Major Jones and His Escort | Chapter 6 | Six Years with the Texas Rangers | James B. Gillett

Chapter 6, Major Jones and his escort. Despite their usefulness in protecting the frontiers and in maintaining law and order, the Texas Rangers have always had to fight more or less strenuously to obtain the necessary appropriation for their annual maintenance from the state legislature. Whenever the appropriation is small, there is but one remedy. Reduce the personnel of each company to the lowest limits possible. in the fall of eighteen seventy five the adjutant general notified the captains all along the line to reduce their companies to twenty men each for the winter at the end of the current quarter as the day for reduction arrived there were some anxious moments among the men of company d as no one knew just who was to be retained in the service On December 1st, Captain Roberts formed the command in line and explained it was his sad duty to reduce the company to 20 men and announced that the orderly sergeant would read the names of those to be retained in the company. The sergeant then stepped forward and began to read. 1st Sergeant Plunk Murray, 2nd Sergeant James Hawkins, 1st Corporal Liam Sacker, 2nd Corporal Tom Griffin and Privates Charles Neville. Tom Gillespie, Nick Donley, Jim Trout, Henry Maltimore, Kit Maltimore, Jack Martin, W.T. Clements, Ed Sacker, Andy Wilson, J.W. Bell, Norman Rogers, Doc Long, Tom Meade, Frank Hill, and Jim Gillett were the lucky ones to be retained in the command. The remainder of the company was thereupon discharged. My relief may be imagined when my name was read out, for I had learned to love the ranger life and was loath to quit it. After reduction, we went into winter camp in a bend of the San Saba River about three miles east of Menardville. In the river bottom was plenty of good timber, so each mess of five men built a log cabin 16 to 18 feet square for their occupancy. These cabins, each with a chimney and fireplace, formed the western side of our horse corral And made most comfortable winter abodes. During the winter, the boys played many tricks upon each other, for there were no Indian raids during the time we were in this winter camp. One of the favorite stunts was to extract the bullet from a cartridge, take out the powder, and wrap it in a rag. And then, while the inmates of a given cabin would be quietly smoking or reading or talking around their fire, climb upon the roof and drop the rag down the chimney. When the powder exploded in the fire, the surprised rangers would fall backward off their benches to the huge glee of the prank player. At other times, a couple of rangers would post themselves outside a neighbor's cabin and begin to yell, Fire! Fire! at the top of their lungs. If the cabin owners did not stand in the doorway to protect it all, the rangers in camp would rush up and throw bedding, cooking utensils, saddles and bridles, guns and pistols outside as quickly as they could. In a jiffy, the cabin would be cleaned out and the victims of the joke would have to lug all their belongings back in again. But not all our time was spent in practical joking. There were many rangers of a studious mind, and during the long winter evenings they pored over their books. Several of our boys, by their study here and at other leisure hours, qualified themselves for doctors, lawyers, and professional callings. And there were several riders in camp that contributed more or less regularly to the magazines and newspapers. One of the rangers, Nick Donley, was a baker by trade, and he soon built a Dutch oven and made bread for the rangers. We cooled our flour and had fresh, warm bread every morning. This was so good, and we ate so much of it, that our allowance of flour would not last for the period issued, and Captain Roberts was compelled to order the bake oven torn down. Thereafter, the boys baked their own bread, and the flour lasted. Some of the rangers had captured young bear cubs, and we had them in camp with us as pets. They grew rapidly and were soon big fellows and immensely popular with the boys. Sometimes a bear would break loose from its chain, and then all of us would turn out to hunt the escaped pet. Most often, we would soon find him seated in a tree, which he had climbed as soon as he had broken his shackles. And I cannot hear or bear mentioning the useful little pack mules that served the rangers so long and so well. When the battalion was formed in 1874, a number of little bronco mules were secured for packing. They soon learned what was expected of them and followed the rangers like dogs. Carrying a weight of 150 to 200 pounds, they would follow a scout of rangers on the dead run right into the midst of the hottest fight with the Indians or desperados. They seemed to take as much interest in such an engagement as the rangers themselves. These little pack animals had as much curiosity as a child or a pet coon. In traveling along a road, they sometimes met a bunch of horses or several campers along the highway. Immediately, they would run over for a brief visit with the strangers, and when the rangers had gone on a thousand yards or more, would scamper up to us as fast as they could run. Later, when the rangers drew in from the frontier and scouted in a more thickly settled country, the mules with their packs would march right up to the strange horses and frighten them out of their wits. Once, in Austin, one of our mules calmly trotted up to a mule that was pulling a streetcar. As the pack burrow would not give right of way, the streetcar mule shied to one side and pulled its conveyance completely off the track to the surprise of its driver. The tiny animals pulled off several stunts like this and caused so much complaint that Adjunct General Jones issued an order for all rangers to catch and lead their pack mules when passing through a town. As soon as we were located in the new camp, Privates Neville, Bell, and Siker obtained permission from Captain Roberts to visit Austin to buy a case of 10 Winchesters. Up to this point, the company was armed with a .50 caliber Sharps carbine. These guns would heat easily and thus were very inaccurate shooters. The state furnished this weapon to its rangers at a cost of $17.50, and that time furnished no other class of gun. The new Centerfire 1873 Model Winchester had just appeared on the market and sold at $50 for the rifle and $40 for the carbine. A ranger who wanted a Winchester had to pay for it out of his own pocket and supply his own ammunition as well. For the state of Texas, only furnished cartridges for the sharps gun. However, 10 men in Company D, myself included, were willing to pay the price to have a superior arm. I got carbine number 13,401, and for the next six years of my Ranger career, I never used any other weapon. I have killed almost every kind of game that is found in Texas, from the biggest old bull buffalo to a fox squirrel with this little .44 Winchester. Today, I still preserve it as a prized memento of the past. The boys were all anxious to try their new guns, and as Christmas approached, we decided to have a real Yuletide dinner. Ed, Socker, and myself visited a big turkey roost on the head of Elm Creek and killed seven big wild turkeys, and on our return, Socker bagged a fine buck deer. J.W. Bell hunted on the San Saba and brought in six or eight wild geese and about a dozen mallard ducks. Don Lee, the baker, cooked up the pies while Mrs. Roberts, wife of the captain, furnished the fruitcake. Some of the boys made eggnog, and all together, we had the finest Christmas dinner that ever graced the boards of a ranger camp. The little frontier village of Menardville was not far away, and most of the rangers visited it during Christmas week for the dancing. Jack Martin once remarked to Miss Roberts that there was very little society about a ranger camp. She told the joke on him, and thereafter, as long as he lived, he was known as Society Jack. During the winter, we laid out a race course and had much sport with our horses. but there was work as well as play that winter. Though Captain Roberts kept scouts in the field during the entire winter, they never discovered any Indian trails. The rangers had not yet turned their attention to outlaws, so we were not burdened with chained prisoners as we were in after years. This winter camp on the San Saba was the most pleasant time in my service with the rangers. The first week in April, 1876, we moved out of our winter quarters to a camp some six or seven miles above Menardville and located in a pecan grove on the banks of the San Saba. We were all glad to get into our tents again. After four months spent in log cabins, I remember our first night at the new camp. The boys set out some hooks and caught four or five big yellow catfish weighing 25 or 30 pounds each, enough fish to last the 20 men several days. As the spring opened, Captain Roberts began sending out scouts to cut signs for Indians. I remember I was detailed on a scout that was commanded by a non-commissioned officer. We were ordered to scout as far north as the Union of the Concho and Colorado Rivers. After crossing the Brady Mountains, we struck a trail of Indians going out. The Redskins had probably been raiding in San Saba or McCulloch counties. Their trail led west as straight to San Angelo as a bird could fly. Though the Indians were not numerous and had only a few horses, the trail was easily followed. As well as we could judge, the Redskins had passed on a few days before we discovered their sign. We found where they had stolen some horses, for we picked up several pairs of hobbles that had been cut in two and left when they got the horses. At that time there were several big cattle ranches in the Fort Concho country, and in Going to and from water, the cattle entirely obliterated the trail. We worked hard two days trying to find it and then gave up the hunt. We needed the genius of Captain Roberts to help us out that time. On June 1st, 1876, the company was increased to 40 men. Some of the boys that had quit at Mason the fall before now re-entered the service. Especially do I remember that Mage Reynolds enlisted with Company D once more. During the summer of 1876, Major Jones planned a big scout out on the Pecos to strike the La Pans and Kickapoos a blow before they began raiding the White Settlements. This scout started from Company D in July. The Major drafted about 20 men from my company, his whole escort Company A of 30 men and marched into Kerr County. Here, he drafted part of Captain Coldwell's Company F, making his force total about 70 men with 3 wagons and about 20 pack mules. The comm traveled down the Nueces, then by Fort Clark, up the Devil's River to Beaver Lake. Here, Captain Ira Long, with 20 men and the wagon train, was sent up the San Antonio and El Paso Road to Old Fort Lancaster on the Pecos, where he was to await the arrival of Major Jones with the main force. From Beaver Lake, the Major, with 50 men and the 20 pack mules, turned southwest and traveled down Johnston's Run to the Schaefer Crossing on the Pecos. From this crossing, we scouted up the Pay Coast to the mouth of Independence Creek. The country through this section was very rough, but very beautiful. We saw several old abandoned Indian camps, especially at the mouth of the creek. Here we found the pits and scaffolds upon which the Redskins had dried their meat, also evidence that many deer hide had been dressed and made into buckskin. Bows and arrows had also been manufactured in these camps. From this section, the Indians had been gone probably a month or more. After 10 days of scouting, we joined Captain Long at Fort Lancaster and marched up Live Oak Creek to its head. Here we prepared to cross that big stretch of table land between the Pecos and the headwaters of the South Concho. We filled what barrels we had with water, topped out from the creek, and made about 10 miles into the plains by night and made a dry camp. We got an early start next day and traveled until night without finding water. The stocks suffered greatly from thirst and the men had only a little water in their canteens. All the land ponds had been dried two weeks or more, and I saw 12 head of buffalo that had bogged and died in one of them. Here we found an old abandoned Indian camp where the Redskins had dressed many antelope hides. At one old bent mesquite tree, the antelope hair was a foot deep, with 30 or 40 skulls scattered about. By the second morning, both men and horses were suffering a great deal from thirst, and Major Jones gave orders to begin march at 4 a.m. We got away on time and reached water on the South Concho at 2 p.m. the third day out from Live Oak Creek. As soon as we got near the water, we found a number of straggling buffalo and killed two, thus securing a supply of fresh meat. We camped two days at this water and then marched back to Company D by easy stages. Here, Major Jones turned back up the line with his escort after being out on this scout about a month. On his return toward the Rio Grande, Major Jones reached Company D the last week in August and camped with us until September 1st, the end of the fiscal year for the Rangers. On this date, men and men would quit service to retire to private life, while some would join other companies and new recruits be sworn into the service. This reorganization usually required two or three days. Nearly every Ranger in the battalion was anxious to be at some time a member of Major Jones' escort company. The escort company was not assigned a stationary post, nor did it endeavor to cover a given strip of territory. Its most important duty was to escort the Major on his periodic journeys of inspection to the other companies along the line. The escort always wintered in the South and made about four yearly tours of the frontier from company to company, taking part in such scouts as the Major might select and being assigned to such extraordinary duties as might arise. In 1874, when the Frontier Battalion was first formed, Major Jones recruited his escort from a detail of five men from each of the other companies. However, in practice, this led to some confusion and envy in the commands, so Major Jones found it expedient to have a regular escort company, so he selected Company A for that purpose. This remained his escort until he was promoted to Adjutant General. In September 1876, there were several vacancies in Major Jones' escort, and several old company D-Boys, among them Maj. Reynolds, Charles Nevin, Jack Martin, Bill Clements, and Tom Gillespie, wished to enlist in Company A. They wanted me to go with them, but I hesitated to leave Captain Roberts. My friends then explained that we could see a lot more country on the escort than we could in a stationary company. that we would probably be stationed down on the Rio Grande that winter and going up the line in the spring would see thousands of buffalo. This buffalo proposition caught me and I went with the boys. After 15 months ranging with Captain Roberts, I now joined Company A. Early in September, Major Jones marched his escort down to within five or six miles of San Antonio and camped us on the Salado while he went into Austin. By the first of October he was back in camp and started up the line on his last visit to the different companies before winter set in. At that time Major John B. Jones was a small man, probably not more than five feet seven inches tall and weighed about 125 pounds. He had very dark hair and eyes and a heavy dark mustache. He was quick in action, though small in stature, and was an excellent horseman riding very erect in the saddle. The Major was born in Fairfield District, South Carolina in 1834, but emigrated to Texas with his father when he was only four years old. He was prominent in Texas state affairs from a very early age and served gallantly with the Confederate Army during the Civil War. On the accession of Governor Coke in 1874, he was appointed to command the Frontier Battalion of six companies of Texas Rangers From his appointment until his death in 1881, Major Jones was constantly engaged in repulsing bloody raids of Indians, rounding up outlaws, and making Texas secure and safe for the industrious and peaceful citizen. In this work, his wonderful tact, judgment, coolness, and courage found ample scope. From the organization of the battalion in 1874 until Major Jones was made Adjutant General, Dr. Nicholson was always with him. The doctor was a quaint old bachelor who loved his toddy. The boys would sometimes get him as full as a goose, and the major would give the doctor some vicious looks at such times. Dr. Nicholson was a great favorite with all the men, and it is said he knew every good place for buttermilk, butter, milk, and eggs from Rio Grande City to Red River, a trifling distance of 800 miles. The doctor always messed with Major Jones and mounted on a fine horse, traveled by his side I don't think Dr. Nicholson ever issued a handful of pills to the boys during the year. He was just with us in case he was needed. When the escort was disbanded, he retired to private life at Del Rio, Texas and finally died there. This inspection tour was a wonderful experience for me. The weather was cool and bracing, and the horses had had a month's rest. We had with us a quartet of musicians, among them a violinist, a guitar player, and a banjo picker. and after the day's march the players would often gather around the camp fire and give us a concert the major would frequently walk down and listen to the music nor was music our only amusement major jones had provided his escort with the fresh sien and when we were camped on a big creek or river the boys would unroll the net make a haul and sometimes catch enough fish to supply the thirty men several days When recruited to its full strength, Company A consisted of a captain, orderly sergeant, second sergeant, first and second corporals, and twenty-six privates. Two four-mule wagons hauled the camp equipage, rations for the men and grain for the horses. One fat wagon, drawn by two mules and driven by George, the black cook, carried the mess outfit, bedding, tent, etc. of Major Jones and Dr. Nicholson. Each morning at roll call, the orderly sergeant detailed the guard of nine men and one non-commissioned officer to guard for 24 hours. When ready to begin our day's journey, the company was formed in line and the men counted off by fours. On the march, Major Jones and Dr. Nicholson rode in front, followed by the captain of the company, the orderly sergeant, and the men in double file. Following these came the wagons. An advance guard of two men preceded the column about one-half mile. Four men, known as flankers, two on each side of the company, paralleled the column at a distance of one-half to one mile, depending on the nature of the country. In a rough, wooded section, the flankers traveled close in, but in an open country, they sometimes spread out quite a distance. The non-commissioned officer with the remaining guard covered the rear and brought up the pack mules. Thus protected, it was almost impossible for the command to be surprised by Indians. At one time, Major Jones had with him two Tonkawa Indians as guides. For protection, this tribe lived near Fort Griffin, a large military post. One of these old braves known as Jim had been given an old worn-out army coat with the shoulder straps of a general upon it. Jim wore this coat tightly buttoned up and marched at the head of the column with as much dignity and importance as a general in chief. His companion wore a high-crowned beaver stovepipe hat with the top gone. And carried an old umbrella that someone had given him. Fitted out in this ridiculous and unique manner, he marched for days with the umbrella over him. Think of an Indian shading himself from the sun. Major Jones never paid much attention to these Indians unless he wished to inquire the lay of the country or the distance to some waterhole. They did pretty much as they pleased, sometimes riding in front with the major, sometimes with the guard, and at others with the men. These old redskins were a constant source of amusement to the boys. Jim and his pal were good hunters, but as lazy as could be. They got into the habit of killing a buffalo late in the evening when they knew it was almost time to pitch camp, cutting out just enough meat for themselves and letting the remainder go to waste. The Major told these lazybones when they killed a buffalo he wanted to know of it so he could secure the meat for the company. The Tonks paid no attention to this request and late one evening came into camp with five or six pounds of buffalo meat. The orderly sergeant spied them, so he walked over to Major Jones and said, Major, those two old Tonkoas are back in camp with just enough meat for themselves. Sergeant, you get a pack mule, take a file of men with you, and make those Indians saddle their horses and go with you to get that buffalo, the major commanded, determined that his order should be obeyed by the Indians. The sergeant went to the Indians, who were busy about the fire roasting their meat, and told them what the major had said. Jim declared that he was tired and did not wish to go. The non-commissioned officer replied that that made no difference and commanded him and his pal to get their ponies and lead the way to the dead buffalo. Maybe so ten miles to Buffalo, protested Jim, trying to avoid going. The sergeant knew they were lying for all the Indians that ever inhabited Texas. The Tonkawas were the biggest cowards. Just mention the Comanches or Kiowas to them and they would have a chill. It was well known that the Tonks would not venture very far from the protection of the rangers for fear of being killed by their enemies. As soon as they knew they had to do as ordered, they mounted their ponies and led the sergeant over a little hill and in a valley not more than half a mile from camp was the fine fat buffalo the Indians had killed. The animal was soon skinned and brought into camp where all had plenty of fresh meat. These tongs were as simple as children and as suspicious as Negroes. The weather had been hot and dry for several days. Old Jim, thereupon, killed some hawks with his bow and arrows, plaited the long tail and wing feathers into his pony's mane and tail, and said it would make, keep rain. Sure enough, in three or four days, a hard thundershower came up and thoroughly wet everybody on the march. Jim, with only his old officer's coat for protection, was drenched to the skin, and his pony looked like a drowned rat. The wood, grass, everything was wet. Jim stood by, shivering with the cold, and watched the boys use up almost their last match, trying to make a fire. Suddenly, with a look of disgust, he ran up to his horse, which was standing near, and plucked every hawk feather out of the animal's tail and mane, and throwing them on the ground, stamped upon them violently, as if that would stop the rain. After the escort had crossed the Colorado River on its way northward, we found an advanced guard of buffalo on its way south, and it was an easy matter to keep the company in fresh meat. We spent about one week with Company B on the Upper Brazos, then turned south again to make our winter camp near Old Frio Town in Frio County. It was November now, and freezing hard every night. The last guard would call the camp early, so we generally had breakfast and were ready to move southward by daylight. We did not stop a single time for dinner on this return trip, just traveled at a steady gate all day long without dinner until nearly night. We all wondered why we marched the live long day without dinner, but it was not until many years afterward when I became a Mason that I learned the reason for our forced marches. Major Jones was in line to be made Most Worshipful Grand Master of Masons in Texas, and he had to be in Houston on the first Tuesday in December for the annual meeting of the Most Worshipful Grand Lodge of Texas. If there were other Masons in the company besides Major Jones, I never knew it. At this time, we had for commander of the escort Lieutenant Benton. He was in bad health and rode most of the way back in one of the wagons. On arriving at the end of the line, he tendered his resignation and was seceded by Captain Neil Coldwell. The company camped for winter on Elm Creek, three miles south of Old Friotown. Captain Neal Coldwell was born in Dade County, Missouri in May 1844 and served gallantly through the Civil War in the 32nd Regiment, Texas Cavalry, commanded by Colonel W.P. Woods. At the Organization of the Frontier Battalion in 1874, Neal Coldwell was commissioned Captain of Company F. It is difficult in a single sketch to do Captain Coldwell justice or convey any correct idea of what he accomplished as a Texas Ranger. The station of Company F, the southernmost company of the line, was the most unfavorable that could well be given him. His scouting grounds were the head of the Guadalupe, Nueces, Llanos, and Devil's Rivers, the roughest and most difficult part of South Texas in which to pursue Indians. Yet he held them in check, and finally drove them out of that part of the state. End of chapter six.