‘War, War on the Range…’ – Texas Range Wars

Home, home on the range,
Where the deer and the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word—

Now hold up there just a cotton-picking minute. What gave anyone that idea? “Discouraging,” my hind leg. Nineteenth-century Lone Star language could get downright inflammatory, especially on the range.

Take these four Texas quarrels, for example.

Texas vigilantes, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated
Newspaper, Nov. 12, 1881

Regulator-Moderator War, 1839-1844
Also called the Shelby County War, the first major battle to pit Texan against Texan erupted in the eastern part of the newly minted republic. The whole thing started with a land dispute between a rancher and the county sheriff. The sheriff called for help from the leader of a lynch-happy anti-rustling vigilante bunch known as the Regulators, and the rancher soon thereafter shook hands with Saint Peter. The Moderators, a group of anti-vigilante vigilantes who called the Regulators terrorists, jumped into the fray, and before anyone knew what was up, a judge, a sheriff, and a senator died, and homes burned in four counties. After a gun battle between 225 Moderators and 62 Regulators near Shelbyville, Sam Houston himself rode in with the militia and suggested both groups shake hands and go on about their business before he lost his temper

Texas cowboys, circa 1880

Hoodoo War, 1874-1876
Also called the Mason County War, this Reconstruction-Era Hill Country dust-up over dead and disappearing cattle pitted Union-supporting German immigrants against born-and-bred, former-Confederate Texans. A lynch mob of forty Germans lit the match when they dragged five Texans accused of cattle rustling from jail and executed three of them before the county sheriff, who had been elected by the Germans, reluctantly put a stop to the proceedings. In a sterling display of what can happen when a Texas Ranger goes bad, a vigilante gang led by a former Ranger embarked upon a series of retaliatory attacks against the German community. At least a dozen men died before still-commissioned Rangers restored order. Johnny Ringo spent two years in jail for his role on the side of the Texans, only to end up on the wrong end of Wyatt Earp’s good nature five years later in Tombstone, Arizona.

“Them Three Mexicans is Eliminated,” Frederic Remington, 1897

El Paso Salt War, 1877
The only time in history Texas Rangers surrendered happened in the tiny town of San Elizario, near El Paso. An increasingly volatile disagreement over rights to mine salt in the Guadalupe Mountains began in the 1860s and finally boiled over in September 1877. A former district attorney, intent on laying claim to the salt flats, rather flagrantly murdered his political rival, who had insisted the flats were public property and the valuable salt could be mined by anyone. The dead man’s supporters, primarily Tejano salt miners, revolted. A group of twenty hastily recruited Ranger stand-ins rushed to the rescue, only to barricade themselves inside the Catholic church in a last-ditch effort to keep the instigator alive long enough to stand trial. Five days later they admitted defeat and surrendered to the mob, who killed the accused murderer, chopped up his body, and threw the pieces down a well. Then the rioters disarmed the Ranger puppies and kicked them out of town.

Fort Bend County Courthouse
where the violence took place, 1889

Jaybird-Woodpecker War, 1888-1889
The last major set-to in Texas took place in Fort Bend County, near Houston. The liberal-Republican Woodpeckers, most of them former slaves, swept the county election in 1884. The conservative-Democrat Jaybirds, primarily white former Confederates, objected to such inconsiderate behavior for racist reasons. After Woodpeckers swept every office again in the 1888 election, retaliatory violence on both sides resulted in the deaths of several people. During the Battle of Richmond—a twenty-minute gunfight inside the county courthouse in August 1889—four men, including the sheriff, were killed. The white Jaybirds won the fracas, and with the assistance of Governor Sul Ross’s declaration of martial law, seized control of county government. Jaybirds forcibly ousted every elected Woodpecker and proceeded to disenfranchise black voters until 1953, when the Supreme Court put a stop to the whites-only voting shenanigans. Intermittent Jaybird-Woodpecker violence lopped over into 1890, when a white Woodpecker tax assessor, accused of murdering a white Jaybird who had been his political opponent, was gunned down in Galveston before he could face a judge.


These kinds of unpleasant situations are what comes of messing with Texas. If Texans can get this peevish with each other, just imagine the can of whoop-a—

Ahem.

Y’all just mind your manners when you visit the Lone Star State and you’ll be fine. Texans can be downright friendly when we’re not fightin’.

Speaking of mannerly... My publisher, Prairie Rose Publications—based in Texas—was feeling downright friendly and plunked my novel Prodigal Gun into the Kindle Unlimited program. Subscribers can read the book at no charge. See how nice Texans can be?



I may as well mention these fine works of western historical romance fiction, too...you know, just in case.


To thank y’all for being so polite and well behaved—and not letting your tempers run away with you as has been known to happen on occasion ’round these parts between the Rio Grande and the Red—I thought I’d give a choice of one e-book from my backlist (which you can find here) to a person who answers this question in the comments: If you could go back in time, which of the range wars above would you put a halt to by slapping somebody upside the head and telling them to get ahold of themselves?

I’ll pick a winner Sunday night.

A Texan to the bone, Kathleen Rice Adams spends her days chasing news stories and her nights and weekends shooting it out with Wild West desperadoes. Leave the upstanding, law-abiding heroes to other folks. In Kathleen’s stories, even the good guys wear black hats.

Her story “The Second-Best Ranger in Texas” won the coveted 2015 Peacemaker Award for Best Western Short Fiction. Her novel Prodigal Gun is the only western historical romance ever to receive a Peacemaker nomination in a book-length category.

Visit Kathleen’s hideout at KathleenRiceAdams.com. You can subscribe to her newsletter here.

Dilue Rose and The Runaway Scrape

by Celia Yeary

GIRL IN SUNBONNET-WINSLOW HOMER-1878

Dilue Rose was only ten years old when she and her family were caught up in the terrible exodus called The Runaway Scrape. They'd moved to Texas only two years before and had barely settled in near Harrisburg when word came that Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna and his Mexican army were gathering on the Rio Grande River. The war between Texas and Mexico had begun.

The residents around San Patricio, Refugio, and San Antonio began to move east in large groups as early as January.

In March, Sam Houston arrived in Gonzales and learned of the fall of the Alamo. He decided on retreat to the Colorado River and ordered all inhabitants to leave everything and accompany him. People from all over Texas began to move toward Louisiana and Galveston Island to escape the Mexican Army. This began the Runaway Scrape on a very large scale.

Like all others, Dilue Rose's parents, Dr. Pleasant Rose and wife Margaret, were ill-prepared for the long trek east. In their state of panic, they left food on the table, a fire in the fireplace, stock to be tended, and chickens left to roam.

No one made proper preparations to survive on the run. They used any means of transportation available, or none at all, meaning many walked, including women and children. Babies and toddlers were carried which made the flight even more difficult.

As a young girl, Dilue followed her family as all other children did in a desperate attempt to get to Louisiana or Galveston Island.

DILUE ROSE HARRIS

As an elderly woman, Dilue used her father's journal along with her childhood memories of the horrors of The Runaway Scrape to write memoirs of those days. Those pages were used to write her story in various publications, including a book titled Texas Tears and Texas Sunshine-Voices of Frontier Women.

Dilue writes:

"We left home at sunset, hauling clothes, bedding, and provisions on the sleigh with one yoke of oxen. Mother and I were walking, she with an infant in her arms, while Father rode their one horse. Brother drove the oxen and my two little sisters rode in the sleigh.

When we got to the San Jacinto River, there were five thousand people waiting for the Lynchburg Ferry. We waited three days before crossing.

Our hardships began there. The river was rising and there were struggles to see who should cross first.

Measles, sore eyes, whooping cough, and every other disease known to man broke out. We got on the ferry first because of my little sick sister. The horror of crossing Trinity was difficult to describe. Once on the ferry, the flood waters broke over the banks above. It took eight men to get us to safety." 

By April 1 the prairie was a scene of chaos and desolation and death.  The spring rains fell in sheets, making every river crossing a terrifying ordeal. Women floundered waist-deep in mud, babies in their arms.  Some families gave up running and simply cowered where they were, in the tall prairie grass and bottomland canebrakes. Many refugees sickened and died along the trail. Children were abandoned. Thieves stole horses, claiming they were for Houston's Texian Army.

After weeks of intolerable conditions, a young man rode toward their camp, shouting, "Turn back! Turn back! Houston's army has whipped the Mexicans, and it's safe now. Go home! Turn back!"

They soon learned that the return trip was just as horrendous as the running away.

 

SANTA ANNA ON LEFT IN RED CAPE. SAM HOUSTON LYING ON GROUND, WOUNDED

Dilue writes:

"We crossed the San Jacinto River and stayed late into the night on the San Jacinto battlefield. A soldier asked my mother to go with him to see Santa Anna as a captive and the Mexican prisoners, but she would not go, saying she was not dressed to go visiting. Instead, I got permission to ride there with him.

Earlier, I had lost my bonnet in the raging river, and Mother made me wear a tablecloth tied over my head.  But I wouldn't wear the tablecloth again since I would be seeing some of the young men.

I was on the battlefield of San Jacinto on April 26, 1836. Two days later I turned eleven years old.

We left the battlefield late in the evening. We had to pass among the dead Mexicans, and once Father had to stop and pull one out of the road so we would not run over the body.

The prairie was very boggy, it was getting dark, and now there were thirty families with us. We were glad to leave the battlefield, for it was a gruesome sight. We camped that night on the prairie, and could hear the wolves howl and bark as they devoured the dead."

The family arrived home after many days of grueling travel. When they arrived, they found the house ransacked, dishes broken, furniture tossed about and broken, the floor torn up, and hogs running around in the house. They had practically nothing, and so the starting over began.

"Father had hidden some of our better things in a big chest so that no one could find them. We had left in our better clothes. Now our better clothing was in that chest, and among them was my old sunbonnet. I was prouder of that sunbonnet than anything, for I was sorely tired of wearing that tablecloth."

--Dilue Rose was born in 1825 in St. Louis, Missouri on April 28.

--After the Texas Revolution, her family moved to the area of Bray's Bayou five miles outside Houston.

--There, Dilue attended school.

--At age 13, she married Ira A. Harris who served with the Texas Rangers.

--They had nine children.

--Ira died in 1869 at age 53.

--Dilue died in 1914 at age 89.

NOTE: One of Dilue's little sisters died during The Runaway Scrape. If you recall reading my post of a couple of months ago titled, "Mary and a Horse Named Tormentor," she also was in the Runaway Scrape with her husband and babies. One of her babies died during the exodus, as well.

Celia Yeary

Romance...and a little bit of Texas

Sources:

The Handbook of Texas On-Line: State Historical Association

Texas Tears and Texas Sunshine: Voices of Frontier Women

Reminiscences of Dilue Rose Harris

Mike Kearby's "Texas"

Wikimedia Commons.

Public Domain Photos

The Runaway Scrape

By Anna Kathryn Lanier

At the beginning of 1836, General Santa Anna and his Mexican troops of 4,000 men and artillery crossed the Rio Grande River. As news of this invasion spread from San Patricio, Refugio and San Antonio, panic also increased and families fled. When the Alamo fell on March 6, 1836, full-fledged terror set in. Sam Houston, commander of the Texas Army, was in Gonzalez at the time. Thirty-two of the town’s men were killed at the Alamo, so everyone was related to or knew of someone who died.  Expecting Santa Anna to continue his march across Texas, Houston ordered the evacuation of and the burning of the Gonzalez to prevent the Mexican army any provisions. Thus began the largest exodus to take place in the United States as thousands of Texans made their way east toward the Louisiana border (and the United States).

People packed and left so fast that it is said one household left a dinner of fried chicken, coffee and a fresh pitcher of milk on the table. Families quickly hauled clothes, bedding, provisions onto sleighs, wagons, handcarts and often, their backs.  Recently widowed women gathered up children and babes in arms and made for safety in America. The travel, however, was anything but swift and sure.

Recent and continuing rains made the wagon trails boggy and muddy.  People slogged along in the sucking muck. Rivers were raging waters that made each crossing a horrifying event.  Horse thieves, claiming to be with Army, would steal the animals. Indian war parties struck families that fled, as well as those who stayed behind, kidnapping women and children.

Conrad Juergans and his very pregnant wife Mary stayed behind, thinking Santa Anna’s army would pass north of them, which they did. Shortly afterward, though, a party of Indian braves attacked the cabin.  Conrad was injured, but managed to escape to the woods.  Mary and her two young sons, however were taken captive and forced to trek toward the Red River valley.  Three months later, Mary appeared at a trading post within Indian Territory. Her family arrived and paid the $300 bounty for her release.  She had given birth to a daughter while in captivity (am not sure if she had her daughter with her or not). The fate of her two sons is unknown.

One excellent source of the Runaway Scrape was documented by Dr. Pleasant W. Rose, who lived with his family near Stafford Point.  In 1900, his daughter, Dilue Rose Harris published an account of the Runaway Scrape in the Quarterly of the Texas State Historical Association. While recalling her own memories as an eleven-year-old at the time of the Scrape, Dilue relied heavily on her father’s journal, which by 1900 had been lost for some time, but that she had read it multiple times before its disappeared.  The events of the Rose family were typical of other fleeing families.

Dilue recalled that the family quickly put belongings into a sleigh and traveled eastward with several other local families. The family’s hardship began at the Trinity River. Though the family made it across the treacherous river, the last trip made by the ferry boat, it swamped badly, leaving them stranded for several hours in the middle of the river. Finally they were rescued, but their river ordeal was only one of many faced by the evacuees.

W.G. Dewees recalled another river crossing. “There were about seventy-five wagons in the company and on arriving at the river we found no way to cross; the river was up to the top of the banks and there was no ferry.” Eventually, two large pine trees were cut down “so their length might be sufficient to reach across the river…that we might place the wagons on them and pull them across…with a rope.”

At Cedar Bayou, Emily Bryan Perry took charge of a situation when the cart of a woman and two small girls became stuck in the middle of the stream, efficiently blocking everyone else’s progress.  Emily handed off her new born baby, climbed down from her wagon and waded out to the woman. She spoke softly but firmly to the woman, encouraging her to try again.  “Up Buck!  Up Ball! Do your duty!” the woman yelled as she cracked the whip over the oxen’s head. The oxen strained hard, and managed to pull the cart free.

Dilue Rose reported seeing “children falling from the wagons which still kept on leaving the children behind, till another wagon came along and picked them up. Mothers in this manner have been separated from their children for days, and some for weeks, as the wagons would often take a different course.” William Fairfax Gary relayed seeing a family that had found a small, unattended infant. The family now had the care of the child, which they and others took turns carrying.

After a very difficult trip in mud and muck, the Roses finally arrived in Liberty. It was there that Dilue’s little sister died. The rigors of the escape proved hard, illnesses ran rampant through the groups heading toward Louisiana, and infants, small children and the elderly were particularly vulnerable. Many families lost a loved one to such diseases as cholera.

The Roses stayed in Liberty for several weeks and one day heard what they thought was distant thunder. Instead, it was the sound of cannon fire.  Sam Houston and his troops had caught up with Santa Anna and his troops. The Battle of San Jacinto could be heard thirty-five miles away. On April 21, 1836, in less than fifteen minutes, Sam Houston overtook the Mexican Army and forced their surrender.  Texas had won the war.

When word of the defeat of Santa Anna’s army reached the evacuees, they made their way back homes.  Some were burned to the ground, others had been ransacked, while others were found to be as they’d been left. The Roses returned home to find the hogs running wild. Her father’s bookcase had been toppled and his medical books and supplies scattered on the ground, the hogs sleeping on them. Emily Perry’s plantation near Peach Point didn’t fare any better. Although the house was not robbed, it was in disarray. “The hens had taken possession of beds, closet, bureaus,” Emily’s cousin wrote.   On the upside, there was an abundant supply of eggs.

In Women and the Texas Revolution, edited by Mary L Scheer, it says “The Runaway Scrape occurred in several stages. It began as an evacuation, starting South of San Antonio in February before it spread eastward to Gonzalez and Victoria early in the following month, culminating in civilian flight from the Colorado and Brazos valleys in mid- to late March.” (pp 159). Thousands, mostly women and children joined the flight away from the Mexican Army. It was an event that would define their life and the memories outlasted most of the hardships.

Works cited:

In Women and the Texas Revolution, edited by Mary L Scheer ISBN 978-57441-469-1

Texas Monthly - http://www.texasmonthly.com/content/texas-primer-runaway-scrape

Anna Kathryn Lanier
Romance Author, A GIFT BEYOND ALL MEASURE

http://aklanier.com/

Never let your memories be greater than your dreams. ~Doug Ivester 

Legacy of An Unforgotten Town

I recently read an article in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram about Handly, a small town founded in 1876 a few miles from Fort Worth. Eventually annexed by its sprawling neighbor, Handley made me think of another town that suffered a similar fate. It was called Birdville.

In 1840, upon the orders of General Sam Houston, Captain Jonathan Bird and twenty Texas Rangers established Bird’s Fort on the north bank of the Trinity River in what is now Tarrant County in north central Texas. At that time the area was still on the Indian frontier. Bird’s assignment was to make it safe for white settlers. A treaty with nine Indian tribes was signed at Bird's Fort on September 29, 1843, shortly after which the fort was abandoned. Settlements grew around a few homesteads, water sources and trading posts.

Camp Worth was established in June 1849 by General Ripley A. Arnold and his troops nine miles west of Birdville. Built on a bluff overlooking the convergence of the West Fork and the Clear Fork of the Trinity, the camp was named after General William J. Worth. The outpost protected small settlements around Birdville and Denton until 1853, when the troops were moved northwest to Fort Belknap.

Birdville had approximately fifty inhabitants in 1849, with farms and ranches scattered around it. Settlements were also springing up around Fort Worth. A group of area residents petitioned the Texas Legislature for a new county and, on December 20, 1849, Tarrant County was created, named in honor of General E. H. Tarrant. An election was held on August 5, 1850, at a polling place in Birdville, to elect county officials and choose a county seat. Birdville won.

The First Tarrant County Courthouse was a wood-frame structure located in what is now Haltom High City, one of the “mid-cities” between Fort Worth and Dallas. An eighty-acre tract was donated by two citizens for county buildings. An 1851 plat of the new town includes 12 planned city blocks and a public square. Bonds valued at $17,000 were issued, bricks were collected and a foundation excavated. A jury list, drawn up at Birdville's temporary courthouse in 1855, showed 280 qualified voters, all male of course.

A permanent courthouse was never built in Birdville. In November, 1856, in a hotly contested special election, Fort Worth won the county seat by a slim margin of between three to thirteen votes (official tally varies). Jubilant Fort Worthians (yes, that’s a real word) took possession of county records, equipment and furniture, placing them in their town’s own temporary courthouse. Sadly, all early Tarrant County records were lost in a courthouse fire on March 29, 1876.

Photo from Birdville Historical Society

The outcome of the 1856 election was contested all the way to the Texas Supreme Court, which allowed the results to stand. A new county election was held in 1860, and Fort Worth won by a large margin.

An article by the Birdville Historical Society states, “Had Birdville retained its seat, chances are good that it would have attracted in the years ahead the population that made Fort Worth. The furor over the election cost several lives and the State of Texas about $30,000.”

Birdville lost population for several decades, but later began to grow. By 1960, its residents numbered 23,000 thanks to growth and annexations. Then, in 1990, Birdville was annexed by Haltom City. However, if you think the town is forgotten, that’s far from true.

       

        Old Birdville School (Birdville Hist. Soc.)                    Birdville High School (Birdville ISD)

The Birdville Independent School District is alive and doing just fine. It encompasses forty square miles, serving the cities of Haltom City, Richland Hills, North Richland Hills, Watauga and Hurst. Not a bad legacy for the little town that gave Fort Worth a good fight for the county seat.

Now here’s an excerpt from Dashing Irish (Texas Devlins, book two)

Fort Worth rose against the warm, crystal-blue morning on a bluff overlooking the Trinity River. Yesterday, Del Crawford had declared they’d lay over here for one day to rest the cattle, and Tye had heard the men talk of little else since. The cow town was “wide open,” so they said.

Just how wide open, he discovered as the herd streamed through town. Traffic moved aside, and outside the weathered buildings, residents welcomed the noisy, dusty parade. Beginning where the trail entered town at the south end, crude signs heralded a bevy of saloons, gaming halls and cathouses. The latter were easy to spot by the bawds who lounged out front. Smiling and waving, they called out boldly.

“Hey, handsome, come and see me later. Ask for Bell,” one honey-blond vixen shouted at Tye over the ruckus of bellowing cattle.

He grinned and waved, knowing he wouldn’t visit her. She was pleasing enough to look at, but she wasn’t tall and slim, with dark eyes that flashed defiantly. She wasn’t Lil.

They drove the herd across the Trinity to the bed ground Choctaw Jack had scouted out for them. Afternoon was well along when the last longhorn clambered up the far bank. By then, Chic Johnson had restocked the chuck wagon at a supply store on the town square and had forded the river. He pitched camp while Neil MacClure made the rounds, announcing which men could go have a good time in town and which were to stay with the herd. The lucky ones whooped with excitement and galloped back toward the river. Tye hoped he’d be among them as the segundo cantered up to him.

“Devlin, you’re ta stay with the herd tonight. Kirby, Dewey and young Jubal will keep ye company. I’ll send relief riders out in the morning and you’ll get your turn at the saloons.”

Tye frowned and shot a searching glance around for Lil. He saw her riding toward town with her father.

“A whiskey would go down good, but ’tisn’t my chief interest.”

The Scotsman chuckled. “Aye, I know where your interest lies.”

“So ye do, and since you’ve done me one favor concerning the matter, I’ll ask for another. Will ye let me go into town tonight?”

Neil shook his head. “Sorry, laddie, but this time I cannae oblige. I’m no the one made the decree.” Turning his horse, he called over his shoulder, “Do your job and dinna worry. The bonny lass will keep ’til tomorrow.”

Will she? Tye wondered. He recalled Lil saying that Frank Howard lived near Fort Worth. Would she see the long-haired blowhard? Images of her and Howard at the November social gnawed at him without let-up, keeping him awake more effectively than Chic’s potent coffee through the long night.

Buy Links:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0069HLDJU (Kindle)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1470004003 (paperback)

http://tinyurl.com/lk8w55d (B&N)