The Fishing Trip Continues---Part Two

The Rio Grande doesn't look like this in Texas

                                    

     At 4:30 on Sunday morning Collins put on the coffee.  That is not something unusual for James—he makes coffee every morning at 4:30.  Has for years.  He gets up when he wakes up, makes coffee, and then sits, drinks coffee, and plans his day.  I think it is one of the reasons he has always been successful.  He’s thinking about problems and working out solutions three hours before the rest of the world wakes up.

     Neil, Ratisseau and I straggled into the kitchen as we awakened.  It was forty degrees—too cold (and too dark) to sit at the picnic table outside.  McMullen mixed up a batch of scratch biscuits, fried a pound of bacon, made gravy and we feasted—bacon, eggs, biscuits, gravy, coffee, orange juice, and sweet milk—Collins quoted a high school friend, “The Queen of England don’t eat no better’n this.”

     We quoted a lot of old friends that morning.  We decided Charles Flowers had picked up the “Queen of England” quote from Robert Benton, who used it often.  We talked about people I had not thought of in years.  We laughed about things that happened during high school, while we were learning math and English and how to live and who we were.  We remembered sixty years ago, when we were teenagers trying to decide who we should be when we grew up.  We all helped each other over the adolescent rough spots.

     By the time it was daylight, we finished breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, made more coffee and moved outside to continue our visit.  I enjoyed these same guys in high school.  They were older, and perhaps wiser now, but they were the same friends with the same personalities I had been drawn to over sixty years ago.  We shared the same high plains values, the same ambitions, the same goals. After all these years, McMullen still lights up the room when he smiles, Collins can double me over with his dry wit, and, of course, Ratisseau just loves to tell a story.

         About mid-morning, the fishermen, like so many gladiators, pulled on their waterproof armor and girdled up for battle.  Trout are civilized fish.  They mostly don’t care for breakfast before ten am or so, and it is foolish to try to catch them before the day warms up.  Evidently, the fish take a siesta in the early afternoon, and have dinner around five, because the fishermen adopted that schedule and were very successful with it.  My friends were pros—no frenzied casting, no frantic splashing from place to place, no indiscriminate fly-switching—just quiet, skilled fishing, dropping the fly at the proper place, and teasing the trout into taking it.

There may be three better fishermen in the world, but I doubt it.  The Rio Grande is just behind those bushes.

      Neal and Wayne hustled off to a pre-selected hot spot, and Collins, knowing my interest in Texas history, gave up his morning session with the trout and took me on a guided tour of the Rio Grande headwaters.  We drove the high road past the Rio Grande Reservoir and followed the river up toward its source.  The road was literally cut through the forest.  It was unpaved, narrow, steep, and rocky, with no guard rails or shoulders. I was glad for James’ four-wheel-drive Land Cruiser.

     As we climbed higher, the Rio Grande branched into a north and south tributary.  The river was no more than a creek now, and the north branch cascaded downhill past us and on to the intersection below.  Stony Pass, where this primitive road crossed the Continental Divide, was about three miles farther up.  From that pass, the road meandered seventeen miles downhill into the old mining town of Silverton, Colorado, on the western slope. 

      Five hundred yards uphill from where we stood, a snowmelt spring marked the source of the river and once defined the westernmost border of the Republic of Texas.  From the spring, the border went due north to the 42^nd parallel, which was Texas’ northern border, in present-day Wyoming. 

     In my youth, nothing would have kept me from fighting through the trees and following that creek uphill to stand at its source.  I would have insisted upon a picture, standing astraddle the Rio Grande.  Now, I had to admit the mountain was steep and I was not forty anymore—hell, I’m not even sixty anymore.  With some effort, James found a place wide enough to turn around, and we went back downhill and downstream to join the fishermen.  I had been close enough to the ancient Texas border.  I could feel it.  Thanks to James, I can write about being there.

     The rest of the day, the Rio Grande was kind to the fishermen.  James called it, “One of the single greatest afternoons of fishing I ever had.”  I felt he was being rewarded for taking the time to let me explore.

The cobbler looked better after it was baked.  As you can see, we ate well.



     Somewhere in the bowels of the big Ford pickup, Ratisseau found a jug of Crown Royal for happy hour that evening, and we prepared an oriental stir-fry with veggies and chicken that was simply delicious.  I fixed a black-iron skillet peach cobbler that would have been somewhere around average at home, but was absolute perfection in the clear, crisp air, sixteen miles north of Creede.  Tomorrow, we are going to meet Roy Turner at a place I’ve never heard of—a place high in the mountains called Platoro, which, in Spanish, means silver and gold.

To Be Continued-----

Lubbock Boys Go Fishing---Part One

   

    

The Homestead Cabin at Freemon Ranch--built in 1874 to "proof up" the claim for timber and minerals.

     Wake up, don’t just lay there like cold granite stone------Merle Haggard filled Wayne’s big Ford pickup with sad country music as we headed west across the Llano Estacado—the land of our youth.  It was good to be back—back on the road and back on the high plains. We didn’t call it by a fancy Spanish name when we grew up out there.  It was just the high plains of the panhandle of Texas, and we had no idea how that country would mark us for life.

     James Collins called before we got to Big Spring, to tell us not to go to Pagosa Springs as planned, but drive instead sixteen miles past Creede to a place called Freemon Ranch.  He said the water at Bruce Spruce Ranch was muddy and fishing would be no good and we’d have better luck on the Rio Grande near Creede. 

     I was silently happy that I didn’t have to tell anyone we fished at Bruce Spruce Ranch—it sounds vaguely effeminate and is hard for an old man to pronounce.  I was also anxious to see the headwaters and the source of the Rio Grande because that was the northwestern border of Texas from 1835 until 1846.  Wayne adjusted his fancy GPS and kept his foot in the carburetor.

     James and Neil McMullen had invited Wayne Ratisseau, Roy Turner and me to join them on a fishing trip.  They made an offer we could not refuse.  I did not get the fishing gene, but I went along to keep the coffee pot warm, do a little cooking, and make sure all the lies got told.  Not much I’d rather do, and no one I’d rather do it with.  All these guys had been my friends since our sophomore year at Lubbock High School—sixty-two years, if anyone is counting.

A typical sunset on the high plains, where we grew up.  Because this is a daily occurrence, sometimes we forget.  Thanks to my friend Rick Palmer of Amarillo for reminding me.

     Wayne and I made it to Las Vegas, New Mexico, before dark, and the next day, we got to Freemon Ranch before two o’clock in the afternoon.  The lady there showed us our cabin and said that James and Neil were out fishing.  The air was clear, the valley was green, and the high mountain setting was magnificent. 

     The Freemon Ranch consists of a cluster of log cabins built in the early 1900s, with a trout stream running through.  According to the marker, one cabin, the “homestead cabin,” was built in 1874.  It had a sod roof but was past occupation, only used as a prop now days.  Our cabin was cozy, with indoor plumbing and a kitchen.  We unloaded the pickup and Wayne, a consummate fisherman, could not wait to gird his loins and do battle with the wily trout.

     As a novice, I just do not understand the serious nature of this undertaking.  Wayne was dressed, appropriately I thought, in shorts and tee shirt.  He sat on our cabin’s front porch and removed his shoes and pulled on a pair of heavy woolen socks.  He smoothed the socks over his ankles, and slid one leg into what appeared to be rubberized khaki-colored overalls, with black rubber feet attached, not unlike kiddie’s jamas.  It was a struggle.  He got one leg in and sat there hyperventilating before he attempted the other leg.  

     The air in the Colorado Rockies leaves something to be desired.  Oh, there’s plenty of it, but like a lot of things when you get outside Texas, it is just not real satisfying.  You can breathe up several gallons of it and still feel deprived.  Texas air, on the other hand, is something you can get your teeth into.  A couple of good deep breaths and you’re ready to take on the world.  In the high country of Colorado, it takes a whole vacant lot-full just to get on a pair of overalls.

     Wayne struggled into the left leg of his fishing suit and, leaving the trousers around his knees, began the ordeal of putting on his waterproof, lace-up fishing boots.  Several minutes and quite a lot of gasping later, he was completely dressed—up to the knees.  He rested awhile.

     Ratisseau stood and pulled the khaki rubber overalls up to his waist and sat back down to rest.  After a few minutes, he stood up and batted around behind himself, trying to locate the straps to his rubber long-handles.  I helped him as much as I could—as I said, I’m a novice.  Besides, I haven’t worn overalls since George R. Bean Elementary School.

Wayne, with his loins all girded, explaining why he cannot reveal the secret knot.  Those of you who know Wayne will understand that no one has a camera with a shutter speed fast enough to catch him with his mouth closed.

     With my help, Wayne had little trouble finishing.  He pulled on a fishing vest and an old hat.  Now it was time to rig up his fly rod and pick the perfect fly, one that was irresistible to even the Albert Einstein trout.  He chose a black ant-looking thing and tied it in place with a knot that only fly fishermen can know.  As he tied the knot, he turned his back so I could not watch.

      Fly fishermen teach the knot to their sons in a coming-of-age ceremony.  With the knot secure, he added just the proper amount of leader so the fish would not see the line and would believe that clump of horsehair was a real live black ant.  Many years ago, Wayne built that fly rod and tied many of his own flies.  His dad taught him, after he showed him that secret knot.

      As Wayne went down to the stream that flowed through the ranch to prove he was physically and intellectually superior to a 10-inch speckled fish with a half BB-sized brain, I found a shady place with a porch swing to breathe the mountain air, drink in the scenery, read about Sam Houston, and wonder about the water in that creek.  How long did it take that particular water to make it to Del Rio, on its way to the gulf?

Here, fishy, fishy, fishy-----This creek feeds the Rio Grande, which...well you know what the Rio Grande does.

      James and Neil came in a couple of hours later, carrying a creel full of fish.  They most always catch-and-release, but when Roy comes Monday, we’re gonna have a fish fry. 

    This, of course, will be continued…..

Part Five---Mirabeau Lamar, General Hugh McLeod and the Santa Fe Expedition

   

The Llano Estacado, not the Mexican Army, defeated the Santa Fe Expedition. 

      After the Battle of Plum Creek, in August of 1840, Mirabeau Lamar, President of Texas, still faced problems.  He had been elected by an overwhelming majority of the votes, largely because both his opponents committed suicide before the election.  His policies differed greatly from those of Sam Houston, who preceded him and would follow him as president of the republic. 

     Unlike Houston, Lamar mistrusted all Indians and felt that they should be forced out of Texas by whatever means available, up to and including extermination.  Houston was against slavery and wanted Texas to become a state of the Union.  Lamar wanted to continue slavery and did not want to be annexed by the United States—he wanted to build a nation that stretched to the Pacific Ocean and was recognized as a world power.  Lamar felt that Texas, with all its land and its vast potential, would be foolish to become subservient to any other country.

     Lamar wanted immediate recognition of the Republic of Texas by France, England, and other world powers, which he hoped would enable the republic to borrow money from world banking institutions.  Texas was dead broke, unable to collect taxes and, even after formal recognition by Britain and France, unable to borrow.  During Lamar’s three year tenure, the republic generated a bit over one million in revenue, and spent almost five million.

     To distract the public from these problems and as a first step toward expanding the empire to the Pacific, Lamar started a campaign to annex New Mexico, at least that part east of the Rio Grande, which Texas had claimed since San Jacinto.  The trade along the Santa Fe Trail would go a long way toward alleviating Texas’ financial situation and Lamar was convinced that the people of New Mexico were ready to join Texas and split from the despotic rule of Santa Anna, who had returned to power in Mexico.  Lamar believed when he announced Texas was ready to assimilate New Mexico, the New Mexican people would jump at the chance to become Texans.

     Lamar tried to get support, financial and otherwise, from the Texas Congress for his plan to send a “trade mission” to New Mexico.  The legislature would have nothing to do with the idea, so Lamar, on his own, appropriated $89,000.00 to finance the mission.  No doubt he exceeded his authority and went against the constitution, but he managed to get the expedition organized and funded.  He chose his young friend, Hugh McLeod, now a 27 year-old brigadier general, to lead the military component of the expedition.
    
     McLeod was lap-dog loyal to Lamar.  He was red-headed, freckle-faced, a bit rotund and a quite  jolly fellow.  A lot of fun at parties.  He was also dumb as a post.  There was a reason he was last in his class ar West Point.

     The Santa Fe Expedition consisted of 21 ox-drawn wagons carrying about $200,000.00 in merchandise, several businessmen, four civil commissioners, one newspaper editor, five companies of infantry, and one artillery company.  Including the soldiers, the expedition totaled 321 men.  General McLeod was in command of the military forces, which were there to lead and protect the expedition, not for any aggression against New Mexico.

     With Mexican guides, eighty head of beef cattle for food, provisions for ninety days and high hopes, the wagon train left Brushy Creek, in the vicinity of present-day Round Rock, on June 19, 1841.  The guides must have been dandies.  Six weeks later, heading for Santa Fe, they were closer to Oklahoma City.  They made it to the vicinity of present-day Wichita Falls, and mistook the Wichita River for the Red River.  After following the Wichita for twelve days, McLeod realized their mistake and sent scouts north to hunt for the Red River.  The Mexican guides deserted.

     McLeod eventually found the Red River, and followed it west.  His command was in trouble—supplies were running low, there was little food, no one knew how far it was to Santa Fe, progress was slower than anticipated, and Indians had stolen some of their horses and all of the beef cattle.  When the little group found the Llano Estacado, McLeod split them up and sent a patrol west on horseback to find a route to the trading villages of New Mexico, while he and his group camped in the valley.  They couldn't find a place to climb the Caprock with twenty-one wagons.

     The men in both groups were starving.  According to the reporter Kendall, they ate snakes, prairie dogs, toads, and anything else they could catch, and they didn’t cook it long.  Indians had stolen their cattle and most of their horses.  They lost six soldiers fighting Comanche, and morale was non-existent.

     On September 12, the advance patrol sent back a guide to lead McLeod and the wagons into New Mexico, where the Texans expected a hero’s welcome. In the meantime, the Mexican guides who deserted made it to Taos and told of the expedition headed toward New Mexico.  The Mexican authorities were less than pleased.

     When Governor Manuel Armijo heard of the expedition, he considered it an armed invasion.  He brought 1500 troops to San Miguel and captured the advance party on September 17^th, then surrounded and captured McLeod’s main force near Tucumcari on October 5^th.  Captain William G. Lewis, who spoke Spanish, convinced both Texas parties to surrender, which may not have been a difficult task.  The troops were thirsty, hungry, tired, and unwilling to fight a much larger force.  Captain Lewis lied when he assured them that the Mexicans would treat them kindly and send them back to Texas with full bellies.   Whether or not he knowingly lied is a matter for debate.  Surrender to a friendly army may have appeared to be a good option to the starving troops, but Armijo’s army was not friendly.

     The Texan captives were bound and listened as the Mexican officers debated their fate.  Governor Armijo was determined to execute all the prisoners, the accepted Mexican way of dealing with revolutionaries. When the officers' vote was taken, the prisoners were spared by one vote.  Early the next morning, they were bound together by twos and started a march to Santa Fe, then El Paso, on to Mexico City and finally to Vera Cruz and Perote Prison, where they arrived in December of 1841.  Many died during the march from Santa Fe to El Paso, but the sadistic commander (an officer named Salazar) was replaced by a more lenient individual in  El Paso and the rest of the 1200 mile march was less strenuous.  Most of the prisoners were released in April of 1842, after diplomatic pressure from the United States Ambassador, Waddy Thompson.

     Governor Armijo confiscated all the trade merchandise for his own use and continued to rule New Mexico with an iron fist.  He was known to be corrupt—rumors persist that he started his fortune by stealing sheep from his employer and selling them back.  In 1846, he was prosecuted for treason and cowardice during the Mexican/American war, but was acquitted.

     Captain William G. Lewis was released by Armijo and rewarded with his choice of items from the Texan merchandise wagons.  He was widely considered a traitor and was shunned by both Texans and Mexicans for the rest of his life.  His intervention resulted in the surrender of all the Texas troops without a shot being fired.  He may or may not have been aware of Governor Armijo’s plans.

     Even though Hugh McLeod was popular with his men and with President Lamar, he was not a good choice to lead the expedition.  His choice of guides was obviously flawed, he allowed the beef cattle and over eighty horses to be stolen by Indians, he had no idea of the whereabouts of Santa Fe or how far it was from Austin, he split his troops and surrendered without a fight.  All in all, not unforseeable results from an officer who was considerably less than bright..

     General McLeod was treated leniently while in prison, because of his rank in the Texas Army.  He returned to Texas and retired from the military when Sam Houston regained the office of president.  McLeod, a lawyer, opposed Houston on every major issue for the rest of his life.  He died of illness during the Civil War while serving as a Lt. Colonel in the unit that became Hood’s Texas Brigade.   In honor of his contributions, Hugh McLeod’s grave was moved to the Texas State Cemetery in Austin.

Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar--Georgia Fire-Breather, Statesman, Poet, Visionary, and President of the Republic of Texas

 

     Mirabeau B. Lamar was blamed for the failure of the expedition.  A “Letter to the Editor” in the Austin newspaper of the time suggested that he be traded for the Texan prisoners in Mexico.  His political opposition considered him a much better poet than President.  Lamar truly believed that Texas should stretch from the Gulf to the Pacific and worked tirelessly toward that end.  He believed strongly in education and introduced legislation that forced each new county to set aside three leagues of state land to finance a school system.  His work resulted in the establishment of Texas A&M in 1871 and Texas University in 1876. 

     George Wilkins Kendall of the New Orleans Picayune, who went on the expedition and wrote a book-length report about it, wrote at the time,

President Lamar’s estimation of the views and feelings of the people of Santa Fe and vicinity, was perfectly correct.  Not a doubt can exist that they all were, and are (1843), anxious to throw off the oppressive yoke of Armijo, and come under the liberal institutions of Texas; but the Governor found us divided into small parties, broken down by long marches and want of food; discovered too, a traitor amongst us; and, taking advantage of these circumstances, his course was plain and his conquest easy.

     Had this mission proved successful, Lamar would have been heralded a greater hero and the history of Texas, Mexico, and the United States would have been drastically altered.  Lamar was a dreamer, who, like his rival, Sam Houston, dreamed big dreams.  History will remember him for his substantial contributions to education in Texas and no one will blame him for his grandiose dreams.  That sorta comes with the territory….




Thanks Jimmy, for the idea for this series.  Hope you enjoy....

    

Part Four--Buffalo Hump, The Battle of Plum Creek and Captain Jack Hays

 

     Comanche, when raiding, ordinarily move in quickly, attack, and move out quickly.  Usually, they are content to kill a few settlers, burn a homestead or two, steal some horses, and hurry back to the safety of the high plains.  Many times, raids are planned to coincide with the full moon, so the raiders can come and go at night, riding full speed across the prairie by the light of what is still known in Texas as a “Comanche Moon.”

     The Great Linnville Raid, as it came to be known, was different.  It was the largest raid by any group of Indians on a populated city in the history of the United States—Texas was not technically a part of the U.S. at the time, but would become so in a bit more than five years.  Buffalo Hump was forced to surrender the tribe’s mobility because of the sheer size of his war party. He did not expect organized resistance from the Texans, even the Rangers.  He knew that a small group of Rangers would be foolish to attack so many Indians.  He also felt that his group would move faster than it did.

        Military-style discipline, never strong among the Comanche, broke down completely after the Linnville raid. The Comanche were herding 3,000 horses, leading dozens of stubborn, heavily laden pack mules, and carrying bedding, food, and cooking supplies for over a thousand people.  Braves, some still wearing top hats and carrying parasols, rode horses, while the squaws and children walked.  They were travelling two or three abreast and the column stretched out for several miles.  By August 12, they had covered less than a hundred twenty miles, and the Rangers struck.

     John Coffee Hays, just starting a career that would make him a legendary Texas Ranger, fought with a company of Rangers headed by Edward Burleson.  Hays’ friend from Tennessee, Ben McCulloch was chief scout and later took command of a unit. They were joined by some militia men from nearby communities, and volunteers from central and east Texas, all together less than two hundred men.  The Texans engaged the tail end of Buffalo Hump’s column as it crossed Plum Creek, just east of present-day Lockhart.  A running gun battle ensued, with the Texans charging and firing at anything that resembled a Comanche.  The squaws and children abandoned their pack animals and hurried forward for protection.

     Some of the Texans discovered a chest of silver on one of the mules and they became distracted.  The Indians continued to run away, and the Texans concentrated on recovering the mules and investigating their cargo.  The attack disintegrated into a treasure hunt, and the Indians moved ahead toward the high plains and safety.  A few captives were rescued, some merchandise was recovered, and the silver bullion was distributed among the attackers.

     The Texas newspapers, hungry for any good news, proclaimed a great victory.  According to the militia members, some eighty Indians were killed, but only twelve Comanche bodies were found.

    Pochanaquarhip, riding bareback at the front of the column and hanging his canteen on a makeshift saddle horn that he had, was little disturbed by the rangers’ attack.   He led his people back to the Llano Estacado and continued to lead the tribe, in war and in peace, for many years.

     When Sam Houston regained the Texas Presidency, he and Buffalo Hump signed a treaty in 1844 that guaranteed peace.  If the Anglo settlers stayed off the Edwards Plateau, the Penetakas would stay out of central Texas.  Houston and the Republic of Texas legislature were sincere, as was Buffalo Hump, but unfortunately, the Texas Senate neglected to include the agreed-upon boundaries in the final version, angering the Indians.  Anglo settlers moving west would not be stopped at the Edwards Plateau, and within two years the treaty proved worthless.  The Penetakas went back to raiding.

     In March of 1847, Buffalo Hump, Old Owl, and Santa Anna (also called Santanna) negotiated a treaty with John Meusebach and the German settlers in the Fisher-Miller Land Grant, just north of present day Fredericksburg.  The Comanche trusted Meusebach and called him “El Sol Colorado” (The Red Sun) for his flaming red hair and beard.  When Buffalo Hump asked why he should trust the white colonists, Meusebach replied that the Germans were a different tribe.  Satisfied, Buffalo Hump went ahead with the treaty. 

     The treaty allowed white settlers to go unharmed into the Penetaka lands, and the Comanche to freely visit and trade in the white settlements.  Both sides were to report any criminal activity and were responsible for punishing their lawbreakers. White surveyors would be allowed into the Penetaka lands and the Indians would be paid at least a $1000.00 for this privilege.  The agreement opened almost 4,000,000 acres to colonization and may be the only treaty that was never broken by either side.

      In 1856, Buffalo Hump led his tribe, on the brink of starvation, to a new reservation on the Brazos River, set up by the US Government and supervised by the Indian Agent, Robert Neighbors.   Despite Neighbors’ protection, the tribe was mistreated, underfed, and blamed for every offense that occurred anywhere near the reservation.  Finally, in desperation, Buffalo Hump led his people back out onto the Llano Estacado, where they were eventually captured by the U.S. Army and forced to move into Indian Territory.

     On the reservation in Oklahoma, Pochanaquarhip asked for a small plot of land and some tools, so he could teach his people to farm.  He died in 1870, farming that plot of land and insisting that his people get an education if they planned to succeed in the white man’s world.

     The Battle of Plum Creek was the first meeting of  Jack Hays and Buffalo Hump.  Hays, a surveyor who became a legendary ranger captain, successfully fought the Penetaka for many years, engaging bands led by Buffalo Hump or one of his war chiefs.  The fact that both men stayed alive is a tribute to their abilities.  

     “Cap'n Yack” was held in high regard by all Indians.  Chief Flacco, a Lipan-Apache guide said, “Me and Red Wing not afraid to go to hell together.  Cap'nYack… not afraid to go to hell by himself.”                        

     Captain Jack Hays left the Rangers and moved to California in 1850 and became the sheriff of San Francisco.  When his first son was born, the Hays family received a gift from Buffalo Hump—a tiny golden spoon, engraved “Buffalo Hump, Jr.”
 

To be continued….

 

 

    

    

Part Three of a Series--Buffalo Hump and the Great Linnville Raid.

Plum Creek Comanche Spoilers by Howard Terpning shows warriors after the Linnville raid.

 

 

      Considering the year—1840—and the Puritan ethics of America and Texas at that time, it is not a mystery that Pochanaquarhip, which means “an erection that won’t go down,” was mis-translated by the press.  After all, many women could read, and some of them would surely read about that Comanche’s peculiar condition.  In the eyes of the men who reported the news, it was better that some things not be shared with women-folk, especially vulgar stories about an Indian chief.  So far as anyone knew, no white man suffered from such an affliction, and how it would be looked upon among the female population was a cause for concern.  What if women liked the idea?  A savage, walking around with a petrified member, was just better not talked about in mixed company.  

     The media, not much changed in almost 180 years, decided to protect the public.  They chose to ignore the facts, ignore the Comanche language, and ignore the perpetual woody.  For noble reasons based upon protection of its readers, the press called the chief “Buffalo Hump.”

     Buffalo Hump was described by a German scientist, Ferdinand Roemer, in 1847 as follows:  “The pure unadulterated picture of a North American Indian, who, unlike the rest of his tribe, scorned every form of European dress.  His body naked, a buffalo robe around his loins, brass rings on his arms, a string of beads around his neck, and with his long, coarse black hair hanging down, he sat there with the serious facial expression of a North American Indian which seems to be apathetic to the European.  He attracted our special attention because he had distinguished himself through great daring and bravery in expeditions against the Texas frontier which he had engaged in times past.”

     The description of a Comanche War Chief is likely to be more nearly accurate when it comes from a disinterested third party, such as a European scientist.  It was difficult for a Texan to be objective when describing a cruel and vicious enemy.  Dr. Roemer noted that Buffalo Hump shunned all type of European dress.  This must have included belts and suspenders, which were unnecessary for him.  To protect his loins from exposure, Pochanaquarhip had something to hang that buffalo robe on when he walked around.  As the German scientist inferred, the only thing that hung down was the chief’s coarse black hair and a string of beads around his neck.

     Beginning immediately after the Council House Fight, Buffalo Hump travelled among the Comanche tribes, telling of the murder of their brothers during council under the flag of truce, and asking the tribes to join him in a quest for revenge.  Being well-respected and eloquent, he had no trouble getting volunteers and, by midsummer, was ready to move against the hated Anglos.

     In early August, over 500 mounted warriors, accompanied by at least that many squaws and children, moved out of the Llano Estacado and followed the Guadalupe River Valley from the vicinity of present-day Kerrville into the heart of the Republic of Texas. Pochanaquarhip brought squaws and young people to do the work—a Comanche brave could not be expected to gather firewood, set up camp, or cook meals. 

     The Indians purposely avoided Waterloo (Austin) and San Antonio.  It was foolish to attack cities that had army garrisons and newly formed Texas Ranger Companies for protection.  Buffalo Hump wanted to strike at the soft underbelly of the Republic.  His scouts had been busy for weeks, gathering information and choosing routes.  He eased his warriors around Gonzales and moved toward Victoria.

     Moving over a thousand Indians through 1840 Texas without being discovered was not possible.  A troop of fifteen Rangers struck the trail of the Comanche and followed, but there were too many Indians to attack.  The Rangers stayed close and sent out scouts to warn the citizens and gather help. The warnings didn’t get to Victoria in time.

     On August 6, 1840, the citizens of Victoria were surprised when they looked across Spring Creek and 600 mounted Comanche warriors stared back at them.  The Comanche, having already killed several slaves and farmers working in the nearby fields, charged into town.  Townspeople barricaded themselves inside their homes and fired at the Indians from upstairs windows.  Buffalo Hump’s braves bolted back and forth in the streets, setting fires and killing anyone they caught outside.  Never willing to attack a fortified position, the Comanche soon tired of the sport and withdrew, taking 1,500 horses with them.

     After noon on August 7, the Comanche gathered their spoils and headed toward Linnville, at that time the second largest port in Texas.  They contented themselves by killing a few isolated farm workers and some freight haulers, then spent the night camped on what is now called Placedo Creek, about twelve miles from Linnville. Early on August 8, they went into town.

     Buffalo Hump’s scouts had done a good job.  The town of Linnville was the main port where goods from New Orleans and points east were off-loaded to be freighted overland to San Antonio.  At the time of the raid, over $300,000.00 worth of merchandise, bound for markets in San Antonio and Austin, was stored in the warehouses of Linnville.  The people of Linnville heard that the Indians were coming, but refused to believe it.  Even when Comanche appeared on the outskirts of town, they were thought to be Mexican horse traders.

     Comanche surrounded the town and began to kill people and plunder warehouses.  The local citizens fled to the sea, and stayed out of range on small boats while they watched their homes burn.  Indians raided the storage buildings, delighted with their discoveries.  Squaws and children squealed with pleasure as they gathered goods and tied them on pack mules.  A storehouse of dry goods bound for a San Antonio merchant was discovered and emptied, along with a safe full of silver bullion.  Braves in top hats, carrying parasols, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey, laughed and played like school boys as they rode up and down the streets dragging feather mattresses and bolts of brightly colored cloth behind their ponies.

     All the pack mules in town were loaded with merchandise, all the horses and mules were gathered into one herd, and all other livestock was penned and slaughtered.  When the braves emptied a warehouse, they torched it.  The residents of Linnville watched impotently as their city was systematically sacked and burned. 

     When the Indians crossed the bayou to camp for the night, nothing of value remained.  Fields around town appeared to be covered with new fallen snow, but it was white feathers from mattresses found in the warehouses, slit open, and dragged for sport. Townspeople returned to shore after the Indians left.  During the next few months, the weary citizens relocated to Port Lavaca, three-and-a-half miles south, and Linnville ceased to exist.

     Buffalo Hump and his braves moved out, slowed by 3,000 horses and dozens of unmanageable pack mules loaded with plunder. Texas Rangers gathered, followed, and waited for an opportunity to attack. 

To be continued…..

Part Two of a Series--Hugh McLeod, Pochanaquarhip, and Matilda Lockhart

 

The Council House is behind the wall, to the left of the church.  The San Antonio City Hall occupies this space today.

 In March of 1840, President Mirabeau Lamar sent his new Inspector General of the Texas Army, twenty-six-year-old Lt. Col. Hugh McLeod, to San Antonio.  McLeod was part of a three-man team sent to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty and the return of hostages with the Comanche Nation.  Lamar knew McLeod was not the shiniest penny in the bank, but felt the impatient young colonel was bright enough to make a reasonable deal with a bunch of hungry Indians.  He also knew that if the talks stalled, the impetuous McLeod was likely to fight, which was not, in Lamar’s opinion, all bad.

     On the morning of March 19, 1840, sixty-five Comanche, including twelve chiefs, arrived dressed in their finest ceremonial regalia.  The chiefs were accompanied for this festive occasion by their squaws and children.  The meeting was held in the council house adjacent to the jail where present-day Market Street and Delarosa meet the Main Plaza in downtown San Antonio.  The twelve chiefs sat on the floor, as was their custom, and the Texans sat in chairs on an elevated platform facing and looking down on the Indians, a not surprising white man tactic.  The other Comanche, mostly women and children, remained outside, in back of the building.  Two companies of Texas infantry assembled in front of the building to provide “security.”

     The Comanche brought only one white hostage, sixteen-year-old Matilda Lockhart, and several Mexican children of little interest to the Texans.  Miss Lockhart informed the group that she had seen fifteen captives in the main Indian camp, and she believed the Indians would bring them in, one at a time, after the ransom for her was paid.  From her observations, she thought the Indians wanted to establish a high value for the hostages before they released any of them.

     When asked about hostages, Chief Muguara, spokesman for the Comanche, said that he was sure they would all be released, but only after a large ransom was paid for each.  When he finished, he asked, “How do you like that answer?”

     Whether Muguara was being sarcastic or was seriously seeking an opinion, the Texans did not like that answer.  They were furious.  The Comanche had reneged on their promise to free the captives.  Lamar, always expecting treachery from the Indians, had prepared for such an eventuality.  If the Indians failed to produce the captives, the negotiating team had been instructed to imprison the chiefs and hold them to trade for the hostages.  The interpreter was instructed to inform the chiefs that they were under arrest.

     Outside, one of the rifle companies moved around the building to watch the Comanche at the back of the structure.  The other group crowded around the open doors and windows of the council house, to hear the exchanges as they grew more heated.  The glare of the bright sunshine made it difficult to see into the dark interior of the building.

     The translator refused to tell the Indians they were under arrest, knowing there would be a violent reaction.  Lt. Col. Fisher, head of the Texas council team, ordered him to translate the message.  The nervous interpreter edged toward the door, delivered the message, and lunged outside as the Comanche leapt to their feet, slashing with razor-sharp knives at everyone within reach, and pushing for the door.  One of the officers may have given the order, it may have been pre-arranged, or the soldiers may have acted spontaneously, but in any case, the riflemen at the doors and windows fired point blank into the building, hoping to hit Indians.

     The braves, squaws and children outside, hearing the commotion, began to shoot arrows at everyone on the street, while the Texan soldiers began to fire at the Indians.  According to the soldiers, they aimed for the braves and did not shoot at women and children.

     The “battle” lasted only a few minutes.   Lt. Col. McLeod’s official report, issued the next day, accounted for the sixty-five Indians as follows: Thirty-five dead—thirty adult males, including all twelve of the chiefs, three women and two children.  Twenty-seven women and children and two old men were captured and held at Mission San Jose.  One renegade Mexican who came in with the Comanche, slipped away in the confusion.

      The Texans lost seven dead and ten wounded.  Of the seventeen Texas casualties, perhaps a few were actually harmed by Indians.  Most were killed or wounded by friendly fire.

     The Texans, once again demonstrating their ignorance of the Comanche, decided to release one of the women hostages, give her a good horse and provisions, and send her to the Llano Estacado with an ultimatum for the tribe.  The Texans would release the remaining women and children and two old men when the Comanche brought in the fifteen hostages Matilda Lockhart had seen.  A two-week truce would be allowed to give the tribes time to deliver the hostages.

     The Comanche were mourning the loss of the twelve chiefs and other members of their tribe when the squaw delivered the message from the Texans.  Immediately, they began to torture the remaining captives in some of the cruelest, slowest, and most painful methods ever devised.  Matilda Lockhart’s six-year-old sister was reportedly roasted alive over an open fire.  All the hostages were dead within a short time.  Of the original fifteen, three hostages had been adopted by Comanche families and were not harmed as they were considered members of the tribe.  The Comanche made no distinction between native-born and adopted members of the tribe—all were considered Comanche and treated equally.

     Hugh McLeod and Lt. Col. Fisher made their way back to the primitive new capital at Austin to report to President Lamar.  The citizens of San Antonio worried about Comanche retaliation, but within a few weeks, things returned to normal.

     In most descriptions of this event, Matilda Lockhart, who had spent eighteen months in captivity, is said to have been horribly disfigured from abuse by her captors.  Her slender young body was scarred from months of torture with hot coals, rawhide whips, and knives.  Beatings with heavy clubs left evidence of broken bones.  Supposedly, her nose was entirely gone, burned off with hot coals, which left a grotesque hole in the center of her face.  Her appearance reportedly so enraged the Texans that they could not help but take revenge on the twelve chiefs.

     Matilda is mentioned in Lt. Col. McLeod’s report of the incident, written the day after the battle.  McLeod acknowledged her obvious intelligence, but said nothing about any sign of abuse.  It was common knowledge that she had been repeatedly raped, as were all female captives, but no contemporary report says anything about scars, burns, or other evidence of torture.  The newspaper reporters described everything about the “battle” in great detail, but no mention was made of a sixteen-year-old girl with a missing nose. Matilda’s sister-in-law, in a letter to her mother, reported on Matilda’s condition, but mentioned no disfigurement.

     The first mention of abuse occurred more than fifty years later.  In 1890, Mary Maverick wrote that Matilda had been abused, was terribly scarred, and her nose was badly burned.  Texas writers and the press quickly jumped on the story and expanded it.  At the time, Texas’ image was suffering at the hands of the Victorian press, both on the East Coast and abroad.  A tortured, abused, and disfigured sixteen-year-old girl may have helped give the Texans an excuse for their brutal treatment of the Comanche.

     Out on the Llano Estacado, Chief Pochanaquarhip, known to the Anglos as Buffalo Hump, was planning reprisal.  The sacred council laws had been violated.  The hated whites had murdered chiefs under a flag of truce.  Pochanaquarhip was arroused.   He was not one to go soft when faced with adversity.  He quietly planned and gathered braves, supplies, and horses for his revenge.  The Texans were well advised to worry—Pochanaquarhip in the Penataka dialect means “ an erection that won’t go down.”  Buffalo Hump was destined to become a legend in his own time.

     Stay tuned…..We're gonna have some fun with this....

Number One of a series on three great Texans---Hugh McLeod, Mirabeau B. Lamar and Chief Pochanaquarhip, better known as Buffalo Hump.

Depiction by Donald M. Yena ot the Battle of the Neches, where Chief Bowl was killed.

     Hugh McLeod led a charmed life.  He grew up in Georgia and graduated from West Point at age twenty-one in 1835.  He struggled a bit academically, but he was a polished public speaker, amiable, jolly, and well-liked, and no one mentioned that he was last in his class at the Military Academy.  After the red-headed and freckled McLeod delivered a fiery and persuasive speech at a Texas rally, Johanna Troutman chose him to carry her Lone Star flag to Texas with the Georgia volunteers.

     Because he was so enamored with the Texas cause and the outlook for a career in the U.S. Army appeared bleak, the stocky young officer decided to resign his commission as a second lieutenant and cast his lot with the Georgia boys going to Texas.  His resignation paperwork was delayed, so he entrusted the Troutman flag to Col. William Wood, and reported to Fort Jessup, Louisiana, for mustering out.  That paperwork snafu saved his life.  The entire Georgia battalion, including Col. Wood, was marched out and shot at Goliad, after surrendering with another Georgia boy, the former slave trader and inept commander, Col. James Fannin.

     Following his release from the U. S. Army, McLeod hurried to join Houston’s forces at San Jacinto, but arrived after the battle and proceeded to Galveston.   There he joined his boyhood idol, Mirabeau Lamar, and the interim governor of Texas, David Burnet.  Lamar, Secretary of War in the temporary government, found a place in the Texas army for young McLeod.  Eight days after the Battle of San Jacinto, the twenty-two year-old second lieutenant, whose only military experience involved almost flunking out at West Point and serving about six months in a peacetime army, was appointed a major and assigned to the command staff of the Texas Army.

     McLeod looked on Lamar with blind hero worship, and Lamar, flattered, looked out for the young man.  When Lamar became president of the Republic in December of 1838, the twenty-four year-old McLeod was Adjutant General of the Texas Army.  Lamar’s attitude toward Native Americans was diametrically opposed to that of Sam Houston, and the new president immediately set about to remove all Indians from the republic.  McLeod helped evict the peaceful Caddos and Kickapoos, and Lamar sent him to meet with the Cherokees in 1839. 

     Lamar decided to reclaim the land Houston had promised to deed the Cherokees for their help in the Texas Revolution.  In July of 1839, he sent McLeod and others to council with the Indians, who were peacefully farming their land in east Texas, north of Nacogdoches.  The interested “others” included Lamar’s vice president, David Burnet.  That same land had been ceded to him by a Mexican Land Grant, he sold it to an eastern syndicate, Houston gave it to the Cherokees, and Burnet saw an opportunity to get it back.  

Cherokee Chief "The Bowl"--Houston's friend.   After The Bowl was killed, Hugh McLeod presented Sam Houston with the old chief's distintive hat as a form of ridicule--Houston was considered an "Indian Lover."

 

     After three days of peaceful talks, the Texans lost patience and attacked.  The two-day Battle of the Neches resulted in the death of Houston’s old friend, Chief “Bowl.”  Hugh McLeod was slightly wounded in the battle and the Cherokee were driven across the Red River into what was then Arkansas Territory.

     President Lamar, pleased that the “Cherokee Problem” was resolved, turned his attention to the “Comanche Problem,” a much more complicated and dangerous situation.  Raiding parties of Comanche swooped in from the Llano Estacado, tortured, raped, and killed settlers, kidnapped children, burned settlements, and stole horses with impunity.  After the raids, the Comanche disappeared back into the trackless high plains, where no white man would go.

     An opportunity to resolve the problem presented itself in January of 1840, when a band of  Comanche sent delegates to San Antonio to try and arrange peace with the whites.  After long years of war, an especially hard winter, and a deadly epidemic of smallpox, this small group felt that peace might be a better course of action.  They arranged for a council to be held in March.

     The leaders of the Republic of Texas did not understand the Comanche.  The Comanche Nation existed as a group of individual tribes, living, hunting, raiding, moving, and dying on a piecemeal basis, with no central control or government.  The nation was made up of at least twelve distinct tribes, broken into as many as thirty-five separate bands.   Each band chose its own leaders, made its own rules, lived where it wished, and did as it pleased.  They warred with everyone except other Comanche.  Sam Houston may have understood all this, but his advice was not welcome in Lamar’s administration.  Because of their many differences, the two leaders could not stand each other.

      Some eight or ten bands of Comanche were involved in the peace initiative, but dozens of bands refused to hold council with the dishonest Anglos.  Council was a sacred thing to the Comanche and not to be entered into lightly.  Delegates from the starving groups truthfully told the powers in San Antonio that all the prisoners they held would be released, borders would be established and honored, and none of their band would break the truce.  They did not, and could not, speak for the other tribes, but the elated Texans thought this meant the entire Comanche Nation would lay down its arms, release hostages, and go back to peaceful existence out on the high plains, away from settled areas.  The Texans believed President Lamar’s “show no mercy” policy with the Indians was working. 

Mirabeau B. Lamar, the second President of the Republic of Texas and lifelong enemy of Sam Houston.

     Two prominent chiefs of the Comanche, Peta Nocona of the Noconas and Buffalo Hump of the Penatakas, refused to council with the whites and refused to release any hostages. Peta Nocona married a captive, Cynthia Ann Parker.   They may have been married at that time—she would have been fourteen and had been with his tribe for over four years.  Their son, Quanah Parker, born over five years later, became one of the most famous chiefs of the Comanche.  Buffalo Hump was especially vocal in his opposition to the meeting, and predicted dire consequences.  Both these respected chiefs were well acquainted with the treachery of the whites, and felt it was foolhardy to attempt any dealings with them.

     To be continued…..


      (My friend, Jimmy Wallace, asked that I do something about Buffalo Hump.  Jimmy is a serious student of Texas History and a full time resident of San Antonio, where so much of it happened.  I do not, at this time, know how many episodes this series will be, but all of them are dedicated to Jimmy Wallace.)