Life Of F. M. Buckelew: The Indian Captive

F. M. Buckelew, Thomas S. Dennis

• Publisher: Normanby Press
• Year: 2015
• eBook ISBN: 9781786255983
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Social Science Biographies
• Index: Social Sciences

The Reverend F. M. Buckelew started his life as one of a family of nine, born in 1852 in Union Parish, Louisiana. His father saw the opportunities out West and made travelled out into the wilds of Texas with his family to Cherokee County, Texas. As the author recounts, life there was hard, and before long his mother was dead along with one of his sisters; worse was to follow as he was captured by Lipan Indians at the age of fourteen. In his extraordinary tale he tells of his captivity among the Native Americans, recording their customs, way of life and eventual escape from their clutches.

CHAPTER I

Birth—Moves to Texas—Death of Mother—Death of Sister—Re-Marriage of Father—Death of Father—Moves to Uvalde County—Indians Kill Uncle—Indians Kill Miller and Capture Weinert.

I was born in Union Parish, Louisiana, October 3, 1852, the youngest child in a family of nine children. There in happy union we lived until I was two years old, when my father decided to move to Texas, as many of the old settlers of the eastern states had done, in hopes of getting more land, better locations and as he often expressed, “more elbow room.”

After considerable preparations for a long and tedious journey, through the wilds of unsettled territory, we started with our old ox wagon and oxen, over the rough roads which were to extend many miles toward the setting sun. Being so young at the time of our move, the impressions made upon my mind have almost faded, and I cannot give many incidents connected with our trip, but the Unseen Hand guided us safely to our new home in Cherokee County, Texas.

The first place we called home was near a post office named Hellencamp. There was also a place nearby called Shook’s Bluff, which place took its name from a Mr. Shook who had lived there for some time. Here we began the work of erecting a temporary home or camp, to live in until we could put some of the land in cultivation when we intended to build a more comfortable home. In this humble home I received some lasting, but sad impressions, caused by the Death Angel, who saw fit to take three of my loved ones, my dear mother, one sister and my father. I often, till yet lament over this and wonder why it should be this way but I place it in the hands of God “who doeth all things well.”

Memory brings back scenes of the old home and mother, kind, patient and loving, under whose care and influence I began life. Although I was a child of only four, it seems only yesterday, when my aunt tenderly lifted me up to the casket for my last look at her sweet face, and the sad thought of never seeing mother again overwhelmed me. .Mother was a devoted Christian, and was loved by all who knew her. She was perfectly resigned to go at the call of her Lord and Savior, August 1856. Her death was caused by flux.

A few days after mother’s death, my sister, Sousanna, was summoned to meet her God, and I am glad to be able to say that she lived a Christian life, and to know her was to love her.

In my life’s career after this awful separation from my loved ones, the old saying, “the life of an orphan is hard” has been amply demonstrated, and no others command more of my pity and sympathy than those who are deprived of parental care. Many times during my life, while contemplating my own condition and that of others, equally unfortunate, I have been made to exclaim, “God pity the orphan child!” However, my condition was more happy than many orphans’, owing to the fact that I fell directly under the sweet influence of a loving sister, who was much older than me, and whose kindly disposition, loving deeds and many words of counsel, had made a lasting impression on my mind, and in a great measure have been instrumental in shaping my destiny.

After mother died father married again. No doubt he felt that it would be better for his children, but it seemed to cause more trouble than before. Shortly after his second marriage, father died, leaving us robbed of parental care. Father’s death was caused by an abscess on his hip. He had yellow jaundice, which the doctor said was virtually the cause of the abscess. After undergoing an operation and suffering many days he passed to his reward, leaving many friends who mourned his departure. Father was devoted to his church (Methodist Episcopal South), always holding some office and advocating righteousness. Before his death he requested a Methodist preacher named Box to conduct his funeral. This request was granted. Father was a very close friend with the Shook family mentioned before, and was a companion of Early Shook, afterwards a preacher of some renown.

Unpleasant relations existed between our step-mother and us, and after father’s death we were soon forced to leave our home and seek more genial surroundings. The question of where to go confronted us. What could we children do without father, mother or any relatives near? So, living in a wild and thinly settled country, we were left to battle our way through life as best we could. Imagine our joy on receiving a letter from father’s brother, (Berry Buckelew, who came to Texas shortly after we did, and was living on the Rio Sabinal in Uvalde County,) urging us to come live with him. After due reflection we decided to accept his kind offer, and as soon as possible plans were made to meet him on the Colorado River. New hopes dawned at the thought of being with relatives again. Hasty preparations were made for the trip, and soon we were ready to start with our ox-wagon and five yoke of oxen and provisions for the journey. Although a small boy, the old ox-wagon with its huge wheels and cumbrous appearance, the oxen with their heavy yokes and bows, were a delight to me.

The journey, though likely to be beset with many dangers and difficulties, was welcomed with great boyish ambition and pride, though little did I dream of the fate that awaited me. It was no little undertaking in that early day to make a trip of such a distance across a country infested with wild beasts and savage Indians. A constant vigilance and wariness, learned only in the stern school of frontier life, was necessary to make such move, without danger of becoming the victim of the pitiless tomahawk or the mid-night ambush, but by the guiding hand of Providence we reached the appointed place on the Colorado River in safety.

Words fail me in expressing our joy of seeing dear Uncle Berry again. Oh, the comforting thought, of having someone to look to in time of trouble, and one that would treat us as his own children. Eagerly we looked forward to our new home, and with Uncle Berry to lead the way, it was only a small task compared with the first of our journey. Soon we reached our uncle’s home, known as the Old Cedar Brake Ranch, a hearty welcome was given by Aunt Mary and all the children. This home was unique indeed. Just where the beautiful little mountain stream, the Rio Sabinal, issues from its picturesque canyons of almost perpendicular walls of rock, to meander through the rolling hills and grass-covered prairies, nestled this cozy little frontier cottage. A large enclosure or yard, was built around two houses, made of cedar pickets, one of which was used for a kitchen, each having chimneys made of split timbers notched together and daubed on both sides with clay.

It is perhaps known to the reader that at this time, the frontier of Texas lay to the east of this little river, and for many years after our arrival there, it was almost continually in the path of the many roving bands of Indians on their way to the settlements in the east, and the settlers in that region were always in fear that they might become victims of these bands, and in many cases they did. The father could never leave his home without feeling a constant dread that his family would be attacked in his absence and murdered. But in spite of these fears it often became necessary for him to be away for a short time.

Uncle Berry never seemed to fear his own safety, and seldom wore his pistol on his body, but carried it on his saddle or in his wagon. This no doubt was why he met his death at the hands of the cruel Indians, as you will learn later. He was very careful about his family, and always saw that they were well protected, always leaving plenty of arms and, if possible, some man with them while he was away.

The first thing I did after reaching my new home was to help Uncle Berry ride the range and brand up some calves. It was quite a thrilling experience for me, and I enjoyed it as only boys of my age could. Uncle Berry often talked of Indians and cautioned me repeatedly of their cunning devices to capture white boys.

We then went to Bandera to mill. In this early day we seldom saw a biscuit or a piece of light bread. Corn bread was our daily ration, the corn being ground by water power. The Bandera mill stood on the bank of the Medina river about even with where the ice plant now stands. This mill was built by Mr. Munroe, most of the laborers being Polish colonists, who were induced to settle there in the year 1855. Mr. Chas. de Montel, Sr. gave the colonists one lot each and the privilege of buying all the land they wanted.

In going to this mill we passed where Indians had killed a white man a few months before and Uncle Berry took this opportunity to again warn me of the skill and treachery of the Indians. We were crossing the Middle Verde Creek when we met Uncle Tom Bandy, a friend of my uncle. Both liked to talk, so Uncle Berry told me to drive on and he would overtake me in a little while. I drove for miles, it seemed to me, when I decided Indians had got Uncle Berry, and hearing a small racket in the brush I jumped off the wagon and hid in a thicket. Pretty soon Uncle Berry came up and called, for he was sure I was near. He laughed at my fright, but told me to always be careful.

It was customary among the settlers in these remote frontier settlements to “take turn about,” in going to market for supplies. It had now come my uncle’s turn to go to market for supplies, and be began quickly to make the necessary preparations. Oxen were driven up and everything made ready for a trip to San Antonio, the most suitable market for this section. The ancient cypress trees along the upper Medina River were being driven into shingles, and there was a good market for them in San Antonio. It was my uncle’s custom to go by the shingle camps and take a load to market. His journey to San Antonio, which required several days, was made without incidents worthy of mention and his shingles were disposed of at the customary price. His next task was to purchase his goods and those wanted by his neighbors. These consisted chiefly of meal, flour and a large quantity of calico and other dry goods.

The return journey was then begun, the greater portion of it was made in safety. Just ten miles from home he stopped at the house of his friend and neighbor, John H. Cosgrove, on Big Seco. Another friend, Mr. Redmon Gibbons, was there too. It was near noon when he reached this place and was invited by his friend to stop overnight. While enjoying the generous hospitality of this home and eating a well prepared dinner, he was told that from recent signs observed in the settlement it was evident that Indians were in the country. The restlessness of cattle always warned the early settlers of the approach of Indians. They would come in droves to the ranch houses and lay around all day and at night there would be a marked increase in the number that usually bedded near the house. Often the scent of Indians would cause them to stampede. Alarmed at this news and fearing we were out of provisions, he at once made preparations to continue his journey, although the day was far spent and in spite of his friend’s protests, he started for home. His friend plead with him to remain overnight as his road lay over roughs and canyons, and in the region where he would most likely encounter the Indians. No persuasion, however, could induce him to remain overnight, as he was alarmed over the helpless condition of his family, fearing more for the safety of his family than his own life. He never seemed to fear the Indians hurting him in the least, as he never wore his gun, but always carried it in the wagon.

Two routes lay before him, the main traveled road and a nearer way across roughs, and as night came on he chose the shorter route in order to reach home as quickly as possible, though this way lay more directly in the Indians’ path.

About the time night overtook him, and just as he was crossing one of the upper runs of the Little Seco, he was surprised and fired on by the savages in ambush. The Indians had evidently been watching his movements for some time, and had planned their ambush with considerable care and precaution, as they always dreaded an open daylight encounter with the whites, even though they outnumbered them. Uncle Berry had just crossed the stream and was driving along a very narrow shelf of rock. The bank was a few feet to his left, long grass and cedar brush overhung its edges, making a secure hiding place for the sly Indians. Unaware of danger, walking as was his custom, by the second yoke of oxen, his guns lying in the wagon, he was an easy victim of the savage in am bush. He passed near enough their ambush for them to almost touch him with their bows, so waiting until he passed they shot two arrows into his back, which no doubt, disabled him to such an extent that to reach his guns lying in the wagon, was an impossibility. Falling as he did on the arrows, he broke them off in the flesh. Not content with this, the pitiless fiends rushed out of their place of concealment and bruised his head and face with rocks almost beyond recognition. This accomplished, they turned their attention to the teams, three of the five yoke were loosed and allowed to go at will, while the remaining two were left hitched to the wagon. They then began to pillage the load. The flour and meal were emptied out in two piles, one on the smooth ground and the other in the wagon, the Indians taking the sacks, all of that part of the load that was any value to them, all the calico and other dry goods, and his two six-shooters and rifle. This one of the many cruel murders committed in those days was on the 22nd day of January, 1866.

Late Sunday evening, by some means it happened that Mr. Redmon Gibbons came over to our place, and seeing that our Uncle had not made his appearance, he at once realized that he must have fallen a victim of the Indians. He notified the nearest neighbors at once, and a party was organized for the purpose of finding their lost friend. The route chosen by my uncle being familiar only to him, the search was confined to the plain traveled road. No trace of him could be found. Monday night some of the party happened to remember hearing Uncle Berry speak of finding a nearer way to his house. Tuesday morning they began to look for such a trail, but on account of so many cattle bedding at the ranch it was impossible to find it nearer than half a mile from the house. At length they found it, and following it three miles they found his body and knew his fate. When found he was lying with his head in a pool of blood. The cruel savage had left him. mortally wounded, beaten and mutilated almost beyond human conception, stripped of his clothing (except two garments, his drawers and socks, his shoes were sitting by his feet) to die in intense agony and pain. Had it not been unusually warm for that time of the year, he would have frozen to death the first night. The spark of life which seemed loath to depart from him, had lingered until just before he was found, as warm blood gushed from his many wounds when removed from his prostrate position. His faithful old dog, “Cuff,” who was his constant companion on such trips, by some fortunate means had escaped the arrows of the savages, and was keeping a lonely vigil over his master’s body. Tracks nearby showed that a large pack of wolves had tried to reach his body, and for the faithfulness of “Cuff” they would have succeeded.

The oxen which had been left hitched to the wagon had drawn it some distance from the body and had caught a wheel against a tree which prevented them from straying further away. The wagon was driven to a point as near as possible to the body, everything in the way of goods left by the Indians was placed in it, and the body was wrapped in a wagon sheet and placed ...

Table of contents

• Title page
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• DEDICATION
• INTRODUCTORY
• THE INDIAN CAPTIVE
• CHAPTER I
• CHAPTER II
• CHAPTER III
• CHAPTER IV
• CHAPTER V
• CHAPTER VI
• CHAPTER VII
• CHAPTER VIII
• CHAPTER IX
• CHAPTER X
• CHAPTER XI
• CHAPTER XII
• CHAPTER XIII
• CHAPTER XIV
• CONCLUSION BY T. S. DENNIS.
• PERSONAL ENDORSEMENT