Once mounted I shouted for one Corporal to head off the main wagon train
on the road--and detain it and _hold it at all hazards_ until my return.
Taking Charlton we dashed for the stream. My powerful horse
bogged;--Dismounting in water up to my waist, by careful management
he was soon out on dry land. Charlton led-- "Get after them now,
Corporal--Open fire! Shoot over their heads and close to them, but not
to kill"-- Finely mounted--and one of the crack shots in the regiment,
with carbine advanced, he was in his element and "swung out" at a gallop
for the men who were trying to gain the bushes or chaparral in the
distance-- He was an absolutely true type of the handsome, graceful
soldier and rider, with the close seat and the American or cow-boy
stirrup, and the resourceful, masterful, trained cavalryman of the days
closely following the Civil War-- Bang! Crack!! Crack!!! went his
carbine-- As I followed him I could see the dirt and dust sprayed over
the fleeing deserters-- As the shots whistled and struck about them,
they instantly dropped to the ground for safety--and lay there until
some men, whom I had recalled from the detachment, had followed me and
gathered them up as prisoners-- None were to be shot unless they
resisted. I gained the road to the brow of a hill overlooking the
country. After securing five with no resistance, and being told by them
that there were two more--a little darkey near by shouted--"Oh, golly
Massa, dere dey go ober de hill, way yonder"-- At least two miles away
they could be seen running, fairly flying. The Corporal and writer
dashed after them, and after a long ride and a diligent search in the
bushes, together with a few warning shots--we secured them. With these
men and the driver of their team we returned to the train-- I had
not fully trusted the other Corporal, on account of his seeming
indifference, and he had somewhat hampered my plans and movements--so
I felt anxious as to whether my orders to hold the train fast had been
obeyed. He had, however, stopped the train and held the wagon master,
and the whole "outfit" at the point of his carbine, as in a vise.
The wagon master was a cool and determined fellow with cold, grey eyes,
and a pugnacious nose and chin; he and his teamsters were well armed,
their guns showing conspicuously in their holsters--or open belt
scabbards-- He had been threatening the Corporal, and now, seeing no
insignia of rank on my citizen's clothes, he began to threaten me with
criminal prosecution as soon as he reached Hillsboro for illegally
holding up his train-- Visions of Mackenzie's instructions relating to a
"violation of the Civil Laws", began to loom up large before my eyes. He
saw my hesitation and becoming abusive began to be more insistent for
the release of himself and men-- Sizing up the situation at a glance,
the bluff was made-- "Look here, my man! We have found a wagon in your
train filled with deserters from the United States Army-- I am an
officer of the Army--and if you don't stop your abuse I will put you in
irons and take you along to the Civil authorities and turn you over on a
charge of assisting them to escape"-- That quieted him-- "Are these all
of the teamsters in your train? Produce every man who was with you when
it was first sighted, or I will order my men to search it before you can
go! Never mind your threats! _We are out for deserters_". He replied:
"These are two men who joined my train a few days ago; they are
citizens-- I know nothing about them-- They can tell their own story."
The two men stepped forward in citizen's clothes unarmed and with no
"set up" or the slightest appearance or sign of the soldier about them.
The larger and older, told with a strong Irish brogue a very straight
story; how they had "been working" their way along; had sought the train
for "shelter"--had "not been in the country very long", etc. The other
was a mere boy. I was about to let them go with the train, none of the
detachment or the deserters whom I had already secured being able to
recognize or identify them, when my attention was suddenly attracted to
the older man's face-- It showed distinctly that a heavy beard _had but
recently been shaved off_--and this as winter was coming on-- I gave no
signs, however, of having made this discovery, but said: "You teamsters
can go--but I shall hold these men-- If they are not deserters, they can
easily clear themselves, and will be released". As I watched the older
man's face, I saw him change color, but he maintained his
nerve--replying that he would "prosecute me for false arrest and
imprisonment," probably taking his cue from the wagon master--who, after
more bluster and more threats of what he would do, disappeared in the
distance and we never saw or heard of him again. It was a chance on the
bluff-- Loading the nine men thus accumulated into the old man's wagon,
upon reaching Hillsboro, a few miles away, and securing the services of
Deputy Sheriff, H. A. Macomber, we and the prisoners were given a good
meal at the house of the jailer, J. A. Purnell, the first any had had
since leaving Fort R---- and shortly after dark, the jailer leading with
a lantern, the prisoners closely guarded, and the three citizens (?)
loudly protesting in Chimmie Fadden's vernacular: "Wot 'tell"!--and then
adding: "What's the use"! etc., the astounded ranchers of H---- saw this
strange procession proceeding to the county jail to give them protection
from the howling, icy gale--still blowing-- All jails in Texas were then
made of huge, square-hewn, green logs--built up solid, and the outside
thickly studded with sharp nails-- Upon the outside a flight of rickety
steps led up to a door heavily padlocked and barred. We entered by file,
a sort of chamber or loft, about 12 or 14 feet square. In the centre of
the floor was a large trap door with a ring in it-- This trap being
lifted a ladder was lowered down to the ground floor inside, and the
prisoners were ordered to descend into this ground cell in which was
but one small grated window, high up--for air only. The ladder then
being drawn up and the trap door secured, they were supposed to be safe,
as it was eight or ten feet from the floor of the cell to the floor of
the loft-- In this Hillsboro jail, however, the ladders had been broken
and had disappeared, so that the deserters had to be let down by hand,
the little short old wagoner coming last-- It was most amusing to hear
this well paid old scoundrel's squeals and whining, and his piteous
appeals for mercy as he hung dangling in mid-air through the "Man hole"
before dropping him the four or five feet to the ground. He kicked,
squirmed and wriggled in his agony of fright; he moaned,
groaned--grunted and sighed; begged, implored and prayed--in the most
ridiculous manner-- All the time the deserters below him, realizing how
fortunate they were in being sheltered from the icy blast of the
"Norther" now howling around the corners of the old log jail, were
mocking--"_booing_" and sarcastically commenting on the little man's
lack of sand--grit and courage-- Having heard much and seen little of
these Texas jails, except the outside, and at a distance, my curiosity
was aroused to more closely examine one-- The jailer tried to persuade
me not to take the risk-- But after assuring him that I had nothing to
fear from these men in going down among them as I knew every one--and
handing him my pistols--he lowered me down--passing the lantern down
after me. After carefully examining this uninteresting hole very
carefully, however, I felt that my curiosity had been amply
satisfied--and cheering up the "old man" much to the amusement of the
prisoners, all of whom seemed to be contented with their blankets and a
comparatively warm shelter from the storm--telling one of the men to
give me a "leg up"-- I was pulled up by the jailer--all of the prisoners
assisting and bidding me a most cheerful "good-night". The next morning
after "turning out" the deserters and filling them with a hot breakfast
at the jailer's where Charlton and the rest of the detachment with
myself had spent the night, they opened up with a long and very strange
story-- Peters, the spokesman for the deserters, declared that two
detectives (?) or, as they called themselves--"_constables_"--had
followed them from near Weatherford, on the Bear Creek road, and
arrested them. Instead of being armed as Sergeant Varily had informed
the writer, they (the deserters) had parted with all of their carbines
before reaching W---- for a good round sum. The pseudo detectives,
therefore, found it a comparatively easy matter, with their double
barrel shot guns to persuade the unarmed soldiers to "throw up their
hands"-- They had even started to turn back to Weatherford, when at the
suggestion of one of their number negotiations were opened by which they
were released by the fake constables--but, at the sacrifice of all the
"greenbacks" the entire party possessed-- After this compulsory squeeze,
the detectives (?) and their plucked friends parted company. The writer
resolved, upon his return, to investigate this matter and if the
deserter's story proved true--and they had all corroborated Peters'
statement--to secure the arrest and indictment of these Border Sharks.
The march back was cold and bitter-- We were more than 100 miles from
Fort R---- No handcuffs or irons could be obtained--and it was decided
not to "rope them"-- Thick ice was in all the streams-- Calling Peters,
the most intelligent of the prisoners, to me, the writer laid down the
law: "Peters, I am going to march you to Fort R---- and I want no
trouble; tell the men they shall be well fed and they shall have shelter
whenever it is possible to obtain it-- Corporal Charlton will be placed
in direct charge of you--'fall in'--the men in the middle of the road in
column of twos"-- Then turning to the men--so that all could hear me--I
added: "You men must keep the middle of the road and obey all orders
issued through Corporal C---- by me, without any question or discussion;
Any movement by you to bolt the trail, or to escape into the chaparral
will only result in your being shot down-- You can talk and smoke and
have freedom of movement--but you know both of us well enough to
understand that there will be no trifling"-- At 11 a. m. we started and
camped at the Widow Jewell's ranch, 15 miles from Hillsboro-- Placing
the men in an open corn crib--assigning each a sleeping place and
posting a man at the log door--he was ordered to "shoot the first man
who left that position without authority from me". This was said loudly
in the hearing of every man, and he was then asked if he understood it.
For the first time we now ascertained from the prisoners why they had so
mysteriously disappeared from the map after leaving Weatherford and
after being seen and talked to by Sergt. Varily on the Bear Creek
Road--and why we got no trace of them the next night in Cleburne. It
seems that just before reaching the town, upon the advice of the wily
driver of their get-away wagon--they had turned off the Bear Creek Road
and following a blind trail to the right had reached the little
settlement of Buchanan--and bivouacking there that night--had come into
the Cleburne-Hillsboro road again the next morning--shortly before I
sighted them at the small creek or "branch" near H. During all of that
miserable night while we were searching the slums and dives of Cleburne,
they were at a comfortable, blazing bivouac fire not more than three or
four miles away, debating the probabilities of their being followed.
At the first opportunity I proved the two citizens--who had been
"kidnapped" from the train near Hillsboro--to be deserters-- While
giving them the "Third degree" in camp the first night after leaving
H---- they were thrown off their guard by my suddenly shouting-- "Stand
Attention, Sir! when talking to an officer"! Which he did _instantly_. I
then had them stripped and found Government shirts and socks on both of
them-- They then made a "clean breast" of it, declaring that they were
recruits of Troop "K" and had been enlisted but two or three months; all
of which accounted for their non-military appearance when it was decided
to hold them on suspicion-- It also accounted for the inability of any
one, either in the detachment, or among the old deserters of Troop "B",
to identify them. Turning out the prisoners in the morning they were
placed in column and the order was repeated-- "Shoot dead instantly any
man who starts to leave the road without my permission". It had the
desired effect. Wherever I could find one they were placed in jail. In
passing through Cleburne and stopping off to pay some bills--suspicion
having been attracted to another man, I "rounded him up"--and after some
strenuous "Third Degree" questioning--he proved to be a deserter from
"Troop F" who had preceded the others by a few days-- I had now ten
deserters, and the "old man" driver of the freight wagon. As we
approached Weatherford--I began to give some thought to the two alleged
detectives or constables (?), and ransacked my brain as to the method
for their capture. The rascally old driver had, after much diplomatic
persuasion, informed me that these men were really constables and acting
detectives, and one was even then acting as Deputy Sheriff of the
County, and lived just outside of W---- While I was doubtful as to my
power to arrest either, I determined to make a show of frightening them,
and to report their case to the Civil Authorities for their disposal--
I commenced a vigorous search-- Riding into a ranch, pointed out by the
prisoners, I inquired--"does Mr. ---- live here"? Being in citizen's
clothes and alone, my mission was not suspected-- "That is my name",
said a man sitting in a chair on the porch-- "I arrest you then in the
name of the United States Government for accepting bribes of deserters
from our army, and allowing them to escape-- My men are outside in the
road--don't waste any words, but come right along"-- To my astonishment,
the man was so frightened that mounting his horse, which stood outside,
and surrendering his gun--he preceded me to the road--where he came face
to face with all of his accusers, who now seeing him under arrest, made
bold to unmercifully taunt him with his rascality--shouting--"Hey,
Johnnie, where's my $10.00?" "How much of a pile did you pull out
of me at Bear Creek (?)" etc., etc., much to the bogus detective's
discomfiture and chagrin. They had now the "whip hand". He rode like
a little kitten under charge of Corporal Charlton into W---- when a
complaint was entered and sworn to by all of the deserters, and he was
placed under bonds for his appearance at the Spring term of the U. S.
District Court at Tyler, Texas, where, some months later, the writer was
ordered from Department Headquarters to appear as a witness against him,
and the second constable whom I captured in much the same manner as the
first, but nearer Weatherford. The old wagoner pleaded hard, saying that
he had never been in such a scrape. It would "kill him to have to go to
prison", etc.--but, knowing that Mackenzie was anxious and determined to
break up these wholesale desertions that were then taking place in the
regiment--many of them with the secret connivance and assistance of
citizens, although it was never discovered that any of them were
_constables_--and would endorse the most extreme measures I might make
to accomplish it, I promptly placed him under bonds--and left him in
W---- in charge of the Civil Authorities.