The Battle of Antelope Hills.
“Brave Colonel Ford the commander and ranger bold,
On the South Canadian did the Comanches behold,
On the 12th of May, at rising of sun,
The armies did meet and the battle begun.”
The battle of the South Canadian or “Antelope Hills,” fought in 1858,
was probably one of the most splendid scenic exhibitions of Indian
warfare ever enacted upon Texas soil. This was the immemorial home of
the Comanches; here they sought refuge from their marauding expeditions
into Texas and Mexico; and here, in their veritable “city of refuge,”
should the adventurous and daring rangers seek them, it was certain
that they would be encountered in full force--Pohebits Quasho--“Iron
Jacket,” so called from the fact that he wore a coat of scale mail, a
curious piece of ancient armor, which doubtless had been stripped from
the body of some unfortunate Spanish Knight slain, perhaps, a century
before--some chevalier who followed Coronado, De Leon, La Salle--was
the war chief. He was a “Big Medicine” man, or Prophet, and claimed
to be invulnerable to balls and arrows aimed at his person, as by a
necromantic puff of his breath the missives were diverted from their
course, or charmed, and made to fall harmless at his feet.
Peta Nocono, the young and daring husband of Cynthia Ann Parker, was
second in command.
About the 1st of May, in the year above named, Col. John S. Ford,
(“Old Rip,”) at the head of 100 Texian Rangers--comprising such
leaders as Capts. S. P. Ross, (the father of Gen. L. S. Ross); W. A.
Pitts, Preston, Tankersley, and a contingent of 111 Toncahua Indians,
the latter commanded by their celebrated chief, Placido--so long the
faithful and implicitly trusted friend of the whites--marched on a
campaign against the maruding Comanches, determined to follow them
up to their stronghold amid the hills of the Canadian river, and if
possible surprise them and inflict a severe and lasting chastisement.
After a toilsome march of several days the Toncahua scouts reported
that they were in the immediate vicinity of the Comanche encampment.
The Comanches, though proverbial for their sleepless vigilance, were
unsuspicious of danger; and so unsuspected was the approach of the
rangers, that on the day preceding the battle, Col. Ford and Capt. Ross
stood in the old road from Fort Smith to Santa Fe, just north of the
Rio Negro or “False Wichita,” and watched through their glasses the
Comanches running buffalo in the valleys still more to the north. That
night the Toncahua spies completed the hazardous mission of locating
definitely the position of the enemy’s encampment. The next morning
(May 12) the rangers and “reserve” or friendly Indians, marched before
sunrise to the attack.
Placido claimed for his “red warriors” the privilege of wreaking
vengeance upon their hereditary enemies. His request was granted,--and
the Toncahuas effected a complete surprise. The struggle was short,
sharp and sanguinary. The women and children were made prisoners, but
not a Comanche brave surrendered. Their savage pride preferred death
to the restraints and humiliations of captivity. Not a single warrior
escaped to bear the sorrowful tidings of this destructive engagement to
their people.
A short time after the sun had lighted the tops of the hills, the
rangers came in full view of the hostile camp, pitched in one of the
picturesque valleys of the Canadian, and on the opposite side of the
stream, in the immediate vicinity of the famous “Antelope Hills.”
The panorama thus presented to the view of the rangers was beautiful
in the extreme, and their pent-up enthusiasm found vent in a shout of
exultation, which was speedily suppressed by Col. Ford. Just at this
moment a solitary Comanche was descried riding southward, evidently
heading for the village which Placido had so recently destroyed. He was
wholly unconcious of the proximity of an enemy. Instant pursuit was now
made; he turned, and fled at full speed toward the main camp across
the Canadian, closely followed by the rangers. He dashed across the
stream, and thus revealed to his pursuers the locality of a safe ford
across the miry and almost impassable river. He rushed into the village
beyond, sounding the notes of alarm; and soon the Comanche warriors
presented a bold front of battle-line between their women and children
and the advancing rangers. After a few minutes occupied in forming
line of battle, both sides were arrayed in full force and effect. The
friendly Indians were placed on the right, and thrown a little forward.
Col. Ford’s object was to deceive the Comanches as to the character of
the attacking force, and as to the quality of arms they possessed.
Pohebits Quasho, arrayed in all the trappings of his “war
toggery”--coat of mail, shield, bow and lance, completed by a
head-dress decorated with feathers and long red flannel streamers;
and besmeared in “war-paint,”--gaily dashed about on his “war-horse”
mid-way of the opposing lines, delivering taunts and challenges to the
whites. As the old chief dashed to and fro a number of rifles were
discharged at him in point blank range without any effect whatever;
which seeming immunity to death encouraged his warriors greatly; and
induced even some of the more superstitious among the rangers to
enquire within themselves if it were possible that “Old Iron Jacket”
really bore a charmed life? Followed by a few of his braves, he now
bore down upon the rangers, described a few “charmed circles,” gave a
few necromantic puffs with his breath and let fly several arrows at
Col. Ford, Capt. Ross and chief Placido; receiving their fire without
harm. But as he approached the line of the Toncahuas, a rifle directed
by the steady nerve and unerring eye of one of their number, Jim
Pockmark, brought the “Big Medicine” to the dust. The shot was a mortal
one. The fallen chieftain was instantly surrounded by his braves, but
the spirit of the conjuring brave had taken its flight to the “happy
hunting grounds.”
These incidents occupied but a brief space of time, when the order to
charge was given; and then ensued one of the grandest assaults ever
made against the Comanches. The enthusiastic shouts of the rangers
and the triumphant yell of their red allys greeted the welcome order.
It was responded to by the defiant “war-hoop” of the Comanches, and
in those virgin hills, remote from civilization, the saturnalia of
battle was inaugurated. The shouts of enraged combatants, the wail
of women, the piteous cries of terrified children, the howling of
frightened dogs, the deadly reports of rifle and revolver, constituted
a discordant confusion of sounds, blent together in an unearthly mass
of infernal noise.
The conflict was sharp and quick--a charge; a momentary exchange of
rifle and arrow shots, and the heart-rending wail of discomfiture
and dismay, and the beaten Comanches abandoned their lodges and camp
to the victors, and began a disorderly retreat. But sufficient method
was observed to take advantage of each grove of timber, each hill
and ravine, to make a stand against their pursuers; and thus enable
the women and children to make their escape. The noise of battle now
diverged from a common center like the spokes of a wheel, and continued
to greet the ear for several hours, gradually growing fainter as the
pursuit disappeared in the distance.
But another division, under the vigilant Peta Nocona, was soon marching
through the hills north of the Canadian, to the rescue. Though ten
miles distant, his quick ear had caught the first sounds of the battle;
and soon he was riding, with Cynthia Ann by his side, at the head of
(500) five hundred warriors.
About 1 o’clock of the afternoon the last of the rangers returned from
the pursuit of Pohebits Quasho’s discomfited braves, just in time to
anticipate this threatened attack.
As Capt. Ross (who was one of the last to return) rode up, he enquired
“What hour of the morning is it, Colonel?” “Morning!” exclaimed Col.
Ford, “it is one o’clock of the afternoon;” so unconscious is one of
the flight of time during an engagement, that the work of hours seems
comprised within the space of a few moments.
“Hello! what are you in line of battle for?” asked Ross. “Look at the
hills there, and you will see,” calmly replied Col. Ford, pointing to
the hills some half a mile distant, behind which the forces of Peta
Nocona were visible; an imposing line of 500 warriors drawn up in
battle array.
Col. Ford had with 221 men fought and routed over 400 Comanches, and
now he was confronted by a stronger force, fresh from their village
still higher up on the Canadian. They had come to drive the “pale
faces” and their hated copper-colored allies from the captured camp,
to retake prisoners, to retake over four hundred head of horses and an
immense quantity of plunder. They did not fancy the defiant state of
preparations awaiting them in the valley, however, and were waiting
to avail themselves of some incautious movement on the part of the
rangers, when the wily Peta Nocona with his forces would spring like a
lion from his lair, and with one combined and desperate effort swoop
down and annihilate the enemy. But his antagonist was a soldier of too
much sagacity to allow any advantage to a vigilant foe.
The two forces remained thus contemplating each other for over an
hour; during which time a series of operations ensued between single
combatants illustrative of the Indian mode of warfare, and the
marked difference between the nomadic Comanche and his semi-civilized
congeners, the Tonchua. The Tonchuas took advantage of ravines, trees
and other natural shelter. Their arms were rifles and “six-shooters.”
The Comanches came to the attack with shield and bow and lance, mounted
on gaily caparisoned and prancing steeds, and flaunting feathers and
all the “georgeous” display incident to savage “finery” and pomp. They
are probably the most expert equestrians in the world. A Comanche
warrior would gaily canter to a point half way between the opposing
lines, yell a defiant “war hoop,” and shake his shield. This was a
challenge to single combat.
Several of the friendly Indians who accepted such challenges were
placed _hors de combat_ by their more expert adversaries, and in
consequence Col. Ford ordered them to decline the savage banters; much
to the dissatisfaction of Placido, who had conducted himself throughout
the series of engagements with the bearing of a savage hero.
Says Col. Ford: “In these combats the mind of the spectator was vividly
carried back to the days of chivalry; the jousts and tournaments
of knights; and to the concomitants of those scenic exhibitions of
gallantry. The feats of horsemanship were splendid, the lances and
shields were used with great dexterity, and the whole performance was
a novel show to civilized man.”
Col. Ford now ordered Placido, with a part of his warriors, to advance
in the direction of the enemy, and if possible draw them in the valley,
so as to afford the rangers an opportunity to charge them. This had the
desired effect, and the rangers were ready to deliver a charge, when it
was discovered that the friendly Indians had removed the white badges
from their heads because they served as targets for the Comanches,
consequently the rangers were unable to distinguish friend from foe.
This necessitated the entire withdrawal of the Indians. The Comanches
witnessed these preparations and now commenced to recoil. The rangers
advanced; the trot, the gallop, the headlong charge, followed in rapid
succession. Lieut. Nelson made a skillful movement and struck the
enemy’s left flank. The Comanche line was broken. A running fight for
three or four miles ensued. The enemy was driven back wherever he made
a stand. The most determined resistance was made in a timbered ravine.
Here one of Placido’s warriors was killed, and one of the rangers,
young George W. Pascal wounded. The Comanches left some dead upon the
spot and had several more wounded. After routing them at this point
the rangers continued to pursue them some distance, intent upon taking
the women and children prisoners; but Peta Nocona, by the exercise
of those commanding qualities which had often before signalized his
conduct on the field, succeeded in covering their retreat, and thus
allowing them to escape. It was now about 4 P. M., both horses
and men were almost entirely exhausted, and Col. Ford ordered a halt
and returned to the village.
Brave old Placido and his warriors fought like so many demons. It was
difficult to restrain them, so anxious were they to wreak vengeance on
the Comanches.
In all of these engagements seventy-five (75) Comanches “bit the dust.”
The loss of the rangers was small,--two killed and five or six wounded.
The trophies of Pohebits Quasho, including his lance, bow, shield,
head-dress and the celebrated coat of scale mail, was deposited by Col.
Ford in the State archives at Austin, where, doubtless, they may yet be
seen,--as curious relics of by-gone days.
The lamented old chief, Placido, fell a victim to the revengeful
Comanches during the latter part of the great civil war, between the
North and South; being assassinated by a party of his enemies on the
reservation, near Fort Sill.
The venerable John Henry Brown, some years since, paid a merited
tribute to his memory through the columns of the Dallas _Herald_.
Of Placido it has been said that he was the “soul of honor,” and “never
betrayed a trust.” That he was brave to the utmost, we have only to
refer to his numerous exploits during his long and gratuitous service
on our frontiers. He was implicitly trusted by Burleson and other
partisan leaders; and rendered invaluable services in behalf of the
early Texian pioneers; in recognition of which he never recieved any
reward of a material nature, beyond a few paltry pounds of gun-powder
and salt. Imperial Texas should rear a monument commemorative of his
memory. He was the more than Tammany of Texas! But I am digressing from
the narrative proper.
“Doubtless,” says Rose, “Cynthia Ann rode from this ill-starred field
with her infant daughter pressed to her bosom, and her sons--two youths
of about ten and twelve years of age, at her side,--as fearful of
capture at the hands of the hated whites, as years ago--immediately
after the massacre of Parker’s Fort--she had been anxious for the
same.”
[Illustration: GENERAL L. S. ROSS.]