The Battle of Plum Creek from Life of Robert Hall by "Brazos" 1898: The greatest battle that we ever had with the Comanches was the battle of Plum Creek. The generals of the little Texas army in this short campaign exhibited military ability of the very highest order, while the soldiers exposed themselves with reckless daring and charged at the word of command like Grecian heroes. Every man did his duty. The Comanches were greatly superior to us in number, but the battle was a crushing defeat, and was the end of the long reign of terror of these terrible red devils in Texas.About five hundred Comanches, well armed and mounted on their best horses, slipped over the border and suddenly appeared in the vicinity of Victoria. They plundered and sacked the little town of Linnville and robbed every store and every house of everything valuable. Their dash into this part of the country was a complete surprise. As the long column marched across the prairies it presented a ludicrous sight. The naked warriors had tried to dress themselves in the clothing they had stolen. Many of them put on cloth coats and buttoned them behind. Most of them had on stolen shoes and hats. They spread the calico over their horses, and tied hundreds of yards of ribbon in their horses' manes and to their tails. These Indians had been preparing for this raid for a long time. They all had new white shields, and many of the warriors had long tails to their headgear.
We got the news at Gonzales that a strong column of Comanches had passed into the lower country, and we at once got into the saddle and marched to the rescue of our friends. We camped at Isham Good's first, and, not hearing any news, we were about to return home, when Ben McCulloch rode into camp. Goat Jones was with him. They reported that the Indians had plundered the lower country, and were returning on the same trail. Capt. Caldwell asked me to take a good man and scout to the front and see if I could see anything of the Indians. I took John Baker, and we rode all night. About daylight we came in sight of the Indians, about seven miles from our camp. We rode back and reported.
During my absence Gen. Felix Huston had been elected to the command of the army, and Ed Burleson had joined us with about one hundred men, including some fifteen Tonkaways. Gen. Huston asked me to take five picked men and ride to the front and select a good position to make the attack. I came in sight of them. They were on the prairie, and the column looked to be seven miles long. Here I witnessed a horrible sight. A captain and one man rode in among the Indians. The captain escaped, but I saw the Indians kill the private. I ordered my men to keep at a safe distance and pick off an Indian as the opportunity presented.
We skirmished with them for about two miles, when our army came up in fine and opened fire. It looked as if we were taking desperate chances, for I am sure that we only had 202 men, but every man was a veteran. Gen. Huston deserves great credit for the courage he displayed in this battle. He rode right with the fine, and never flinched under the most galling fire. At the first volley the Indians became demoralized, and it was easy to see that we had them beat just as we rode against them I received a bullet in the thigh. It made a terrible wound, and the blood ran until it sloshed out of my boots. I was compelled to dismount, or rather I fell off of my horse. After a moment I felt better and made an effort to rejoin the line of battle. I met an Indian, and was just in the act of shooting him when he threw up his hands and shouted "Tonkaway!"
While on the skirmish fine, an Indian dashed at Mr. Smitzer with a lance. I fired right in the Indian's face and knocked him off his horse, but I did not kill him. However, I got the fine hat he had stolen. While I was scrambling about, trying to staunch the blood that was flowing from my leg, I came across a great big fat negro woman, who was hiding in the grass. She no sooner saw me than she exclaimed: "Bless God, here is a white man once more." Her little child was hiding in the grass just like a frightened animal. If it had been big enough it would have run from me like a deer. Not far from the old Negro I found the body of Mrs. Crosby. There were two arrows in her body. They had passed clear through her. She was just gasping in death. She had been a prisoner, and the red devils had killed her when they saw they were defeated.
A little further on I found Mrs. Watts. They had shot an arrow at her breast, but her steel corset saved her life. It had entered her body, but Isham Good and I fastened a big pocket knife on the arrow and pulled it out. She possessed great fortitude, for she never flinched, though we could hear the breastbone crack when the arrow came out. She turned over on her side and bled a great deal, but she soon recovered. She was the wife of a custom house officer, and I think her maiden name was Ewing. She asked for poor Mrs. Crosby and told us that the Indians whipped the poor woman frequently and called her a "peon," because she could not read. They had stolen several books, and when in camp at night they would gather around Mrs. Watts and ask her to explain the pictures and read to them. Mrs. Watts' husband had been killed when the Indians sacked Linnville. She afterwards married Dr. Fretwell, and resided in Port Lavaca.
It has always been a mystery to me why the Indians became so terribly demoralized in this battle. It was fought on the open prairie, and they could easily see that they greatly outnumbered us. It is rather strange that they did not make a stand. It was one of the prettiest sights I ever saw in my life. The warriors flourished their white shields, and the young chiefs galloped about the field with the long tails streaming from their hats and hundreds of vari-colored ribbons floating in the air, exhibiting great bravado. Some of them dashed courageously very close to us, and two or three of them lost their lives in this foolhardy display of valor. Our boys charged with a yell and did not fire until they got close to the enemy. The Indians were panic stricken, and fled at once. The Texans followed them over the prairies for fifteen or twenty miles.
That night, around the camp-fire, many strange stories were told. One of the strangest was of an old black chief, whose head looked as if it had been nearly blown off. He gripped the horn of his saddle with his hands, and dozens of the boys declared that they struck him on the head with the butt of their muskets as they passed him. No blow could make him release his hold. Though dead and stiff, he remained on his war-horse. There was a good deal of talk of it at the time. I had almost forgotten the incident when I read the story of the headless rider of Woerth. This occurred during the Franco-German war. Newspaper readers will remember that a French colonel had his head shot off with a cannon ball, but he did not fall from his horse. The furious animal galloped about over the field during the whole battle, carrying on his back the headless colonel. Scientists talked and wrote about the affair and offered some sort of an explanation. I think they sald that the muscles in death became so rigid that no earthly power could cause them to relax. This must have been the case with the old Indian, for dozens of truthful men declared that he was as dead as a door nail, but that he still clung to his horse. The horse ran off in the woods with him, and his body was never found.
From the best information I could gather I think the boys killed about forty of the Comanches. We lost not a man, but seven were wounded: Robert Hall, Henry McCulloch, Arch Gibson, Columbus DeWitt, Dr. Smitzer, and two others, whose names I don't remember. The Tonkaways brought in the dead body of a Comanche warrior, and they built a big fire not far from where I was lying. My wound had begun to pain me considerably, and I did not pay much attention to them for some time. After awhile they began to sing and dance, and I thought that I detected the odor of burning flesh. I raised up and looked around, and, sure enough, our allies were cooking the Comanche warrior. They cut him into slices and broiled him on sticks. Curiously enough the eating of the flesh acted upon them as liquor does upon other men. After a few mouthfuls they began to act as if they were very drunk, and I don't think there was much pretense or sham about it. They danced, raved, howled and sang, and invited me to get up and eat a slice of Comanche. They said it would make me brave. I was very hungry, but not sufficiently so to become a cannibal. The Tonkaways were wild over the victory, and they did not cease their celebration until sunrise.
The boys captured the war chiefs cap. It was a peculiar affair, made of the finest of furs, and it had a tail attached to it at least thirty feet long. Several other fine caps were picked up on the field. About fifteen miles from Plum Creek the soldiers heard a child crying in a thicket. All were afraid that the noise was some ruse of the Indians to induce the Texans into an ambush, but finally one fool fellow declared that he would go in and see what it was. He found a little child, a boy, lying on the leaves by itself. The soldier brought it out, and it proved to be a child of the head chief of the Comanches. They brought it to camp, and old judge Bellinger adopted it. The little Indian did not live but three or four months.We captured the Indian pack train. The mules were loaded with household furniture, wearing apparel, and general merchandise. There were five hundred of these pack mules. The government had just received a supply of stores at Linnville, and the Indians had captured these. We hardly knew what to do with all this stuff, and we finally concluded to divide it among ourselves. Some days after I reached home the boys sent me a pack mule and a pack. In the pack there was a pillow and a bolster of home-made cloth and considerable dry goods. There were also coverlets, sheets, quilts, and clothing. If I had known who the stuff belonged to I would have, of course, returned it.
After some days my friends got an old buggy and hitched an old horse to it and made an effort to get me home. At the crossing of the San Marcos the old horse balked and refused to pull the vehicle up the hill. That made me mad, and I got out of the buggy and walked on home. I was tired and hungry, and I wanted to see Polly and get something to eat and have her dress my wound. Polly was glad to see me, for she thought I was dead. Old man King had gone home, and, from some cause, he had carried my shoes. He told Polly I would be home in a few days, but during the evening she found my shoes, full of blood, and she began to scream and upbraid her father. He then had to tell her the truth, but he insisted that I was only slightly wounded. Polly did not believe him, but when she saw me walking home she ran to meet me and declared that she never intended to let me go to fight Indians any more. This battle was fought on the 12th of August, 1840.
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