Massacre in Texas -1838-

By Walt Tackett

Set in the East Texas piney woods in the late 1830's. this is the story of the pioneering Killough, Wood, and Williams families that moved to Texas seeking a new beginning amoung the thick forests, abundant game, and rich fertile farming soil that the area had to offer.

 

This is also the story of the tragedies that befell them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Walt Tackett
• Release date: Aug 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201061654

Book preview

To all my family:

Jane,

my amazing wife,

my soul mate in every way, who laughs at almost all my jokes,

consistently brings me back on focus when I go off on tangents,

supports me in my writings, and all my other endeavors.

Tim,

of whom I am extremely proud to call my son.

Keri,

of whom I am very proud to have as my daughter-in-law.

Ellen,

of whom I am extremely proud to call my daughter.

Michael,

of whom I am very proud to have as my son-in-law.

Tyler,

my grandson,

who gives me lessons in determination.

Abbie, Anna, Gracie, and Allie,

my granddaughters,

who support me in everything,

and melt my heart when they call me Paw Paw.

To the memory of Mom and Dad,

I could not have asked for better parents.

I love every one of you!

PREFACE

In 1836, Texas was in the battle for their independence. When Texas declared their independence from Mexico, General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, the Napoleon of the West, marched an army into Texas to put down the revolution. Losing at the Alamo with the massacre of 187 fighters, the Texians pulled back to strengthen their forces while Santa Anna and his troops followed in hot pursuit.

Santa Anna found Colonel James W. Fannin and his army at Goliad. Fannin and his troops were overpowered and surrendered, but Santa Anna called for no quarters of Fannin’s command and executed three hundred-forty-four Texas soldiers. Only a few were able to escape to freedom.

General Sam Houston led the Texas volunteer army in a bold attack along Buffalo Bayou and overwhelmingly defeated the Mexican army. Santa Anna, forced to concede, signed a document of surrender.

Texas was now an Independent Republic. The results of an election held on the twenty second day of October 1836, placed Sam Houston as the new President and Mirabeau B. Lamar the Vice President.

Earlier, Sam Houston and John Forbes, on behalf of Texas’ provisional government, had signed a treaty with the Cherokee Indian Chiefs Bowles and Big Mush. The treaty required that they stay neutral and not side with Mexico in exchange for ownership of the land that they had occupied for the last fifteen years. The treaty went before the elected Texas Congress for ratification, but it did not pass. The East Texas land, stripped away from the Cherokees, was now opened-up for immigrants. Settlers poured into Texas and onto the rich fertile land of the East Texas piney woods.

This story is about one of those families that chose East Texas in which to settle. Along with their wives, children, relatives, and friends they came seeking the freedom that the new Republic of Texas could offer them. They also brought with them the hopes and dreams of a new life on the Texas frontier. This is also a story of the massacre that befell them. The story is based on the lives of real people, events, happiness, and their tragedies.

Even though some of the events that appear in this book took place, I can’t know everything that happened, what thoughts may have gone through the people’s minds, or the dialogs that may have taken place. I can only try to put myself in their situation and imagine how their lives may have been. With these premises in mind, I wrote this book to make it as true to what really happened as possible but at the same time, adding what I feel they might have said and done. I also added characters and circumstances to fill in gaps. I included a story or two about the adventures of my Great Grandparents as they traveled from Mississippi to Texas by wagon train in the 1860’s. In this book, I have tried to convey what frontier life might have been like in the early days of the Republic of Texas.

Walt

1

MONUMENT

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The air was hanging very heavy on that October day with fog so thick it dripped with moisture and the visibility so scant one could not see past the tree line only yards away. So still was the air that sounds echoed through the pine trees and gave a feeling that someone might be watching. The Killough family had almost completed their harvest for the season, lacking only an hour or two more to finish the last field. After eating lunch in their cabins, Isaac Killough Jr. and his brother, Samuel, walked along the path to help harvest the corn. To get to the field, they had to cross a marshy area that formed because of the heavy rains that were typical during that time of year in the East Texas piney woods. When they reached the middle of the bog, a bright flash, and smoke appeared from behind the tree line. The loud sharp crack of a musket firing followed interrupting the quietness. Then the dull thud of a bullet hitting human flesh. Samuel slumped forward, holding his chest with both hands. He stumbled and collapsed to his knees, fell face first, and was dead before he fully hit the ground. The echoing sounds of more musket fire seemed to last forever as it permeated the stillness. Isaac Jr. did not know what to do or which way to turn. Allen Killough, his brother, was farther back on the trail heading toward the bog. It took him a second to fully take stock of what was really happening. He saw shadows moving in the trees, then to warn the others, he shouted at the top of his lungs, Indians! Run! Run for your lives!

A SMALL BLACK 1949 Ford pickup truck headed down the highway. It was Saturday morning, and low dense fog covered the hills in Mount Selman, Cherokee County, Texas. The driver of the truck, a man about 47 years old, wore a khaki work shirt and pants and a light-weight jacket. His skin tanned from years of working in the sun. On his feet were a pair of boots scuffed and battered from the hours of kicking East Texas sand. On the top of his head, he sported a straw hat cocked slightly to one side. On the seat beside him sat two boys. One boy was 15 years old, sitting by the window. The other was 13 years old, sitting in the middle. They were both wearing blue jean pants, pull over white tee shirts, tennis shoes and baseball caps. The air was starting to get cooler on this October day, so they had donned light blue jean jackets to keep the chill off. I was that thirteen-year-old boy. The man, my dad. The fifteen-year-old, my brother, Jimmy.

We were driving north on Highway 69 out of Jacksonville, Texas. We had gone there to pick up a load of new bushel baskets from the Texas Basket Company. We used the baskets to tote Crepe Myrtle cuttings to our farm for planting.

As we drove along, Dad asked, Do you boys want to see where an Indian massacre occurred?  

Without hesitating one bit, Of course! Yes! we said with excitement! I thought to myself, Who wouldn’t?

He informed us, Few people know about the place and what happen there.

We turned left onto Texas Farm Road 855, then we turned left again onto County Road 3405. After more turns, two stone columns appeared on the left. We turned and drove down a rough narrow single lane road and parked the truck in front of a chain link fence enclosure that had four corner pillars. In the center of the fenced in area was a monument made of local iron-ore rock and mortar. It had a square base of about fifteen feet and a pinnacle that reached about twenty-five feet in the air. We got out of the pickup truck and walked through an unlocked gate.

There were grave markers inside the fenced area. As we walked around among the head stones and East Texas pine trees we were careful not to step on any of the graves. I sensed an eeriness in the area, a solemnness (as if we were not alone). Because of the heavy fog, we could not see past the tree line into the dense woods surrounding the area. I felt the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise. I kept asking myself. Is someone watching us? Are there Indians still here, hiding behind those trees waiting to jump out at us? I stayed a little closer to my dad as we walked around, but not too close, not wanting to appear scared. I didn’t want my brother laughing at me.

There were four graves marked with red iron-ore stones to the west of the main monument, but there was nothing written on them that would let us know who was interred there. Mounted on the west side of the monument base was a stone plaque on which bore the name Nathaniel Killough and the dates 1806-1864. On the East side of the monument, there was another plaque. It read Killough Indian Massacre with the date October 5, 1838. Etched on the plaque were four names. Isaac Killough Sr., Isaac Killough Jr., Allen Killough, and Samuel Killough. Today’s date was October the 5th. We were standing at the site of a massacre that occurred 125 years earlier.

There were other markers within the fenced area, but those had dates on them that were after the massacre had occurred. To the left stood a four-foot-tall grey stone memorial on which an inscription was etched. The state of Texas had erected it years ago. We walked over to read the words written on the memorial:

SITE OF THE