, and many years after the close of the war, General Baylor returned the colors to Major Lynde at San Antonio, Texas.

The Union forces captured consisted of eight companies of Infantry, four of cavalry, and four pieces of artillery, the whole numbering about seven hundred men, The Texans, at the surrender were less than two hundred men. The prisoners were marched to Las Cruces in a few days and all paroled.

The news of the fall of Fort Fillmore and the capture of Major' Lynde's command created consternation among the Union troops at Fort Stanton and that post was abandoned after the destruction of a considerable portion of supplies and government property; and all would have been lost but for a rain storm which extinguished the fires.

Upon receipt of the news of the evacuation of Fort Stanton, Lieut.-Col. Baylor sent Company D, under Captain James Walker to that post for the purpose of taking possession of, and preserving the government property. Lieut.-Col. Baylor then took a strong position near the village of Picacho in order to intercept Captain L. N. Moore, of Second United States Dragoons, who it was learned, was en route to reinforce Fort Fillmore with two hundred and fifty men; but before reaching that point, Captain Moore received intelligence of the fall of the Fort and the capture of its garrison and immediately burned his transportation and supplies and made his escape to, Fort Craig.

While in Picacho, the Texans were joined by General Albert Sidney Johnston, who had resigned his commission in the United States Army and was on his way from California to tender his services to the Confederate States Government. General Johnston prevailed upon George Wythe Baylor, who was first lieutenant in Company H, Second Texas Cavalry, to go with him to Richmond, which he did and was made a colonel on General Johnston's staff and was with the General when he was killed at Shiloh.

Numerous frays with the Indians and small detachments of Union troops occupied the attention of those Companies of the regiment under Lieut .-Col. Baylor during the fall, in all of which the Texans displayed the gallantry which usually characterized them.

On August 1, 1861, Lieut .-Col. Baylor issued a proclamation taking command of the territory of Arizona in the name of the Confederate States and formed a temporary government with a full quota of officers.

In December, 1861, Brigadier General H. H. Sibley arrived in Arizona with reinforcements and took command of the department of Arizona and New Mexico. The troops which had been under command o f Lieut.-Col. Baylor were attached to the Sibley brigade and thus Lieut.-Col. Baylor was left to attend to the civil affairs of the territory. With his brigade, General Sibley drove the remnant of federal troops from the Territory after several battles, the principals of which were Val Verde aad Glorietta

By proclamation of President Davis dated February 24, 1862, Lieut.-Col. Baylor was appointed Governor of Arizona and made a brigadier general in the Confederate States army.

The country being almost destitute of supplies, the disadvantages of attempting to hold it became apparent and besides, the Federals had been heavily reinforced, so the country was abandoned and the Confederate troops fell back to San Antonio, Texas.

When the Second Texas Cavalry returned to Texas, its twelve months enlistment had expired some three months before, but the regiment remained together in its original organization. The regiment was reinlisted for three years or during the war. Right here we wish to state that it is not true as stated in current history "That the Confederates were compelled to retreat to Texas, leaving behind about half of their number in killed, wounded, and prisoners."

After the very decisive victory of Lieut.Col. Baylor during the summer of 1861, he was decidedly the man of the hour, his was one of the most decisive victories for the South up to that time, considering the number of troops engaged. The praise of Lieut.-Col. Baylor was on every tongue as was the praise of the officers and men under his command who had so nobly supported him. The victory was heralded all over the South as positive proof of the superiority of the Southern soldier over his brother of the North. What a delusion! The fact that they were both Americans, and equally brave, seems to have been entirely left out of the reckoning. There are no better soldiers than Americans, whether they be from the North or South.

After Lieut.-Col. Baylor's victory, in January, 1862, the governor of Texas wrote him a personal letter thanking him and his men for the service they had rendered the country. The legislature being in session, passed a joint resolution wherein it was declared that "Lieut.-Col. Baylor was entitled to the praise and .commendation of the Legislature for his gallant and patriotic course, and that the officers and men in his command were entitled to equal commendation for their gallantry in supporting him." General Baylor came back to Texas with the Confederate troops and at once engaged in organizing what was afterwards known as the Arizona Brigade in the military operations of Texas troops.

Unfortunately for all concerned President Davis was misinformed about General Baylor's warfare against the Indians during his management of affairs in Arizona and he was deprived of his command, which Texans generally, and especially the troops of his regiment regarded as a great outrage for they knew him to be a brave and thoroughly competent officer. He remained active on the military affairs of the state and began at once to raise whatever number he could. He raised a small number of men, about one hundred, took command of them with all necessary officers clipping taken from the San Antonio Express in 1895. We here reproduce the article: and did good service in the northern part of the state. He had quite a fight with a band of men called "Jay Hawkers," who were hiding in Trinity bottom and committing depredations upon the people. In the fight several Jay Hawkers were killed including their captain, three of them were taken prisoner, two of the prisoners were executed by order of General Magruder and one, on account of his youth, was set at liberty.

In January, 1863, General Baylor took an active part in a private capacity in the battle of Galveston and was favorably mentioned by General Magruder in his report of the battle. He said of General Baylor, "I recommend to the especial consideration of the President General John R. Baylor, for his gallant conduct as a private, serving the guns during the hottest of the fight." In the spring of 1863, General Baylor was earnestly solicited by the people of his district including Parker county, to become a candidate for Congress. He yielded to their wishes and in the election held in August, 1863, was elected to the Confederate Congress.

After his election he turned his command over to Lieut. R. H. D. Sorrell, who was later chosen Captain and served as such to the close of the war. This company was attached to Col. George Wythe Baylor's regiment and known as Company I.

General Baylor made two perilous trips to Richmond to do duty as Congressman. He passed through the federal lines twice, and was subjected to many hardships, in order to avoid being captured.

During his stay in Richmond, he explained to Mr. Davis, all his policies while in Arizona and was completely exonerated and reinstated. But no command could then be raised, as all able bodied men were already in the army. Also while in Congress, Gen. Baylor took an active part in several of the battles around Richmond, fighting with any command he happened to be with.

General Baylor had three sons in the Confederate army, J. W. Baylor, W. K. Baylor and H. W. Baylor.

General Baylor settled in Uvalde county in 1879 where he continued to reside until his death in 1895. He was buried at the little town of Montell. His grave is not marked by any such memorial as the State owes his memory, but thus has Texas dealt with many of her noble sons. If Texas has neglected his memory, loving hands have erected a modest tombstone over the grave where he sleeps. "As sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their Country wishes best."

The above facts were furnished by W . K. Baylor, a son of John R. Baylor, who was a warm personal friend of the editor of Frontier Times, and who died at his home in San Antonio about two years ago. Another son, H. W. Baylor, still lives in San Antonio, and has sent us the following

The Distinguished Texan's Meeting With

Albert Sidney Johnston.

In the death of John R. Baylor in Uvalde county, Texas, that State lost one of its most distinguished citizens. Col. John T. Crisp of Independence, who has been spending the week in St. Louis, says The Republic, was a close acquaintance with the dead soldier-statesman, and his knowledge of the striking incidents of his career will make a chapter that would be a fitting addition to the history of the great State of Texas.

"I first met Gen. Baylor in the City of El Paso after the late war was over," the colonel said yesterday. "I was walking on the plaza one morning, when my eye was attracted by a striking figure walking in an opposite direction not far away. I asked someone who the man was, but the person to whom I addressed my inquiry did not know. Then I concluded that he must be a great man and that I ought to know him. I accordingly introduced myself. He said that he was Gen. John R. Baylor, and that he had known my father and grandfather before me. I had an appointment with my wife, but I forgot it in my interest in the conversation that followed. We went to dinner. When I finally thought to look at my watch it was 4 o'clock. For six mortal hours we two strangers had talked to each other regardless of the thing called time. The most interesting thing that I heard from the lips of that grand man was his story of a meeting with Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston. It is a story that has never appeared in the history of Texas or of Johnston and is worthy of a place in each:

"Early in the war Gen. Baylor, then a colonel, was in charge of a company of men in the northwestern part of Texas. He had made a number of important captures of Federal outposts, and was pursuing his way when, one morning, in the gray of the dawn, a soldier on picket duty came to him with the report that a man had been captured in an attempt to steal the horses of the camp. Baylor ordered the man brought before him.

"I am interested," said he, in any fellow who would come to a camp as far away from civilization as ours was to steal horses.

" ' "See here," I said to him, "what does this mean? What can you hope to do with any horses you steal away out here? "

" ' "I was not stealing them," the man replied, in the very best tone and with the openest manner. "I wanted them for a particular purpose, and I was only taking them."

"His coolness struck me with particular force, and I asked him what part of the country he was from. Imagine my surprise when he said he hailed from California. For days—since the first rumor of strife had gone out over the land—I had been looking to the West as for a military Messiah in the person of Albert Sidney Johnston, with whom I had served in the army of the United States, and who was one of my chosen friends. Gen. Johnston was in California, and I wanted to know whether or not he was coming to the East in the aid of the Southern cause. Well, when this fellow told me that he was from California I took a renewed interest in him.

'See here," I said, turning to him sharply, "did you know any of the prominent men of your State? " "

' "I knew them all," he replied with confidence.

'Did you ever hear of Albert Sidney Johnston?" I asked. "

' "Very often," was his calm response. "

' "When did you last see him?" I next inquired.

'The day before I left California."

"' "Did you talk to him? "

'Yes, and at great length.

" 'Did you hear him or any other person say whether or not he was coming East to engage in this conflict?"

"'The man looked at me earnestly for two or three minutes, and then he asked this question :

"' "What is your name? "

"'I told him.

'John R. Baylor?" he asked.

'The same," I answered, a bit surprised that he should know. "

' "Well," he proceeded, "you may or you may not be the man you say you are. But I will tell you that Gen. Johnston is not three miles from here and that it was for him that I was taking your horses. He left California a few weeks ago and is now on his way East under an escort of thirty men, one of whom I am. We understood that the uniform of the Confederacy was to be anything but blue, and when I saw these blue overcoats fastened to the saddles I assumed that they were the horses of Union soldiers, hence my effort to take them. I still do not know that you are not. Prove to me that you are the man you say you are and I will conduct you to Gen. Johnston. He has often spoken of you and has expressed the hope that you might meet him on his way through Texas."

"'I at once called two of my best men and telling them to go with the stranger I told him to ask any question of any man whom he might meet until he was satisfied as to my honesty and as to the character of our political belief. We were wearing blue uniforms at the time for the reason that we had found some very serviceable garments in some of the forts that we had captured and a cold snap that came along made them comfortable. Well, to get back to the thread of this narrative, the man came back in ten minutes completely satisfied that I was Col. Baylor and that I was honest in my questions about the intentions of the great general who had gone away to California. We saddled up and rode off with the stranger. After going about three miles we went up the skirt of a mountain, and when we reached the summit our guide pointed to a camp about a mile distant and below us. At the same instant the camping party noticed us and we were, of course, the object of its gaze. Gen. Johnston stepped to one side to get a better look at us, and as he raised his glass he recognized me and I did the same to him. We rode rapidly to each other, and we actually embraced and shed tears for ten minutes before we could find words for our utterances. I was on my way North and the general refused to allow me to change my course for him. I insisted, and he said that he would go with me. I explained, that it would never do for him to go unless he were in command, whereupon he turned to me with this remark : "

' "What is the first duty of an officer of an army? " "

' "To obey," .I answered.

'Then," said he, "I command you to go on with your expedition and allow me to be a party to it."

"'I obeyed the command. "

"That story," Col. Crisp went on, "has never been in print. Gen. Baylor and Gen. Johnston met there on that occasion and they stood in that vast empire like two William Wallaces on the hills of Scotland , but one died at Shiloh and the other lost courage when the war was over, and, like a mighty oak, riven and torn by a storm, he was broken in body and spirit at the end of the war. He retired to the West, where he recuperated, and there, surrounded by his multiplying herds, he became a figure in the great domain of Texas."

Gen. Baylor was a famous Texan and a powerful man in every way. He represented his State in the Confederate Congress and was recognized long before the war as one of the brainiest, as well as one of the most brave, physically, of its many sons. He was a noted Indian fighter and had a record of slaying red-skins in personal hand-to-hand conflict. While living in Uvalde county he killed so many desperate white characters that his name became a terror to the "bad" men of that part of the Lone Star State. He was 73 years old at the time of his death and left a wife and ten married children to mourn his end.

SPENT FOUR LONG YEARS IN A CAVE

2014-05-29

[From J. Marvin Hunter's Frontier Times Magazine, April, 1925]

Jap Brown, a man by the name of Star, a Mr. Hitchcock, the Pierces and one or two others whose names cannot be recalled, formed a little colony or neighborhood on the Blanco river in Blanco county. They were a simple folk, quiet, unobtrusive and, like all Texans of the olden time, were noted for their generous hospitality. They cultivated small farms, lived in cedar log cabins and devoted much of their time to making cedar shingles and cutting cedar posts which they hauled to Austin where these articles always found a ready market. Jap Brown, who will prove the leading character in this story, was a noted bee hunter and devoted much of his time to the pursuit of bees and the gathering of wild honey from bee caves which abounded in the cliffs and canyons of the Blanco streams, and while following this calling, he acquired a thorough knowledge of every mountain path, every nook, recess and cavern in all the region thereabouts, and, as the sequel will show, this knowledge proved of great service to him during the Civil War. About one mile from Brown's house there was a large cave, the small entrance to which opened out in the walls of the cliff, or rather a precipice some 50 to 60 feet above the floor of a canyon through which flowed the Blanco river. The entrance to this cavern could not be seen from the crest of the cliff and was scarcely observable from the bottom of the canyon or any other point of view.

When the war came on, Jap Brown and the parties named refused to go into the army as volunteers. They kept their own counsel, refused to discuss the question of secession with outsiders, and pursued the even tenor of their way until the conscript law went into force. One or two of these men were forced into the ranks, but Brown and one other decided that freedom even in cavernous depths of the Blanco mountains was preferable to the life of a conscript and in pursuance of that decision, they sought and found refuge in places of concealment almost within earshot of their homes. While many Unionists and Neutrals in that and other sections, fled to Mexico, it was known to the authorities that Jap Brown was in hiding somewhere in the mountains near his home, and for more than three years, conscript officers and Home Guards, known in that day as "Heel Flies," made their monthly and often weekly "roundup" in that section, trying to find and arrest Jap Brown. They searched his house over and often they explored and beat up in the brush in every canyon, on every hillside and mountain top for miles around but they could never find even a trace of Brown, and yet they knew that the object of their search was somewhere in concealment. All this while Brown and his companion were in the aforementioned cave, and could look down-unobserved upon the cavalcade of Heel-Flies as they rode through the canyon in quest of their quarry.

The families of these men had formulated a code of signals which each member understood perfectly, and at the slightest approach of danger, every member of the community was warned. Thus, when an officer, with a company of men, or a stranger came into the settlement, the signal was given. From this cavern perch, Brown had full view of a neighbor's house and yard, down in the little valley. When he glanced out and saw a white garment on the clothes line, he knew that it was the danger signal. But with all these precautions on several occasions their capture came near being affected. Old Grandma Pierce was chosen to carry provisions, occasionally, to Brown. The old man usually performed this service under cover of darkness but there came a period when the "Heel-Flies" seemed to relax their vigilance and this caused him to assume a boldness that came near being the undoing of Mr. Brown. His good old wife, Grandma Pierce, was of a very superstitious turn of mind and one day she had prepared a supply of rations including a pot of coffee, all to be carried to Brown's cave by the old man. It was about one o'clock when he placed the provisions in a basket preparatory to starting, and as he went to take up the coffee pot, the old lady begged him to leave it alone "I see death in that coffee-pot and in that basket!" cried the old mother. "Don't touch that coffee pot and don't take that basket, if you do we will be betrayed!" Probably the old matron had seen one of the many danger signals and was forewarned, as to that, no one knows, but her spouse heeded her warning and with the provisions—corn pone and jerked beef—concealed under his shirt, inside, he set forth from the house with a long walking-stick in one hand and a few ears of corn in the basket. He went in the direction of the cave, half bent with age and decrepitude, leaning on his staff and all the while calling hogs, which, in reality, was a signal that Brown understood. When he had covered about half the distance between the house and the cave he found himself suddenly surrounded by twenty-five Home Guards who demanded to know where he was going. "I am hunting my old bell sow; have you fellers seen an old spotted sow with a bell on" was the ready response of the old pioneer. After some further questioning, the old man was permitted to proceed in quest of his "old belled sow," but he did not go further in the direction of the cave. Old Grandmother Pierce always afterward contended that if he had taken the coffee pot along his bell sow story would not have been accepted by the “Heel-Flies." They would have reasoned that hogs do not drink coffee.

Mrs. Brown was a thrifty woman, industrious and withal, a most resourceful lady. She cultivated the little farm, made good crops, her premises swarmed with poultry, she carded, spun and made clothing for herself and children, and all during the war she seemed prosperous. Her field was a little way off the road but in full view and passers by often saw her following the plow. Her table was always well supplied and she often fed the very men who were scouring the country in search of her husband and on these occasions, from his aerie in the cliff-side, he read the signal that told him of the presence and even the number of his persecutors.

But Mrs. Brown did not do all the plowing and planting on that little farm A lady who knew the Browns, Pierces, and Hitchcock's intimately during those times and who now lives in San Antonio relates the following incident in connection with this story: "I passed a certain sheep ranch one day and saw Mrs. Jap Brown, with other women, shearing sheep. An hour later I passed the Brown place and when I came in sight of the field I was surprised to see Mrs. Brown in the field plowing. Of course, it was not Mrs. Brown, since she was three or four miles away shearing sheep. It was Jap Brown clad in his wife's attire. He was often seen by near neighbors, plowing in the field dressed up in women's apparel".

John C. Pierce was Brown's constant companion in hiding and the year before the war closed Pierce had the hardihood to venture forth from their cave and get married.

After the close of the war, the fact was revealed that these men were not idle while mewed up in that cave. Cotton and wool cards and a spinning wheel became a part of their cavern furniture, tallow candles cast in old time candle molds by the good wife at home afforded light for them and the vast amount of spun thread carried from the cave under cover of darkness was a prime factor in causing people to wonder how it was that Mrs. Brown made more cloth than any two women in the country. During the early days many boys were taught to card and spin.

Jap Brown remained on his little farm and prospered for several years after the war. At length he became involved in a feud and was killed while crossing the Colorado river at Austin.

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TEXAS AFTER THE CIVIL WAR

2014-05-06

By Colonel Acie Sooner

[From Hunter's Frontier Times Magazine, April, 1927]

I CAME to Texas immediately after the close of the Civil War, by rail to New Orleans, and took passage on a boat called the Iron City, for Shreveport, La. The trip up Red river was slow and frequently it became necessary to use a block-and-tackle to draw the boat over the shoals and sand banks. I landed at Shreveport in about five days after leaving New Orleans, but the river was too shallow to float the vessel further up to Jefferson, Texas. I remained in Shreveport but a short time, as most of the people were suffering with chills and fever, and footed it to Jefferson, since there was no immediate transportation available. At that time Jefferson was the largest city in North Texas, with a population of 15,000 or 20,000 people, and did an immense overland traffic with towns further west. It was also the head of navigation. Here I found hundreds of wagons loading for points in the interior of the state. One of them was bound for Greenville and others for McKinney, Denton, Sherman, Fort Worth and Dallas. Sherman was a larger town at that time than either Dallas or Fort Worth. I obtained permission to ride in a wagon bound for Greenville, in Hunt county. Here I remained for some time. The town was dilapidated. Owls and bats had but recently been driven from the houses and the high weeds cut down and burned. Hardin Hunt was running the only tavern in the town, and the writer took lodging there. A Mrs. Orr was postmistress and Prof Cushman had opened a school. Dr. Young was the principal physician and a Mr. Upthegrove the only lawyer. Fred Ende had a little grocery store and there was a blacksmith shop and a stable. The population numbered about 300 souls The county of Hunt now is said to contain a population of about forty-eight thousand. There were no such towns in the county as Commerce, Celeste, Wolf City and Lone Oak when the war ended. A frame court house stood in the center of the public square. There was no church, The prairies and timbered lands presented an uncouth appearance; there were thousands of acres of uncut postoak, elm, ash, hickory, bois d 'arc. The prairies were covered with grass from three to five feet high. Ninety thousand Texans had participated in the Civil War, among them all the patriots of this county, but no hostile armies, except plundering bands of Indians, had invaded this section of the state. In fact, Texas had been almost free from the ravages of the northern foe. But there had been a number of union men in the country, and these had spread terror among the women and children left behind by fathers and sons. Colonel Jim Bowlin and Colonel Young hanged thirty-five of them on one tree in Gainesville. Towns had been destroyed by fire in places in this section of the country, the firing of the buildngs had been attributed to the union men. Hunt county had the appearance of a wilderness. Great Jamestown weeds, sunflowers, etc., overspread the land, and the song of the forest insects induced a cheerless feeling. I wandered around the courthouse and observed that there were still a few owls, bats, crickets, spiders and cockroaches in evidence. Gradually the men had returned from the army and the prisons, footsore and tired, minus their implements of war, to take up implements of agriculture. A number of Texas Rangers with great spurs on their boots, passed through the town on their way to San Antonio, Nacogdoches and Refugio. In a conversation with one of them the writer was told that since their job of hunting Yankees was knocked out they were going to resume their work of herding cattle. They were still armed with carbines and navy six shooters for the purpose, they said, of resisting any attack that the Comanche and Kiowa Indians, under Lone Wolf, Big Tree and Santanta, might make upon them, as they traveled through the wilderness. They had information that wild Indians were raiding Tarrant, Denton, Wise and Montague counties, stealing horses and killing cattle, in retaliation for raids upon them by palefaces from New Mexico and Arizona. These Indians had crossed Red river and made their escape into what is now known as the beautiful Indian Territory, or Oklahoma.

About this time the writer found a wagon destined for Denton county, loaded with goods for R. J. Battle & Co., merchants. Availing himself of the opportunity to get closer to the frontier he asked and was given permission to ride in the wagon. We passed through McKinney, a little clapboard town in Collin county, and in the course of a little more than a week the town of Denton was reached. The road from McKinney to Denton, with branches of trees hanging over from either side, was wretched and alarming. Big Elm was almost out of its banks, and in some places the rand was so bad that teams of three or four wagons had to be hitched to one wagon in order to pull it through the mud. It was said by the teamsters to be the most abominable road in the Lone Star State. Up one road, down another the wagons moved slowly along, but finally the cry arose that Denton was in sight. I found myself in the midst of the "town " before I knew it. Our wagon stopped on a high hill. A line of native clapboard houses skirted the west side of the hill, called the "public square," and here I took a survey of the surroundings. I was told it was dangerous to go further west on account of the Indians, Mexican lions (or cougars), leopards and panthers. It was as much as the buffalo-hunters could do to live further west. The hill had been surveyed by Luellen Murphy , Joe Carroll and O. C. Welch, and was three hundred feet square, with an eighty-foot street and twelve-foot sidewalk on the four sides. The "square " was thickly covered with postoak trees, tangled wildwood and weeds. It appeared never before to have been touched by the hand of civilized man. On the southeast corner stood a log cabin called the "Murphy House," owned by Henderson Murphy. It consisted of two log pens, a passage and an attic. Mr. Murphy had erected one pen, and when business justified, he built another pen, and this gave him a passage between the two pens. By elevating the roof of these Murphy, his wife, raised fifteen children, and was always serene and cheerful. She called each of her guests "honey, " and was ever gentle, kind and obliging. She was a courageous woman, had fought the Indians from the portholes of her cabin, and had gone through hardships and dangers incident to frontier life.

It was in April, 1868, that the writer stopped at this inn. The four streets around the square were sandy, and when the wind blew the fine dust around the square obscured the rays of the sun. Mr. Murphy said the present townsite had been occupied about ten years. It had been moved to that point from Pinkneyville. The latter town existed only in name, and not a house has been erected upon it from that day to this. The town of Denton had been moved from New Alton to Pinkneyville, and from Old Alton to New Alton. Those old sites still remain in obscurity. Mr. Murphy said there had been some talk of moving the county seat again, but this could not be done for the reason that the population had increased to more than two hundred souls since the boys had returned from the war. Now the town of Denton has a population of over five thousand, with state colleges, fine public schools, thirteen churches, street cars, sewerage, electric lights, waterworks and preparation for gas.

A newspaper was started in Denton in May, 1868. It was called the "Monitor." it’s motto was "maintain the right—expose the wrong." C. W. Geers was the editor and James Williams and Charles Brim were the devils. John Miner, subsequently the editor of the Bonham News, was the foreman. A Washington hand press was used and a negro by the name of John Skaggs rolled and inked the forms of type. The office was located in the upper story of the new storehouse of R. J. Battle & Co., on the southwest corner of the square. The news had gone out that a newspaper was to be started on the first Saturday in May, 1868, and a large number of men, women and children came to witness the "sight." The forms were placed on the press. The paper was to be all home print. One side of the paper had been printed a few days before. The people were staring and gaping for the news They crowded so close around the press that the foreman had to stretch a rope around to keep the people back and give the pressman room to work. The whole community was on tiptoe and women held their children on their shoulders to give them a better view of the press while in operation. They had never seen a printing press before, and some of them had come from points several miles away to witness the event. The forms were rolled, the paper adjusted on the press, and then the lever was pulled; it cried like a screech-owl when the impression was made, and women and children jumped back in a momentary fright. Thus, the first paper in Denton and adjoining counties was born, and scores of hands reached to get it. As the paper was torn in the scuffle, the foreman cried: "There will be plenty of them," and the pressman soon supplied the whole crowd, each with a paper.

"Oh," said several, "look at the reading matter, printed in a minute." And they gazed, with parted lips, wondering.

A young man said, "Why, here is enough reading, printed in a minute, to require a whole day to read. "

"What is the price of this paper for a year?" they inquired.

"Two dollars and fifty cents per annum, in specie, in advance," replied the editor." Green-backs will not be accepted at any price," he continued. And in one day the editor had secured three hundred subscribers.

The county clerk, J. R. McCormick, gave him thirty estray notices to print at two dollars each which he had been saving for the paper.

The next day the editor printed one hundred circulars, size eight by ten inches, on the Washington press, for seven dollars and fifty cents. He made money "hand over fist, " so to speak, and the people looked on and wondered.

The Monitor was popular from the start and was eagerly read by these good people each week.

They were the best people, as a whole, that the Monitor ever had on its subscription list, during its run of 40 years, as I was informed by the editor. It is true that many of the men wore a rough visage, and homespun style of dress, and seldom wore a coat, except in the winter time. The material worn by them was made by the women at home, and in every house could be heard the hum of the spinning wheel and the stroke of the loom. The women manufactured their own jeans and linsey, cut the garments, and made their clothing. There was not a stove, or buggy, or sewing machine or piano in the county. Cooking was done in pots and skillets. The fireplace reached clear across one end of the cabin and iron rods were adjusted in the open recess of the chimney or jambs. On these rods were suspended large kettles and pots, filled with hominy and hog meat. Light bread and biscuits were cooked in skillets on the hearth. The fare thus provided was superior in every respect to any I have ever come in contact with since. At night an iron or tin lamp, supplied with grease, was attached to the jambs of the fireplace, and this gave all the light that was thought necessary. Mrs Lewis Fry, a pioneer lady, who had also fought the Indians and was a bit serious-minded said she felt sorry for the rising generation, for she apprehended all the grease would be consumed in fifty years, and the people would sit in darkness; also shiver in the freezing blasts of winter, as wood, too, become scarce in the distant, future. She had never heard of coal or gas, kerosene or electricity, nor had ever dreamed of such things.

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I was impressed with the evident happiness of this lady and, in fact, all the people were happy. Though dressed in homespun garments with leggings made of the hides of animals, and a snake for hatband, a more contented or milder mannered community did not exist. It appeared that all of them had cultivated a soft, melodious tone of voice and speech, to correspond with their hospitality and generosity. It seemed that anything they had was yours, if you wanted it. I felt that I was in a veritable paradise on earth. If you visited the cabin of one of them, the whole family would take a pleasure in entertaining you, showing you the hides of animals, on the walls and fences, the shoats in the pens, being fattened for hog-killing time, when the meat for the winter was to be laid in, the cows, horses and chickens, and everything calculated to add comfort and pleasure to the home. Now, these were the men who returned from the war and substituted the implements of peace for those of war.

True the Texas of secession and slavery was gone. It was dead. But the Texas of union and universal freedom was taking root and growing. Men and women of this generation will never forget the traditions of their fathers, though they may now have other ideas and aspirations. They read how the union soldiers returned to the North, flushed with victory, in their shining blue uniforms, and were greeted in a blaze of glory. But they saw how their fathers and brothers came home with faded and tattered gray jackets, and with their paroles in their pockets, presenting them to their children as a testimony of faith and fidelity. Ragged and half starved, heavy-hearted and some of them wounded, they surrendered their guns, wrung the hands of their comrades in a final farewell, and taking a last look toward the graves that dotted the fields of carnage, completed their journey home. They had been fighting four years for the glory and liberty of Texas.

Many found their homes in ruins; their farms overrun with weeds; their stock driven off by wild and merciless Indians, their barns empty, their business destroyed. Their money was worthless and their people were without government or law. Neighbors had been slain. They were crushed by defeat, and without money or credit.

But not for a day did they sit down in sullenness and despair. The scourge they had suffered was attributed to fate. God had inspired them in their adversity and therefore restoration was near. Horses that some of them had ridden in the war now marched before the plow. Fields that had known only the whoop of the Kiowa and Comanche Indians for four years, were made ripe with harvest. Decayed towns were beautifully rising again, and there was no hatred and animosity rankling in the bosoms of the Confederates against those who wore the blue.

But to return from this divergence to the main topic as touching the condition of the pioneers of North Texas after the Civil War: The negroes as I have said, were free. They were ignorant, and by fate left among us. Many of them were industrious, it is true, and willing to work for a living, but all were very ignorant, as the race had been in slavery since long before the days of King Solomon. Indeed, at the first dawn of history, they were found in slavery, and classed with cattle and hogs and were bought and sold as personal property. Many of the dissipated, licentious sort, were expecting from the government forty acres of land and a mule as a free gift. The scalawags and carpetbaggers that infested Texas at that time were promising them as much and in some instances giving them forged deeds to parts of their late master's lands. And they were claiming lands under these deeds, and stealing cattle, hogs, horses and poultry, watermelons, fruits, etc. Some of the vicious, lecherous sort had frightened women and children and one of them went as far as to drag a woman from a horse on Holford Prairie, in Denton county, not far from the little town of Lewisville. This negro was caught by an organized band, said to have been but recently formed, and called the Ku Klux Klan. They carried him to Lewisville, where the lady resided, bound hand and foot, and turned him over to her. She told them that he was the identical negro that assaulter her and she requested them to take him out in the brush and kill him. They replied that they would take him out, but that she must do the killing herself, for that she was the only person that had the right to do so, being the party mostly aggrieved. Accordingly, they conveyed the negro to a lonely spot in the woods, and she shot him two or three times with a pistol, and then the men unbound him. About an hour after a boy came running into the house and reported that the negro was still alive. A man then went out and knocked him in the head with an ax. In about two hours afterward three or four men went out to get the corpse and bury it, but to their surprise the negro was gone, and could not be found near the place where he had been presumably killed. A posse was immediately organized, and by following a trace of blood and foot marks through the timber, they found him not far from the town of Denton. They brought him to the Murphy house, in Denton, and tied him to a post, on the southeast corner of the square. Scores of men, boys and negroes, followed the posse to that post, and looked at him in astonishment, because he was still alive. I approached the negro and asked him where he was hurt, as he was bloody all over, but he complained only of a thorn in his foot.

The question then arose as to what disposition should be made of the negro.

It was decided that as no one had authority to kill him, he should be sent to the jail at McKinney. Denton had no jail, it having been destroyed by fire. So the posse, headed by Columbus Daugherty, now deceased, started with the negro for McKinney. It was not long before the posse returned and reported that while riding through Elm Bottom the negro leaped from the horse he was riding and escaped in the brush. That negro was never heard of again. How he was permitted to "escape " has never been explained, nor did I ever hear of any further effort to recapture him. Various theories were advanced, but, no one has been found that could tell anything about it. Now this story may be found a little questionable, but old settlers of Denton and Lewisville will confirm every word of it, for it is true.

I was a young man at that time and viewed the habits, practices and customs of the people of this locality with considerable awe and astonishment, for I was born and raised amid environments quite different in many respects. But no people on earth were more kind-hearted, charitable, unselfish and benevolent generally, than the people of this section of Texas.

About this time seven horse thieves were caught and hanged on one tree near Grapevine in Tarrant county. One was hanged on the public square in Denton and another near the public well on what is now Prairie street. Another was hanged not far from Denton on the Fort Worth road.

This thief deserves special mention. I will not call his name lest it might be confounded with some prominent citizens bearing the same name. There was a widow with five children living alone on a farm. The husband had perished in the war, while gallantly leading a charge on a federal battery. She had but one horse and this was her only dependence for making a living for herself and children. The thief saw her come home from the field, after plowing all day and watched her feed her horse. He thought, according to his own confession, that as there was no man about the place, he could get off with the horse unpursued. So about midnight, while the widow and her children were wrapped in slumber, he stealthily crept to her home, untied the horse and appropriated it to his own use. Great was the excitement in that little family the next morning when the widow arose and found her only hope of making a living gone. Wringing her hands, she and her children went from neighbor to neighbor and reported the theft. The pioneers, as fast as they heard of the widow's loss, rose as one man to hunt the thief, and recover, if possible, the horse. Some of them could trail man or beast through the brush like a bloodhound. They could tell by the impression of the feet of the stolen horse how old the track was and by this means before the sun was down they had caught the thief in Tarrant county. As they returned with him bound on the horse he had stolen, the crowd increased in number, and by the time they had reached a point a few miles from town, the mob was crying "Hang him, hang him!" Already a rope was around his neck, while the thief, trembling, through pallid lips begged for his life. "Brother, brother, brother!" he kept repeating, "have mercy on me." They replied that he might ask God to forgive him, but that they could not. So they hanged him by the neck to the limb of a tree until he was dead, on the Fort Worth road.

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AN EPISODE OF RECONSTRUCTION DAYS

2014-03-25

[from Frontier Times Magazine, March, 1935]

Frank M. Edwards, San Antonio, Texas

IN 1886, I LIVED on a ranch in Goliad county about 10 miles from Goliad. At the time the country was occupied by U. S. soldiers and there was considerable friction between citizens and negro troops stationed in that locality.

One morning my mother and stepfather started to Goliad in an ambulance. I was standing on the front porch to see them off, when they stopped a short distance from the house and called me. When I went to them my step-father told me to go to the house and have the negro man saddle the dun horse that was in the stable and for me to ride it down, as he had a horse trade on hand.

When I arrived with the horse, he made an exchange with a man he was talking to, for a much better horse which seemed to be tired out. I was instructed to know nothing except that he had made a good horse trade. I rode the new horse back to the house and turned him into the pasture. When they returned that evening I was told the circumstances, with instructions to make no reference to it to anyone.

The man traded with was an acquaintance of my step-father and a member of a prominent family in the county (I do not remember his name). His brother had gotten into a dispute with some negro soldiers and a negro sergeant had shot and killed him. The country being under martial law, the negro was not arrested. The brother, meeting the sergeant shortly afterwards, had killed him. Being chased and his horse played out, he took the chance above described. Late that night, after my parents had returned, I was again called upon to co-operate. We had a spare bedroom which was generally kept locked, and was used for emergency company and partly for storage. My younger brother was sent to bed and when the servants had left the house and gone to their quarters in an out-building, the fugitive was met in a thicket in front of the house. I was left in charge of his horse and he was conducted to the spare room. I then turned the horse loose and gave him a slap. He ran to the barn and of course everyone except we children who were supposed to be in bed, turned out, very much surprised at his return. The horse was unsaddled and turned into the pasture and it was surmised that he had gotten away from the owner and come home. Our visitor stayed a week or two and no other member of the household had a suspicion of his presence. All his wants were attended to by us when the coast was clear and the door was always kept locked.

Late in the evening when the others had gone to bed. he would come out and sit on the porch and I was generally allowed to be present and enjoyed the discussions of existing conditions.

We made a practice of using his horse frequently, so that his presence in the barn would not attract attention and one moonlit night after the excitement of the hunt had abated, the fugitive rode off and made his way to Mexico and safety.

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