Dillard Cooper’s Account of his Escape from Fannin’s Massacre

This article was contributed by Cheryl Cotton. Dillard Cooper was her great-great grandfather. This is a great story about his escape from the firing squads at Goliad. Thank you, Cheryl for this story.


Dillard Cooper’s Account of his Escape from Fannin’s Massacre (published in Colorado Citizen, July 30, 1874; reprinted in American Sketch Book, vol. 7, no. 2, 1882; reprinted in abridged and altered form as chapter 5 in A. J. Sowell, Rangers and Pioneers of Texas (1884), pp. 160-168)

Columbus, Texas, Aug. 18, 1870  This is to certify that the following account of the escape of myself and companions from the massacre of Fannin’s men, prepared by Mrs. Fannie A. D. Darden, is correct
Dillard Cooper

As most of my readers are acquainted with the history of Texas, and the surrender of Fannin and his men at the battle of Coleto, I will only premise my remarks by saying that the surrender took place on the 20th of March. It had previously been stipulated, and writings drawn up to that effect, that the prisoners were to be treated according to the usages of the most civilized nations, and sent over to New Orleans and released upon parole. They were then hurried off to a fort near where the present town of Goliad now stands, where they were treated in the most barbarous manner, and for their food, allowed only a small pittance of beef, without either bread or salt.
Mr. Dillard Cooper lives about three miles from Columbus, and has been a resident of Colorado county for some what over thirty-one years. He is one of the survivors of Fannin’s massacre, and was slightly wounded at the battle of Coleto. He is a fine looking man, and although somewhat advanced in years, his appearance does not indicate that “old father time” has dealt very hardly with him. He is over six feet in height, with light hair and blue eyes, and his form and proportions seem well fitted for the part he had to play in making his escape from the fiendish instruments of Santa Anna’s cruelty. He has a fine memory, and can recollect with remarkable distinctness every particular of his capture and escape. It was indeed a rich treat to hear him recount, in his earnest, feeling manner, the awful occurrences of that never-to-be-forgotten time; and I will endeavor, in this account, to give his plain, unvarnished statement; feeling, however, my utter incapacity to interest my readers as they would have been had they sat within the sound of his voice. He commenced by saying that for several years after the massacre, he could not recount it without shedding tears.
On the morning of the 27th, about daylight, we were awakened by the guard, and marched out in front of the fort, where we were counted and divided into three different detachments. We had been given to understand that we were to be marched to Copano, and from there shipped to New Orleans. The impression, however, had in some way been circulated among us that we were to be sent out that morning to hunt cattle; though I thought at the time that it could not be so, as it is but a poor way to hunt cattle on foot. Our detachment was marched out in double file, each prisoner being guarded by two soldiers, until about half a mile southwest of the fort, when at length we arrived at a brush fence built by the Mexicans. We were then placed in single file, and were half way between the guard and the fence, about eight feet each way. We were then halted, when the commanding officer came up to the head of the line and asked if there were any among us who understood Spanish. By this time there began to dawn upon the minds of most of us the truth that we were to be butchered; and that, I suppose, was the reason that none answered. He then ordered us to turn our backs to the guard. When the order was given, not a man moved, and then the officer, stepping up to the man at the head of the column, took him by the shoulders and turned him around. By this time despair had seized upon our poor boys, and several of them cried out for mercy. I remember one, a young man who had been noted for his piety and exemplary conduct, but who had afterwards become somewhat demoralized by bad company, falling upon his knees and crying aloud to God for mercy and forgiveness. Others attempted to plead with their inhuman captors, but their pleadings were in vain, and upon their faces no gleam of pity was seen for the defenseless men who stood before them. On my right hand stood Wilson Simpson, and on my left Robert Fenner. In the midst of the panic of terror which had seized our men, and while some of them were rending the air with their cries of agonized despair, Fenner called out to them saying: “Don’t take on so, boys! If we have to die, let’s die like brave men!” At that moment, I glanced over my shoulders and saw the flash of a musket. I instantly threw myself forward on the ground, resting on my hands.
Robert Fenner must have been instantly killed, for he fell with such force upon me as almost to throw me over as I attempted to rise, which detained me a few moments in my flight, so that Simpson, my companion on the right, got the start of me as we ran towards an opening in the brush fence, which was almost in front of us. Simpson got through first, and I was immediately after him. I wore at the time a small, round cloak, which fastened with a clasp at the throat. As I ran through the opening, an officer charged upon me and ran his sword through my cloak, which would have held me, but I caught the clasp with both hands, and tore it apart, and the cloak fell from me. There was an open prairie about two miles wide, through which I would have to run before I could reach the nearest timber, which was a little southwest of the place from where we started. I gained on my pursuers, but saw between me and the timber three others, who were after Simpson. As I neared the timber, I commenced walking, in order to recover my strength, before I came near them. When we first started we were all near together, but as Simpson took a direct course across the prairie, I, in order to avoid his pursuers, took a circuitous course. There were two points of timber projecting into the prairie, one of which was nearer to me than the other. I was making for the farthest point, but as soon as Simpson entered the timber, his pursuers halted, and then ran across and cut me off. I then started for the point into which Simpson had entered, but they turned and cut me off from that. I then stopped running, and commenced walking slowly between them and the other point, slightly diverging towards them. They, no doubt thinking that I was about to surrender myself, stopped, and I continued to walk until within about sixty or seventy yards of them, when I suddenly wheeled and ran into the point for which I had first started. They did not attempt to follow me, but just as I was about to enter the timber they fired, the bullets whistling over my head, causing me to draw my head down as I ran. As soon as I entered the main body of the timber, I saw Simpson, waiting and beckoning to me. I went towards him, and we ran together for about two miles, when we reached the river. We then stopped and consulted together as to the best mode of concealing ourselves. I proposed climbing a tree, but he objected, saying that, should the Mexicans discover us, we would have no way of making our escape. Before we arrived at any conclusion, we heard some one coming through the underwood, which frightened us so that I jumped into the river, which was swimming at the time while Simpson ran a short distance up it, but seeing me, he also jumped in. The noise proceeded from the bank almost immediately above the spot where Simpson was, and I could see the place very plainly, and soon discovered that two of our companions had made their escape to this place. They were Zachariah Brooks and Isaac Hamilton. Brooks was wounded in the hip, and Hamilton in the fleshy part of both thighs—one a gunshot and the other a bayonet wound.
We all four swam the river, traveling up it a short distance until we arrived at a bluff bank, in front of which was a thick screen of bushes, where we concealed ourselves. The place was about five miles above the fort. We did not dare to proceed farther that day, as the Mexicans, we did not doubt, were still searching for us, and Hamilton’s wounds had become so painful as to prevent his walking, which obliged us to carry him. We remained there until about 10 o’clock that night, when we started forth, Simpson and myself carrying Hamilton. Brooks, though severely wounded, was yet able to travel. We had to proceed very cautiously, and necessarily rather slowly. Fort LaBahia being south-east of us, and a point we were making for which is about where Goliad now stands, we proceeded in a circuitous route, in a north-easterly direction, which, after a while, placed the fort directly south of us. We approached within a short distance of the fort, and could not, at first, account for the numerous fires we saw blazing around; but we were not long in doubt, for the sickening smell that was borne towards us by the south wind proclaimed that they were burning the bodies of our companions; and here I will state what Mrs Cash (who was kept a prisoner) stated afterwards: that some were thrown into the flames, and burned alive! We passed the fort safely, and reached a spring, where we rested from our journey, and from whence we again proceeded on our travels. But the night was foggy, and becoming bewildered, it was not long before we found ourselves at the spring from which we started. We again started out, and again found ourselves at the same place, but we had too much at stake to sink into despondency, so we once more took up our wounded companion, thinking that we could not miss the right direction this time; but at last, when day began to break, to our great consternation, we found that we had been traveling, like four will o’ the wisps, around the same spot, and were for the third time back at the identical spring from which we had at first set forth. It was now impossible to proceed further that day, as we dared not travel during the day, knowing we should be discovered by the Mexicans. We therefore concealed ourselves by the side of slight elevation, amidst a thick undergrowth of bushes. By this time we began to grow very hungry, and I remember an elm bush that grew at the entrance of the timber where we were concealed, which formed an excellent commissary for us, and from the branches of which we partook until every limb was entirely stripped. About nine that morning we heard the heavy tramp of the Mexican army on the march, and they not long after passed within a stone’s throw of our place of concealment. It does, indeed, seem that we were guided by an overruling Providence in not being able to proceed farther that night, for as we were not expecting the Mexican army to move so soon, we would probably have been overtaken and discovered by them, perhaps in some prairie where we could not have escaped. We remained in our hiding place the rest of the day, and resumed our journey after dark, still carrying our wounded man. Whenever they passed us, we had of course to conceal ourselves, and we laid several days in ponds of mud and water with nothing but our heads exposed to view. When in the vicinity of Lavaca, we again got ahead of the Mexicans and, after traveling all night, we discovered, very early on the morning of the ninth day, a house within a few hundred yards of the river. We approached it, and found that the inhabitants had fled. When we entered the house we discovered a quantity of corn, some chickens and a good many eggs lying about in different places. Our stomachs were weak, and revolted at the idea of eating them raw, so we looked about for some means of striking a fire, first searching for a rock, but failing to find one, we took an old chisel and ground it on a grindstone about two hours, but we never could succeed in getting the sparks to catch. We then concluded to go back and try the eggs raw. We had taken one, and Simpson was putting on his shoes, which he had taken off to rest his feet, which were raw and bleeding, and had just got one on when he remarked, “Boys, we would be in a tight place if the Mexicans were to come upon us now.” So saying, he walked to the window, when, to his horror, there was the whole Mexican army not more than half a mile off, and fifteen or twenty horsemen coming at full speed within a hundred yards of us. We took up our wounded man and ran to the timber—which was not far off—Simpson leaving his shoe behind him. We got into the timber and concealed ourselves between the logs of two trees, the tops of which, having fallen together, and being very thickly covered with leaves and moss formed an almost impenetrable screen above and around us. We had scarcely hidden ourselves from view when the Mexicans came swarming around us, shouting and halloing through the woods, but did not find us. We heard them from time to time all throughout the day, and next night. The next morning just before day the noise of the Mexicans ceased, and we concluded they had all left. Simpson then asked me to go with him to get his shoe, as it would be difficult for him to travel without it, and I consented to do so. We went out to the edge of the timber and stopped some time to take observations before proceeding further. Seeing nothing of the Mexicans, we proceeded to the house, found the shoe, and possessing ourselves of a couple of ears of corn and a bottle which we filled with water, we returned to our companions. We had no doubt now that the Mexicans had gone, so we sat down and drank the water and eat an ear of corn, when Brooks asked Simpson to go with him to the house, saying he would get a chicken and we could eat it raw. They started, and had hardly got to the edge of the timber when I heard the sound of horses feet, and directly afterwards the Mexicans halloing in every direction. I was sure that they had captured Simpson and Brooks. Soon I heard something in the brush near us, but could not imagine whether it was the boys or Mexicans, but they turned out to be Simpson and Brooks, who crept under cover, and in a few minutes four Mexicans came riding by, passing within a few feet of where we were lying with our faces to the ground. After going into the woods a short distance, they returned and passed out again, but it was not long after when six of them came, riding quite close, three on each side of us, and leaning down and peering into our hiding place. It seemed to me that they could have heard us by the beating of our hearts, if they had paused and listened, for my own heart seemed to raise me almost from the ground by its throbbings. I felt more frightened than I ever had before; for, at the time of the massacre, everything had come on me so suddenly that my nerves had no time to become unstrung, as they now were.
The Mexicans passed and re passed us occasionally through the day so that we dared not move from our hiding place. A guard was placed around us the following night, the main body having no doubt gone on, and left a detachment to search for us, I think they must have had some idea of our being Fannin’s boys or they would scarcely have gone to that trouble.
About ten o’clock that night we held a consultation, and I told my companions that it would not do to remain there any longer, as the Mexicans were pretty well aware of our place of concealment, and would surely discover us the next day. We all decided then to leave, and they requested me to lead the way out. I told them we would have to crawl through the timber, and a short piece of the prairie, until we crossed the road near which the Mexicans were posted; that they must be careful to remove every leaf and stick in their path and to hold their feet well up, only crawling on their hands and knees, as the least noise would betray us to the enemy. I was somewhat acquainted with the locality, for we were now not far from Texana, and I had sometimes hunted along in those very woods; so I led the way, they following. Hamilton’s wounds were so painful that we could progress but slowly, and we must have been two hours crawling about two hundred yards. When we at length passed the timber and reached the road, I stopped to make a careful survey of the situation. I could see the Mexicans placed along the road about a hundred yards on each side of us. The moon was shining, but had sunk towards the West, which threw the shadow of a point of timber across the road and concealed us from view. It would have been hard to discover us from the color of our clothes as the earthly element with which they were mixed had entirely hidden the original fabric. We continued to crawl until we got a sufficient distance not to be discovered, when we rose up and walked. Although Hamilton had, with a great deal of pain, managed to crawl, yet it was impossible for him to walk at all; and his wounds had by this time become so much irritated and inflamed that he could scarcely bear to be carried.
We traveled that night only a short distance, and hid ourselves in a thicket near a pond of water. Brooks had been trying to persuade me to leave Hamilton; but, although our progress was greatly impeded by having to carry him, I could not entertain the idea for a moment of abandoning him to his fate. I indignantly refused, but notwithstanding that, he would seize every opportunity of urging it upon me. He represented that it would be utterly impossible for us to escape, burdened as we were with Hamilton. I could not but acknowledge the truth of this, for it was a desperate case with us. The foe were around us in every direction, the main body being encamped at Texana, some two or three miles distant. Brooks, finding that I was not to be persuaded, then attempted to influence Simpson. On the tenth day out, they took the bottle and went to the pond near by for water. As they were returning (I suppose Brooks did not know he was so near the place he left us), both Hamilton and myself heard Brooks urging Simpson to leave him. He told him that, if we remained with Hamilton, we would most assuredly lose our lives; but that there was some slight chance of escaping, if we left him; that Hamilton’s wounds had become so much worse that he was bound to die, unless he could have rest, and that, as we were doing him no good, and ourselves a great deal of injury by carrying him, it was our duty to leave him. Now, Brooks never had carried him a step. Simpson and myself having always done it, and yet Brooks was the first who had ever proposed leaving him; and, although there was a great deal of truth in what he was saying, yet I felt quite angry with him as I heard him trying to persuade Simpson. Hamilton did not say a word to them when they came in, but sat with his face buried in his hands a long time. At length he looked up and said: “Boys, Brooks has told you the truth: I cannot travel any further, and if you stay with me, all will be killed. Go and leave me, boys: you may stand some chance for your lives, and perhaps if I have rest, I may recover. And if I ever should get off safe, you shall hear from me again.” He spoke so reasonably, and we were so thoroughly convinced of the truth of what he said, that after a brief consultation, we decided to depart without him. Hamilton had known Brooks in Alabama. He called him to him, and gave him a gold watch and a hundred and forty dollars in gold, telling him to give it to his mother. The watch contained in the inside of the lid a small painted likeness of himself. We then bade Hamilton farewell, all of us shedding tears as we parted, but when we turned to go, my resolution failed me, and I could not find it in my heart to leave him. I said, “Boys, don’t let’s leave him!” But Simpson and Brooks said we could do neither him or ourselves any good by remaining, and that they were determined to go. I then told them that I would remain with Hamilton and do the best I could do for him. So they started off without me; but Hamilton insisted so much that I should leave him, that I again bid him farewell, and followed, and soon overtook the others. The reason of our striking off in the day was that it was raining quite hard that morning, and we thought there would not be much danger in traveling; but we had not gone more than half way through the next prairie—which was quite a large one—when the weather cleared up, and we saw the whole Mexican army encamped at Texana, about two miles off. But they did not discover us, and we succeeded in reaching the timber on the Navidad, which was in front of us. In the evening, before starting again, we walked out to a slight eminence which overlooked the prairie, to reconnoitre. While gazing across the prairie I could see (though the others could not) three men on horseback, but so indistinct were they that I could not at first tell whether they were Americans or Mexicans. As they approached we hid in the under growth, and as they passed we saw that they were Mexican couriers returning to the command. At eight we again started forth, and coming out on the edge of the prairie, we discovered a road which we concluded had been made by the refugees in their retreat from the enemy.
During all this time we had had nothing to eat but leaves and herbs, and the two ears of corn that we got at the house on the Lavaca river. On the 12th day we reached the Colorado at Mercer’s crossing. The river was very high, being full from bank to bank. As we were very tired, we sat down on the bank to rest a little before attempting to swim over. While sitting there a dog on the opposite side of the river began to bark. When we heard that well known sound, our very souls thrilled with the joy, and that was the first time since the awful day of the massacre that a smile had ever illuminated our faces. We looked at each other, and then burst into A Great Big Laugh! We were all excellent swimmers, but I sometimes took the cramp while swimming, so we concluded to cross on a log. We procured a dead mulberry pole, and hanging on to it one on each end, and one in the middle, we crossed over. We went up to Mercer’s sugar house, which was not far off, where we found a number of hogsheads of sugar and molasses. As soon as we discovered the sugar, we commenced eating it, but in a minute or two we were taken very sick, and threw it up. We tried it again, with like success; so we concluded that sugar was not the thing for starving men, and started for the house, which was about a mile distant. Not a soul was to be seen about the place. We entered the house and saw everything just as the inhabitants had left—the furniture in its place, and the table neatly set for two persons. To our great surprise, there was a fire burning in the fire place, and as we approached, we saw an oven and skillet sitting on the hearth. I lifted the lid off the oven, and saw there three loaves of bread. I looked into the skillet, and beheld a chicken nicely prepared and still warm. It looked like the magic of some fairy tale. We did not stop to ask questions, but proceeded to help ourselves. But neither the chicken or the bread agreed with us any better than the sugar, though we only eat a very small portion of them. I then boiled some eggs about half done, and as we only eat a half a one apiece, we succeeded in retaining it. While we were eating our eggs we saw approaching us a man and woman on horseback, and as they drew near, we perceived them to be a mulatto man and one of the most beautiful white women I ever saw. He informed me that they had been there and prepared the meal of which we had partaken, and had rode off to look for his wagon, which had been lost in the river. The woman had nothing to say, but looked very much cowed. The negro watched her very closely when in our presence. But at length he had to go and attend to his horses, so that she was left alone with us. We expected then that she would speak, and perhaps appeal to us for protection, and we had agreed that if she did, we would afford it; but she said nothing to us, and we did not like to question her. That night before we retired to rest, we agreed that one of us should stay awake and watch while the others slept. We had not slept long when the watcher woke us, saying the negro had left the house. We immediately arose, and following him, demanded of him the cause of his leaving. He said he had forgotten to water the horses, and had started out for that purpose; but we knew he had watered them, and therefore ordered him to return, threatening to kill him if he refused. We ought to have killed him then, for we afterwards learned that he had stolen the poor girl, as she was flying with her family from the Mexicans, and she said afterwards that she wished to appeal to us for protection, but feared that we would refuse it, and he would murder her, as he had threatened to do. He afterwards joined Santa Anna and was killed at the battle of San Jacinto. We traveled the succeeding day and night, resting but little, and reached the bank of the Brazos on the morning of the fourteenth day; and on the west side of the river we met three white men carrying dispatches to Houston’s army. One of them having lamed his horse, turned and went down the country with us to within about twelve miles of Columbia to a house where we feasted like princes. As I have had nothing but hard fare to regale my readers with, I cannot refrain from giving our bill of fare on this occasion. It consisted of chickens, eggs, bacon, corn and flour bread, brandy and whisky, and cheese for desert. After recruiting a little, we procured horses, with the intention of joining Houston’s army; but before we reached there the battle of San Jacinto had been fought and won.
It was more than a year before I ever heard anything of Hamilton. He remained in the same place where we left him nine days, sometimes lying in the pond of water, which assuaged the pain of his wounds. At the end of that time he was so much improved that he essayed to walk to Texana, which the Mexicans had evacuated, and succeeded in doing so. When he reached there, all was still and deserted. While standing near a warehouse, he saw two Mexican soldiers approaching, and being too weak for flight, he slipped into a warehouse and got behind a dry good’s box, which not being a very large one, left his head and shoulders exposed to view. The Mexicans soon came up, and while sitting on their horses, looked in and fixed their eyes directly on him. He sat perfectly motionless, not moving a muscle, and the Mexicans, after looking at him awhile, burst into a loud laugh, and rode off. He left there that evening and spent the night under a live-oak, thinking that he would try and make his way through the country; but the next morning changed his intention, and taking a skiff made his way down to Dimmit’s landing. He said the best eating he ever had in his life was when he first entered Texana, and eat the meat from the rawhides the Mexicans had left. He had scarcely reached Dimmit’s landing, when he was perceived and taken prisoner by a Mexican soldier. Not long after other soldiers came in, and tying Hamilton on a mule, started for camp. He suffered so much from his wounds that he fainted several times on the way. Whenever this occurred, they would untie him, lay him on the ground, and throw water in his face until he revived, when they would again mount him on the mule, and proceed on their way. When they arrived at camp, he found two other Texians who had been captured. Hamilton remained in their hands for some time, and gradually grew well of his wounds. There was a Mexican who waited upon him, who seemed to grow much attached to him, and Hamilton was led to place confidence in him. One evening this Mexican told him that if he wished to live another day, he must attempt to make his escape that night, as he had learned that he and the other prisoner were to be shot before morning; but at night the Mexican came to him again, and informed him that news had been received from the army which postponed the execution. In a day or two he came again with the information that they were to be shot very soon. Hamilton then arranged a plan for escape for himself and two companions. The next evening, as had been agreed on, Hamilton walked towards the timber a short distance off and commenced gathering moss from the trees—one of his companions following him about fifty yards off, and the other fifty yards behind him, but by some means the last man disappeared, and Hamilton never knew what had become of him. The two commenced gathering moss, and when they had procured a load apiece, they began very slowly to return. It was now nearly dark, and when they had returned a short distance, they threw down the moss and ran; and as they did so, they looked back and saw some Mexicans soldiers pursuing them. There were some Mexicans in front of them driving a caballado of horses. Hamilton and his companion ran into this drove, causing them to stampede. One gentle horse stood still. They both mounted him and urging him along with their feet, and guiding his course by striking him with their hands on the side of the head, they soon outstripped their pursuers, who were on foot. They continued to ride until the horse fell beneath them. The next day they were fortunate enough to secure another, and after manufacturing a grape-vine bridle and moss saddle, continued their journey, alternately walking and riding, and in this way finally succeeded in escaping.
Thus ends my account, though I design, at some future time, giving to the world other particulars relating to that eventful period, and the subsequent adventures of my companions and myself

An early description of Austin.

This book was entered into the Library of Congress in 1847.  Read this story about Austin.  This author was right on in his prediction of the future of Austin.  Amazing. 

This is the book that this excerpt was taken from.

A NEW
HISTORY OF TEXAS
A NARRATION OF THE ADVENTURES OF THE AUTHOR IN TEXAS.
AND A DESCRIPTION OF THE
SOlL, CLIMATE, PRODUCTIONS, MINERALS, TOWNS, BAYS HARBORS, RIVERS, INSTITUTIONS, AND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF
'
THE INHABITANTS OF THAT COUNTRY; TOGETHER WITH
THE PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS OP FIFTEEN YEARS
REVOLUTION IN MEXICO;

 

 

 Now read about Austin.

 

Austin,—Forty miles above Bastrop is located the city of Austin, which is the present seat of Government, and will probably continue as such for a long time to come. The plan of Austin is handsome; the streets are wide and cross at right angles, and the site is on an elevated prairie stretching far away from the east bank of the Colorado River. The property here belonged to the people, and the seat of government has been removed from Houston, and permanently located here for the treble purpose of a more central position, and of raising funds by giving value to the public domain, and of reviving the almost forgotten name of Stephen F. Austin, the first Emprasario and Father of Texas.
In calling this a central position, I must not be understood as alluding to the present population, for Austin is
immediately on the frontiers of the country; yet the location is as near central to the "whole territory as perhaps any suitable place in the Republic; and such is the rapid advance of the Anglo Saxon, that a few brief years will leave the seat of government in a thickly settled country, and central enough for convenience to the interior, as well as the seaboard; thus uniting objects and combining facilities which argue well for the foresight and sagacity of its founders.
There are as yet but few buildings, and those for public use need no description ; the government, like individuals, just locating in a wilderness, and not in abundance of funds must be content with temporary buildings and accommodations for which however, all visitors pay an enormous price : such for instance, as board for $30 per week. There can be but little doubt about the future prosperity of Austin : take it all in all, it is a fine country, with the best navigable river in Texas flowing at its base. Most of the first quality of land adjacent to the Colorado River is now covered by surveys, but great quantities of second and third rate land in the hills and dells in every direction is yet unclaimed, and of course subject to the occupancy of emigrants under a late law donating land to permanent settlers.
To those who are fond of a retired and quiet life, and would prefer the business of rearing stock, to the planting of cotton and sugar, would choose too, to be located among romantic hills and vales, such as are familiar to every western Virginian, and to drink from the cool running fountains,
rather than the frequently turbid river, or stagnant pond, these second and third rate lands would prove more valuable than much that is considered of the first quality.
For as has always proved true elsewhere, so it will be here—rich lands are mighty allurements to those who estimate every thing by dollars and cents, and the rich and level lands of Texas will in a few brief years be thickly settled; the solemn grandeur of the wilderness and the quiet stillness of a secluded farm will be lost, and will have given place to the busy hum of business, and the inconveniences and annoyances, as well as the advantages to be derived from a residence among a dense, and too frequently, a licentious, population.

 

 

 

Another Alamo Story.

This story of the Alamo was taken from the following book.  

A HISTORY
OF
Central and Western
Texas
Compiled from Historical Data Supplied by Commercial
Clubs, Individuals, and Other Authentic Sources,
Under the Editorial Supervision of
CAPTAIN B. B. PADDOCK
OF FORT WORTH
X
ILLUSTRATED,
VOL. I
V.I
THE LEWIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO NEW YORK
1911

February 23d Santa Anna arrived at the head of his army and the same day entered the town. Travis withdrew his men across the river and took his final stand in the old Alamo mission, on the walls of which he hoisted the tri-colored Mexican flag, "with two stars designated to represent Coahuila and Texas." Thus Travis and his men fought for the constitution of 1824, though the declaration of independence had been signed four days before the flag fell from the walls. The place known as the Alamo contained the usual buildings of a mission. The building familiarly called the Alamo is the old mission church, and was only one feature of the group of buildings and enclosures which composed the Alamo mission. To the north of the church was the walled convent yard, on the west side of which was situated the convent itself, a long and narrow, two-storied building, divided by partitions into rooms which were used for barracks. To the west of the convent, and also extending some distance north and south, was the square or plaza of the mission, rectangular in shape and enclosed with walls of masonry several feet thick. From the southeast corner of this square ran a diagonal stockade to connect with the church. This was the scene of the Alamo siege. It was invested by the army of Santa Anna on February 23, and for a week was bombarded without effect, the Texans using their limited supply of ammunition only when the enemy came in range. On March i thirty-two men under Captain J. W. Smith made their way through the enemy's lines into the fort. Thus, there were, according to the best estimates, one hundred and eighty-three men to hold this fortress, against five thousand Mexicans. Among the heroes destined to shed their life-blood in this place were the well-known names of Travis, who had been throughout one of the most eager and consistent advocates of Texas independence; Col. James Bowie, a veteran of many frontier battles ; Davy Crockett, pioneer statesman, hunter and soldier; and J. B. Bonham, of South Carolina, besides many others of not less dauntless courage.
At the beginning of the siege, Travis sent a letter to his fellow citizens which shows the spirit that animated the patriots. The letter, written February 24. was addressed to "the people of Texas and all Americans in the world," and was as follows: Fellow Citizens and Compatriots—I am besieged by a thousand or
more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual bombardment and cannonade for twenty-four hours and have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism and everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily and will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor and that of his country. Victory or Death.
For a week the siege went on, each day the position of the garrison becoming more critical. Three days before the end Travis sent to the president of the convention, then meeting in Washington, the last official report of the siege. Since the 25th, he said, the enemy had continued the bombardment from their battery on the opposite side of the river in the town. They had also encircled the Alamo with entrenched encampments,
at the La V'illeta on the south, at the powder-house on the southeast, at the ditch on the northeast, and at the old mill on the north.
Yet up to hat time not a man of the garrison had been killed. "The power of Santa Anna is to be met here, or in the colonies ; we had better meet them here, than to suffer a war of desolation to rage in the settlements. A blood-red banner waves from the church in Bexar, and in the camp above us, in token that the war is one of vengeance against rebels. . . . Their threats have had no influence on me, or my men, but to make all fight with desperation, and that high-souled courage which characterizes the patriot, who is willing to die in defense of his country's liberty and his own honor."
After the ineffectual bombardment Santa Anna called a council of war and determined to carry the walls by general assault. Sunday, March 6th, was the fateful day of the fall of the Alamo. Twenty-five hundred Mexicans were arranged in four columns on all sides of the fort, and at daybreak hurled their strength against the walls so weakly manned as to numbers. But the calm courage of the Texans, their unerring marksmanship, and the hail of lead from their cannon, twice brought the assailants" lines to halt and repulse. Then came the final charge. The columns were deployed to the north wall of the square and to the stockade on the south, and, driven on by their officers, the Mexicans crowded up under the walls below the cannon, rushed through the breaches or climbed over by ladders, and brought the conflict into a melee of hand-to-hand struggle. Travis was shot down while working a cannon, Crockett fell near the stockade, and Bowie, too ill to rise from his bed, was found and bayoneted, but not till he had dispatched several of the enemy with his pistols. From the plaza and stockade the heroes retired to the convent, where in final desperation they held each room until overpowered by the superior forces, and the fight to death went on in close quarters, where man touched man, clubbed with his musket, and slashed right and left with his knife, dying with the ferocity of the cornered wild beast. The church was the last point taken, and within an hour after the first assault the Alamo tragedy was over and its defenders had breathed their last. The few who did not fall fighting were butchered in cold blood by the ruthless order of Santa Anna, and of all who had been in the beleaguered fort but six lives (three women and three children) were spared, including the wife of Lieutenant Dickinson and her infant daughter. She was supplied with a horse and allowed to depart, bearing a proclamation from Santa Anna and the tale of the Alamo massacre to the colonists. Upon the heaped-up bodies of the Texans was piled brush and wood, and on this funeral pyre was soon consumed all that was mortal of the Texas patriots. But their spirit and the memory of their sacrifice were destined to survive all time and awake a vengeance from which was born the Texas republic.

If you ever ate at the Pit BBQ on West 5th, you could have seen pictures of the wife of Lieutenant Dickinson.  After the Alamo, she eventually moved to Austin and lived there at the site of the Pit.

Indian raid on the Hutchinson Family in Nacogdoches County, Texas

This is an excerpt from a book, Rangers and Pioneers of Early Texas by A.J. Sowell. This book was published in 1884. 

I will commence this part of the work by relating an

incident which occurred in Nacogdoches County, which

I learned from an old Texan, named Baily, who was

well acquainted with the parties concerned in this horrible

deed of savage cruelty. In the early settlement of

this county, in the eastern part of the State, a family,

named Hutchinson, settled between the Neches and

Trinity rivers, near Fort Houston. The family consisted

of the old man, his wife, and daughter, Anna.

They lived in peace and quiet for some time, with plenty

around them to live on comfortably, but in 1838 the

Indians, then being hostile, began committing depredations

between the two rivers, and armed bands of men

began scouring the country in order to run them out.

Late one evening nine armed settlers came to the house

of old man Hutchinson stating that they were out after

Indians and would like to spend the night with him. and

go on up the country next morning, where they were to

meet another party who were also scouting. The old

man cordially invited them to dismount and come in;

their horses were attended to, and the old lady and her

daughter prepared supper.

When supper was announced, the men went back

into the shed room, on the north side of the cabin,

where the meal was spread, and took their seats at the

table leaving their guns standing in the corner near an

open door which fronted to the south. The meal was

not more than half over, when, hearing a slight noise in

the direction of the south door, they looked and saw

three hideously painted Indians between them and their

guns. Not knowing how many more there were close

at hand, they all sprang from the table and escaped

through an east door in the shed loom, the old man

Hutchinson among the balance, thinking, of course, I

suppose, that the women would follow, but such was

not the case. The brave old lady seized a heavy iron shovel, and

dashing into the house, commenced a most furious attack upon the 

Indians, and succeeded in beating one of them to the floor

before she was tomahawked. Anna also procured a weapon of some 

kind, and came to the assistance of her mother, but she was also

struck on the head and fell to the floor, apparently lifeless. 

The savages not satisfied with this, then cut out her left 

breast, and left her lying on the floor in this horrible 

condition. They then brought some lard out of the kitchen, and

emptying it in one corner of the house, set fire to it and

then left, carrying some of the guns with them. Before

the fire spread much, Anna returned to consciousness,

and barely made her escape from the burning building.

Her mother's body was consumed. The girl wandered about in a 

dazed sort of way until morning, and succeeded in getting about 

two miles from the house, and being overcome with fatigue and

pain, could go no further, and sank almost fainting to

the ground. In this condition she was found by three

rangers and carried to the nearest house, and by close

and careful attention, finally recovered. It is likely the

men, had they known there were but three Indians to

deal with, would have rushed in and overpowered them;

but be this as it may, the women were the bravest, for

they remained and fought them. The Indians succeeded

in eluding the search, which was made for them, and

escaped out of the country.