With the return of peace, my thoughts began to revert to old times and old friends from whom I had been so long absent, and who were unaware whether I was dead or living. Accordingly, I resolved to leave Texas for a season, in order to gratify a desire of seeing them once more. Taking passage at New Orleans, I ascended the Mississippi to St. Louis, crossed from thence to Chicago, and eventually arrived in my native county of Jefferson, on the shore of Lake Ontario.
I pass over in silence the greetings and congratulations that awaited me on meeting the surviving members of my family, who had supposed for years that I was dead. I presented myself before them as one risen from the grave. They listened with inquisitive and untiring curiosity to the long story of my adventures, while I, in turn, made inquiries concerning the friends and playmates of my youth, some of whom had grown to manhood and still lingered on their native soil, while others had been gathered to their fathers and slept beneath it.
Here I remained a year, but the coldness of the climate, during the winter months, affected me injuriously, rendering it necessary, for the preservation of health, to terminate my visit. I returned to Texas, by the same route previously traveled, stopping at Galveston, San Antonio, Seguin, and finally halting at Corpus Christi. I was now engaged for several years in my former business of trading in horses and cattle, during which period nothing of peculiar interest occurred.
While following this pursuit, in the year 1855, I became acquainted with a man named William Aikens, an energetic, intelligent, enterprising person, who had been a resident of Bastrop on the Colorado, but had lately arrived from California through the Indian country. He had conceived the project of purchasing a drove of mules and horses for the California market, representing they could be driven through in safety and confident it would prove a profitable speculation. Not having sufficient means of his own, he proposed the formation of a joint company, and inasmuch as I had much experience in stock buying, he earnestly solicited me to unite with him and others in the undertaking. The company was accordingly formed with a capital of seven thousand dollars. The following were the proprietors: William Aikens; Thomas Martin, of San Patricio, formerly of Philadelphia; John Stewart, a Scotchman of San Antonio; John Smith, of Seguin, a native of Ohio; William Smith, of Gonzales; Henry Jones, of Huntsville; Robert Hall, of Crockett; and myself. Aikens was acknowledged as leader or captain, and, together with myself, undertook the general superintendence and direction of the enterprise.
We made our headquarters at first at San Patricio, on the Nueces, thirty miles above Corpus Christi. Before commencing operations, Aikens and myself visited New Orleans, where we purchased arms, ammunition, blankets, saddles, tents—in fine, an outfit sufficient to furnish twenty-seven men, the number of which our company, proprietors, and subordinates, consisted. While picking up these supplies, I discovered accidentally one day, a large silver watch, of such unusual and extraordinary dimensions as to attract attention. My curiosity being excited, I requested of the shopkeeper the privilege of examining it, and found it to be an alarm watch, one, likewise, that would make a far louder and longer racket than any I had ever before seen. It could be regulated so as to “go off” at any required moment, and so powerful was its internal machinery, it would move across a common table whilst ringing the alarm. It occurred to me that such an article would be of signal service on our proposed trip, and I, fortunately, purchased it at an expense of forty-five dollars. I am thus particular, for the reason, as the reader will hereafter see, that this watch has been closely connected with my destiny, and to it I am indebted for life and liberty this day.
Returned to San Patricio, we hired nineteen assistants. The agreement we entered into with each of them was that he should accompany us on the trip to California, rendering such services as circumstances reasonably required, and remaining with us until the drove was sold, in consideration of which he was to receive his horse and equipage and fifty dollars in money. In order that their unhappy fate may be known, should this volume fall into the hands of any of their surviving friends or relatives, I here insert their names, with such limited information relative to their antecedents as I possess: They were Henry Hall, brother of Robert, one of the company, a lad about seventeen years of age; Andrew Jones, from Mississippi; Benjamin Howard, formerly of Mobile; William and John Haynes, brothers; Peter Shaw, of New Braunfels; William Hand, of Corpus Christi; Barney Campbell and Peter Hickey, both Irishmen from New Orleans; Augustus and Adolphus Voss, cousins, from Victoria; Walter Scott, from some town on the Trinity River; Andrew Hempstead, a French Canadian; John Adams, from Philadelphia; Amos Sand, an eccentric Yankee, hailing from New England; and Amos Jordan, an Englishman. Besides these sixteen, we had engaged three Mexicans to act in the capacity of horsebreakers. They were Juan Gazzier, of Corpus Christi, Antonio de Silva, of Saltillo, and Martinez Ferrarez of Matamoros.
With this company, well mounted, and fourteen pack mules, we left San Patricio and set out directly for the city of Matamoros. Our plan of operations was to start northward from this point, collecting our drove as we advanced. This was in March, a month in which vegetation is rank near the mouth of the Rio Grande, and it was further our intention to proceed leisurely, keeping within the latitude of its healthy growth; in other words, to use a familiar expression in that quarter, especially among those engaged in similar enterprises, “to follow the grass.” From the adjacent ranches, as we moved along, passing to the left of the river towns, we collected such animals as we deemed advisable to purchase, so that on our arrival at San Fernando, a frontier town some forty miles westward of Fort Duncan, our means were exhausted, and our drove had increased to the number of 395. From San Fernando we moved forward, leaving civilization behind us at the little settlement of San Augusta, and pushed on diligently in the direction of Paso del Norte, aiming to penetrate the gorges of the mountains, until we should strike the California trail. We traveled slowly, at the average rate of fifteen miles a day, it depending entirely upon the distance between watering and feeding places. At none other did we encamp.
After leaving the settlements, it was our established custom to sound the bugle at half-past three o’clock in the morning. All hands then aroused, some going out to “round in” the drove—some packing the mules, others busied in preparing breakfast, consisting of the broiled flesh of deer, bear, or buffalo, with coffee and hard biscuit, but always without any kind of vegetables whatever. These repasts were prepared in rude camp kettles, our plate being simply tin cups and bowie knives; nevertheless, gathered around the fire on prairie grass, we satisfied the cravings of appetite with a zest unknown to dyspeptic people. Usually we “dined,” &c., in the open air, but in seasons of very rainy weather, we ate and slept under a tent, much, however, to the disgust of the mule drivers who had charge of them, and who regarded such luxuries as superfluous and absurd.
Breakfast over, we moved forward briskly, at the word of command, a squad of five or six invariably moving a considerable distance in advance, in order to look out for Indians and prevent a stampede. An occurrence of the latter character was especially dreaded, and provisions were made accordingly to prevent it. Very many, undoubtedly, will not comprehend precisely the meaning of this term. Over the prairies of the Southwest, thousands of mustangs, or wild horses, are roaming constantly. If, in their course, they happen to come upon, and mingle with, a drove of their own kind, the latter, however gentle, seem instantly to change their nature from a domestic to an untamed state, and flying with their wild companions, are rarely seen or heard of more. Such, in the language of the prairie, is a stampede.
Behind the advance party some half a dozen mares were led, having bells, usually the common cowbell, suspended from their necks, and on each side of the drove rode horsemen in single file, the remainder of the party with the pack mules bringing up the rear. We generally halted about noon, resting until the next morning at half-past three. While resting, especially during the night, the men acted alternately as sentinels whose duty was to ride constantly round the camp. In this manner, day after day, we moved on, crossing wide valleys and winding through ravines and mountain passes, sometimes following the course of streams, at others toiling directly over precipitous heights, burying ourselves at last far within the depths of that wild and mountainous district, situated, as near as we could determine, 350 miles northwest of Eagle Pass. In our progress, when we came to a river it was necessary to cross, our manner of proceeding was as follows: The animals carrying the bells were taken over, when their leaders would commence shaking the latter violently. The drove grazing on the other shore would immediately erect their ears, look intently a while in the direction from whence the sound proceeded, move to the water’s edge, and if the bank was high, run up and down the stream in an agitated mood, finally plunging in, however deep or rapid, and swimming to the other side. “Bell mares,” as they are styled, are indispensable, therefore, on occasions of this kind. On the march, I witnessed many demonstrations of the fact that there is a charm the most obstinate mule is unable to resist in “the tintinnabulation of the bells.”
On the last day of March we entered an enchanting valley, five miles wide, perhaps, and twenty long. It was surrounded on all sides by high mountains, covered with cedar. Here and there were little groves of musquete and oak, nearly through the center flowed the clear and crystal waters of a narrow stream, alive with innumerable speckled trout. Scattered in various directions over the luxuriant surface of the valley were antelopes, deer, buffalo, and wild horses, some grazing, others standing lazily in the shadow of the oaks. In this spot, so pleasing and attractive to the eye, affording such an abundance of grass, and such conveniences of wood and water, we determined to remain six weeks, or rather until the foaling season was passed. The weather was bright and pleasant through the day, the nights cool and foggy. Having resolved to remain here so long, our tents were erected with more care than when making a temporary halt.
We gathered wood, prepared a fireplace, and made every arrangement for comfort that circumstances would allow. With little to do save preventing the drove from straying, we anticipated that, with fishing and hunting, the time would pass agreeably away.
The second of April was remarkably fine—the air was balmy and delicious—the sun shone gloriously. From early in the morning I had been in the saddle, riding up and down the valley, sometimes distant ten miles from the camp, ascertaining its capabilities of furnishing forage, and whether there were wild horses in the neighborhood. In the evening we gathered around the camp fire, each broiling his buffalo steak, which the skill of Antonio de Silva, the horse breaker, had furnished, or frying brook trout taken from the adjacent stream, while the boys amused each other with narrations of many a frolicsome adventure. The whole party was in excellent spirits, lying down to rest on their buffalo skins, when the meal was over, laughing and joking, and singing snatches of familiar songs.
It was my watch that night until twelve o’clock. Going out I rode about the camp, chatting with the other sentinels, and at midnight came in with them. John Haynes and his brother William, Barney Campbell and Augustus Voss taking our places. At this time everything seemed to be in proper order; there were no indications of danger or disturbance from any quarter, though it had grown quite chilly and an intense fog was gathering. Taking off my coat and folding it, I laid it down on the buffalo robe to serve as a pillow—set my watch so that the alarm would strike at precisely half-past three, the usual hour of rising, and placed it under the coat, and then lay down, outside the tent, under the branches of a low musquete tree, near the fire, drawing a heavy Mexican blanket over me. I did not fall asleep immediately, pondering in my mind whether the grass would be good upon the mountains by the time we should be ready to proceed. All my companions, however, had sunk into profound slumber. Not the lightest sound disturbed the deep silence that prevailed, except the distant tinkling of the horse’s bells, which occasionally came faintly to my ear. At last, about one o’clock, perhaps, I dropped asleep.
Was it a dream? Was it a real shriek that rang out upon the air? The first moment of awakened consciousness was sufficient to assure me that it was indeed reality. Springing to my feet, I discovered at once that the camp was full of painted and yelling savages. Seizing the rifle which always lay on the buffalo robe by my side, I drew it to my shoulder, knowing well there was no chance or hope of safety, but in desperate resistance, at any and whatever odds. Before I could collect my thoughts, however, at almost the instant I arose, a lasso, that is a rope with a noose on one end, was thrown over my head, jerking me violently to the ground. Half a dozen Indians sprung upon me, some holding down my arms, others my legs, another astride my body with his hand upon my throat. When I had been thus overcome, they tied my feet together, and bound my hands behind my back with stout thongs of buffalo hide, using far more force in the operation than necessity required, and drawing them so close as to cause me severest pain. All this occurred, probably, within the space of five minutes. Of course, I was greatly confused, not so much, however, as to be unable to comprehend the dreadful situation I was in. My knowledge of Indian character and customs, gathered from the lips of an old frontiersman in Texas, taught me that perhaps three or four of us might be spared to figure in the accursed rites of their triumphant war dance, but whether I was to be reserved for such a purpose, or destined to be slaughtered on the spot, was a matter of terrible conjecture. With as much composure as was possible, in such trying circumstances, I awaited anxiously the issue.
Turning about, I retraced the path we had followed, some two miles, remembering to have seen a narrow defile stretching to the west as we passed along. Plunging into this, I spurred on at a breakneck pace, over piles of broken stones that had rolled down from the declivities, penetrated barricades of tangled thorns and brushwood, the mule all the while following closely at the horse’s heels, and at the end of six miles, encountered a bold bluff extending entirely across the western termination of the ravine, abruptly arresting any further progress in that direction.
This bluff was the eastern side of a high, bleak, rocky spur, which shot out from a still more elevated range, right athwart the path I was pursuing. Wheeling northward and moving along its base, I reached, at length, a contracted crevice, half-filled with broken, sharp-angled fragments of rock, up which, with great difficulty, myself, horse, and mule managed to clamber, until we gained a comparatively level spot, a kind of terrace, some twenty feet wide, about halfway to the summit. Further ascent was impossible, and no other recourse was left but to follow the terrace whithersoever it led. Its surface presented, as an Indian would term it, a clear trail, and was undoubtedly one of the paths traversed by deer and other animals while migrating from one feeding ground to another. We followed it as it wound around the southern declivity of the precipice, becoming more and more narrow as we advanced, until, to my unutterable horror, it had contracted to a width less than two feet. A sharp point round which it circled just in front of me hid the view beyond, but all appearances indicated it terminated there. On one side were great, loose overhanging rocks impossible to ascend and threatening to fall, on the other, an almost perpendicular descent of at least a hundred feet. The horse hesitated to proceed, as if conscious of the danger to which he was exposed. Between the wall of adamant on the right and the precipice on the left, there was not sufficient room to enable either horse or mule to turn around, and so entirely did their bodies fill up the path it was impracticable for me to turn back, had it become necessary so to do, without pushing the poor brutes down the fearful steep.
With eyes turned away from the dizzy depth below, down which, in my despair, a strange impulse urged me to plunge and end a miserable life at once, I crawled carefully to the sharp point before me, closely hugging the upper side, and peering round it, beheld with ineffable satisfaction that it expanded into a broad, smooth road. Much urging and coaxing, finally succeeded in inducing the horse to pass the point of danger. My sense of relief, when we had reached a place of safety, was like that of the awakened sleeper when he thanks God the awful chasm over which he has been hanging by a slender twig is but the vagary of a dream.
From the spot now gained, I gazed abroad upon the surrounding scene, and a wilder or more dreary one never broke upon my vision. On all sides around and above, were piled mountain upon mountain as far as the eye could reach. Here and there, among the defiles, could be discovered strips of timber, but the summits, as they appeared in the distance, were bare and rocky, their bald peaks stretching to the clouds.
After some examination, for I was in too great haste to linger, a narrow opening in a southwest direction attracted my attention, and towards it I turned my steps. The descent, though not entirely impracticable, was tedious in the extreme. The ledges were numerous and abrupt, and difficult to pass, often drawing me far out of a straight course. Finally, however, the opening was reached, proving to be another ravine averaging two hundred yards in width, over which were scattered cedar trees and clusters of thick bushes. By the time I had reached the southwestern termination of this little solitary valley, the sun had set, and darkness was fast spreading over the earth. Pushing into the center of a dense thicket, covering perhaps two or three acres, the loneliest spot that presented itself, I halted for the night.
Securing the horse to a limb by the bridle, and removing the buffalo-skin saddle, I sat down upon it and consulted with myself as to what it was best to do. My safety depended much upon circumstances. If the body of the chief should happen to be discovered immediately, my escape was doubtful. The moment it was found, my knowledge of savage life taught me, a party would instantly and eagerly start upon my trail, and at the same time messengers be sent to all the tribes far and near, calling on them to keep a sharp lookout for my approach, so that I had as much to apprehend in front as in the rear.
I was provided with the dead chief’s rifle and ammunition, and consequently had the means of kindling a fire, but making the one or discharging the other, at least for some days, would be a dangerous experiment, inasmuch as the noise of the rifle or the light of the fire might expose me. The demands of appetite, however, would render it necessary to risk both, and, in fact, already were they becoming clamorous, having fasted since our early departure in the morning from the camp of the Wild Horse. Being impossible at that hour to capture game, my thoughts turned upon the mule. She had followed me unexpectedly and could be of no possible use; on the contrary, in all probability, would prove an annoyance. Necessity, which is, indeed, the mother of invention, suggested how I could turn her to account, and the suggestion was adopted. Walking up to the tired and patient beast, as unsuspicious of harm as was her now stark owner when he bent down to drink, I grasped the long knife that was wont to grace his girdle, and drew it across her throat.
When life was extinct, I cut from her hams long thin slips of flesh to the measure of some ten pounds, and having done so, resolved to run the venture of kindling a fire, trusting that the Rolling Thunder was still reposing undiscovered and undisturbed where I had left him. Accordingly, I gathered a pile of sticks, and withdrawing the charge from the rifle, ignited a priming of powder which presently resulted in a ruddy, and under other circumstances, a cheerful blaze. The mule meat was then broiled, and satisfying present appetite upon a portion, the remainder was carefully laid aside for future necessity. Thus provided with provisions for several days to come, it occurred to me that I might suffer for the lack of water on those thirsty mountains. The buffalo horn, though convenient at a stream or spring, could not be used in carrying away their contents. Some kind of vessel was indispensable, and in order to be furnished with such an article, I cut the bladder from the mule, blew it up, dried it by the fire, filled it from a sluggish pool at hand, tying the mouth with a strong buffalo string.
These labors performed, with the reloaded rifle in my hands, I sat down on the buffalo skin at the foot of a cedar tree and leaned against its trunk. Here, a new terror awaited me I had not anticipated. The mule’s blood had been scented by wild beasts, wolves and panthers, which began to scream. Nearer and nearer they approached until the horse snuffed and snorted, and I could hear their teeth snap, and the dry sticks crackle beneath their feet. A dozen times I was on the point of ascending the tree, momentarily expecting to be attacked. With such a crash would they break through the thicket that many times I bounded to my feet, thinking the Indians were upon me. It was a fearful night, and the most fearful sound that has ever fallen on my ears is the scream of the panther, so like is it to the plaintive, agonizing shriek of a human being. The fortunate resolution I had taken to build a fire undoubtedly kept them off, and the absence of Indians beyond the sound of their unearthly confusion was the sole cause of my hiding place not being disclosed. It taught me, however, a lesson not thenceforward to be forgotten, that is to say, never to encamp where I had killed my game.
In the morning, very early, I proceeded on the journey, and in the course of half an hour was again intercepted by another mountain. It was high noon, when I reached the summit, so rough and difficult was the ascent. Often, having entered a gully whose entrance allured me with the promise of a favorable path, I would break through dense thickets of prickly pear, the thorns piercing and tearing my flesh, until thinking I was about to emerge upon the plateau above, a wall of fallen stone, or the trunk of a prostrate tree, would suddenly present an invincible barrier, compelling me to return down the same painful path and seek, in another place, some more feasible passage.
During the afternoon, I kept my course, as near as possible, along the ridge of the highlands, but notwithstanding I improved every moment of the time, so rugged was the route it is probable I had not passed ten miles in a direct line from the place of departure in the morning when night again overtook me. This was passed under a ledge, in a little nook where a portion of the rock, in the form of a wedge, had fallen out. On such an eminence as this it would have been madness to light a fire—nothing less than a signal to any in pursuit to come up and take me—nevertheless, the tough mule meat, and the yet unemptied bladder, furnished me with a thankful repast. My poor horse, however, was not so well supplied, there being neither water or grass here, and but few bushes on which to browse. Wrapping the buffalo skin around me, I endeavored to sleep, realizing the invigoration it would bring was necessary to sustain the fatigue and hardship before me; but my slumbers were broken and troubled, full of fearful dreams, in which I was clamboring over rocks or pursued by Indians, yelling close on my trail, and yet, unable to fly, having lost the power to move, so that I arose with the first faint glimpse of the rising sun, sore and unrefreshed.
I continued along the height a portion of this day, and would have pursued it further, deeming it safer than a less elevated path, had it not become absolutely necessary to find water for my horse. This necessity induced me to make my way down the mountain side, a labor I succeeded in achieving towards the close of the day, when I struck a green, delicious valley, a mile wide in some parts, on which wild horses, a few buffalo, deer, and antelope were grazing, and which apparently stretched a long distance to the south. Fearing to adventure upon it in daylight, I hid in a cedar copse until dark, when, allowing the horse to slake his thirst at a rivulet, and feed an hour on the rank grass, I mounted and rode as fast as I could urge him until long after midnight, keeping in the shadows of the mountains. I had ridden in this manner at least thirty miles, congratulating myself on the rapid progress I was making, when the little valley came to a point, shut in by impassable precipices.
The opening day disclosed that I had been completely entrapped. The valley was surrounded on all sides by precipitous rocks, up which, in some places, I might possibly have made my way alone, but which it was beyond the power of the horse to ascend. My situation now became unpleasant, it being probable that a luxuriant valley like this, abounding in game and so rarely to be found amidst these sterile regions, must be frequented by Indians.
No alternative presented itself, but to turn back, retrace, cautiously, the course over which I had galloped with so much satisfaction the previous night. The whole of this day was occupied in traveling about fifteen miles. Along the south side of the valley which I was now coursing, at the average distance from each other of three-fourths of a mile perhaps, narrow points or promontories shot out from the side of the mountains, the space of prairie land lying between them resembling a half-moon or segment of a circle. From the extremity of one of these headlands I would reconnoiter, until satisfied the “coast was clear,” then dash across to the next as fast as the horse could run. In this manner, as before stated, some fifteen miles were accomplished which brought me to the close of the day, and also to a path that opened a comparatively easy passage up the steep.
For two days I wandered over these mountains, rising constantly from ridge to ridge until the summit was attained and passed, and at evening of the sixth day of the flight descended into a dark, cavernous defile, where I found a spring of water and many deer browsing around it. The mule meat, besides being so tough as to demand the exercise of my utmost powers of mastication, was now nearly gone. Here, for the first time, I discharged the rifle, bringing down a plump doe, whose skin and hindquarters I carried forward four or five miles and halted for the night, leaving the remainder as an entertainment for the wolves.
Selecting a secluded spot under an overhanging cliff, and approached through a thick growth of brushwood, I kindled, for the second time, a fire, and prepared a meal of venison. Though unsalted and unpeppered, and without the concomitants of currant jelly or other desert, after the hard fare upon which I had so long existed, no epicure ever enjoyed with a keener relish the daintiest dish that I did, slice after slice, of the juicy and tender steaks. Venison will remain in a state of preservation longer than the flesh of any animal with which I am acquainted. Notwithstanding the weather was warm, I was not obliged after this to shoot a deer oftener than once in three days.