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- Herausgeber: Arcadia Press
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
William Alexander Anderson "Bigfoot" Wallace (April 3, 1817 – January 7, 1899) was a famous Texas Ranger who took part in many of the military conflicts of the Republic of Texas and the United States in the 1840s, including the Mexican–American War.
John Duval, fellow Texas Ranger and Wallace’s best friend, gives a thrilling but factual account of the man’s life in a simple but engaging narrative style, combining action, suspense, and dry Texan humor. Wallace’s hairbreadth escapes and larger-than-life story are the perfect representation of the Old West in all its perils, comedy, and romance.
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John C. Duval
THE ADVENTURES OF
BIG-FOOT WALLACE
THE TEXAS RANGER AND HUNTER
Copyright © John C. Duval
The Adventures of Big-Foot WallaceThe Texas Ranger and Hunter
(1871)
Arcadia Press 2019
www.arcadiapress.eu
Storewww.arcadiaebookstore.eu
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE ADVENTURES OFBIG-FOOT WALLACETHE TEXAS RANGERAND HUNTER
PREFACE
THE writer of this little book is well aware that it will not stand the test of criticism as a literary production. A frontiersman himself, his opportunities for acquiring information, and for supplying the deficiencies of a rather limited education, have of course been “few and far between;” and therefore it cannot be reasonably expected that he could make a book under such circumstances which would not be sadly defective as to style and composition. However, it can justly lay claim to at least one merit, not often found in similar publications — it is not a compilation of imaginary scenes and incidents, concocted in the brain of one who never was beyond the sound of a dinner-bell in his life, but a plain, unvarnished story of the “‘scapes and scrapes” of Big-Foot Wallace, the Texas Ranger and Hunter, written out from notes furnished by himself, and told, as well as my memory serves me, in his own language.
“Big-Foot Wallace” is better known throughout Texas, as an Indian-fighter, hunter, and ranger, than any one, perhaps, now living in the State; which is saying a good deal, when the great number who have acquired more or less notoriety in that way is taken into consideration. Few men now living, I am confident, have witnessed as many stirring incidents, had more “hair-breadth escapes,” or gone through more of the hardships and perils of a border life. He has been a participant in almost every fight, foray, and “scrimmage” with the Mexicans and Indians that has taken place in Texas since he first landed on her shores in 1836.
Pioneers, or frontiersmen, are a class of men peculiar to our country, and seem to have been designed especially to meet the exigencies of the occasion. With their “iron nerves,” great powers of endurance, and indomitable “go-a-headativeness,” they have been essentially useful in clearing the way through the wilderness from such obstacles as would have been perhaps insurmountable to those coming after them. Their mission has been very nearly accomplished. Like the flatboat-men of the Mississippi, who have entirely disappeared as a class since the introduction of steamboats on that river and its tributaries, their numbers are steadily decreasing before the extension of railroads and the area of civilization. Only here and there one is still found in our midst, whom disease, wounds, or old age have rendered incapable of further contests with the Indians and other denizens of the forests and plains, and of enduring the hardships and exposure of a life in the wilderness. As a class, frontiersmen are observant and knowing in all that pertains to their peculiar mode of life, and as deeply versed in all the mysteries of woodcraft as the wily savage himself; but they are guileless and unsuspicious as a child, and whenever they come in conflict with the shrewd, calculating man of business, they are as helpless as a “stranded whale.” For this reason, they seldom accumulate property, and those who follow after them generally reap the reward of all their perils, toils, and hardships
Wallace is no exception to this rule. The best days of his life have been freely given to the service of his country; and now that years have “dimmed the fire of his eye,” and lessened the vigor of his limbs — now that he is no longer able to follow the buffalo to their distant grazing-grounds, he calls upon a generous public to aid him by patronizing his little book.
The Author.
SKETCH OF WALLACE’S LIFE
WILLIAM A. WALLACE was born in Lexington, Rockbridge, County, Virginia, in the year 1816. He went to Texas in 1836, a few months after the battle of San Jacinto, for the purpose, he says of taking pay out of the Mexicans for the murder of his brother and his cousin, Major Wallace, who both fell at “Fannin’s Massacre.” He says he believes accounts with them are now about square.
He landed first at Galveston, which consisted then of six groceries and. an old stranded hulk of a steamboat, used as a hotel, and for a berth in which he paid at the rate of three dollars per day. From Galveston, Wallace went on to La Grange, then a frontier village, where he resided until the spring of 1839, when he moved up to Austin, just before the seat of government was established at that place. He remained at Austin until the spring of 1840, when finding that the country was settling up around, him too fast to suit his notions, he went over to San Antonio, where he resided until he entered the service.
He was at the battle of the Salado, in the fall of 1842, when General Woll came in and captured San Antonio. The fight began about eleven o’clock in the day, and lasted until night. General Woll had fourteen hundred men, and the Texans one hundred and ninety-seven, under Caldwell, (commonly known as “Old Paint.”) Between eighty and one hundred Mexicans were killed, while the Texans lost only one man, (Jett.) Forty men, however, from La Grange, under Captain Dawson, who were endeavoring to form a junction with them, were surrounded and captured by the Mexicans, who massacred them all as soon as they had surrendered their arms.
In the fall of 1842, he volunteered in the “Mier Expedition,” an account of which appears in this volume. After his return from Mexico, he joined Colonel Jack Hays’s Ranging Company, the first ever regularly enlisted in the service of the “old Republic,” and was with it in many of those desperate encounters with the Comanches and other Indians, in which Hays, Walker, McCulloch, and Chevalier gained their reputation as successful Indian-fighters.
When the Mexican war broke out in 1846, Wallace joined Colonel Hays’s regiment of mounted volunteers, and was with it at the storming of Monterey, where he says he took “full toll” out of the Mexicans for killing his brother and cousin at Goliad in 1836.
After the Mexican war ended, he had command of a Ranging Company for some time, and did good service in protecting the frontiers of the State from the incursions of the savages. Subsequently he had charge of the mail from San Antonio to El Paso, and, though often waylaid and attacked by the Indians, he always brought it through in safety.
He is now living upon his little ranch, thirty miles west of San Antonio, where, with true frontier hospitality, he is always ready to welcome the wayfarer to the best he has.
WILLIAM WALLACE
by Dr. F. O. Ticknor
HIS life is past the forties —
His length is six foot two —
And both his feet import he’s
Not a fly to shoe!
They dubbed him Big-Foot Wallace
Down in Mexico,
As Liliput would call his
Brobdignag, you know.
Straight as a rifle-rammer,
And lightly too he stands,
Though weighted with sledge-hammer
In each of his great hands!
Grave as his own gun-barrel,
Yet gracious with the grim,
And when we pick a quarrel
We mustn’t pick at him!
A plant of the “red ripper,”
Whose level eye-light means
A charge of Chili pepper
Ballasted with “Beans.”
A loyal soul! I’ll pound it
As ever ruled the ranch;
And so the Doodles found it,
And also the Comanche!
And so the little Greasers!
They say he used to catch
A score of their Mestizoes
To grease his bullet-patch!
May they be bothered wholly —
In body and in soul!
For the mills are grinding slowly
And Wallace takes the toll.
His features so resemble
His sire’s, a cycle back,
That curs and tyrants tremble
To come upon his track!
Here’s Hope’s un-Butlered chalice;
Here’s loyalty’s last wine!
And here’s — To William Wallace
The Second, by his — “Sign!”
CHAPTER I
Introductory
IN 1867, while temporarily sojourning in the city of San Antonio, I had a severe attack of fever, from the effects of which I recovered but slowly. Thinking that fresh air and exercise would aid me in regaining my health and strength, I mounted my horse one fine morning in the latter part of October, and set out for the “ranch” of my quondam messmate and compadre, “Big-Foot Wallace,” who held an uncertain tenure upon a tract of pasture land, situated on the Chacon, one of the head-waters of the Altascoso. I say, uncertain, for his right to and possession of the same is constantly disputed and ignored by predatory bands of savages, and Mexicans, and horse-thieves of all colors, grades, and nations.
Toward sundown, from the top of a considerable hill, I came in sight of Wallace’s little ranch, snugly ensconced at the bottom of a valley, near the margin of a small lake, and protected from the northern blasts by a beautiful grove of spreading live-oaks. As I rode up I discovered Wallace under one of these trees, engaged in the characteristic occupation of skinning a deer, which was hanging head downward, suspended from one of its lower branches. Wallace did not recognize me at first, for it was many years since we had last met; but, as soon as I made myself known to him, he gave me a cordial shake of the hand, and invited me into his ranch, where, in a short time, he prepared a supper, to which I sat down, “nothing loath,” for my appetite was sharpened by my long day’s ride.
I stayed with Wallace two weeks, or thereabouts, hunting, fishing, and riding around during the day, and entertained each night with “yarns” of his numerous “scapes and scrapes, by flood and field.” Many years previously, when Wallace and I were messmates together, in the first Ranging Company, enlisted in the service of the “Old Republic,” under Colonel Jack Hays, I asked his consent to write out a narrative of his “adventures,” to be published for the benefit of the public generally. But he seemed so much opposed to my doing so, that I did not press the matter upon him. His reasons for refusing to accede to my request were characteristic of the man. “He did not think the public would be interested in the history of one so little known;” and, “even if he had vanity enough to believe otherwise, he had not the least desire to see himself figuring in print.” I determined once more to approach him on the subject, and this time I had better success than formerly, for finally (though evidently with reluctance) he consented that I should publish the following narrative of his adventures in Mexico and on the frontiers of Texas.
“There is,” I said to Wallace, “one difficulty in the way of writing out your ‘adventures,’ which I do not exactly know how to get over; and that is, you do not murder the king’s English with every other word you speak. Now, in all the books I have ever read, in which backwoodsmen or frontiersmen figure, they are always made to talk without the least regard to the rules of grammar.”
“I know,” said Wallace, “that my education is a very limited one, but do give me credit for the little I have. People are not such fools as to think that a man cannot be a good hunter or ranger, merely because he speaks his own language passably well.”
And so, in compliance with Wallace’s request, in the following narrative of his “adventures,” I have ignored the time-honored rule of making him speak in slang and misspelt words, and tell the story “just as it was told to me.”
CHAPTER II
Wallace’s Initiation Into The Mysteries Of Woodcraft
SOON after I came out to Texas, in 1837, said Wallace, being out of employment, and having no inclination to loaf around the “groceries” of a little village, I looked about for something to do; but for several weeks no “opening” presented itself. At length a surveyor, who was preparing for an expedition to locate lands upon the frontier, made me an offer to go with him, which I gladly accepted. At that time, as an Irishman would say, I was “as green as a red blackberry,” and I frankly told the surveyor that I knew nothing about the woods, or how to get along in them. But he said that made no difference, as the rest of the party were all old frontiersmen, and it was well enough to have one “green-horn” along to make sport for the balance.
It was a week or ten days before we were ready to start, and in the mean time I prepared myself for the “expedition” as well as I knew how. I had brought with me from Virginia a good rifle, a pair of Derringer pistols, and a bowie-knife, (that you know was before the days of six-shooters,) so that there was no necessity for my hunting up firearms. I bought a good stout Spanish pony, with saddle, bridle, etc., and laid in an ample supply of ammunition and tobacco; and when the surveying party were ready to start, I joined them “armed and equipped as the law directs.”
Our party consisted of a guard of two men, well armed and mounted, together with the surveyor, two chainmen, a marker, a hunter, and a cook, making in all sixteen men — a sufficient force to travel with safety, at that day, in the most dangerous part of the country. At that time, one American, well armed, was considered a match for eight or ten Indians, with their bows and arrows and miserable guns; but now, thanks to the traders, they are well furnished with good rifles and “six-shooters,” and can hold their own, man for man.
The first day out, we travelled only a few miles, and encamped on a beautiful little clear stream, where I killed my first deer. I thought I had performed a wonderful feat, for I had never killed anything before larger than a squirrel or a ‘possum, and I proudly returned to camp with the deer on my shoulders, trying all the time, though, to look as if the killing of a deer was no unusual thing with me. But the boys suspected me, and when I owned up that it was the first deer I had ever shot, two or three of them seized me, while as many more smeared my face and hands with the blood of the animal — a sort of ceremony, they said, by which I was “initiated” into the brotherhood of “mighty hunters.” I suppose I was “initiated,” as they called it, for I have killed many a hundred deer since that time, to say nothing of buffalo, bear, elk, wolves, panthers, Mexican lions, catamounts, and other “varmints” too numerous to mention.
CHAPTER III
On the Route — The Old Lady and the Truck-patch
THE next day we started just after sunrise, and travelled twenty-five miles over a beautiful rolling country, watered with clear streams, and encamped at night in a pecan grove near a fine spring. Just at dark, a large drove of turkeys flew up into the trees around, and we killed five or six of them, and spitted them before our fires. These, together with a fat doe killed by our hunter on the way, furnished us with an ample supply of provender, while an abundance of fine mesquit grass in the vicinity enabled our horses to fare as sumptuously as ourselves.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, we saddled up and again took the road, or rather our course, for there was no road, and went about twelve miles to a water-hole, where there was good grass, and where we “nooned” for a couple of hours. The country passed over was all high rolling prairie, interspersed with “mots” of elm and hackberry. While all hands were taking a comfortable snooze here, we came near losing our horses. A wolf or some other wild animal gave them a scare, and they “stampeded,” and all broke their halter-ropes, except one, and ran off several miles. One of the men, however, mounted the horse that was left, and, after a chase of several hours, succeeded in bringing them all back. In consequence of the delay caused by this incident, we went only five miles farther this evening, and encamped in the edge of the bottom timber, on a small stream. The country we passed over was of the same character as that we had formerly seen. As soon as we had “staked” out our horses, I rigged up a fishing-line, and in half an hour caught a fine mess of perch, and several “Gaspar Goo,” a fish found, I believe, only in the streams of Texas, somewhat similar to the white perch of the “old States.” Great numbers of turkeys came at dark to roost in the trees in our vicinity, and they were so tame that we had no trouble in killing as many as we wanted.
[Here we quote from Wallace’s journal:]
October 17th. — Made an early start again, and went fifteen miles, when we halted to rest on a little creek, called by the hunters “Burnt Boot.” The country passed over high and rolling, and about “half-and-half” prairie and woodland. Here is the last white settlement, I am told, we shall see for many a long day: A man by the name of Benson lives here, and supports himself and family by hunting and trapping, and cultivating a small patch of land. I went up to his house to see if anything in the way of vegetables could be had. Benson was out hunting, but his wife, a tall, raw-boned, hard-favored woman, as soon as she saw me coming, stepped to the door with a gun in her hand, and told me to “stand” — and I stood! A half-dozen little cotton-headed children, who were playing in the yard, discovered me at this moment, and they “squandered,” and squatted in the bushes like a gang of partridges!
“Who are you?” asked Mrs. Benson, pointing her gun right at me, “and what do you want here?”
“I am from the settlements below, ma’am,” said I, as polite as possible, but keeping a tree between the good lady and myself all the time; for women, you know, are very awkward about handling firearms;” and,” I continued, “I want to buy some vegetables, if you have any to sell.”
“Well,” she answered, “come in. We hain’t no vegetables left now,” she continued, as I walked into the cabin and took a seat on a bench, “except cowcumbers and mushmillions, and, maybe so, a few ‘collards,’ the dratted ‘varmints’ are so uncommon bad on ‘em; but if you want any of them, you can go in the ‘truck-patch,’ and help yourself.”
“You seem,” I ventured to remark, “from the way you handled your gun, to be a little suspicious of strangers in these parts.”
“Yes,” she said, “I am, and good reason to be so, too! Only last Saturday was a week ago, some Tonk Ingens, dressed up like white folks, walked into Squire Henry’s house, not more than two miles from here, and killed and sculped the whole family; but, as luck would have it, there was nobody at home, except the baby and an old nigger woman that nussed it. And which way are you travelling to?” she asked.
I told her we were going up on the head-waters of the Brazos to survey lands.
“Well,” says she, “you’ll be luckier than ‘most everybody else that has gone up there, if you’ll need more than six feet apiece before you get back. If I was your mammy, young man, you shouldn’t go one foot on sich a wild-goose chase,” — and she looked so determined, I do believe, if she had been my mammy, I should never have got nearer than “Burnt Boot” to the head of the Brazos.
After some further questioning on the part of the old lady, she showed me the way into the “truck-patch,” and filled my wallet with “mushmillions” and “cow-cumbers,” for which I thanked her, as she would take no pay, and started back to camp.
“Good-by, young man!” she called after me; “I feel mighty sorry for your poor mammy, for you’ll never see her again.”
“Well,” I answered, “if I don’t, and you do, you must be sure and give her my kindest regards.”
“You oudacious young scamp,” she replied, “put out from here fast. I’ll insure you against everything but hanging, which you are certain to come to.”
The “mushmillions and cowcumbers” were a treat to the boys, as well as the account I gave them of the way in which the old lady had made me dodge behind the tree, when she levelled her gun at me.
After dinner, we mounted our horses again, and leaving the last settlement behind us, we rode on ten miles farther into the “wilderness,” keeping a bright lookout all the time for “Mr. John;” for we were liable to meet up with him, now, at any moment. The country was more broken and rocky than any we had yet seen. We camped at the foot of a high hill near a little spring of cold water. Our hunter killed an antelope to-day, on which we made a hearty supper. The flesh of the antelope is somewhat coarser than that of the deer, but I think sweeter and more juicy. They are much shyer than deer, and it is consequently more difficult to get in gunshot of them. Some of the boys found a “bee-tree” just before dark, which we cut down, and got four or five gallons of honey out of it, and from this time the boys said we shall have no trouble in supplying ourselves with honey, whenever we have time to look for the “trees.” “Bear-meat and honey” is the frontiersman’s choicest dish, and I would dislike to say how much of them I have seen an old ranger “worry down,” after a hard day’s ride, for fear people might think I had no respect for the truth: no one but an old hunter or a starved wolf would credit my story.
There is something singular about the movements of bees. They are never found a great way from the settlements, but usually precede them fifty, sixty, or a hundred miles, so that whenever they make their appearance among the Indians, they know that the white people are coming soon — and yet, they do not remain long in their wild state after the country becomes thickly settled. In many places where “bee-trees” were numerous when I first came to Texas, they are now seldom if ever found.
CHAPTER IV
A Rattlesnake Bite — Singular Spring — Wild Artichokes — Indian Art Gallery — Wallace’s First Bear
OCTOBER 18th. — We were up “by times,” and ready to “roll out” at sunrise. Saw some Indian “signs,” but they were all old, except one camp, which appeared to have been recently occupied. In going through a thick chaparral to-day, my pony was bitten on the leg by a rattlesnake. An old hunter told me to chew up some tobacco, and tie it on the wound, which I did, and, except a slight swelling, no bad results followed from the bite. (I have seen tobacco used frequently since as a remedy for the bite of a rattlesnake; and there is no doubt it is a good one, but not equal to whisky or brandy taken in large quantities.)
Passed over a great deal of broken, rocky country to-day, watered by little streams that were as clear as crystal, and filled with trout, perch, and other kinds of fish. We “nooned” for a couple of hours on one of these streams, in one of the pools of which we all took a refreshing bath.
In the evening, went on perhaps ten miles farther, and pitched camp on one of the head-waters of Cowhouse Creek. The country passed over is very broken and rocky, with occasional cedar-brakes and “mots” of wild cherry and plum trees.
We passed a very remarkable spring to-day. It breaks out at the extreme point of a high tongue of land that runs down into the bend of a large creek. The water boils up out of a basin the size of a hogshead, which, running over, falls in a beautiful cascade into the creek below. It looked more like an artificial fountain than a natural spring. We saw some fresh Indian signs, but no Indians.
Our camp to-night is under a large, projecting rock, and very fortunate for us it was; for a heavy rainstorm came up about 12 o’clock, which would have “ducked” us thoroughly if it had not been for our stone roof. As it was, we slept dry and comfortably, notwithstanding the heavy rain that fell.
October 19th, Sunday. — Every little creek and gully is swimming this morning, and, as it is Sunday, we have concluded to lay over a day and rest ourselves and animals. After breakfast, one of the boys went out exploring, and in an hour or two came back, bringing with him a large quantity of a vegetable which he called the artichoke. We cooked some for dinner, and found them excellent. It is, I believe, a species of bear-grass; at least, it resembles it very much, except that its leaves or spires are notched like a saw. It grows abundantly everywhere in the hilly and rocky country. The root is the part eaten, and is roasted in the ashes like a potato. Since then I have frequently lived solely on them for days at a time, when out on expeditions, and I can recommend them as a wholesome and nutritious vegetable to all “wayworn wanderers of the Western wilds.”
Near our camp there is a perpendicular wall of rock, ten or twelve feet high, with a smooth, even face, on which the Indians have painted, with some sort of red earth, the likenesses of men and animals. Some of the animals are well drawn, particularly a buffalo; others are imaginary beings, unlike anything that was ever seen. One picture represents a fight between the Indians and the whites, and, of course, the Indians are giving the white men a terrible flogging. One white man is represented kneeling down, with his hands lifted up, as if begging for his life, while an Indian warrior stands over him, with tomahawk raised above his head, in the act of dashing out the poor fellow’s brains.
Near this place I picked up some small pieces of quartz rock, with shining particles scattered about through them, which I put in my shot-pouch. I afterward had them examined at San Antonio, and the shining particles were said to be gold.
In the evening we all went out “berrying,” and gathered quantities of haws, red and black, and a sort of berry that I don’t know the name of, which grows upon a little thorny shrub, and is very good to eat, though rather sour.
The weather faired off in the evening, and the night was clear and pleasant. Slept again under our “rock house.”
October 20th. — We took our course again, which was about due north, and, crossing a range of mountains at a place called “Walker’s Pass,” we travelled over a rough, broken country to the South Leon Creek, a distance, I suppose, of fifteen or sixteen miles, where we “nooned.” We saw some fresh buffalo signs on the way, and our old hunters began to whet their bills for fat steaks, marrow-bones, and “humps;” but as yet we have seen none of the animals. We found the grass very fine on the bottoms of this creek, and have concluded to lay over until to-morrow, and give our horses a chance to recruit, as they have had but poor grazing for the last forty-eight hours.
We had been in camp but a little while, when one of the boys found a “bee-tree,” which we cut down, and took from it at least five gallons of honey.
In the evening I went out hunting, but saw no game to shoot at. On my way back to camp, I stopped to rest for a few minutes in a little canyon that lay between two rocky hills, covered with thick chaparral. After a while, my attention was attracted by a noise in the bushes, and, looking around, I saw a large bear coming directly toward me. I sat perfectly still, and he did not notice me, but came slowly along, now and then stopping to turn over a stick or a rock, in search, I suppose, of insects. When within twenty feet of me, I took sight of his fore-shoulder and fired, and he fell dead in his tracks, This was my first bear. He was very fat, and would have weighed, I suppose, three hundred pounds. I went back to camp, which was not more than half a mile off, and, returning with two of the men to assist me, we butchered him, and, packing the meat on a horse, we soon had some of it roasting before our fires. What a feast we had that night on “bear-meat and honey “! If the mess of pottage that Esau sold his birthright for, was as good as bear-meat and honey, and he had a good appetite, I believe the poor fellow was excusable.
In the night we saw a long line of light to the westward of us, and supposed the Indians had fired the prairie. The night was pleasant and warm.
CHAPTER V
Buffalo — Fine Grove of Pecan-Trees — The First Buffalo — Bit by a Rattlesnake — The Tarantula — Travelling under Difficulties — A Free Serenade
OCTOBER 21st. — We left camp after breakfast, taking what was left of our bear-meat along with us, and steered our usual course, due north, and about twelve o’clock we struck the Leon River, opposite the mouth of Armstrong’s Creek. The country passed over to-day was very broken, and but little land on our route is fit for cultivation. We saw a small drove of buffalo, but our hunters did not get a shot at them, and the country where we found them was so broken we could not chase them on horseback. One of our men, who had stopped behind awhile for some purpose, when he came up, reported that he had seen an Indian following on our trail; but he was a “scary” sort of fellow, and we thought his story very doubtful.
We passed a singular chain of high bald hills to-day. Looking at them from a distance, we almost fancied we were approaching a considerable city, so much did they resemble houses, steeples, etc. They were entirely destitute of timber.
The Leon River, where we struck it, is a small, rapid stream, shut in on both sides by high, rocky hills. We crossed over to the northern side, and “nooned” in a grove of pecans. These trees are full of the finest nuts we had ever seen — very large, and their hulls so thin we could easily crack them with our fingers. Before we left, we gathered a wallet-full of them, and strapped it on one of our pack-mules.
