On the Trail of Deserters; A Phenomenal Capture

by Robert Goldthwaite Carter

The Pursuit—A Howling "Norther"

At 7:15 we made the start—the writer taking the Weatherford stage road across the prairie, a mere trail— The "Norther" broke with full force, with alternate snow, rain, hail and sleet—a heavy gale driving it into our faces— We left the trail and rode into several freighters' camps, where they had sought shelter in the timber, at great risk to our lives—to search for the missing men but without learning anything— They had immense roaring fires which could be seen for a long distance, but so great was their fear of Indians, that we found them up and ready, rifle in hand—and behind their wagon bodies—determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible— It was hard to tear ourselves away from these huge fires—and plunge across the interminable prairies in the teeth of the increasing gale— We were none too warmly clothed— The men and horses—hardly recovered from their year's hard work—were beginning to show the effects and wear and tear of such a frightful storm. Believing that we should all perish if we continued the ride all night, and Rhodes, the guide, agreeing with me—upon his informing me that his brother had a ranch only a mile or two off the road, directions were given to him to head for the ranch by the shortest line so that we could secure the needed shelter— After a fearful struggle over several miles of an open stretch of prairie, breasting into the teeth of one of the worst blizzards ever recorded in Texas, we reached the ranch, the men and horses almost exhausted, and completely coated with ice— The ranch proved to be a low, one story log house, with several out-buildings—a ramshackly horse shed and corn crib— It was midnight— Several dogs announced our approach, and Rhodes aroused his brother— Ordering the men to unsaddle, blanket the horses with their saddle blankets, and to "tie in" under the "lee" of the buildings, the men to occupy the horse shed—Rhodes, the Corporals and the writer stalked into the shelter of the "shack"— There was but one room with a large stone fire place— Rhodes piled on the logs— The room had two beds in it— He and the writer, stripping off our outer frozen clothes, and hanging them up to dry in front of the blaze—occupied one bed—his brother, wife and infant child were in the other, while the two Corporals, with several large ranch dogs, curled up in their blankets on the open hearth— It was a "wild and wooly" night—when the baby wasn't crying the dogs were sniffing, growling, whining or whimpering over being disturbed by such an influx of strangers— We wore out the night with little or no sleep— When day broke it was found that the storm was still raging although the wind had somewhat abated— Feeding the horses liberally from Rhodes' corn cribs, for which we paid him generously—and after a hasty breakfast, we saddled up and started across the prairie to find the road— The country was one sheet of glare ice— Our horses were smooth shod— At the road we met Sergeant Faber of Troop "A" with a small detachment returning from some duty and going into Fort R. We learned from him that the deserters had been seen the night before in Weatherford, which was but a few miles away— We skated, slid and floundered along through the ice crust, a horse going down now and then until we reached a creek about one-half mile from W—— when the command halted and was placed in bivouac, concealed by heavy chaparral— Corporal Charlton was directed to get ready to accompany the writer at dark and afoot for a thorough search of the town and to begin to assume his role—

The Search—Amateur Army Detectives—The Corporal's Joke

We struck the town under cover of darkness, and proceeded to "comb" it, both heavily armed and with no insignia of rank on or about our citizens clothes or any indication that we were of the army— "Now, Corporal, you are to preserve your incognito— You are to deal with your Commanding Officer as though we are simply two friends or acquaintances on a night's drive through the 'slums'; there are to be no—'Yes, Sir!' or—'No, Sir!'— No deference is to be paid—him— Don't forget your part! You are to be simply—'Green',—and the other party is to be plain 'Brown'— Have your guns handy, and at a given signal be prepared for a quick pull on the trigger— These are all the instructions necessary, except that you are under no circumstances to be separated from me for a moment—and watch me all the time for signals"— Charlton straightened up—saluted—replied—"Yes, Sir"! and that was the last recognition of rank the writer got during this adventure—

All night long we plied our trade of amateur detectives— No stone was left unturned— We worked the "dives", faro banks—brothels, saloons and questionable resorts, but without avail— The deserters had been seen but everybody seemed mum and blind or deaf and dumb— They had been paid off for several months—had scattered it—their money—liberally and had left the town— Nobody knew where— At one gilded dive "Green", becoming bold and watching his chance, assuming the detective role with some slight show of experience and with a most startling blasé air said to the bespangled proprietress—"Didn't you have a place at one time in Jacksboro"? "Yes"!— "Well, then, you must remember Brown, here", pointing a finger at me— "Oh, yes!" was the reply— "I remember him well, and that he came often and I have often wondered what became of him"— Anger came to the front at this joke—but it had to be choked back—the instructions had been given— No frowns or even scowls or anything but a positive order would have disturbed the imperturbable musketeer Corporal—the d'Artagnan of our adventure at this point. The writer was married and had left his wife and child in the howling gale at Fort R——; and had never seen this "Jezabel"— His outraged dignity sustained a distinct shock— The Corporal was mildly rebuked later and it was passed by as part of the duality of character which Mackenzie had forced me to assume if success was to be assured— Nothing was accomplished by our night's work— At day break, sending the Corporal back to the bivouac of the command, it was ordered to meet me in town at once— Just as we were deliberating what the next move was to be—Sergt. Miles Varily of Troop "E" with a mounted detachment rode into town— He had been to Huntsville, Texas, where he had conveyed Satanta and Big Tree, the Ki-o-wa Indian Chiefs—who had been in confinement at Fort R—— under sentence since July 6—to the State Penitentiary where they were to be confined for life for the massacre of Henry Warren's teamsters on Salt Creek Prairie— Varily had met and talked with the deserters on the Bear Creek Road to Cleburne— He said they were all well armed—and had declared that they would not be taken alive— This—he gave as his reason for not arresting them with his small force— He knew all of them and had identified them as men of Troop "B"— They were in a two-mule freighter's wagon, with a low canvas top drawn down tight for concealment— It was driven by a medium sized, but stocky built—civilian— At last there seemed to be a definite clue— They were evidently heading for Cleburne and Waxahatchie— I must overtake and capture them before they reached Cleburne—which was 45 miles distant, an all day ride— There was no time to lose—placing Charlton in the road—and the other Corporal with his men on both sides fanned out or deployed for a mile or more, and combing all of the ranches and small settlements, the writer pushed and directed the search all of the way without any further developments— Occasionally the detachments were signalled in to the road— Cleburne was reached at dark after a terribly hard ride, the storm still continuing, with a lull in the wind but growing colder— Securing the services of the Deputy Sheriff—we made a thorough search up to one o'clock but with no results.

A Sleepless Night—The Gettysburg "Johnny"

At 3 o'clock A. M. having sent the Corporal to bed and placed the men in bivouac in the edge of the town, the writer, having secured a small map of Texas, was seated in front of a log fire diligently studying the situation— The deserters must surely be somewhere in the near vicinity— They were certainly not in Cleburne— Where had they disappeared to after leaving Weatherford? Many roads and trails led out of Cleburne—some towards the railroads— No mistake must be made— A sudden inspiration seized me— I woke up the Corporal— "Corporal, find me a two seated carriage or conveyance of some kind with driver—'rake' the town—and get it here as soon as possible; rout out the detachment—and report yourself mounted to me at the same time"— "Never mind the expense"! In about 30 minutes Charlton was there with a closely curtained-in two-seated carriage, carry-all, or Texas "hack", with two mules, and a one-legged driver; also the entire detachment mounted— Amazement was on the faces of all— What was the play?— What was the game being "pulled off" by the "Old Man"? "Corporal Charlton, take your carbine and pistol and get in the front seat with the driver"—and turning to the other Corporal—(Jones)—"You will take our two led horses—and follow this 'hack'—never losing touch with it—but always remaining as much as possible out of sight—about a mile or two in the rear—concealing yourself as much as possible by the timber— Keep your eyes on this 'hack'—one flash of my handkerchief and you will drop further back out of sight if it is open country; two flashes, and you are to come up with your detachment and our led horses at a run—remember, and always keep out of sight as much as possible"— We moved out on the Hillsboro road—inquiries were made all along but with no satisfactory results— We scoured the settlements, ranches and side trails but without avail— We had had a description given us, however, of a certain two-horse team—with a number of men in it, which partially filled the bill— Feeling perfectly sure that they were breaking for the railroad, either at Corsicana or Waxahatchie—yet it was feared that we were on the wrong road— The driver of our conveyance, or "dug out", it seemed, had been a confederate soldier, and had lost a leg at Gettysburg in the desperate charge of Longstreet's Corps on July 2—upon the "Round Tops" and the "Peach Orchard"— He had belonged to the Fifth Texas, Robertson's "Texas Brigade", Hood's Division, and strange to record had confronted the First Brigade—First Division, Fifth Corps, in which the writer had served on that fateful day, and in that death-strewn spot. He immediately recognised an old enemy, became extremely voluble, and insisted upon fighting the battle "o'er again", with many a story and reminiscence of his many campaigns, until, at length, he, not having been let into the secret of our plans, was so inclined to put in his time telling stories that we were in great danger of losing the object of an entire night's hard work— He even wanted to stop his mules to emphasize his points, when much to the "Johnny's" chagrin and to the intense amusement of Charlton, my d'Artagnan Musketeer, the "lines" "by order", were turned over to the latter, while the writer having no whip—prodded the mules along with a sharp stick—Time—and then Time—was our one objective— We were not so sure of our direction— It was getting late—and with our delays we were still some miles from Hillsboro— All was working well in our plans; the detachment was out of sight well to the rear—

We emerged from the cover of the timber upon a "hog wallow" prairie—and from this high, rolling hill or divide, when descending to the valley of a small creek, saw ahead—two miles or more—a small train of wagons in the hollow, moving to head this small "branch"— Talk about the thumping of one's heart!! Some intuition told me that my deserters were there; my pulse quickened perceptibly, and I almost shouted to the "Jehu"—who had been allowed to resume the "lines" but was slacking up—to "keep busy,"—and to gather his animals for a rallying burst of magnificent speed— Now the train was seen to split—some going around—while one low canvas-topped two-horse wagon kept on the road for the "branch"— Then I saw a number of men—6 or 8—get out and try to wade across the stream. They were the deserters! of this I now felt sure— I said nothing—but sharply touched the Corporal's elbow, jumped from the "hack" and running back a few yards gave the handkerchief signal "two flashes"— The detachment was in full view on the high ground silhouetted against the sky. The Corporal had closed up too much while we were in the timber, and when emerging—exposed himself to the view of the men in the valley as I had feared— They had seen him, and scenting danger made a wild break— The detachment came forward with our led horses at a gallop—but the deserters, having crossed the stream and scattered, were now heading for the fringe of timber, chaparral and brush which either skirted, or was near, the creek—

The Capture

Once mounted I shouted for one Corporal to head off the main wagon train on the road—and detain it and hold it at all hazards until my return. Taking Charlton we dashed for the stream. My powerful horse bogged;—Dismounting in water up to my waist, by careful management he was soon out on dry land. Charlton led— "Get after them now, Corporal—Open fire! Shoot over their heads and close to them, but not to kill"— Finely mounted—and one of the crack shots in the regiment, with carbine advanced, he was in his element and "swung out" at a gallop for the men who were trying to gain the bushes or chaparral in the distance— He was an absolutely true type of the handsome, graceful soldier and rider, with the close seat and the American or cow-boy stirrup, and the resourceful, masterful, trained cavalryman of the days closely following the Civil War— Bang! Crack!! Crack!!! went his carbine— As I followed him I could see the dirt and dust sprayed over the fleeing deserters— As the shots whistled and struck about them, they instantly dropped to the ground for safety—and lay there until some men, whom I had recalled from the detachment, had followed me and gathered them up as prisoners— None were to be shot unless they resisted. I gained the road to the brow of a hill overlooking the country. After securing five with no resistance, and being told by them that there were two more—a little darkey near by shouted—"Oh, golly Massa, dere dey go ober de hill, way yonder"— At least two miles away they could be seen running, fairly flying. The Corporal and writer dashed after them, and after a long ride and a diligent search in the bushes, together with a few warning shots—we secured them. With these men and the driver of their team we returned to the train— I had not fully trusted the other Corporal, on account of his seeming indifference, and he had somewhat hampered my plans and movements—so I felt anxious as to whether my orders to hold the train fast had been obeyed. He had, however, stopped the train and held the wagon master, and the whole "outfit" at the point of his carbine, as in a vise.