The Last Karankawa

By Ernie Deats

In 1885, along the Gulf Coast of Texas, the once-numerous Karankawa Indians had all but disappeared. The story unfolds as an orphan Indian boy, Kola, finds that he is the last living member of his people. Kola is taken in by W. S. and Jane Deats and their family, after their son, Sparkman, finds him floating in a canoe in Dickinson Bay. The Deats family soon realizes that Kola is extremely smart and more than willing to do his part in becoming a member of their family. After W. S. Deats gives Kola a gray filly as his own to ride, for the daily ranch work that is expected of the boys, an unusual bond develops between horse and boy. Kola soon becomes one of the best cowboys on the open prairies of the Gulf Coast. His roping skills soon become legendary.

Many of the white settlers still had memories of problems with the nomadic Karankawa tribes as they roamed along the coast line of Texas. The embellished tales of these conflicts, over the years, had been passed on to new arrivals in Galveston County.

When the Deats family enrolled Kola in school, there was an outcry from many of the citizens of Dickinson. An Indian boy in the classroom with white children was unacceptable in their eyes. How WS and Jane handle the violence that erupts makes for an intriguing story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514459690

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Copyright © 2016 by Ernie Deats.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016902303

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5144-5971-3

             Softcover     978-1-5144-5970-6

             eBook          978-1-5144-5969-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/11/2016

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Fifty Nine

Epilogue

DEDICATION

I am dedicating this book to my Grandparents, Ed and Myrtle Deats. Ed built a home out on the prairie, which still stands, and planted trees around it, to keep Myrtle happy. They both worked in the church and the community to make Dickinson a better place to live. Ed chose to judge other men by their merits and character and not the color of their skin.

Profits from the sale of this book go to fund college scholarships for students of Dickinson Independent School District. Having been instrumental in the creation of the Dickinson ISD Educations Foundation, it is the Author’s dream that every student who graduates from Dickinson ISD have the opportunity to attend college and pursue a higher education.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Jane Deats Hayley for her suggestions and editing. A wonderful woman and great sister whose roots are deeply planted on the Gulf Coast.

Melanie Hess for her ideas, guidance, research and thoughts on details and facts for the story.

Ruth Laird, with the Dickinson Historical Society, for her input, edits and encouragement.

Hardy Roper, noted author, for his suggestions and directions.

Lastly, my beautiful wife Kathy, who with her guidance, support, and encouragement kept me on track to write and publish this story.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book is a work of fiction, mixed with fact. W.S. and Jane Deats came to Dickinson in 1872 and built their home and ranch on the south bank of Dickinson Bayou. Both were instrumental in buying the land and building the Methodist Church which was also used for the first school in Dickinson.

Many of the events described in the book are true, with much of the story fiction. Characters in the book are both real and fictional, with the trials and hardships of daily life in the late 1800’s on the Gulf Coast, coming from family lore.

The book is in memory of my Grandparents, Ed and Myrtle Deats, who chose to build their home and raise their family out on the open prairie. The home still remains, along with many of the trees that Ed planted for his wife. Both remained very active in the community and the Methodist Church until their deaths.

CHAPTER ONE

The Methodist Church sat on a small bluff overlooking Dickinson Bayou. It was the largest structure on the mainland, and the only church as well. W. S. Deats had purchased the land, and with the prodding of his wife Jane, provided a place to worship for everyone on the mainland. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot, with trees and a serene view of the water below in Dickinson Bayou. The building also provided a place for the children of Dickinson to attend school. The 22 students, ranging from 1st through 10th grades, had Miss Hawks teach them basic reading, writing and arithmetic, all in the sanctuary of the church. Miss Hawks was a middle aged spinster who had long lost all hope of marrying and raising children of her own. She was thin as a fence post, with her hair braided on each side and looped across the top of her head. As W.S. commented when he hired her, She looks the part of a teacher. She was very serious about teaching, even though she had little to no formal schooling to prepare her for the job. She made it her mission in life to provide a basic education to every child in her class.

Standing in front of the students, she announced to the class, What I am going to try and instill in each of you today, is how to introduce yourself, and tell that person something about yourself. Not only is it the proper way of interacting with others, but it will build your confidence when speaking before an audience.

We will start with the older students first. Sparkman, will you come to the front and set an example for the others.

Sparkman was the oldest of six other Deats children in the classroom. He was a tall, muscular young man with sandy blond hair and mischievous blue eyes. Being the oldest and most mature student, he was looked up to by most of the younger children. Because he carried an air of confidence about him, Miss Hawks felt he would do well in this exercise and set a standard for the others to follow.

Sparkman cleared his throat and began. Hi, I’m Sparkman Deats and live on my parent’s ranch along the south side of Dickinson Bayou. My Papa makes me work hard when I’m not in school, but he tells me every day how important an education is. If I’ve done a good job with my chores, he lets Henry Benson, who’s my best friend, and me go camping sometime, which is my favorite thing to do when I’m not working or going to school. Henry and me fish, swim and cook somewhere along the bayou or Dickinson Bay. Someday, I want to be a rancher too. Thank you all for your attention.

Miss Hawks stood. That was very good Sparkman. And since your name has been mentioned, Henry, you’ll be next.

Henry walked to the front of the class. He was not nearly as tall as Sparkman, but was broader and much more muscular. He too was a very handsome young man with dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was much more nervous standing in front of the class and stared at the pine floor as he began speaking. I’m Henry Benson and live in Dickinson, Texas.

Stop right there Henry, Miss Hawks said as she stood again. When speaking to anyone, individual or group, you look them in the eye. Understood?

Yes Ma’am. Henry twitched as he started again. I’m Henry Benson and I live in Dickinson, Texas. My Papa makes me work hard too, but I like ranching, so it’s not so bad. I plan on living in Dickinson all my life and becoming the largest rancher in Galveston County. Thank you.

Miss Hawks smiled, Much better Henry.

The remaining students went through the exercise, even the first graders, with Miss Hawks correcting them as they spoke. When the last student finished, Miss Hawks took the large hand bell that stayed on her desk and rang it. I will see you all on Monday morning. Class dismissed."

Sparkman and Henry walked outside to their horses that were tied in the shade of a huge hackberry tree. It was late spring and school would be letting out for the summer soon. Did your Papa say you could go camping this week-end? Henry asked.

Sure did, Sparkman answered. Even said I’d done a good job working this week, and told me to go have some fun, because we’ve got lots to do this summer on the ranch. He said I’d better go have some fun now while I can.

Henry let a broad smile come across his face. Let’s go out on April Fools Point. Its good swimming and you know we’ll catch some fish. Get your stuff ready and meet me at my house in a couple of hours. Let’s think about this trip as a real adventure. We may have to fight off pirates or Indians. Don’t dilly-dally around, because I want to get our camp set up before dark. I’ll be ready when you get there.

CHAPTER TWO

On a rainy spring night in 1885, in a dimly lit upstairs room over the Bean’s Mercantile Store, sat 15 hardened Texas men who made their homes in and around the small town of Anahuac. Most were Civil War veterans, and two of the older men had fought with Sam Houston at San Jacinto. Every man in the room had tasted battle of some sort, Yankees, Indians, or Mexicans, had all fought before, and took pride in their efforts.

The rough pine two—story building over the towns’ one mercantile, was the only place in Anahuac large enough, and quiet enough to hold any kind of private meeting. It was no secret why the meeting was being held, and they were there by invitation only. The leader in charge, John White, wanted no feint hearted, liberal do gooders throwing up their objections for what they were about to do. A peaceful settlement to everyone’s problem was not an option. Every man gathered in the dimly lit room had built their homes, ranches, farms and businesses in this small settlement on Trinity Bay.

John White rapped his gun butt on a small podium that faced the seated men. The room was filled with smoke from the cigars and pipes that most of the men were smoking as they passed a crock jug of home brewed whiskey around. Neighbors, we have a problem that we’re all aware of that needs to be rectified immediately. Some of those damn Karanks broke into Waldo Peak’s place a couple of nights ago and stole his meat from the smokehouse, some chickens, ran his horses off, and then set fire to his barn. We’ve had problems like this before and the Rangers won’t do anything about it, so I think it’s time we took matters in our own hands and run them completely out of this country, or kill every one of them, I don’t care which. I’ve heard that they’re the last group of Karanks along the coast, and as long as they didn’t bother anyone, we’ve left them alone, but we can’t put up with stealing and burning anymore.

A small murmur of approval came from the seated men. The whiskey was good, the smokes were good, and what they were about to embark on was good. Everyone seemed to be in agreement that enough was enough. Through the years after the Texas Revolution for freedom from Mexico, and after the Civil War, the Indian problem had actually been almost non-existent on the Gulf Coast, but now and again the Karanks would make a small raid from their camp on Smith’s Point. Their camp was located on the banks of Galveston Bay, with the Gulf of Mexico within sight across Bolivar Point.

North of Smith Point was heavily wooded along Trinity Bay where Anahuac was located. East of the wooded area was an endless sea of flat land covered in Blue Stem grass and closer to the coast, Salt grass as far as a man could see. The Karanks were now a small band that had survived the push by the Anglo’s and before that, the Mexicans. Most had been scattered and killed as the ranches and homesteads continued to expand. The land that the Karanks had been pushed into was considered worthless, primarily because of the rattlesnakes, alligators, and mosquitoes. Only the Karanks could inhabit such a God forsaken piece of ground and survive. They covered themselves with alligator grease and mud to keep the mosquitoes at bay, which made them a scary sight when spotted by any of the resident Anglo’s. They were taller than most American Indians with piercings around their eyes, ears and noses. To the Anglo’s eye, they were considered an unattractive tribe of people.

This small remaining group of Karankawas was made up of 7 grown men, 9 women and 5 children. They were all that was left of a once large tribe that was split into smaller groups along the entire Texas Coast. When fishing was slow and game in the nearby woods was scarce, hunger drove them to extreme measures, such as raiding nearby ranches. The elder braves knew this might bring the wrath of the Anglos down on them, but was it right for them to live on their lands, hunt their game and have more food than they could possibly eat?

The Indian raid had been made in the dark of the night, while there was no moon to give them away. As one of the younger men held a pine knot torch inside the barn to locate the chickens, another brave grabbed chickens off their roost. With all the squawking the chickens were making, a dark figure appeared on the front porch. A shot rang out from the house after having been alerted by the noise the chickens made, being interrupted from their sleep. Fear over took the young brave holding the burning pine knot and he dropped the torch and ran. Quickly the pine knot caught the loose hay on fire and the night was lit up from the burning barn. It mattered not to the raiders as they ran back to Smith’s Point with plenty of food for everyone.

With everyone in agreement that getting rid of these thieving pests, a plan was presented to the Anahuac Volunteers. John White, who had served under General Hood with the Texas Calvary during the Civil War, had formed a plan. If we hit the camp around daylight, I believe we can solve all the Indian problems before they can get the sleep out of their eyes. We must brace ourselves for what we are there for, because there will be women and children who must be killed along with the men. That’s the only way we will ever be rid of these heathens. Let’s meet back here at 3:00 AM, and put an end to this problem.

John White’s brother Bill stood. I have no problem killing every one of the men, but it don’t sit well with me killing women and children. It seems there has to be a better way of handling this. I for one can’t pull the trigger on some kid. I’ve killed my share of grown men and felt bad enough for doing it, but no women or kids for me. I have no love for those thieving bastards, but killing them all for stealing a couple of chickens is too much for me.

Many of the men around the room nodded and voiced their agreement. John White rapped his gun butt on the podium again. If most of you don’t have the stomach for that, what do you suggest we do with them?

Bill White was still standing. Why not surround the whole bunch and put them in their canoes. We’ll send them across the Bay towards Galveston and burn their camp. Maybe they’ll make their way down to Mexico, or at least somewhere farther south. We can probably do this without ever firing a shot. That seems like a much more humane way of ending our problem.

John White’s face reddened when his own brother had presented a civilized way of getting rid of the Karanks. If it will make everyone happy, we’ll take a vote. Kill them all, or just run them off. Is that fair enough?

An overwhelming majority voted to send them across the Bay. That lightened the meeting up knowing that there would be no killing unless necessary. Conversation and laughter filled the room while the crock jug made its way around the room. Every man present had seen enough killing and death to last a life time. The reprieve from participating in a mass slaughter boosted the spirits of the group.

At 3 AM the Anahuac Volunteers assembled in front of Bean’s Mercantile Store. Most who lived close to town had gone home for a quick nap, while others who lived farther out in the country had bedded down in the livery stable. A dense Gulf Coast fog had followed the rain and settled in, making it hard to see who had arrived and who hadn’t. John White stood on the porch of Bean’s store trying to count the riders. Having little success because of the fog, he yelled out, Everyone dismount and come to the porch so we can count heads.

Finding all the Volunteers present, he issued the orders. "We need to stay close so that no one