Charles A. Siringo

by Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony A Texas Cowboy or

  Shortly after landing in Indianola I got two passengers, one of them a pretty young lady, Miss Ruthie Ward, to take to Sand Point in Lavaca county, just across the Bay from Indianola.

  I remained in Indianola two days “bucking” monte. I left there broke after paying for a load of melons.

  CHAPTER XII.

  Back to my favorite occupation, that of a wild and woolly Cow Boy.

  WHEN THE OYSTER SEASON BEGAN, I abandoned the melon trade in favor of the former.

  I would load up at one of the many oyster reefs in the Bay and take them either to the factory or Indianola where they sold for one dollar a barrel, in the shell.

  Along in October sometime, I worked up a scheme by which I thought I could make a stake. My scheme was to get into the Colorado river where there were no boats and speculate among the africans that lined the river banks on both sides just as far up as it was navigable, which was fifty miles or more.

  The worst job was to get the boat into the river, the mouth of it being stopped up with a raft, or “drift” about eighteen miles long.

  My only show was to snake her across the prairie from the head of Willson’s creek, a distance of five miles—and that I concluded to do if it took all the oxen in Matagorda county.

  As I needed a partner in my new enterprise, I managed to find one in the person of an old irishman by the name of “Big Jack.” He only had a capital of eighteen dollars but I agreed to give him half of the profits—which I figured on being very large. You see my intentions were to swap for hides, pecans, etc., which I would have hauled overland to Willson’s creek and from there to Indianola by sail boat.

  Our plans being laid we struck out for Indianola to buy our goods—all kinds of articles that we thought would catch the negro’s eye, including a good supply of tanglefoot—which I am sorry to say cost me dear, besides being the cause of smashing my little scheme into a thousand fragments.

  We finally started back from Indianola with our load of goods; and Jack being an irishman, couldn’t resist the temptation of taking a “wee drop of the critter” every fifteen or twenty minutes. The consequences were everything but edifying.

  I hired Anthony Moore, a gentleman of color to haul the Blood Hound and all of our traps to the river.

  We fixed rollers under the boat and after getting her out high and dry on the ball prairie, found that we didn’t have oxen enough to carry out the job.

  While Anthony Moore was off rustling for a couple more yoke of cattle, I hired a horse to ride up to the Post Office after my mail, but before starting I gave Jack a raking over for remaining drunk so long. He hadn’t drawn a sober breath since leaving town.

  When I returned next evening Jack was gone—no one there but my faithful dog, Ranger.

  I found Jack had taken a negro’s skiff and pulled down Willson’s creek, taking all of my snide jewelry, tobacco, etc. along. I traced him up to where he had sold a lot of the stuff. He sold an old englishman a lot of tobacco for seven dollars that didn’t cost less than twenty. Being discouraged I sold the Blood Hound to Anthony Moore for twenty-five dollars, right where she lay, on the open prairie.

  I then hired to Wiley Kuykendall, who was buying and shipping beeves at Houston, at twenty-five dollars per month. I left my companion, Ranger, with Anthony, paying him two dollars and a half a month for his board. But poor dog he met a sad fate the next winter during one of my rash moments.

  I was out after a wild bunch of horses one day and while trying to slip up on them unobserved Ranger and three others belonging to a neighbor made a break after a little calf that jumped up out of the tall grass, which of course scared the horses. I wanted to run after them as that was my best and only chance, but I hated to go off and let the dogs kill the poor little calf which they all four had hold of by that time.

  I finally galloped back and yelled myself hoarse trying to get them off; but no use, so drawing my pistol I began firing right and left.

  When the smoke cleared away I discovered two of the dogs lifeless and poor Ranger crawling up towards me howling with pain. He was shot through both shoulders. No, no! I didn’t feel bad; it was some other youngster about my size. I dismounted and caressed the poor dumb brute, with tears in my eyes. It was ten miles to camp or the nearest ranch, therefore I had no alternative but to kill him—or leave him there to suffer and finally die. I had tried to lift him on my horse so as to take him to camp and try and doctor him up, but he was too heavy—being a large, powerful brute.

  I made several attempts to kill him, but every time I would raise the pistol to shoot he would look up into my eyes so pitifully as much as to say please don’t kill me. I at last mounted my horse and after starting off wheeled around in my saddle and put a bullet between his eyes. Thus ended the life of as faithful a dog as ever lived.

  After New Year’s I quit Mr. Wiley and went to work again on my own hook, skinning cattle and branding Mavricks. I had bought me a twenty-five dollar horse for the occasion.

  I established my camp at the head of Cashe’s creek, three miles above Mr. Yeamans.’ The only company I had was Ranger and I didn’t have him but a short while, as you already know.

  Cattle died pretty badly that winter and therefore I made quite a pile of money, besides branding a great many Mavricks.

  About the middle of April I met with a painful and almost fatal accident—got shot through the knee1 with one of those old time dragoon pistols, which carry a very large ball.

  The bullet entered the top of my knee and came out—or at least was cut out—on the opposite side; went right through the knee-cap. The doctor who waited on me said I would be a cripple for life, but he missed his guess, although I have received another bullet hole through the same knee since then.

  After getting wounded I remained at Mr. Yeamans’ awhile and then went down to Mr. Morris’ on Tresspalacious Bay to board.

  When I got so that I could move around on crutches I went up to Mr. John Pierce’s ranch to live. Mr. Pierce had persuaded me to put in my time going to school while unable to work. He gave me my board and washing free and all I had to do was to take care of the “children,” little Johnny Pierce, eight years old, Mamie Pierce, “Shang’s” only child, twelve years old and a Miss Fannie Elliott, sweet sixteen. The school house being two miles off, we had to ride on horseback.

  I would have had a soft time of it all summer, but before two weeks rolled around I had a fuss with the red complexioned school master. I then mounted “Boney-part” and struck out for Houston, ninety miles east.

  I arrived in Houston during the State Fair. Everything was lively there—in fact too lively for me. The first thing I did was to strike a monte game and the second thing was lose nearly all the money I had.

  After quitting the monte game I struck out to hunt aunt “Mary” whom I heard had moved to Houston from Galveston. I had never seen her that I remembered of, but held her in high esteem for her kindness in sending me the white canvas breeches during the war.

  I found her after hunting all day; she kept a private boarding house close to the Union depot. She appeared to be glad to see me.

  The next day aunt Mary’s husband, Mr. James McClain, took me out to the Fair ground to see the sights. The biggest sight to me was Jeff. Davis, although I was deceived as to his makeup; I expected to see a portly looking man on a gray horse.

  May-be the following song that I used to sing during the war had something to do with that, for it ran thus:

  Jeff Davis is our President,

  And Lincoln is a fool,

  Jeff Davis rides a big gray horse

  While Lincoln rides a mule.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  Mother and I meet at last.

  AFTER SPENDING A WEEK with aunt Mary, I grew restless and pulled for Galveston to visit my uncle “Nick.” I went by way of steamboat down Buffalo bayou, leaving my horse and saddle in Houston.

  I landed in the “Island City” one evening about dark. The first man I met, I inquired of him, if h
e knew where Mr. Nicholas White lived? “Why of course,” was his quick answer, “I have known him for seventeen years.” He then gave me the directions how to find him.

  His wife, whom he had just married a short while before, she being his second wife, met me at the door and escorted me to the bed room where I found the old fellow three sheets in the wind. He soon braced up though and tendered me a hearty welcome.

  The next day he spent in showing me around the city and introducing me to his friends as his little nephew who had to “skip” from western Texas for stealing cattle. I remember there were several high toned officials among the ones he introduced me to; one of them I think was Tom Ochiltree1—a red-headed Congressman or Senator, I forget which.

  The old gentleman had a horse and buggy, consequently I had a regular picnic, during my stay, driving up and down the beach watching the pretty girls go in bathing.

  I remained there two weeks and on taking my departure uncle “Nick” presented me with a Spencer Carbine—one he had captured from a yankee while out scouting during the war. I was very proud of the gift for I had never owned a repeating rifle before.

  I landed in Houston flat broke, but wasn’t long in making a raise of ten dollars from aunt Mary. Boney-part had been taken good care of during my absence, which made him feel too rollicky-he tried to pitch me off when I got on him.

  After bidding aunt Mary and uncle “Jim” good-bye I struck out for Allen, Pool & Co.’s ranch on Simms’ bayou. There I hired to a Mr. Joe Davis of Clear creek, who had the contract furnishing beef to the Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe R. R. which was just building out from Galveston.

  About the first of September I mounted Ranger, a pony I swapped Boney-part for and lit out for Tresspalacious. My wound by that time was about well.

  On arriving at Mr. “Tom” Kuykendall’s at the head of Tresspalacious river, I learned that mother was at Mr. Morris’, at the mouth of Cashe’s creek, waiting for me. She had arrived there just a few days after my departure—for parts unknown, as no one knew where I was going.

  You see after getting shot I wrote to mother telling her of the accident and also sending her some money, as I was in the habit of doing when flush. Hence, like a kind mother, she came out to be of service to me, but arrived too late.

  It is needless to say we were glad to meet, for the first time in several long years.

  I went right to work trying to rig up a home for her. She had brought some money with her and I sold a lot of Mavricks—some of those I branded the winter previous—for two dollars a head, therefore we both together had money enough to build and furnish a shanty.

  As Mr. Morris was just going to Indianola in his schooner we sent by him after our lumber, etc. But before he got there the “big” storm, which swept nearly every soul from the Peninsula and nearly wiped Indianola out of existence, struck him and scattered his boat, money and everything he had aboard to the four winds of Heaven. He and his son “Tom” barely escaped with their own lives.

  Mother and I experienced a share of the same storm too; we were still at Mr. Morris.’ The storm came about ten o’clock at night and blew the Morris mansion down, leaving us, Mrs. Morris, her three children and a step-son, “Jim,” mother and myself to paddle around in water up to our waists until morning.

  When daylight came the Bay shore was lined with dead cattle just as far as the eye could reach; cattle that had blown into the water and drowned.

  When Mr. Morris got back he started a new ranch up at the head of Cashe’s creek, where I had camped the winter before and I built mother a shanty a few hundred yards from his, so she wouldn’t get lonesome while I was away.

  I built it out of an old torn down house that I bought from Mr. John Pierce on “tick” for I was then financially “busted.”

  Cattle didn’t die very badly that coming winter, therefore I did not make much money. But towards spring I got my work in branding Mavricks. Some days I would brand as high as fifteen or twenty head.

  That spring there was a law passed prohibiting the carrying of pistols and I was the first man to break the law, for which they socked a heavier fine to me than I was able to pay; but I found a good friend in the person of Mr. John Pierce who loaned me the desired amount without asking for it.

  The first of April I hired to W. B. Grimes to go “up the trail” at thirty dollars per month. I bade mother good bye, promising to return, sure, that coming fall.

  Our outfit consisted of twenty-five hundred head of old mossy-horn steers, a cook and twenty-five riders, including the boss, Asa Dawdy, with six head of good horses to the man.

  Everything went on lovely with the exception of swimming swollen streams, fighting now and then among ourselves and a stampede every stormy night, until we arrived on the Canadian river in the Indian territory; there we had a little indian scare. When within a few miles of the river, Dawdy went on ahead to look up a good crossing; it wasn’t long until we discovered a terrible dust on the trail between us and the river; it looked like it might be a cyclone coming, but instead of that it was our boss returning. He galloped up almost out of wind telling us to stop the herd and make preparations for war, as the woods along the river were covered with indians on the war path.

  After getting everything in shape for war, he selected two of his best armed men, which happened to be Otto Draub and myself, to go back with him and try to make peace with the red devils. We scoured the woods out thoroughly, but only succeeded in finding one old, blind “buck.” Asa had, no doubt, seen him and imagined the rest. From that time on though we were among indians all the time; and they used to try and scare Asa into giving them “wo-ha’s,” (cattle) but he wasn’t one of the scaring kind—except when taken by surprise.

  Everything went on smoothly again until we arrived at “Salt Fork” close to the Kansas line. It was raining and storming terribly when we hove in sight of the above named river. Asa went on ahead with the wagons—we having an extra one along then to haul wood and water in—to find a crossing, but on arriving there he found it very high, almost swimming; he succeeded in getting both wagons over though. He then galloped back to hurry the herd up.

  We were just about a mile from the river when he came dashing up saying: “Whoop ’em up boys! for she’s rising a foot every second.”

  When we got there she was “bank full” and still rising. It was at least half a mile to the opposite side and drift wood was coming down at a terrible rate, which made it dangerous to cross. But the wagons being over made it a ground hog case—or at least we thought so.

  The old lead steers went right into the foaming water without a bit of trouble and of course the balance followed.

  Henry Coats was in the lead of the herd, Asa Dawdy and Otto Draub on the left point, while negro “Gabe” and I kept them from turning to the right.

  We were all—that is we fellows on the points—out in swimming water when Henry Coats’ horse went under, which scared the leaders, causing the whole herd to turn back amidst terrible confusion. Coats came very near drowning. We worked for half an hour or more trying to get the herd to take water again, but failed. The river continued to rise until she was over a mile wide.

  Suffice it to say, we remained there seven day without anything to eat except fresh meat without salt. It rained during the whole time nearly, so that we didn’t get much sleep on account of having to stay with the cattle night and day.

  The first grub we got was from a lot of soldiers camped on the opposite side of the wicked little stream “Wild Horse.” They were waiting for it to go down so they could proceed to Wichita, Kansas their destination.

  The boss, Dawdy, a fellow by the name of Hastings and myself found the “blue coats” while out hunting a lot of steers lost the night before during a severe storm. We had spied the white tent off to the southward and pulled out for them, in a gallop.

  On arriving within a few hundred yards we found out that a swift stream of muddy water laid be between us.

  They were camped righ
t on the opposite bank from where we stood. Dawdy yelled over asking if they could spare some chuck? “Yes” was the quick response, “If you will come over after it.”

  Dawdy and Hastings both looked at me, as much as to say: “Charlie it all depends on you.” I was considered an extra good swimmer.

  After shedding my heaviest clothes—there being officers’ wives in camp, so that I couldn’t undress altogether—I put spurs to “Yankee-doodle” and went into her. It was at least two hundred yards across, but I made it all O. K.

  When the captain found out how long we had been without grub he ordered the cook to bring out some cold biscuits. He brought out a large pan full, and after I got my fists full, a lot of the soldiers took the balance and selecting a narrow place, threw them over one by one to Dawdy and Hastings.

  After hiding a dozen or two fat Government biscuits under my belt, I began studying up a plan by which I could get some flour and salt, also coffee, over. At last I hit upon a plan: I got a wash-tub from the captain’s wife and filling it full of such stuff as we needed, launched her out into the water; I swam by the side of it and landed on the opposite side about half a mile below where I started in at. I then took the tub back thanked our benefactors, mounted Yankee-doodle and pulled for the other shore feeling a thousand per cent. better.

  We arrived at camp about sundown and the boys went to work baking bread by rolling the dough around a stick and holding it over the fire. Some of them sat up all night eating, trying to make up for lost time.

  The sun came out next morning for the first time in eight long days and towards evening we made it across the river. The wagons we found at the “Pond Creek” ranch near the Kansas line. The cooks had been having a soft time.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  On a tare in Wichita, Kansas.

  ON THE FOURTH DAY OF JULY, after being on the trail just three months, we landed on the “Ninna-squaw” river, thirty miles west of Wichita, Kansas.