Genl. L. S. Ross.--Battle of the Wichita.
It is not our purpose in this connection, to assume the role of
biographer to so distinguished a personage as is the chevalier Bayard
of Texas--General Lawrence Sullivan Ross. That task should be left
to an abler pen; and besides, it would be impossible to do anything
like justice to the romantic, adventurous, and altogether splendid
and brilliant career of the brave and daring young ranger who rescued
Cynthia Ann Parker from captivity, at least in the circumscribed
limits of a brief biographical sketch, such as we shall be compelled
to confine ourself to; yet, some brief mention of his services and
exploits as a ranger captain, by way of an introduction to the reader
beyond the limits of Texas, where his name and fame are as household
words, is deemed necessary, hence we beg leave here to give a brief
sketch of his life.
“Texas, though her annals be brief,” says the author of “Ross’ Texas
Brigade,” counts upon her “roll of honor” the names of many heros,
living and dead. Their splendid services are the inestimable legacies
of the past and present, to the future. Of the latter, it is the
high prerogative of the State to enbalm their names and memories as
perpetual examples to excite the generous emulation of the Texian youth
to the latest posterity. Of the former it is our pleasant province to
accord them those honors which their services, in so eminent a degree,
entitle them to receive. Few lands, since the days of the “Scottish
Chiefs,” have furnished material upon which to predicate a Douglas, a
Wallace, or a Ravenswood; and the adventures of chivalric enterprise,
arrant quest of danger, and the personal combat, were relegated,
together with the knight’s armorial trappings, to the rusty archives
of “Tower” and “Pantheon,” until the Comanche Bedouins of the Texian
plains tendered in bold defiance the savage gauntlet to the pioneer
knights of progress and civilization. And though her heraldic roll
glows with the names of a Houston, a Rusk, Lamar, McCulloch, Hayes,
Chevellie, which illumine the pages of her history with an effulgence
of glory, Texas never nurtured on her maternal bosom a son of more
filial devotion, of more loyal patriotism, or indomitable will to do
and dare, than L. S. Ross.”
Lawrence Sullivan Ross was born in the village of Bentonsport, Ohio,
in the year 1838. His father, Captain S. P. Ross, emigrated to Texas
in 1839, casting his fortunes with the struggling pioneers who were
blazing the pathway of civilization into the wilds of a _terra
incognita_, as Texas then was.
“Captain S. P. Ross was, for many years, pre-eminent as a leader
against the implacable savages, who made frequent incursions into
the settlements. The duty of repelling these forays usually devolved
upon Captain Ross and his neighbors, and, for many years, his company
constituted the only bulwark of safety between the feeble colonist
and the scalping knife. The rapacity and treachery of his Comanche
and Kiowa foes demanded of Captain Ross sleepless vigilance, acute
sagacity, and a will that brooked no obstacle or danger. It was in the
performance of this arduous duty that he slew, in single combat, “Big
Foot,” a Comanche chief of great prowess, and who was for many years
the scourge of the early Texas frontier. The services of Captain S. P.
Ross are still held in grateful remembrance by the descendants of his
compatriots, and his memory will never be suffered to pass away while
Texians feel a pride in the sterling worth of the pioneers who laid
the foundation of Texas’ greatness and glory.--_Vide_ “_Ross’ Texas
Brigade_,” p. 158.
The following incident, as illustrative of the character and spirit
of the man and times, is given: “On one occasion, Captain Ross, who
had been visiting a neighbor, was returning home, afoot, accompanied
by his little son, ‘Sul,’ as the General was familiarly called. When
within half a mile of his house, he was surrounded by fifteen or
twenty mounted Comanche warriors, who commenced an immediate attack.
The Captain, athletic and swift of foot, threw his son on his back, and
outran their ponies to the house, escaping unhurt amid a perfect shower
of arrows.”
Such were among the daily experiences of the child, and with such
impressions stamped upon the infantile mind, it was but natural that
the enthusiastic spirit of the ardent youth should lead him to such
adventures upon the “war-path,” similar to those that had signalized
his honored father’s prowess upon so many occasions.
Hence, we find “Sul” Ross, during vacation from his studies at Florence
Weslean University, Alabama, though a beardless boy, scarcely twenty
years of age, in command of a contingent of 135 friendly Indians,
co-operating with the United States cavalry under the dashing Major
Earl Van Dorn, in a compaign against the Comanches.
* * * * *
Notwithstanding the severe chastisement that had been inflicted on the
Comanches at “Antelope Hills,” they soon renewed their hostilities,
committing many depredations and murders during the summer of 1858.
Early in September Major Van Dorn received orders from Gen. Twiggs,
to equip four companies, including Ross’ “red warriors,” and go out
on a scouting expedition against the hostile Indians. This he did,
penetrating the heart of the Indian country where he proceeded to build
a stockade, placing within it all the pack mules, extra horses and
supplies, which was left in charge of the infantry.
Ross’ faithful Indian scouts soon reported the discovery of a large
Comanche village near the Wichita Mountains, about ninety miles away.
The four companies, attended by the spies, immediately set out for the
village, and after a fatiguing march of thirty-six hours, causing the
men to be continuously in the saddle the latter sixteen hours of the
ride, arrived in the immediate vicinity of the Indian camp just at
daylight on the morning of October 1st.
A reconnoissance showed that the wily Comanches were not apprehensive
of an attack, and were sleeping in fancied security. The horses of the
tribe, which consisted of a _caballado_ of about 500 head, were grazing
near the outskirts of the village. Major Van Dorn directed Captain
Ross, at the head of his Indians, to “round up” the horses, and drive
them from the camp, which was effected speedily, and thus the Comanches
were forced to fight on foot--a proceeding extremely harrowing to the
proud warriors’ feelings.
“Just as the sun was peeping above the eastern horizon,” says Victor
M. Rose, whose graphic narrative we again quote, “Van Dorn charged the
upper end of the village, while Ross’ command, in conjunction with a
detachment of United States cavalry, charged the lower. The village was
strung out along the banks of a branch for several hundred yards. The
morning was very foggy, and after a few moments of firing the smoke
and fog became so dense that objects at but a short distance could be
distinguished only with great difficulty. The Comanches fought with
absolute desperation, and contended for every advantage, as their women
and children, and all their possessions, were in peril.
“A few moments after the engagement became general, Ross discovered a
number of Comanches running down to the branch, about one hundred and
fifty yards from the village, and concluded that they were beating
a retreat. Immediately, Ross, Lieutenant Van Camp of the United
States Army, Alexander, a ‘regular’ soldier, and one Caddo Indian, of
Ross’ command, ran to the point with the intention of intercepting
them. Arriving, it was discovered that the fugitives were the women
and children. In a moment, another posse of women and children came
running immediately past the squad of Ross, who, discovering a little
white girl among the number, made his Caddo Indian grab her as she
was passing. The little pale-face--apparently about twelve years of
age--was badly frightened at finding herself a captive to a strange
Indian and stranger white men, and was hard to manage at first.
“Ross now discovered, through the fog and smoke of the battle, that a
band of some twenty-five Comanche warriors had cut his small party off
from communication with Van Dorn, and were bearing immediately down
upon them. They shot Lieutenant Van Camp through the heart, killing him
ere he could fire his double-barrelled shot-gun. Alexander, the United
States Cavalryman, was likewise shot down before he could fire his gun
(a rifle). Ross was armed with a Sharp’s rifle, and attempted to fire
upon the exultant red devils, but the cap snapped. ‘Mohee,’ a Comanche
warrior, siezed Alexander’s rifle and shot Ross down. The indomitable
young ranger fell upon the side on which his pistol was borne, and
though partially paralyzed by the shot, he turned himself, and was
getting his pistol out when ‘Mohee’ drew his butcher-knife, and started
towards his prostrate foe--some fifteen feet away--with the evident
design of stabbing and scalping him. He made but a few steps, however,
when one of his companions cried out something in the Comanche tongue,
which was a signal to the band, and they broke away in confusion.
‘Mohee’ ran about twenty steps, when a wire-cartridge, containing nine
buck-shot, fired from a gun in the hands of Lieutenant James Majors,
(afterwards a Confederate General), struck him between the shoulders,
and he fell forward on his face, dead. ‘Mohee’ was an old acquaintance
of Ross, as the latter had seen him frequently at his father’s post
on the frontier, and recognized him as soon as their eyes met. The
faithful Caddo held on to the little girl throughout this desperate
_melee_, and, strange to relate, neither were harmed. The Caddo,
doubtless, owed his escape to the fact that the Comanches were fearful
of wounding or killing the little girl. This whole scene transpired in
a few moments, and Captain N. G. Evans’ company of the Second United
States Cavalry, had taken possession of the lower end of the Comanche
village, and Major Van Dorn held the upper, and the Comanches were
running into the hills and brush; not, however, before an infuriated
Comanche shot the gallant Van Dorn with an arrow. Van Dorn fell, and
it was supposed that he was mortally wounded. In consequence of their
wounds, the two chieftains were compelled to remain on the battle
ground five or six days. After the expiration of this time, Ross’
Indians made a ‘litter,’ after their fashion, borne between two gentle
mules, and in it placed their heroic and beloved ‘boy captain,’ and set
out for the settlements at Fort Belknap. When this mode of conveyance
would become too painful, by reason of the rough, broken nature of the
country, these brave Caddos--whose race and history are but synonyms
of courage and fidelity--would vie with each other in bearing the
burden upon their own shoulders. At Camp Radziminski, occupied by
United States forces, an ambulance was obtained, and the remainder of
the journey made with comparative comfort. Major Van Dorn was also
conveyed to Radziminski. He speedily recovered of his wound, and soon
made another brilliant campaign against the Comanches, as we shall see
further on. Ross recovered sufficiently in a few weeks so as to be
able to return to college at Florence, Alabama, where he completed his
studies, and graduated in 1859.”
This was the battle of the Wichita Mountains, a hotly contested and
most desperate hand to hand fight in which the two gallant and dashing
young officers, Ross and Van Dorn, were severely wounded. The loss of
the whites was five killed and several wounded.
The loss of the Comanches was, eighty or ninety warriors killed, many
wounded, and several captured; besides losing all their horses, camp
equipage, supplies, etc.
The return of this victorious little army was hailed with enthusiastic
rejoicing and congratulation, and the Wichita fight and Van Dorn and
Ross were the themes of song and story for many years along the borders
and in the halls and banqueting-rooms of the cities, and the martial
music of the “Wichita March” resounded through the plains of Texas
wherever the Second Cavalry encamped or rode off on scouts in after
years.
The little girl captive--of whose parentage or history nothing could
be ascertained, though strenuous efforts were made--was christened
“Lizzie Ross,” in honor of Miss _Lizzie_ Tinsley, daughter of Dr. D. R.
Tinsley, of Waco, to whom Ross at that time was engaged; and afterwards
married--May, 1861.
Of Lizzie Ross, it can be said that, in her career, is afforded a
thorough verification of Lord Byron’s saying: “Truth is stranger than
fiction!” She was adopted by her brave and generous captor, properly
reared and educated, and became a beautiful and accomplished woman.
Here were sufficient romance and vicissitude, in the brief career of
a little maiden, to have turned the “roundelay’s” of “troubadour and
meunesauger.” A solitary lily, blooming amidst the wildest grasses of
the desert plains. A little Indian girl in all save the Caucasian’s
conscious stamp of superiority. Torn from home, perhaps, amid the
heart-rending scenes of rapine, torture and death. A stranger to race
and lineage--stranger even to the tongue in which a mother’s lullaby
was breathed. Affiliating with these wild Ishmaelites of the prairie--a
Comanche in all things save the intuitive premonition _that she was
not of them_! Finally, redeemed from a captivity worse than death by a
knight entitled to rank, for all time in the history of Texas, “_primus
inter pores_.” _Vide_ “_Ross’ Texas Brigade_,” p. 178.
[Illustration: LIZZIE ROSS.]
Lizzie Ross accompanied Gen. Ross’ mother on a visit to the State of
California, a few years since, and while there, became the wife of a
wealthy merchant near Los Angeles, where she now resides.
Such is the romantic story of “Lizzie Ross”--a story that derives
additional interest because of the fact of its absolute truth in all
respects.[8]
[8]--The following letter from Gen. L. S. Ross, touching upon the
battle of the Wichita Mountains and the re-capture of “Lizzie
Ross,” is here appropriately inserted:
“WACO, TEXAS, July 12. 1884.
“MR. JAMES T. DeSHIELDS. _Dear Sir_:--My father could give you
reliable data enough to fill a volume. I send you photograph
of Cynthia Ann Parker, with notes relating to her on back
of photo. On the 28th of October, 1858, I had a battle with
the Comanches at Wichita Mts., and there recaptured a little
white girl about eight years old, whose parentage, nor
indeed any trace of her kindred, was ever found. I adopted,
reared, and educated her, giving her the name of Lizzie Ross;
the former name being in honor of the young lady--Lizzie
Tinsley--to whom I was then engaged and afterwards
married--May, 1861.
“Lizzie Ross grew to womanhood, and married a wealthy merchant
living near Los Angeles, California, where she now resides.
See History of ‘Ross’ Brigade’ by Victor M. Rose, and
published by Courier-Journal, for a full and graphic
description of the battle and other notable incidents.
I could give you many interesting as well as thrilling
adventures of self and father’s family with the Indians in
the early settlement of the country.
“He can give you more information than any living Texian,
touching the Indian character, having been their agent and
warm and trusted friend, in whom they had confidence.
“My early life was one of constant danger from their forays, and
I was twice in their hands and at their mercy, as well as the
other members of my father’s family.
“But I am just now too busy with my farm matters to give you such
data as would subserve your purpose.
“Yours truly, L. S. ROSS.”