Buckelew

Preface

Perhaps the lives of no set of men, living or dead, are filled with more thrilling adventures, and daring achievements than those of the Texas pioneer.

History fails in its greatest effort, and in vain do we seek amidst the lives of the fabled gods and heroes of classical story and song for deeds of valor, and acts of unswerving devotion to duty, transcending those brave old heroes. No danger was too great, no war-path too bloody, no savage ambush too dangerous, no call to duty so hazardous, and no task so insurmountable as to check their magnificent strides of national development,

Posterity fails to appreciate, indeed it seems difficult in the midst of modern complex civilization, where the strong arm of law bids defiance to the wholesale destruction of life and property, to rightly appreciate the noble sacrifice made by our fore-fathers, in driving back the cruel savage with his merciless tomahav/k, and midnight ambush, facing the dangers from wild beasts and savage men, and holding with relentless grasp for the pleasure and profit of posterity that priceless boon, the "Lone Star State."

The father seldom left his cabin without entertaining fears for the safety of his loved ones, while they were equally aware of his danger.

The sad fate of many settlers who returned to their homes only to find their cabin burned, their property destroyed or stolen and their loved ones murdered or carried away captive by some cruel band of savages, amply justified his fears.

The life story of one of these pioneers, while a captive among the Indians in the wilds of Texas is the theme of this little volume which is respectfully offered to the reading public, with an earnest desire to preserve to posterity a portion, at least, of that great mass of unwritten history connected with the lives of these honored and distinguished sons of Texas.

Well may posterity pause and with bared head and in admiration pay homage to these grand old heroes as one by one they pass us going to the 4 silent bourn whence no traveler returns."

Many, indeed, of this brave band have already answered to the last roll-call and may posterity never fail to show all honor to their memory.

THE AUTHOR,

Mason, Texas, July 3, 1911.

Q

CHAPTER L

Moves to Texas. Death of his Parents, Goes to Live with Uncle on Sabinal, Their Trip. Description of New Home,

Realizing that there is connected with the early history of Texas many interesting incidents, in which men and women yet living have played a leading part, and that this history, buried as it is only in the memory of those who survive, should in justice to these noble pioneers of more chivalrous days, be recorded, that the present as well as future generations may read, and know that their present, peaceful enjoyment of the bountiful increase and natural resources of "The Great West," was secured, and made possible to them only through the patient toil, and unswerving devotion of their ancestors. The clarion voice of history, with its echoes of the past, fails to reveal to the searching mind, dazzling as they may appear, deeds of chivalry or acts of unselfishness, equal in magnitude or more far reaching in their effects upon civilization, and national development than those common to the lives of the early settlers of Texas,

The writer shall not hesitate, or offer an apology for presenting to the reading public this simple narrative of the life of one of these noble old pioneers who, in the face of adversity and misfortune, has survived the storms of the past, and yet lives, and stands in that gallant rank of heroes who have caused the past history of their great State to read as fiction. In the presentation of this narrative, but one desire actuates the author as well as the hero, and that is to present only a simple and absolutely true story of the life of Mr. Buckelew as patiently and carefully related by himself. No effort whatever will be made to blend fiction with the facts, but to state only those facts as they really occurred and, as nearly as possible, in the order of their occurrence. Our hero has long hesitated in presenting to the public his story as an Indian Captive, lest it be condemned, like many Indian stories truly which are more fiction than truth, and cast aside as worthless. It is upon the earnest solicitation of his many friends ^and relatives that he now consents to its publication, and upon the condition that only the true facts be given.

I was born in Union parish, Louisiana, August 10, 1852, the youngest child in a family of * seven children. Like many settlers of the older and more thickly populated states, my parents decided to move to Texas, in the hope of securing more "elbow room, 7 ' a term often used by the earlier settlers. Accordingly, after due preparations for a long and dangerous journey and everything was in readiness, we started on the long trip.

Being only two years of age at the time of our move the impressions, if any, made upon my mind during this journey have entirely faded, and none of the incidents connected with it, which, no doubt, was interesting can here be given. The common experiences of all the early immigrants to Texas were shared by our family on this journey; also in the years intervening between their arrival in Texas to their death. After crossing Red River much of the fertile portion of the State, then undeveloped and waiting for the hand of industry, was passed over before a suitable location was chosen, which was in Cherokee county.

The first task confronting us was the erection of an open faced camp for the convenience of the family until a substantial house could be built. This necessarily required considerable time and labor, for as convenient a camp as possibe was prepared and a small farm cleared and prepared for cultivation before the work on the house was begun. The earliest impressions, and those remaining on my mind were those made during our stay in this humble home. Those of that kind, patient and loving mother, under whose gentle care and influence, I began in life, are the most vivid and lasting, although I was at an early age bereft of her care. About two years after our arrival in Texas we were called upon to lay my mother to rest, and part, sadly part, with this, the only true, earthly friend of the child. In my life and career subsequent to this awful separation from my mother, the old saying that the lot of the orphan is hard indeed, has been amply demonstrated, and none others command more of my pity and sympathy than those who are orphaned of parental care and especially that of mother's. Many times during my life, while contemplating my own condition, and that of others equally unfortunate, have I been caused to exclaim, "God pity the orphan child V 9 However, my condition was much more happy than many orphans, owing to the fact that I fell directly under the care and sweet influence of a loving sister much older than myself and whose kindly disposition and loving deeds have made a lasting impression upon my mind, and in a great measure have been a factor, in shaping my destiny.

Shortly after his second marriage my father died, leaving us robbed entirely of parental care. Unpleasant relations existing between my sister and our step-mother, forced us to leave our home and seek more genial surroundings. About this time my sister received a letter from our uncle, Berry Buckelew, who came to Texas shortly after our arrival here, and who was then living on the Rio Sabinal in Bandera county, in which letter he offered to meet us at some convenient point and take us to his home, where he would be able to assist us in our efforts to secure a livelihood. After due reflection it was decided to accept his kindly offers, feeling sure that a move would not or could not worse our condition, but very probably better it. As soon as possible our intentions were made known to our uncle through a letter. By agreement we were to meet our uncle at a convenient point on the Colorado River where he would wait our coming and take us to our new home.

Although a small boy, the old time ox wagon with its huge wheels and cumbrous appearance and the ox team consisting as it did of five strong oxen, with their yokes and bows were objects of no little interest to me, and the journey, though likely to be beset with many dangers and difficulties and little dreaming of the fate that awaited me, I welcomed it with the joy and pride of youth. It was no little undertaking in that early day to make a trip of several hundred miles across a country that was infested with wild men and savage animals, and a constant vigilance and a wariness, learned only in the stern school of frontier life, was necessary in order to conduct such a move without serious danger, and a likelihood of the traveler, becoming the victim of the pitiless tomahawk or midnight ambush. Nothing of interest to the reader, however, occurred on our journey and in due time we arrived at the home of our uncle.

The new home to which we were now welcomed was unique, indeed. Just where that beautiful little mountain stream, the Rio Sabinal, issues from its picturesque canyons of almost perpendicular rock walls, to meander through rolling hills and grass-covered prairies, this home was situated. It was a typical frontier home, consisting of a large inclosure or yard in which was situated two log houses, built of hewn logs, one of which was used as a kitchen. It is, perhaps, known to the reader that at this date, the frontier of Texas lay to the east of this little river, and for many years after our arrival there it was almost continually in the path of the many roving bands of Indians on their way to the settlements in the east, and the settlers in that region were seldom free from fear that they might become the victims of these bands, which in many cases they did, and the father could never leave his home without feeling a constant dread lest his family would be attacked in his absence and murdered. But in spite of these fears it often became necessary for him to be absent for a short while.

It was customary among the settlers in these remote frontier settlements to "take turn about, "

in going to market for supplies, and when my uncle's turn came his oxen were driven up, and preparations made for his journey to San Antonio, then the most suitable market for this section. And as the ancient cypress trees along the upper Medina River were being "riven" into shingles, and as there was a good market for such shingles in San Antonio, it was my uncle's custom to go by way of these shingle camps and load his wagon with them. His journey to San Antonio, which required several days, was made without incidents worthy of mention and his shingles were readily disposed of at the customary price. His next task was to purchase his goods and those wanted by his neighbors. These consisted chiefly of meal, flour, and sugar, besides a large quantity of calico and other dry goods.

The return journey was then begun, and the greater portion of this was made in safety, until he reached the home of his friend and neighbor, Mr. Crossgrave, on the Big Saco. It was near noon when he reached this place and he was invited by his friend to stop over until the next morning. While enjoying the generous hospitality in the way of a well prepared dinner, he was told that from recent signs observed in the settlement it was evident that Indians were in the country. Alarmed at this news, my uncle at once made preparations to resume his journey, although the day was well advanced and in spite of his friend's protests, he at once started for his home. His friend plead with him to remain over night, as his journey lay over roughs and canyons, and in the region where he would most likely encounter the Indians. No persuasion, however, could induce him to remain over night, as he was alarmed by the helpless condition of his family during his absence.

Two routes lay before him, the main traveled road and a nearer route across the roughs, and as his fears of the safety of his family increased as night came on he chose the shorter, though more dangerous route. About the time night overtook him and just as he was crossing one of the upper runs of the Little Saco, he was surprised and was fired upon by the savages in ambush. The savages had evidently been watching his movements for some time, and had planned their ambush with considerable care and precaution, as they always dreaded an open daylight encounter with the whites, even though they outnumbered them. Every indication pointed to the fact that he was endeavoring, after receiving the first shot, to reach his arms, two six shooters and a large rifle lying on the wagon seat when he received the fatal shot. Not content with taking his life, the pitiless friends rushed out from their place of concealment in the bluff of the ravine, and crushed his head with stones. When this was accomplished they next turned their attentionjto the team, three of the

BUCKELSW, THE INDIAN CAPTIVE 13 five yoke were unloosed, and allowed to go at will while the remaining two were left hitched to the wagon. They then began to pillage the load. The flour and meal were emptied out in a huge pile near the wagon, and the sacks, all of that part of the laod that was of any value to the savages, appropriated to their use. All the calico and other dry goods were taken. This was Friday night. On Sunday morning, by some means it happened that Mr. Crossgrave came over to our place, and seeing that our uncle had not made his appearance, he at once realized that he must have fallen a victim to the Indians. He at once notified the nearest neighbors, and a party was organized for the purpose of finding their lost friend. The route chosen by my uncle being familiar only to him, the search was confined at first to the plain traveled road. At length the place where his wagon tracks left the main road was discovered and rapidly followed by the party. This soon led to his discovery and the sad fate that had befallen him.

When found he was lying with his head in a pool of blood. The spark of life, which seemed loath to depart from him, had lingered until just before he was found, as warm blood gushed from his many wounds when removed from his prostrate position. His faithful dog, Cuff, who was his constant companion on such trips, by some fortunate means had escaped the arrows of the savages and was keeping a lonely vigil over his master's body. The dog had so completely guarded the body that a large pack of wolves which had been trying to reach it had not succeeded in getting near. The oxen left hitched to the wagon had drawn it some distance from this point and had caught one wheel against a tree which prevented them straying further.

The wagon was driven to a point as near as possible to the body and everything in the way of goods left by the Indians was placed in it. This completed, the body was placed in the wagon and as tenderly as possible it was conveyed to our home, where neighbors and friends met with relatives to pay the last measure of devotion and respect to their dead friend. A brave and generous man had fallen among them, and one they could ill afford to lose. His body was laid to rest in a small cemetery near the banks of the Sabinal, being one among the first buried there. After murdering my uncle the party of savages pressed on in a southwest direction, where they surprised and captured two white men and a boy.

The whites were in camp at the time the Redskins came upon them and thinking they were only cow hunters allowed them to come up in close range before they were able to distinguish the difference. Although not certain that they were being surrounded by Indians the whites mounted their horses, to be in readiness should it prove to be Indians. The whites began a slowretreat from their camp closely watching the approaching party. Suddenly they were checked by hearing some one speak in rather good English, begging them to halt. Two of the party (one of the men and the boy) refused to heed the call but one of them stopped in order to make sure that they were not retreating before a party of white men. This delay gave the savages ample time to redouble their efforts and dash upon him before he had time to wheel his horse and escape. Realizing that flight would be useless and escape nearly if not impossible, he allowed the savages to overtake and capture him. Their first work was to strip him of his clothes. When this was completed, one of the savages must have approached him with a sharp knife and severed the large vein in his neck. He was then released to die, and the savages taking his clothes pressed on in pursuit of the remainder of the whites. The wounded man, terrified and struggling for life, ran with all his might, the blood gushing from the wound at every step, to the nearest water, and when found he was lying dead with his face in the edge of the water. The Redskins were not long in overtaking the fleeing whites. Rut just as they were about to capture them the man wheeled off to one side, dashed off into the timber and escaped. The boy though not as fortunate as his companion was making a desperate effort when something, perhaps his excitement, caused him to leave his horse, and try his fortune on foot. His capture was now but a few moments work for the savages, who soon had him in their hands. Although no tidings were ever received from him it was a general belief among the people that he was carried off a captive to some remote Indian village where he was forced to spend a captive's life among them.

Chapter II

Goes to Live with Mr. Davenport. Our new Home. My Capture.

After my uncle's death it soon became evident to my aunt that it was necessary for her to leave the Old Cedar Brake Ranch, where she was living at the time of her husband's death, and move to a less dangerous locality where she would feel safer from attack by the Indians. Before his death our uncle had been looking after a large herd of cattle belonging to Mr. Davenport, and after his untimely death it became necessary for Mr. Davenport to move the cattle to his own ranch some distance up the Sabinal.

Our aunt not being able to provide for my sisters and myself, and upon receiving an offer from Mr, Davenport to go and live with him, we moved to his home, It was agreed that in return ; for his kindness I was to help him in taking care of his stock as well as to assist in the general work on the ranch. Our new home, a typical western cow ranch, was situated near the banks of the Sabinal, well up in the beautiful little canyon, whose rock walls confine the little stream to a narrow channel South of the house some little distance lay the fertile little farm on which was grown feed for the saddle horses, and other stock that was kept near the ranch. To the west lay the cedar covered divides that separate the waters of the Frio and Sabinal Rivers.

Among the first tasks given me by Mr. Davenport was breaking and planting the field and in this task I was assisted by Morris, a negro boy belonging to Mr. Davenport. The teams most commonly used in farm work at that time were oxen. A good strong yoke being turned over to us we began the work in earnest. Each night it was necessary to take our oxen some distance from the ranch to better grass where we would hobble and bell them in order to prevent their straying off. As Morris and I were the only boys on the ranch we naturally became good friends, and wherever one went the other, if possible, always accompanied him.

Late one Saturday evening in April after our week's work was over Morris and I led our steers to the back of the field where there was a small open glade covered with tall green grass. It happened this time that Morris attended to the belling and hobbling of one of the steers, and by some means failed to securely fasten the bell collar, and as a result the bell was lost. The next morning when Mr. Davenport raturned from a search in the range he called us to him, and asked Morris about the bell. Although the negro plead his innocence, Mr. Davenport, greatly incensed at his carelessness, scolded him severely and told him if he did not find the bell that day he would "beat him to death." Mr. Davenport then rode off from the ranch to be gone the remainder of the day.

To the negro who well knew the temper of his master, the finding of that bell, was by far the most important thing to be attended to. Morris at once began begging me to assist him in the search and although I felt it my duty, when Mr. Davenport was absent, to remain near the house as a partial protection for the women, at least in case they should be attacked by the Indians, I allowed the entreaties of the negro to overcome my better judgment and consented to accompany him, provided he would wait to begin his search until afternoon, to which he consented. Mr. Davenport had given me an old style muzzleloading shotgun and cautioned me to never leave the house any distance without carrying it with me, as a means of protection against the Indians in case I was attacked by them. And so when Morris and I were about ready to start, I thought about my gun and Mr. Davenport's instructions and entered the house to secure it. When I had picked up the gun and started out with it I was stopped by Grandma Davenport who told me that I had better leave the gun that time as we were not likely to see any Indians and that I might become careless in handling the gun and kill Morris or myself with it. Not wishing to disobey her orders and feeling proud of being relieved of the clumsy old weapon I went on without it.

I was now nearly fourteen years of age, an unusually strong, active boy for my age and size, and it was a constant source of amusement to Morris to see me turn hand-springs, and we seldom went along together without he insisted on me performing this juvenile trick. After I had performed some time for his amusemeut until I was somewhat tired from the exertion, I had him to try his hand at the same sport, and I shall never forget his clumsy, awkward efforts to imitate me. Being thus engaged in our childish sport, the distance from the house to the little glade in which the lost bell was supposed to be, was covered before we hardly realized that we had started. With the threat of Mr. Davenport ringing in his ears the negro at once began a close search for the bell. I assisted him in the search

BUCEELEW, THE INDIAN CAPTIVE for some time but, child-like, I soon deserted him and began to stroll about the edge of the thicket bordering the little glade in search of flowers. It was not long until I caught sight of a beautiful redbud tree in full bloom and hastened to it in order to secure a bouquet to carry home to my sister. When I had finished securing my flowers and was preparing to join Morris, I was surprised to see several of Mr. Davenport's large steers dash out of the thicket near me and make for the house. Not yet realizing the imminent danger of my position, but having frequently been told that the presence and often only the scent of Indians would cause stampede among cattle, I called to Morris and told him that we had better be going toward home as it might be that Indians had scared the beeves. He only made sport of my fears, ridiculing the idea of there being Indians near, replying that I should come at once and help him find the bell. I well remember his exact words: 4 'Frank we must find that bell or Massa Bill will beat me to death when he comes home. ' ' By some means I was unable to banish the thought of Indians, and while I was preparing to leave the spot where I was standing some little noise in the thicket behind me caused me to turn my eyes in that direction when some object, that I was unable at first to distinguish, caught my eye. But a second glance convinced me that it was a man, and in all probability an Indian. Before I had fully decided what course to pursue I cast another glance at him and by this time I was able to see plainly that it was an Indian warrior.

Horrified at the sight of this Indian dressed in garb of a warrior, I flew to the side of the unsuspecting Morris, who w r as still busily engaged in hunting for the bell, and told him that I had seen an Indian in the thicket not far from where I w T as standing. Not waiting to make a reply, nor test the truth of my statement the frightened negro raised his head high in air, and with a yell of terror fled from me like the wind. When I first caught sight of the Indian he was crouched near the ground but as I returned my gaze I saw that he had partially raised himself and was resting one knee on the ground, and at the same time presenting his bow and arrow as if he was preparing to shoot. I started to follow the negro, and was making fair headway when a voice behind me caused me to check my speed, and look behind when I beheld, to my horror, an Indian advancing toward me with an arrow in his powerful bow, pointing it directly toward me. Realizing that further effort to escape at this time would be useless, and could only result in my death, I stopped in my tracks and turned my face toward him. When he realized that I was making no further effort to escape he assumed a more leisurely gait, and as he approached me, I noticed he was pointing in the direction of the negro and laughing heartily in a manner characteristic to his race. This at once called my attention to Morris, and looking back over my shoulder, I caught my last glimpse of the terrified black as he sped like some frightened beast toward a place of safety. In his fright and terror he evidently thought that an Indian was just at his heels and ready at any moment to plunge an arrow into his back, for at almost every step he would throw his head to one side or the other while his hideous and distorted features betrayed the fear that was pushing him forward in his mad race for life. A period of over forty years has failed to erase from my memory the picture of this scared negro, and many times in recalling to my mind the exciting scenes of that day I can see Morris almost as plain as if he was actually running his race before me.

"Ugh! Ugh!" Exclaimed the savage, as he approaced me.

He raised his bow high in air and waived it severel times at Morris, as if to scare him, then tapped me rather sharply on the head and told me to "vamos."

It would indeed be difficult for me to give the reader even a faint idea of my feelings at this moment. I felt on this occasion, as on many others afterward, that a cry would relieve me but the cold austerity of my savage captor as well as my own native timidity, forced me to resist every temptation to shed a tear. It was a hundred yards or more from where I first halted where the savage approached me back to the edge of the thicket from which he had recently emerged, and could I reproduce for the reader the many thoughts that passed through my brain in going that short distance he could have a better conception of my feelings than Lam able to give in words. When we' reached the edge of the thicket, which extended from the little ravine near where I was captured to, and partially surroundihg the little glade already described, we were suddenly confronted by two other fierce looking warriors,