Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: Musaicum Books
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
This eBook has been formatted to the highest digital standards and adjusted for readability on all devices. This narrative has been recorded, as received from Nelson Lee's lips, from day to day, not precisely in his own words, inasmuch as he is not an educated, though an intelligent man, but his history is told substantially as he relates it. Of the entire truth of his statements, however marvelous many of them may appear, or however much the incredulous may be inclined to dispute, there can be no reasonable doubt. Evidences corroborating them are abundant. He bears upon his person the visible scars of all the wounds he is represented as having received in the border wars of Texas, and while a prisoner among the Indians. He is familiar, to the minutest detail, with the history of those stirring times when Jack Hays, and Ben McCullough, and Ewen Cameron, at the head of the hardy Rangers were wont to sally forth from the grand square of San Antonio, to uphold the banner of the "lone star'' against Mexican domination.
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 257
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
3 Years Among the Comanches
(Memoirs)
Published by
Books
Table of Contents
Editor's Preface
The remarkable history of Nelson Lee, to be found in the following pages, has been prepared for publication at the request of numerous citizens of respectability who, having listened to his oral relation of it, have expressed the opinion that it would form a work, if properly executed, acceptable to the reading public. The inducements that led Mr. Lee to consent to the publication were two fold: first, the hope that it might be the means of improving, in some measure, his present impoverished condition, the misfortune which made him a captive having, at the same time, stripped him of all he possessed ; and secondly, to bring to the serious attention of his fellow countrymen the unparalleled sufferings of a large number of white persons, principally females, now in captivity among the various Camanche tribes, with the view of inciting the benevolent and humane to adopt measures for their relief.
The narrative has been recorded, as received from his lips, from day to day, not precisely in his own words, inasmuch as he is not an educated, though an intelligent man, but his history is told substantially as he relates it. Of the entire truth of his statements, however marvelous many of them may appear, or however much the incredulous may be inclined to dispute, there can be no reasonable doubt. Evidences corroborating them are abundant. He bears upon his person the visible scars of all the wounds he is represented as having received in the border wars of Texas, and while a prisoner among the savages. He is familiar, to the minutest detail, with the history of those stirring times when Jack Hays, and Ben McCullough, and Ewen Cameron, at the head of the hardy Rangers were wont to sally forth from the grand square of San Antonio, to uphold the banner of the "lone star'' against Mexican domination.
In addition to this evidence, testimony is not wanting of a more positive description. General Barrett, a distinguished citizen now resident of Washington County, who knew him in early life, vouches for his former character for integrity; while Mr. Charles Lee, of the highly respectable Law firm of Lee & Pratt of this city, writes to the Editor that he "is acquainted with Nelson Lee, and with his family and relatives in Jefferson County, in this State, and has no hesitancy in asserting his entire confidence in the accuracy and truthfulness of the statements made in his narrative."
Colonel Samuel Smith, of Otsego, was a resident of Texas during the period covering the incidents connected with his life as a Ranger, and held, himself, a commission in the army of the Young Republic. Though not personally acquainted with Nelson Lee, he knew him by reputation, especially in connection with the descent of the guerillas upon Seguin, and the tragical death of the robber, Christolphe Ruble, at his hands. The narrative having be:n submitted to his examination. Col. Smith pronounces it, in all its main features, so far as it relates to affairs in Texas, to be correct of his own knowledge.
The Hon. ELI PERRY, Mayor of Albany, writes as follows: "Since the arrival of Nelson Lee in this city, I have had the opportunity of listening to his strange and interesting history, and from the manner and appearance of the man, have entire confidence in the truth of his statements. I take pleasure in commending liim and his Narrative to the favorable consideration of the Public."
With the above evidences of its genuineness, this volume is respectfully submitted to the reader.
Albany, January 1,1859.
Chapter I.
Introductory—Birth and Parentage—Roving Disposition—Rafting on the St. Lawrence—Blackhawk War—Cholera—Visit to St. Louis—New Orleans—Washington—The Delaware—Voyage to Brazil—The Chase for Pirates—Ship Preble—Newfoundland Fishermen—Shipwreck—Arrival in Texas.
The course of my life, which has now passed the boundary of half a century, has varied so far from the ordinary current of human existence that many of my friends, on whose judgment I rely, have urged me to furnish a statement of my history for publication. I have yielded to their solicitations, and shall endeavor, in the progress of this narrative, to describe the adventures it has been my fortune to encounter, especially while a volunteer among the Texas Rangers, and afterwards a captive among the Comanche Indians, without color or exaggeration.
I was born at Brownsville, near Watertown, Jefferson County, New York, in 1807. Parmer Lee, my father, was a farmer at that place, having always been engaged in agricultural pursuits, except a short period during the last war, when he joined the forces under Brown raised for the defense of the frontier. Our family was originally from Catskill on the Hudson, the native town of my grandfather, one of the soldiers of the Revolution, who participated in the battles of Saratoga and was present at the surrender of Burgoyne.
During my minority I was remarkable for nothing I can now recall, save a most hardy constitution and athletic frame, and an intense longing to rove out into the world. In early youth I had resolved, as soon as released from paternal restraint, to pass the horizon that bounded my quiet home, and learn as far as in my power of all the lands that lay beyond. Indulging this propensity, my first adventure from home, on coming to man’s estate, was a trip upon a raft from Sackets Harbor on Lake Ontario, through the St. Lawrence to Quebec. In the character of boatman and raftsman I remained on this river more or less for several years, sometimes sailing among the Thousand Islands, at others descending the swift rapids, but nothing occurring in the meantime of sufficient interest to relate.
In 1831 the attention of the whole country was turned towards the Black Hawk War. The obstinate resistance of that celebrated chief who was desolating the homes of the settlers in the Far West rendered it necessary for government to resort to severe measures in order to subdue him. In answer to a call for volunteers I joined Captain Hall, in May of that year, at Buffalo. We left the latter place in the steamer Eagle, directing our course up the lake for the harbor of Detroit. The cholera, however, breaking out upon the voyage, which resulted in the death of several on board, we were not permitted to approach Detroit, but forced to land at a point known, I believe, as Gratiot. Here we met General Scott, who gave orders, in consequence of the great violence of the epidemic, that the forces should proceed westward in small detached parties. Accordingly, a company of four of us found our way across the country as far as Prairie du Chien, where we were disappointed to learn that the hitherto indomitable Black Hawk with his Prophet and chief warriors had been taken captive, and that the war was closed.
Not desiring to turn back, but, on the contrary, anxious to visit other localities of which I had heard much, I journeyed onward to St. Louis, and after a brief delay, proceeded to New Orleans, visiting every town of importance on both sides the Father of Rivers, between those cities. Lingering but a short time in New Orleans, I set forward once more, and making the best progress I was able, eventually reached Washington, where, receiving the appointment of master’s mate, I was sent on board the ship Delaware, then lying at Portsmouth, near Norfolk, and sailed for New York. Here, I was transferred to the Ontario, sloop of war, Captain Salters, and turning my course south again, departed for the distant region of Brazil. Arriving at Rio Janeiro, after enduring much suffering from the want of fresh water, we were ordered by the American consul to sail in pursuit of pirates which at that time were known to be lurking in the vicinity of the island of St. Thomas and along the African coast. Our search, however, was unsuccessful, though we pursued it to the island to open the doors of his prison cells, thinking we might perhaps, find the objects of our pursuit among the malefactors they contained.
Returned to Rio Janeiro from this fruitless cruise, memorable only for the smallpox which decimated our crew, we joined the main squadron then lying at this port, Commodore Renshaw commanding. From thence we frequently sailed on voyages more or less remote—sometimes ascending the Rio Plato, blockaded by the Portuguese—sometimes protecting consuls in the seaport towns of South America—from time to time transferred from one vessel to another, until at last in the year 1838, after seven years of wandering, I found myself on board the sloop of war Fairfield, anchored off the metropolis of my native state, having traversed a large portion of the western continent, and experienced much of good and evil fortune, both on land and sea.
Shortly after, I was transferred to the sloop of war Preble, Captain Breese, which had been ordered to proceed to Newfoundland to cruise among the fishermen. For some alleged encroachment, two American fishing smacks had been seized by an English man-of-war, an act regarded by our government as a violation of its rights, and Captain Breese was ordered to release them. He entered the harbor of Prince Edward’s Island, and anchoring within short gunshot of the offending man-of-war, haughtily demanded the deliverance of the captured vessels, giving him but twenty-five minutes to comply. It was a moment of extreme anxiety, and I confess myself relieved of an oppressive burden on unexpectedly hearing the demand acceded to. We escorted the fishermen out into the open sea and separated, they steering for Portsmouth in New Hampshire, we returning by the way of Halifax to Boston, where I quitted finally the naval service of the United States.
Wandering around Boston some weeks, entirely unoccupied, time began to drag wearily away. To me, a life of inactivity was irksome, and casting about for some sort of employment congenial to my tastes, the rumors of troublous times in Texas at length arrested my attention. I had but a vague knowledge of events transpiring there; sufficient, however, to create within me a desire to turn my steps thitherward; and accordingly, I seized the first opportunity which offered of departing in that direction, by taking passage on the barque Gentleman bound for New Orleans.
We had a smooth sea and favorable winds until opposite a point, known as “the hole in the wall,” near the coast of Florida, where we were overtaken by a storm, more violent than any I had ever previously experienced in all my seafaring life. Mistaking a light on our starboard for Key West, the captain, in the confusion of the storm, ran directly on a reef. In this situation we all instinctively understood that rescue was beyond hope. Without any definite motive I clambered into the rigging, and there clung during the long hours of a night of terror, such as is not often allotted unto suffering man to bear. Swinging to and fro in the utter darkness, expecting momentarily to be swallowed up by the remorseless waves that roared and dashed beneath, the minutest memories of the past came back upon me with a power beyond description. I was reconciled, at length, to the idea of death, but it was a grief I could not overcome, to think I should pass away forever, and none of all my kindred ever know my fate. I could have willingly released my grasp, and sunk into the sea with a sense of rest, could some electric power have been given me, to convey to my distant relatives and friends a knowledge of my unhappy lot, and how and where I died.
My contemplations, as may well be imagined, were gloomy and sorrowful indeed; nevertheless, “I still lived.” Hour after hour passed drearily away; but at last the sun, which seemed to have lingered ages on its eternal round, rose above the horizon in the east. Gradually the winds died away as the light overspread the wide expanse, and the furies which had shrieked around us through the night disappeared, as if ashamed to continue their revels in the face of day. Better still, we presently discovered boats approaching us from the shore, the dim outline of which was barely visible to the eye. They proved to be wreckers, who gain a precarious livelihood in their business, along that dangerous coast, and fortunately, as unexpectedly, succeeded in bringing us safe to land. I mention this incident with some degree of feeling, because, though I have passed through many perils since, as the reader will hereafter see, this impressed me so powerfully that time can never wear away the dread which it inspired.
We were conducted to Apalachicola, from whence, in due time, I proceeded to Galveston, and there, at once, joined the Texas navy about to send a force to the coast of Yucatan. The object of this expedition was to draw the Mexicans away from Texas. The little squadron I accompanied was commanded by Commodore Moore. We had an engagement off Yucatan, which, though severe, resulted in victory to neither party, and after a few months’ cruising returned to Galveston. There I determined to abandon the sea forever, and going back into the interior, traversed the wide prairies that stretch away toward the borders of Mexico, and halting at Seguin, a point on the Guadaloupe, soon entered on the stirring life of a Texas Ranger.
In the foregoing chapter I have compressed into as brief a space as possible the events of my history from the time I left my father’s house up to 1840. They are commonplace, but the career upon which I then entered, as I said in the beginning, runs not in the ordinary current of existence. It has been indeed “stranger than fiction,” and as I look back upon it from the quiet I now enjoy, seems more like a feverish dream than a strange reality.
Chapter II.
Unsettled condition of Texas—Origin of the Rangers—Their Characteristics—Captain Cameron—First acquaintance with the Camanche Indians—Encounter with the Mexicans— Gen. Davis—The battle of Panta Clan—A stump speech— The sack of Lindville—On the trail—Second introduction to the Camanches—Battle of Plum Creek—The shattered arm—Rescue of Prisoners—The death of Cameron.
At the time of my arrival in Texas, the country was in an unsettled state. For a long period of time a system of border warfare had existed between the citizens of Texas and Mexico, growing out of the declaration of independence on the part of the young republic. Marauding parties from beyond the Rio Grande kept the settlers of western Texas in a state of constant agitation and excitement. Besides these annoyances, the inhabitants of other sections were perpetually on the alert to defend themselves against those savage tribes which roamed over the vast region to the north, and which, not infrequently, stole down among the settlers, carrying away their property and putting them to death.
This condition of affairs necessarily resulted in bringing into existence the Texas Rangers, a military order as peculiar as it has become famous. The extensive frontier exposed to hostile inroads, together with the extremely sparse population of the country, rendered any other force of comparatively small avail. The qualifications necessary in a genuine Ranger were not, in many respects, such as are required in the ordinary soldier. Discipline, in the common acceptation of the term, was not regarded as absolutely essential. A fleet horse, an eye that could detect the trail, a power of endurance that defied fatigue, and the faculty of “looking through the double sights of his rifle with a steady arm,”—these distinguished the Ranger, rather than any special knowledge of tactics. He was subjected to no “regulation uniform,” though his usual habiliments were buckskin moccasins and overhauls, a roundabout and red shirt, a cap manufactured by his own hands from the skin of the coon or wildcat, two or three revolvers and a bowie knife in his belt, and a short rifle on his arm. In this guise, and well mounted, should he measure eighty miles between the rising and setting sun, and then, gathering his blanket around him, lie down to rest upon the prairie grass with his saddle for a pillow, it would not, at all, occur to him he had performed an extraordinary day’s labor.
The compensation received from government at that time was one dollar a day, and finding no other employment which seemed to me more remunerative or attractive, I joined Captain Cameron at San Patricio, then ranging in the vicinity of the Rio Grande. He was a Scotchman—a noble and brave man—who in very early life had left his native heather, and in the course of time established himself on the banks of the Nueces. During the disturbances which distracted the country, his intelligence, chivalry, and force of character naturally drew towards him the attention of his fellow citizens, as one upon whom they might lean for protection. His company consisted of forty-five men. My first experience in Indian warfare was an engagement with a roving band of Comanches, whom we suddenly encountered near Casa Blanca, during one of our excursions beyond the Nueces. They were put to flight after a sharp interchange of bullets on one side and arrows on the other; not, however, until I had become most emphatically impressed with a due sense of their brave and warlike character. They are a numerous and powerful tribe whose range extends from the headwaters of the Guadaloupe to the base of the Rocky Mountains, and of whose habits, dispositions, and mode of life I shall have much to say before this narrative concludes.
A short time subsequent to this adventure we obtained information that a considerable body of Mexicans had crossed the border and were somewhere in our vicinity. While on the lookout for them, we met, one day, the forces under General Davis, at Panta Clan. His company, having listened to extravagant rumors relative to the great number of Mexicans on the march, some of them rating it as high as three thousand well-armed and effective men, had become alarmed. During the night the most of them flocked to our encampment near by, discussing the all-absorbing question of the probable whereabouts of the enemy. At this very time, while we were indulging in all manner of surmises, the wily Mexicans had crept into their camp, and seizing every description of property on which they could lay their hands, retired without loss or molestation. The next morning, however, they presented themselves and offered battle, and though far outnumbering our united forces, we compelled them to retreat after a contest of two hours, taking from them, in addition to the spoils of the previous night, more than forty mules.
Though little was said about it at the time, a story eventually spread abroad that General Davis did not bear himself with becoming bravery on this occasion. It was alleged he abandoned his quarters, permitting the Indians to plunder them without resistance, through cowardice. Years after, while a candidate for office of delegate to the convention from his district on the Trinity, his political opponents endeavored to compass his defeat by representing him a poltroon at the battle of Panta Clan. Happening to be present at a barbecue where the subject was discussed, I was called upon to give my version of the affair, and in a political speech, the first and last I have ever made, fully exonerated him from the charge. My testimony seemed to be satisfactory, and the general was elected. He is now one of the largest landholders and most respected and prominent citizens of Texas.
It was not long after the Panta Clan engagement, while we were in the vicinity of Seguin, that Ben McCullough, with sixteen others including myself, were detached from the main body and sent out as spies. McCullough was a brave fellow, a tall, straight man, over six feet high, rawboned, light, sandy hair, extremely reserved in manner, with keen black eyes which shone like diamonds. We presently struck a wide trail leading to the south, and following it, soon came in sight of some seven hundred Comanches, near the Lavaca River. Unable to cope with so formidable a body, we hovered in their vicinity, keeping them constantly under observation. They continued their march in the direction of the coast until they reached, at length, the settlement of Lindville, on Matagorda Bay, which they attacked and burned, killing four men, and carrying away three women as prisoners. From a distant height we witnessed this affair, entirely unable to render any effectual resistance. Runners, however, were dispatched in hot haste to General Burleson on the Colorado, conveying information of what had transpired, and requesting reinforcements.
True to his chivalrous nature, Burleson, who never waited a second call when danger was to be met or a duty was to be performed, sent forward as many as he could; so that, by the time we had tracked the marauders on their retreat as far as Plum Creek, our numbers had increased to three hundred. There we resolved to attack them.
In concluding upon the plan of attack, our great object was to rescue the captured women. It was ascertained, as we anticipated, that they were with the old warriors in the rear of their encampment. A portion of our force, accordingly, made a wide circuit, and falling stealthily upon that point succeeded in saving harmless two of the captives, the other being stabbed to death by an Indian before making his escape. As I approached with another detachment of my comrades from a different direction, a buckshot struck me near the elbow, passing up the arm to the shoulder blade, where it yet remains. It was my bridle arm, causing me to drop the rein, and in consequence, my horse unexpectedly bore me directly into their midst. Perceiving my perilous situation, the Rangers rushed after me without awaiting the word of command. A scene of terrible confusion followed, which terminated finally in a complete victory in our favor and the recovery of all the property stolen at the sack of Lindville.
My six months’ term of service under Cameron now expired, and bidding him adieu, I journeyed to San Antonio, and from thence to Seguin on the Guadaloupe, where I had taken up my residence. Afterwards I marched with Cameron to Mier, but not under his command. He was, indeed, a remarkable personage, as true a friend of Texas as any who have ever fought her battles or yielded up their lives in her defense, and I cannot forbear alluding briefly, in this connection, to his subsequent career and melancholy fate.
In the famous attack on Mier, in 1842, he was taken prisoner, and was one of those unfortunate men who, in violation of solemn articles of capitulation, were marched in irons on that long and weary journey towards the dungeons of Mexico, the account of which constitutes one of the saddest chapters in all history. After surviving the desperate attack upon the guards at Salado, and drawing a “white bean” at the bloody decimation of the captives on their rearrest, the Dictator of Mexico could not rest content while one who had proved himself such an indomitable foe was permitted to exist. Green, in his history of the expedition against Mier gives the following description of the closing scene of his life: “About eight o’clock at night,” he says, “a menial murderer, with a pair of epaulets upon his shoulders, and a guard of mounted men under broad-brimmed hats, arrived with orders from the tyrant Santa Anna, to shoot the bold and beloved Captain Ewin Cameron. He was unchained from his partner, Colonel William F. Wilson, and with his interpreter, Alfred Thurmond, taken out of prison and kept under a separate guard until morning, when he was conducted to the rear of the village, the place of execution. A priest, the usual attendant of Mexican executions, was in waiting, and when asked if he wished to confess to the Holy Father, promptly answered, `No! throughout life I believe I have lived an upright man, and if I have to confess, it shall be to my Maker.’ His arms were then tied with a cord at the elbows and drawn back, and when the guard advanced to bandage his eyes, he said to his interpreter, `Tell them no! Ewin Cameron can now, as he has often done before for the liberty of Texas, look death in the face without winking.’ So saying, he threw his hat and blanket on the ground, opened the bosom of his hunting shirt, presented his naked breast, and gave the word ‘Fire!’ when his noble soul passed into another and we trust a better world.”
He was about thirty-six years of age at the time he was murdered—as we have already said, a native of Scotland, tall and well proportioned, weighing nearly two hundred pounds, and of extraordinary physical power, which was in perfect keeping with his manly countenance and courageous heart. Thus died Ewen Cameron, the Ranger of the Rio Grande, and long, very long, will the patriotic citizens of his adopted state cherish him in their memories, as one whose bosom was bared to every danger in their defense, and whose life, at last, was sacrificed to the cause of liberty.
Chapter III.
Horse peddling speculation—Santa Fe Expedition—Chills and fever—The call to arms—Jack Hays—The horse Prince—Departure of the Rangers from Bexar—Mexican Robbers—The Sevilla scrape—Colt's revolvers—Deer hunting—Encampment at the Forks—Discovery of the enemy -The Ranger's ruse—The Camanches surprised—Battle of Walter's creek—Sam. Taylor mounded—The stern old warrior.
Returned to Seguin, at the conclusion of my first campaign, the business I adopted for a livelihood, then a common one in that region, was capturing wild horses, and after breaking them to the saddle or harness, disposing of them to the planters. Sometimes I purchased from the Mexicans those which had already been subdued, and collecting a drove, would set out on a sort of horse-peddling speculation. Frequently these excursions extended into Louisiana, where profitable customers were generally to be found among the cotton and sugar growers on the bayous. They usually cost me, when purchased, four or five dollars a head, and were sold for a price ranging from fifteen to thirty, so that with industry and good luck, it was capable of being made a remunerative and, as it was to me, a congenial occupation.
At length, however, the country again rang with a call for volunteers, though previous to this time, I have omitted to relate, the men of the famous Santa Fe Expedition had departed on their disastrous journey. I had arranged with Ben McCullough and others to make one of this party; in fact accompanied it a long distance above Austin, but there becoming prostrated by a violent attack of chills and fever, which rendered a further advance painful to myself and inconvenient to the party, I was induced most reluctantly to turn back. Retracing my steps to Austin, I lingered idly in the neighborhood of the Colorado until health returned, when, responding to the call to arms, I entered on my second campaign as a Texas Ranger, by joining Jack Hays at San Antonio.
There are few readers in this country, I venture to conjecture, whose ears have not become familiar with the name of Jack Hays. It is inseparably connected with the struggle of Texas for independence, and will live in the remembrance of mankind so long as the history of that struggle shall survive. In the imagination of most persons he undoubtedly figures as a rough, bold giant, bewhiskered like a brigand, and wielding the strength of Hercules. On the contrary, at the period of which I write, he was a slim, slight, smooth-faced boy, not over twenty years of age, and looking younger than he was in fact. In his manners he was unassuming in the extreme, a stripling of few words, whose quiet demeanor stretched quite to the verge of modesty. Nevertheless, it was this youngster whom the tall, huge-framed brawny-armed campaigners hailed unanimously as their chief and leader when they had assembled together in their uncouth garb on the grand plaza of Bexar. It was a compliment as well deserved as it was unselfishly bestowed, for young as he was, he had already exhibited abundant evidence that, though a lamb in peace, he was a lion in war; and few, indeed, were the settlers, from the coast to the mountains of the north, or from the Sabine to the Rio Grande, who had not listened in wonder to his daring, and gloried in his exploits.
On a previous page I have given the general appearance of a Ranger, and have now nothing further in particular to add in that regard. Perhaps I should have said that if he was more sensitive in one point than in another, it was in regard to the condition and qualities of his horse. So well was this feeling understood, and the necessity which created it appreciated, that every animal remarkable for its power and speed was secured by the inhabitants, far and wide, for the service of the Rangers. It may, therefore, be supposed that they were well provided for in this respect. The horse I rode was a gallant black, clean-limbed, fleet as the wind, and recognized the name of Prince. He was a native of New York, and had been sent to Galveston when a two-year-old, as a present to Colonel Walton, the mayor of the city. He had more than once almost taken the life of the Colonel’s son, and was of such a savage and vicious temper that he determined to get rid of him. He happened to fall into my possession, and for years we lived together, mutually sharing in numerous adventures, in the hunt and on the trail, in peace and war, the most intimate of companions. In the course of his experience he came to regard a Mexican or Indian with intense hatred, and in the confusion and shock of battle, with his teeth and heels often rendered as effectual service as the armed rider on his back.
