[This account of “The Wild Woman of the Navidad” has been supplied from her father’s manuscripts by Mrs. Margaret Kenney Kress, Instructor in Romance Languages in the University of Texas. [[243]]
The line between history and legend is not always definitely drawn. Mr. Kenney called his narrative “a true story”: it is “true” in that it sets down many of the speculations and some of the probably unsubstantiated tales connected with “The Wild Woman.” Herein, the derivation of legend from fact is admirably illustrated, for I must think that all legends, even such improbable ones as that of Romulus and Remus, have their inception in fact. The universal practice of transferring legendary lore concerning one place or person to another place or person does not disprove the theory that fact is at the basis of legend.
The theme of the wild man or the wild woman is not uncommon in legend. People want wild men or wild women to thrill their imaginations. Twenty-five years ago a number of the inhabitants of Live Oak County, Texas, were aroused over tales of a “wild woman.” Two or three deputy sheriffs on her trail stayed at our house one freezing night. The next day they found her huddled in a Mexican jacal—an addle-brained negro woman who was trying to get through the country afoot. Fifteen years later stories in the same county circulated about a “wild cave man.” His diet, according to the tales, was as miraculous as that of the fabled chameleon; his elusive powers as incomprehensible as those of Fortunatus. Rumor grew riotous and fearsome. Finally, some cowpunchers rode the “wild man” down and roped him. He proved to be a Mexican moron who was in hiding for having murdered another Mexican.
Mr. Kenney gives 1837 and 1850 as the dates between which “The Wild Woman of the Navidad” flourished. Victor M. Rose, who treats of the subject sketchily, gives the dates as 1840 and 1850.[1] Both speak of the wide newspaper publicity given the “woman”; and it is interesting to note that during this time of publicity other sections were claiming their “wild men.” Marryat, who cribbed most of his wild west material from current newspapers, published in 1843 an account of a purported “wild man” on Red River.
“One day,” he says, “a report was spread in the neighborhood of Fort Gibson, that a strange monster, of the ourang-outang species, had penetrated the cane-brakes upon the western banks of the Mississippi. Some negroes declared to have seen him tearing down a brown bear; an Arkansas hunter had sent to Philadelphia an exaggerated account of this recently discovered animal, and the members of the academy had written to him to catch the animal, if possible, alive, no matter at what expense.”[2]
The man, it seems, had endured all manner of adventure, which he related to some hunters who shot him. Later he became a wealthy river captain, but probably tales about him as a “wild man” grew even after his death.
Again, in 1851 there was a “wild man” in the Arkansas woods. On May 26th of that year, the Galveston Weekly Journal reprinted a report from the Memphis Enquirer of May 9th, concerning this “wild” being. He is described as long-haired, gigantic in frame, with a footprint thirteen inches in length.—Editor.] [[244]]
Rising in the gentle hills, between the Colorado and Lavaca rivers, the Navidad River, after a short course, expands into a deep stream which creeps sluggishly through the wide and dense forests that cover the alluvial lands near the sea. Some of the earliest settlements in Texas were made on the Navidad. The dense growth of trees and cane in the river bottom was the haunt of all species of wild animals, which, through fear or ferocity, seek the recesses of the forest.
About the year 1837 there appeared in the settlements of the lower Navidad a phenomenon. The barefoot tracks of two human beings were frequently seen, but the persons who made them kept themselves carefully from sight. It was inferred from the size of the tracks that one was made by a boy and the other by a girl or woman of delicate feet. The two sometimes invaded the sweet potato fields and sometimes helped themselves to a few ears of corn, but seemed to avoid any mischief and took only something to eat. Many conjectures were made, and abandoned as fast as made, as to who they could be. At first they were thought to be runaway slaves. But the size of the tracks demonstrated that they were not negroes, and they avoided making themselves known to the negroes of the country. Then it was supposed that they were some wandering remnant of Indians, and this conjecture was favored by the smallness of the feet. But their conduct was foreign to the Indian character. Indians would not have been so secluded; they would have committed more mischief—or less. The most probable conjecture seemed to be that they were lost children who had become separated from their friends during the hurried retreat of the American settlers from the invading army of Mexico in 1836. It was supposed that they had become so alarmed that, believing the whole world hostile, they kept themselves in innocent ignorance secluded from mankind. But there were grave objections to this theory also. If the supposed lost children had been old enough to maintain themselves in the wilderness, they would not have lacked discretion to make themselves known when their friends returned. Altogether, the riddle remained unsolved. After some years the larger track was no more seen, but the small and slim track frequented the country. Some time later a party of hunters noticed some bones protruding from a pile of sticks and leaves in the woods, and upon investigation discovered there the skeleton of a man. Nothing was noticed by [[245]]which his race or nation could be determined; indeed, but little was thought of the matter at the time, but afterward it was concluded that the larger of the two strange recluses, who was probably a man, had died, and that his weaker mate, covering his body with sticks and leaves, had furnished as best she could his primitive shroud and sepulture.
However this might be, the small track was often found in the potato fields, where the strange wild being frequently came by night and, after grappling a few potatoes with the hands, went away as stealthily as she came. From the impress of the fingers left in the garden mould it was judged that the hands were small and slim; and from the tracks, which were only a span long, it seemed certain that the author of these little depredations was a woman, and not of the black race, whose feet are all large, flat, and ill-shaped. She was now called “The Wild Woman,” though some called her “It.”