Saints) Creek, at a place called the Black Hills, sixteen miles from
the town of Cotulla. Eighty redskins were near this spot, and had
camped near a waterhole, which the whites wished to get to, as they had
been three days without water. The plainsmen had come through prickly
pear and cat-claw bushes only to find the Indians in their path. A stiff
fight ensued. The Rangers circled around the savages for over an hour,
and, after they had wounded a good many, charged the remainder. There
was hand-to-hand fighting, but the red men were finally driven away,
leaving twenty-two of their number dead upon the ground, among whom was
their chief. “Big Foot” Wallace had dispatched him with a rifle, which
had been presented to him by Colonel James Bowie, from whom the bowie
knife took its name.
The redoubtable Wallace was one of the first to enlist in the Mexican
War of 1846, and served under the famous Texan Jack Hays. The war,
as you know, was brought on by a dispute over the boundary-line
between Mexico and the United States, and, as many of the Rangers
had old scores to settle with the Mexicans, they did good service in
the campaign which ended in the capture of the City of Mexico. “Big
Foot” Wallace was a second Lieutenant and acquitted himself nobly,
particularly in the storming of Monterey, where he captured the very
officer who had held the fatal bean-pot when the Texans were drawing
for their lives at Solado. To his credit be it said that he let the
fellow go.
The famous plainsman never married, although he was once engaged to
a belle of Austin, Texas. He was taken ill, shortly after pledging
his troth, and had the misfortune to lose all of his hair. As soon as
he was able to travel, he left town and hid himself in a cave in the
mountains. Here he resided until his hair grew out again. Meanwhile his
sweetheart had grown tired of waiting for him and had married another
man. As she turned out to be a terrible scold, he was lucky.
The old scout was the proud possessor of four dogs—half-bred
specimens—which he prized very highly. He called them Rock, Ring,
Speck and Blas, and was particularly fond of Rock, who was so well
trained that he could follow an Indian by his scent. Wallace could
always tell by the dog’s actions when Indians were around, and, when
night came, would feel perfectly secure when his pets were on guard
near by. The faithful animals would lie near him and would make no
noise unless some wild man, or still wilder animal, approached.
One morning Rock gave unmistakable signs that Indians were near by, so
the scout took his gun in order to watch for the redskins. As none put
in an appearance, he told his dogs to “go on and find.” They rushed
forward, yelping, and he soon heard them baying loudly. Coming to the
spot, he saw an Indian down in a gully with the dogs around him. They
were endeavoring to bite him, but he kept them from seizing him by
throwing his blanket over their heads. Wallace raised his gun to fire,
but, seeing that the poor redskin was afraid, he lowered his piece.
Then, calling his pets to his side, he made signs to the Indian to come
towards him.
When the redskin approached, “Big Foot” saw that he was unarmed, save
for a small knife which he held in his right hand. This was broken in
two.
“I have been a captive among the Comanches,” said the red man. “I
have had nothing to kill game with and am nearly starved. Pray give
me something to eat, Señor. I broke my knife while trying to open a
terrapin.”
The old scout’s heart was touched by the sad spectacle before him. He
took pity on the poor savage, and, leading him to his cabin, there gave
him all that he could eat. He then turned him over to the Indian agent
at San Antonio. This shows that, although keen in pursuing hostile
redskins, the famous Ranger could be also kind and gentle to the
unfortunate.
The fame of “Big Foot” Wallace was great among the pioneers of Texas;
so great, in fact, that when he appeared at the Dallas fair in 1898,
hundreds crowded around him in order to take his hand and talk with the
famous scout. All had heard of the giant plainsman and wanted to see
him. Shortly after Christmas, of this year, he caught a heavy cold,
and died on the seventh of January, 1899, in his eighty-third year. To
the very end his eyesight was so keen that he had no need of glasses,
and he was apparently hale and hearty up to the last. Thus peacefully
closed the career of one of the most adventurous men who ever hunted,
fished, and fought the red men and Mexicans upon the wide plains of
Texas.
Although buried in Medina County, where he had built his first log
cabin, shortly after his death, a bill was passed in the legislature,
so that his remains were taken up and were deposited in the State
cemetery at Austin. This was a city which he had helped to build. He
had also assisted in the construction of the first well which had been
sunk there. He had been among those who had killed the last herd of
buffalo on the plains near by.
Here—in the peace of the rolling plain—lies the last of the Great
Captains of those gallant Rangers of the Texan prairie. His spirit
slumbers where the coyote and Indian once followed the dun-colored
herds of buffalo, and where—in the blue azure of the cloudless
sky—the wheeling vulture watched the canvas-covered wagons of the
emigrant trains, which brought a people who were to construct great and
populous cities, where was then only dust and desolation.
CAPTAIN JACK HAYS:
FAMOUS TEXAN RANGER AND COMMANDER OF VALIANT BORDER FIGHTERS
IT was the year 1840. Texas was still a wild country, but the white
settlers were pressing forward to farm and to raise cattle and
horses. The redskins did not like it. The Comanches were particularly
troublesome: they had been severely chastised by General Burleson and a
Colonel John H. More, so they had sworn to revenge themselves upon the
white-skinned invaders. With a large body of painted warriors they made
a raid upon the defenseless settlers of Texas. They sacked and burned
the town of Linnville, partly destroyed Victoria, and commenced their
retreat back to the mountains with a great deal of plunder. There were
six hundred warriors and many squaws in the party of invasion.
In going down from the mountains the Indians had kept between the
rivers, where there were no settlements, and consequently they were
not discovered until a short time before the attack upon Linnville.
Runners were immediately sent to the various settlements, and men began
to cut across the country in small squads from the valleys of the
Colorado, the Guadalupe, and San Marcos. All of them were excited and
eager for revenge, none more so than General Burleson, who—at the head
of a large company—was just starting for the scene of action. When
about one hundred and fifty men had arrived—among them settlers from
Guadalupe and San Marcos—they started for the Indians.
Among those who came riding to the defense of the Texan frontier was a
splendid looking, young fellow, who was the perfect picture of manly
vigor. Clad in blue shirt, buckskin chaparejos (large trousers slipping
over those usually worn) and high-heeled boots, the youthful Texan was
a noble example of health and agility. A broad sombrero was upon his
head, while a cartridge-belt hung about his supple waist. His name was
John Coffee Hays; better known as Jack Hays: the Ranger.
This celebrated scout and Indian fighter had been named after General
Coffee, who commanded a brigade in the army of General Jackson, at the
battle of New Orleans. He had been born in Wilson County, Tennessee, in
1818, but had come to Texas in 1837, when but nineteen years of age.
A surveyor by profession, he had taken up a residence at San Antonio,
where he was employed to measure lands upon the frontier. His life in
the open had given him a hardy constitution, and no one could endure
more hardships or privations than he. His talent as a commander and
director of rough-and-ready fighters early developed, and he was soon
among the leaders of the borderers in Southwest Texas.
With a wild hurrah, which spelled REVENGE, in large letters, the
Texans started after the Indians, and, after travelling for nine
miles upon their broad trail, caught up with them near a winding
stream called Plum Creek. Two redskins had been left by the invaders
as spies. They were upon a ridge and sat quietly upon their horses,
watching the approach of the white men, until the Texans were almost
within gun-shot. Both of these Indians had on tall hats which they had
obtained at the looting of Linnville. You can well imagine how comical
they looked, for a black, stovepipe hat hardly becomes a wild rider
of the plains. With his thick, long hair it never quite fits, and it
certainly gives the red man a most grotesque appearance.
One of the Texan Rangers had a long-range gun. Dismounting, he cried
out:
“Boys! Just watch me make the redskins hump!”
At the crack of his rifle, the Indians wheeled their horses in order
to run away. As they did so, both lost their plug hats. They moved
swiftly to their comrades, warning them of the approach of the Rangers,
who spread out in a fan-shaped line, and kept on after the retreating
braves.
Now began a hot fight. The redskins were well armed and made a good
showing, but nothing could withstand the terrible fire of the Texan
rifles. After an hour of rapid shooting the Rangers charged with a
wild, ear-splitting whoop. Jack Hays was well up in front of the line
as they did so. The Indians broke and galloped away in a disorganized
mass.
Many of the redskins had on fine coats and boots which they had stolen
during the raid. Some of them even carried umbrellas. Their spare
horses and mules were packed with stolen goods, and these were driven
ahead by the squaws, while the warriors fought the battle. After about
a mile of fighting, the Comanches rallied in large force and a sharp
contest ensued. But they could not stand the accurate rifle-fire from
the Texans, and again fled in a scattered mass.
The pursuit continued in hot haste, for some high mountains were in
front, and the Rangers knew that if the red men once reached them it
would be quite possible for them to get away. Many of the pack-animals
now gave out, were abandoned, and fell into the hands of the Texans.
A boggy branch was in the path of the retreating braves. Several of
the Indian ponies stuck fast in the mire: all of the pack-animals
which had not yet been captured, became hard aground in the mud. The
hindmost Indians used some of the poor, bogged animals as pontoons, and
passed over the marsh by jumping from body to body. The Texans saw the
predicament which the redskins were in and ran around the branch to the
other side, where they cut off some of the Indians who were on foot,
and killed them. The rest got away to the foot of the mountains, where
the pursuit ended.
The Rangers collected at the spot where the fight had been most severe
and where most of the Indians had been dispatched. Here they camped
for the night. Some of the Texans had been wounded, but none had been
killed. Thus the battle of Plum Creek came to a glorious end.
Jack Hays had certainly distinguished himself in this affair. He
distinguished himself still more in 1842, when San Antonio was captured
by the Mexicans. Shortly after the battle of Plum Creek, Jack had been
commissioned by General Houston to raise a force for protection of the
frontier. He had no difficulty in doing this and was soon in command of
several hundred Texan Rangers. They were wild fellows; ready for any
emergency that might arise.
The Mexicans had about fifteen hundred men in San Antonio. They were
commanded by a General Wall. Jack Hays and his Rangers rode up near
the town and “dared” the Mexicans to come out and fight. This they
were quite willing to do, and soon marched from the adobe huts of San
Antonio, crossed a creek in order to face the Texans, planted cannon,
and the battle commenced. The Rangers acted upon the defensive, dodged
the limbs of the pecan trees which the whistling bullets began to cut
off, and prepared to meet the Mexicans when they should charge.
General Wall, the Mexican leader, thought to rout the Texans with his
artillery fire, but, as he failed to do this, he made preparations to
charge them. Cavalry was dispatched across the creek in order to cut
off retreat upon this side, and a band of Cherokee Indians were posted
upon a branch below. The Mexicans believed that they would have an easy
time of it, but they little thought with what kind of men they had to
deal. Before them were expert riflemen: all keen shots and frontier
fighters. They made a good account of themselves.
The bugles sounded the charge and the Mexicans came on in fine style.
They were massed together densely, and, for a time, it looked as if the
Rangers would be annihilated by mere force of numbers. But the Texans
lay down behind the creek bank, and poured such a volley of death and
destruction into the ranks of the oncoming foe that their formation
was broken up and they retreated in confusion and disorder to their
batteries, posted upon elevated ground. A company of their cavalry
also charged, but the horses would not come on before the sheet of
lead which the Rangers pumped into them. Many lost their riders and
ran among the infantrymen, knocking them down as they galloped wildly
about. The Rangers cheered loudly, and Captain Jack Hays grinned from
ear to ear.
As the Mexicans gathered behind their cannon, about fifty Texans, under
Captain Nicholas Dawson, came up on the right flank. They heard the
sound of firing and hurried towards it, only to find that they had run
into Wall’s entire army. The Mexicans surrounded them immediately, and
poured a destructive fire into their ranks. What could fifty do against
one thousand? Two Texans made their escape. About twelve were captured.
The rest fell before the bullets of the invaders. Dawson, himself, was
one of the last to go down.
After this, the Mexicans seemed to think that they had had sufficient
fighting. They retired towards San Antonio, followed by the exultant
Texans. Captain Jack Hays with his Rangers fought the rear-guard near
Hondo, but the pursuit was soon abandoned and the frontiersmen returned
to their homes. They had lost less than one hundred in killed and
wounded.
The Rangers retreated to a place called Somervell, and, not long
afterwards, were ordered out to look for Indians, which were then
pretty thick in the neighborhood, and were doing considerable damage.
There were between thirty and forty men in this expedition, some of
whom had just returned from Mexico, where they had participated in the
battle of Mier. They moved off towards the northwest, struck the Medina
River, and kept on up the stream towards the place where now stands the
town of Bandera. Here they made camp, and next morning turned north
towards the Bandera Pass, which they entered at about ten o’clock in
the morning.
The Comanches were waiting for them. They had discovered the approach
of the Rangers as they came through the open country, and laid an
ambush for them in the Pass. The famous Bandera Pass is some five
hundred yards in length by one hundred and twenty-five in breadth. The
red men were concealed among the rocks and gullies on both sides of
the gorge, and they allowed Captain Jack Hays with his Texan Rangers
to get about one-third of the way through before they commenced firing
from both sides at once. The Rangers were riding three abreast, and,
when this fusillade commenced, were thrown into momentary confusion,
because of the frightened and wounded horses, which endeavored to wheel
and run back.
“Steady, boys, steady!” exclaimed Captain Jack Hays. “Get down from
your horses and tie them to the brush. We can whip these infernal
redskins if you will only keep cool.”
The Comanches greatly outnumbered the Rangers. They were armed with
rifles and with bows and arrows. Many came down the Pass and rode up
to close quarters with the Rangers. Pistols were freely used and many
hand-to-hand conflicts took place. The Comanche chief was struck down
by a ball from the rifle of “Kit” Ackland, who, himself, was wounded
a moment later. It was a furious affair,—one of the most desperate
Indian battles of the frontier.
One of the scouts—a fellow named Galbreath—was wounded by an arrow
which struck him above the pistol-belt, on the left side. It penetrated
as far as the hip bone. The hardy frontiersman made no complaint, but
drew the missile out at once, loaded his gun, and continued to fight on
as if nothing had happened. No one knew that he had been wounded until
the worst part of the battle was over.
The Indians fought with great fury, but they soon saw that they could
not drive the Rangers back, and so withdrew to the north end of the
Pass. Here they buried their dead chieftain; killed all of their
crippled horses, and held a scalp dance over the remains of their
fallen comrades. Five Rangers had been killed and six had been wounded.
The men under Jack Hays retreated to the south end of the Pass, where
they buried those who had met their end, and attended to the wounded.
Next morning they jogged along to San Antonio. The Indians did not
pursue.
The battle of Bandera Pass had taught the red men that the Rangers were
not to be trifled with. Captain Jack was continually on the lookout
for them, and soon had another experience which he had no occasion to
forget. It happened about a year after the famous battle at the Pass.
Fourteen Rangers—under Captain Jack—went upon a scout up the
Neuces Canyon, with the expectation of meeting the Indians, who were
then upon the war-path. After a long trip to the head of the river,
without seeing any fresh Indian sign, Hays turned back down the canyon
and camped. Next day the little party travelled onward, and—about
noon—some one discovered a bee tree.
“Hold on, Captain!” said a Ranger. “Just wait a minute and I’ll chop
all the honey out of that tree-top.”
“All right,” replied Hays. “Sail in and let’s see what you can do. Pull
your bridles off, men. Let your ropes down and allow your horses to
graze. We will rest here awhile and get some honey.”
The Ranger secured a small axe that was in the luggage on a pack-mule,
and ascended the tree, for the purpose of chopping into the honey
without cutting down this stout piece of timber.
About this time a large band of Comanches were coming down the canyon
on a raid, and, seeing the trail of the Rangers, they followed it. The
fellow in the tree had a good view of the valley, and, to his startled
vision appeared a great body of redskins.
“Jerusalem, the Golden, Captain!” he sang out. “Yonder come a thousand
Indians! Jerusalem!”
The Comanches were riding rapidly down the trail and made a good deal
of dust. Hays sprang to his feet, as quick as a cat, and sang out his
orders promptly, and to the point.
“Come out of that tree, there! Men, put on your bridles! Take up your
ropes! Be ready for them! Be ready for them!”
All sprang to their horses, and were soon prepared to meet the onrush
of the red men.
The Rangers were armed with Colt’s five-shooters, besides their rifles
and a brace of holster single-shot pistols. Thus each man could fire
nine shots. The Indians had never before come in conflict with scouts
armed with the five-shooter, and they rode on exultingly, for they
greatly outnumbered the whites. Jack Hays never ran from Indians, and
had never yet been defeated by them.
The Comanches came forward, yelling loudly. They thought that it would
be an easy matter to ride over the small squad of white men, who were
drawn up around the old bee tree. Some of the scouts began to raise
their guns, but Captain Jack cried out:
“Now, boys, do not shoot too quickly. Let the redskins come closer. Hit
something when you do shoot. Stand your ground. We can whip them when
we shoot. There is no doubt about that.”
The redskins thundered down upon the Rangers. When they were quite
close, Captain Jack called:
“Fire, and let every shot tell!”
A sheet of flame burst from the rifles of the scouts, and so many
ponies went down that the redskins divided to the right and left,
discharging their arrows as they swept by.
At this moment Captain Jack sprang into his saddle.
“After them, men,” he cried. “Give them no chance to turn on us! Crowd
them! Powder-burn them!”
Never was a band of redskins more surprised; for they expected the
Rangers to remain near the tree, and upon the defensive. With a wild
whoop, the followers of Jack Hays galloped after the running braves,
keeping up a perfect fusillade with their pistols. The Comanches were
thunderstruck at this turn of affairs. Some tried in vain to turn their
horses and make a stand, but such was the wild confusion of running
horses, popping pistols, and yelling Rangers, that they abandoned the
idea of a rally, and sought safety in furious flight. In endeavoring
to dodge the terrible five-shooters, some dropped their bows and round
shields. Some kept off the Rangers by thrusting at them with their long
lances.
The Indians ran for three miles before they could get away. The Rangers
now rode back, well satisfied with the day’s work, and were surprised
to see the result of their charge. The ground was fairly black with
dead redskins. Many years afterwards a friendly Delaware Indian,
called “Bob,” met the Comanche chieftain who led his warriors in this
fight.
“Who did you battle with upon this occasion?” he asked.
“Ugh! Jack Hays and his Rangers,” gloomily replied the Comanche chief,
shaking his head. “I never want to fight him again. Ugh! Ugh! His
soldiers had a shot for every finger on their hands. I lost half of all
my warriors. Ugh! Me never fight with him again.”
The Rangers soon afterwards had another tough little scrimmage with
the Comanches. Fifteen of the Rangers were together at this time and
they met an almost equal number of Indians, who were discovered at the
foot of the mountains near the Frio River. The Indians were riding very
tired horses, and the scouts thus gained upon them rapidly. The red
men kept under cover, as much as possible, riding in ravines which had
brushes and prickly pears around them, wherever they could do so.
Captain Jack and his men arrived at a little dried-up creek called Ci
Bolo (buffalo creek) where they came close to the Indians, who were
travelling in a ravine which hid them from view. The Rangers heard
their leggings scraping against the brush, so, for some distance, they
rode parallel with the savages, waiting for a chance to make a charge.
The redskins could be heard talking to each other.
Suddenly the Comanches left the ravine and rode out in open view, not
more than thirty yards away. They apparently were not aware of the
presence of the scouts until a sharp crack warned them of their danger.
At the first discharge, a redskin fell from his horse. The others
attempted to run back to cover, yelling and shooting at the Rangers as
they did so. But the scouts were too speedy for them and cut them off.
One, however, seemed determined to get into the ravine. He disappeared
into a thicket, at the edge of the gully, but a Ranger called Tom
Galbraith dismounted, and, running to the edge of the thicket after the
Indian had reached it, fired, and killed him.
The rest of the savages endeavored to make their escape across the open
country, which was filled with scattered bunches of the prickly pear,
cactus, and cat-claw bushes. Some were on mules, and others on jaded
horses. The Rangers rode hard after them and fired with deadly effect.
The Indians had no guns—only bows and arrows—so they did but little
damage.
As the chase continued, one young Ranger called Stoke Holmes, who rode
a fast little pony, singled out an Indian and cried out:
“Watch me, Boys! I’m going to rope him!”
While he was running along and was swinging his lariat, the pony
attempted to jump a large bunch of prickly pears. He reared so high
that his rider lost his seat in the saddle and fell backwards into the
terrible cactus. Some of his comrades saw the mishap. They quickly shot
the redskin and then came rapidly to his rescue, as he was unable to
get up. The valiant scout was in a sad plight. His body had thousands
of pear thorns in it, and his clothing was pinned to him on all sides.
He was in agonies of pain. Pulling him away from the grip of the
cactus, the Rangers stripped off all of his clothing, extracted all of
the large thorns, and endeavored to pull out the small ones. But this
was an impossibility, as there were thousands of small needle-like
prickers in his flesh. With a sharp knife the Ranger shaved them close
to the skin so that his clothing would not irritate his body by rubbing
against them. The bold young fellow was hardly able to ride for several
days thereafter. As for the rest of the redskins,—only three escaped.
Not many months later Captain Hays and his men were close upon a band
of Indians, who had been located by his scouts in a bunch of cedars.
The Rangers had not eaten all day, because they had been hot in pursuit.