firing upon us as they went. It was a superstition among them, that if they could thus run around a force they could certainly vanquish it. Both horses and riders were decorated most profusely, with all of the beauty and horror of their wild taste combined. Red ribbons streamed out from the horsesâ tails as they swept around us, riding fast, and carrying all manner of stolen goods upon their heads and bodies.
There was a huge warrior, who wore a stovepipe hat, and another who wore a fine pigeon-tailed cloth coat, buttonedup behind. 8 They seemed to have a talent for finding and blending the strangest, most unheard-of ornaments. Some wore on their heads immense buck and buffalo horns. One headdress struck me particularly. It consisted of a large white crane with red eyes.
In this run-around two warriors were killed, and also a fine horse. We were now ordered to reload, mount, and charge. They at once retreated, though a few stood until we were in fifteen steps of them before starting. In the meantime, the same warriors played around us at the right, trying to divide our attention and force, while the main body of Indians retreated, firing as they went. Soon, however, they struck a very boggy bayou, into which all of their pack mules and horses bogged down. A number of men halted to take charge of these, and such a haul they were making! The mules were literally loaded with all manner of goods, some even carrying hoop-irons to make arrow spikes. They bogged down so close together that a man could have walked along on their bodies dry.
Still the Indians retreated while the whites advanced, though the ranks on both sides were constantly growing thinner, for at every thicket a savage left his horse and took to the brush, while every now and then a horse fell under one of our men. About twenty warriors kept up their play upon our right, while an equal number of our men kept them at bay. In this side play, Hutch Reid [Hutchinson Reed*] was wounded. He undertook to run up on an Indian and shoot him. As he passed, his gun snapped, and before he could check his horse, an arrow struck him just under the shoulder blade, piercing his lungs and lodging against hisbreast bone. Then one of the most daring and best mounted of the warriors was killed by Jacob Burleson, 9 who was riding the notorious Duty roan, the race horse which a while back bore Matthew Duty to his death and which finally fell into Indian hands. This broke up the side play. Burleson, with about twenty-five men, pursued them to within a mile of the San Marcos River, where they separated, so we retraced our steps.
One instance of the hardness and cruelty of some men, even though not savage in form and color, was shown us on this raid. As was often the case, some squaws were marching in Indian ranks, and one of them had been shot, and lay breathing her lastâalmost dead, as we came by. French Smith,* with almost inhuman and unmanly cruelty, sprang upon her, stamped her, and then cut her body through with a lance. He was from the Guadalupe; indeed, I do not think there was a single man from Bastrop who would have stooped to so brutal a deed. Ah! Men almost forgot the meaning of love and mercy and forbearance amid the scenes through which we passed in those early days.
While halting to rest our horses, we heard a child cry, and upon going into the thicket, a Mr. Carter found a fine Indian baby, which had been left in the retreat.
Joe Hornsby* and I were riding about two hundred yards in front of Burlesonâs main army, watching for Indian signs and trails as we went. Suddenly we came in sight of about thirty Indians some distance ahead. At first Joe said they were Tonkawas, who were a friendly tribe living in our midst. Upon seeing their shields, however, we knew they were hostile. I galloped back to notify Burleson, while he kept his eye upon them. When we came up they immediately shiedoff. We cut in ahead of them and advanced upon them. In thirty steps of
There was a huge warrior, who wore a stovepipe hat, and another who wore a fine pigeon-tailed cloth coat, buttonedup behind. 8 They seemed to have a talent for finding and blending the strangest, most unheard-of ornaments. Some wore on their heads immense buck and buffalo horns. One headdress struck me particularly. It consisted of a large white crane with red eyes.
In this run-around two warriors were killed, and also a fine horse. We were now ordered to reload, mount, and charge. They at once retreated, though a few stood until we were in fifteen steps of them before starting. In the meantime, the same warriors played around us at the right, trying to divide our attention and force, while the main body of Indians retreated, firing as they went. Soon, however, they struck a very boggy bayou, into which all of their pack mules and horses bogged down. A number of men halted to take charge of these, and such a haul they were making! The mules were literally loaded with all manner of goods, some even carrying hoop-irons to make arrow spikes. They bogged down so close together that a man could have walked along on their bodies dry.
Still the Indians retreated while the whites advanced, though the ranks on both sides were constantly growing thinner, for at every thicket a savage left his horse and took to the brush, while every now and then a horse fell under one of our men. About twenty warriors kept up their play upon our right, while an equal number of our men kept them at bay. In this side play, Hutch Reid [Hutchinson Reed*] was wounded. He undertook to run up on an Indian and shoot him. As he passed, his gun snapped, and before he could check his horse, an arrow struck him just under the shoulder blade, piercing his lungs and lodging against hisbreast bone. Then one of the most daring and best mounted of the warriors was killed by Jacob Burleson, 9 who was riding the notorious Duty roan, the race horse which a while back bore Matthew Duty to his death and which finally fell into Indian hands. This broke up the side play. Burleson, with about twenty-five men, pursued them to within a mile of the San Marcos River, where they separated, so we retraced our steps.
One instance of the hardness and cruelty of some men, even though not savage in form and color, was shown us on this raid. As was often the case, some squaws were marching in Indian ranks, and one of them had been shot, and lay breathing her lastâalmost dead, as we came by. French Smith,* with almost inhuman and unmanly cruelty, sprang upon her, stamped her, and then cut her body through with a lance. He was from the Guadalupe; indeed, I do not think there was a single man from Bastrop who would have stooped to so brutal a deed. Ah! Men almost forgot the meaning of love and mercy and forbearance amid the scenes through which we passed in those early days.
While halting to rest our horses, we heard a child cry, and upon going into the thicket, a Mr. Carter found a fine Indian baby, which had been left in the retreat.
Joe Hornsby* and I were riding about two hundred yards in front of Burlesonâs main army, watching for Indian signs and trails as we went. Suddenly we came in sight of about thirty Indians some distance ahead. At first Joe said they were Tonkawas, who were a friendly tribe living in our midst. Upon seeing their shields, however, we knew they were hostile. I galloped back to notify Burleson, while he kept his eye upon them. When we came up they immediately shiedoff. We cut in ahead of them and advanced upon them. In thirty steps of
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