The life record of H. W. Graber / A Terry Texas Ranger, 1861-1865; sixty-two years in Texas

by H. W. Graber

One Sunday morning Thorn and I rode into town, and met on the road going towards the river, eleven Federal soldiers. We thought nothing of it as they had never before crossed the river. Captain Thorn stopped at the place where his wife was boarding and I started across the square to where my little family were stopping. I noticed a group of our solid citizens armed, talking excitedly, and rode up and asked them the news, when they told me that a band of soldiers had raided the town the night before, committing a number of depredations and had threatened to burn Hempstead that night.

A committee of citizens, headed by the Mayor, Mr. Whitworth, had visited the camp that morning and complained to the commanding officer, Captain Lancaster, of the conduct of his men the night before and told him of their threat to burn Hempstead that night. They asked permission to organize a patrol to keep their town from being burned. He cursed them in answer and told them that he wanted every one of them to hunt their holes that night at eight o’clock and that he would have a patrol out to see that they did it.

Knowing the temper of the people, as I did, I suggested to them not to do anything rash, telling them that whatever was done without the authority of the powers that were would only bring greater trouble, and that we would be powerless to secure redress. I pleaded with them and cautioned them to submit, rather than to make matters worse, as in the case of Brenham.

I then proceeded to my wife’s place of residence and spent the balance of the day until about four o’clock in the evening. All during that day we heard wild rumors of the threats of the soldiers of what they were going to do that night and I decided it was best to take my wife and baby to the plantation and keep them out of trouble. About a mile from town I met one of our negro men, with his wife. His wife’s clothes were badly torn. He told me that eleven soldiers had been out to the place, robbed the house of several guns belonging to the negroes and one very fine gun belonging to Captain Thorn. They had tried to break into my storeroom, but had failed to get in. They had then gone to Buckhorn, about four or five miles west of us, where there was a store and postoffice, and he thought on their return, they would break into my store. I asked him where he was going. He said he was going into camp to report them. I told him not to do so, that they would nearly beat him to death for making such a report, but to go and see his Marse Tom and tell him what they had done and to tell him that I had gone on out and to come out immediately and to bring out a good lot of pistol ammunition. We both had pistols but no ammunition for them, never having any use for them, though it was the custom with most people to carry six-shooters.

My first impulse was to watch their return from Buckhorn and, on their approach, to go into the storeroom, well prepared with loaded guns, and resist any attempt on their part to break into the store.

I drove on out to the place, very much alarmed; fearing that I would meet these devils on their return to town, but fortunately, they had not returned that far. After crossing the river at the ferry, I drove through the open fields, where I could see clear up to the house, about a mile, and when I reached the house the negroes reported that they had already left there, for town, on the river road, through a piece of bottom.

I had promised my wife that I would do nothing in the matter and intended to make good this promise, but when the negroes told me of the soldiers’ doings in the negro quarters and at the house, I lost all control of myself, ushered my wife into the house, told her that I had to go down to the barn to see the mules fed, by way of an excuse to get away from her, went into the storeroom, got an only pistol, partly loaded, rushed to the barn without a saddle, jumped on my horse’s back and set out in pursuit of them.

Fortunately they had already crossed the river when I got to the ferry. There is no question but what I would have dashed in among them with only three shots in my pistol and would not now live to tell the tale.

At the ferry I met a young man by the name of Stevenson, a son of the owner of the place, and a young man by the name of Hartsfield, who had been acting as our overseer. Stevenson was armed and so was Hartsfield. I got some ammunition from the ferryman for my pistol, which I completed loading. When about ready to cross the river, Captain Thorn hailed for the boat, crossed and secured another pistol from the ferryman. Thorn was very much stirred up. In meeting them the leader of this gang had made him get off of his horse, get down on his knees and told him to say his prayers, but finally let him off. We then started in pursuit and when within about a mile of their camp we caught up with them. When they heard us coming they broke, their leader and several companions taking to trees, from which they fired upon us. In the mix-up they got the worst of the affair. Two were left dead on the field, while we miraculously escaped without a scratch.

Our first decision was to report the result to the commanding officer, but being admonished by the manner in which he had treated our citizens that morning, and also the history in the case of Brenham, we finally concluded we had better keep out of their clutches and not risk our lives in their hands.