In the fall of 1835 the Texans had made the first Declaration of Independence. War was begun with the incident at Gonzales. Austin had declared that “War is our only recourse. There is no remedy. We must defend our rights, ourselves and our country by the force of arms.” There had been engagements with the enemy at Goliad and at Concepcion, and San Antonio was being besieged. Similar sentiments to those of Austin had been expressed by several Committees of Safety. At a general Consultation of Delegates from the various Districts there had been made a solemn Declaration of Rights. Officers of a Provisional Government had been elected, and a regular army had been planned and organized. Events of great significance had followed, and were to follow, each other in rapid succession. Everything was stir, activity, and expectation. There was a new order of things at hand.
And these matters had been noised abroad in the United States. The National enthusiasm and sympathy was almost entirely with the Colonists. In the Southern States that sympathy took the form of an earnest desire to help the struggling Texans in a material way. There was a song of arms and of men. There had been intimations from the Colonists that arms and men might be badly needed. New Orleans was the first to send a company of volunteers. Georgia quickly followed with another, and Kentucky with yet another. It seemed merely a matter of geography as to who should be first in the field. Many other companies were formed of foreign material already on hand.
The Kentucky Company was organized at Bardstown, Kentucky, in November, 1835. Burr H. Duval was its elected Captain. They marched to Louisville, sailed down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans, and in a couple of weeks or so were at the mouth of the Brazos.
All these volunteers brought with them a magnificent enthusiasm, such as was exhibited by the Georgians in a letter to Fannin, on their arrival at Velasco. They were almost all of them animated with one prime idea, to fight for their kindred, and the secondary consideration, if they should be on the winning side, of prospective homes and rewards. Travis finely put these ideas, besides other thoughts more glorious still, into words: “Take care of my little boy. If the country should be saved, I may make him a splendid fortune; but if the country should be lost and I should perish, he will have nothing but the proud recollection that he is the son of a man who died for his country.” The volunteers came, believing that the colonists stood shoulder to shoulder with an enthusiasm equal to their own. They were ignorant of the already manifested local politics. Thus early in the day there were factions, jealousies, and worse to follow, conspiracy, treason, disobedience, and incapacity, an evil distemper to which most of them were to fall victims,—a shuffling faithlessness to which they were to be sacrificed. These intrigues and dissensions, this want of unity of purpose, began to discover itself to the new arrivals, and in short order they were themselves affected. Fannin above everything had entreated discipline, discipline he was not quick to exercise on himself. It was a house divided against itself, and there is small wonder that there came a crash. Alas, the sad lessons they were to learn! Lessons by which they would never profit, but which were destined to give the surviving elements a singleness of purpose, the destruction, in succession, of the forces of Johnson and Grant, King, Ward, and Fannin's own—and the sacrifice of the men in the Alamo. In the halt between opinions, Travis and his men, in the Alamo, touched the topmost note of heroism.
Yoakum says that Fannin was complaining much, “and with justice, of the apathy of the Texans in not turning out more willingly to meet the enemy at the frontier, and stated the fact that he could not find a half-dozen Texans in his ranks;” while Houston had said of the volunteers, “Better material never was in ranks.” Captain Burr H. Duval strongly states, on March 9th, that not one Texan had “yet made his appearance at this post” (Goliad). But I will here give in full that letter to his father, which I have the privilege of making public for the first time. I recommend it for study, for it throws an interesting side-light on the unfortunate state of affairs:
[The following is a copy of a letter written by Burr H. Duval to his father, William P. Duval, Governor of Florida, dated March 9th, 1836, eighteen days prior to his death at the Goliad massacre, March 27th, 1836. This copy is verbatim et literatim. The original is written on cream-laid quarto letter-fly. The edges of the sheet indicate that the paper is hand-made. The hand-writing is good, firm, and neat. The last page contains no part of the body of the letter, but was left blank, as was the early fashion, to form the envelope by folding and to receive the address, post-marks, etc. A copy of the latter is here made at the end of this copy of the letter.]
GoliadMarch 9th, 1836. Dear Father,
It has been some time since I have had an opty. of writing to you, A gentleman leaves here to day for the U. States but have my doubts if he gets fifty miles from this post as we are surrounded by Mexican troops— By last express, yesterday, from San Antonio we learned that their [our 3] little band of 200 still maintained their situation in the Alamo, the fort outside of the town— They have been fighting desperately there for 10 or 15 days against four or five thousand Mexicans Santa Anna is there himself and has there and in this vicinity at least six thousand troops— Contrary to the expectation of every one he has invaded the Country when least expected— Not a Texian was in the field, nor has even one yet made his appearance at this post— The greater portion of the Mexican troops are mounted, and of course have greatly the advantage over us— We now muster at this post 400 strong, and from the preparations we have made shall be enabled to give any number a desperate fight— San Antonio I fear has fallen before this;—from its situation and construction, I cannot believe it possible so small a band could maintain it against such fearful odds— D. Crockett is one of the number in the fort— We are expecting an attack hourly. An express yesterday was chased in by 200 cavarly eighteen miles from this— Sixty miles south of this is another party of 650 who have been quartered at San Patricio for some days, waiting reinforcements. Several of our parties of 20 and 30 have been cut off by them—As I anticipated, much dissention prevails among the Volunteers, Col. Fannin, now in command (Genl. Houston being absent), is unpopular— and nothing but the certainty of hard fighting, and that shortly, could have kept us together so long— I am popular with the army, and strange as you may think it could lead them or the majority of them where I choose— They have offered to give me every office from a Majority to Comdr. in Chief— I have seen enough to desire no office for the present in Texas higher than the one I hold— I have fifty men in my Company, who love me and who cannot be surpassed for boldness and chivalry— With such a band I will gain the laurels I may wear or die without any— I am situated at present with my company, in a strong stone house immediately across the street and opposite one of the bastions of the fort— from the bastion I have built a Bridge to the top of the house on which is placed a Brass Six Pounder— the best and most commanding situation we have— before I am driven from it hundreds must perish— I have seen something of the country since I last wrote you having been out for some days at a time on several expeditions— It is decidedly a richer country than I expected to find, and must be more healthy than any other southern country— at least this part of it— the country is high and dry tho generally level and the rivers, at least this, the San Antonio, descends with the velocity of a mountain stream— In many parts water and timber is too scarce, and the Northern winds are frequent and last from one to three days blowing with great violence. The climate of Florida I think is greatly preferable, but it can not be compared to this in point of soil— We have just learned from Washington (the seat of Govt. that they have declared Independence— If such be the fact of which I have no doubt— we must whip the Mexicans— For young men who wish to acquire distinction and fortune now is the time— Tell all who are friendly to the cause of Texas to lend a helping hand and that quickly, The little band of Volunteers now in the field must breast the storm and keep a powerful army in check until relief is at hand or all is lost— We want provisions arms &men. I have never seen such men as this army is composed of— no man ever thinks of retreat, or surrender, they must be exterminated to be whipped— Nothing can depress their ardour— we are frequently for days without anything but Bull beef to eat, and after working hard all day could you at night hear the boys crowing, gobling, barking, bellowing laughing and singing you would think them the happiest and best fed men in the world—
Do all you can for Texas— Yr. affectionate son B. H. Duval. N. B— If there sh 4in my letter that could benefit Texas make it public— To His Excely, Wm. P. Duval. The letter is addressed and stamped as follows: For (Postmark) New Orleans, La, Apr 19 His Excelly— Wm. P. Duval Tallahassee Florida (Postmark undecipherable, but looks like) 22 A P (in writing) 25 The letter was wafered with a red wafer.
Ten days after that was written a finger of the hand that penned it was shot away by a Mexican bullet, and Captain Duval had heard at the Battle of Coleto (in the words of his brother) “Bullets singing like mad hornets around” him. Eighteen days after, the writer was dead, lying amidst “the pallid upturned faces of his murdered companions.” In the meantime, he had learned that human hope is ofttimes dust and ashes, that human trust is a broken reed, that a man may gain laurels, as he did, and die in the winning, and that there is a limit to the bravest man's endurance.
The Battle of Coleto was a hard fight against overwhelming odds; it was not lost, if lost at all, for want of gallantry, unless it was the lack of valor displayed by the troop of horsemen under Horton. Had these men made a dash through the lines to their comrades it is more than likely a retreat to the timber on the Coleto might have been effected. The conduct of this troop, at any rate, suffers in comparison to that of the Gonzales troopers who joined the devoted band in the Alamo but five days before that post fell. The retreat of Horton's company cut off the possibility of moving the wounded, for the beset lost their teams during the fight. A fatal mistake, not the first by a long list, had been made in halting in the open and on ground that was wholly unsuited for defense. The moment needed a hero of action—a leader, who, like Travis, could fire even worn-out men with the idea that surrender was out of all question. On the testimony of Duval, they would have needed but little persuasion, they had the spirit, “they must be exterminated to be whipped.” Such errors as those which divided the force—the failure to relieve Travis, the tardy obedience of orders to retreat, the halting in the prairie—were now followed by the error of surrender. The result is an exceeding great pity for their fate; but the glory of the Alamo, which they might, at least, have shared, is not theirs.
Such of the force, with a few exceptions, as were able to march, were taken heavily guarded to Goliad. Carts, in the next few days, returned for the remainder, mostly wounded. The men believed that they had made an honorable surrender, and that they were to be treated as prisoners of war. But they had Santa Anna to deal with, a man of great vanity, and him they did not understand. The seriousness with which Santa Anna took himself would be amusing if the results had not been so tragic. He thought that his puny campaign and battles were of Napoleonic importance. He was a Dictator; obstacles must be swept from his path. What were the lives of ordinary men to the will of a genius? These prisoners were a drag on his advance, they needed a large guard, they were an expense. He perhaps stored up a diplomatic excuse, a mental reservation or two; his government's resolution that invaders should be treated as pirates, attachment of blame to an inferior officer—anything would suffice, for he never really expected to have to render an excuse to the world, least of all to Houston. If he were but swift enough, all the enemy would melt before him as these were doomed to do. He measured Anglo-Saxon resistance by a Mexican's standard. He did not understand that these very atrocities of his were the agent that would sharply bring these men to act as one, that the sting of that insolence would cause them to forget every other consideration and difference in the determination to wipe out the shame of it. Houston answered the excuse that Santa Anna, after all, was obliged to make to him, “But you are the government; the dictator has no superior.”
So the order was issued by Santa Anna that these prisoners were to be done away with. Not the first in command, not Urrea was to be executioner; they had not time to attend to such details. It was left to the Commandant, and after it was done, this sensitive Mexican wrote to General Urrea to say that he was very much distressed, and that he did not want any more of the like work, he was not a public executioner. The prisoners in the meantime did not understand Santa Anna! They had been beginning rather to look forward to being sent home. A remnant of their late comrades, Ward's men, had been returned to Goliad after surrendering near Victoria.
I have gone over these events, thus far, in order briefly to trace how John C. Duval, a lad of scarcely twenty years, and his brother's company, came to be of “Fannin's men,” at Goliad on Palm Sunday, March 27th, 1836.
It is not my purpose to go into a detailed account of that awful crime, the Goliad massacre. Those details are to be found, graphically told, in the reports of Dr. Barnard and Dr. Shackelford.
On this Sunday morning at daybreak the preliminary work began. Miller's men, with their white bandaged arms, Dr. Barnard, Dr. Shackelford, and Dr. Field were ordered out by Colonel Garay (who seems to have been a merciful man, and who at heart detested the crime that was about to be committed) to his quarters in a peach orchard nearly a quarter of a mile from the fort, and from that point Dr. Barnard and his companions shortly learnt by the sound of musketry volleys and the yells of the victims, of the bloody work that was in hand. Garay coming up at that moment, says Barnard, “With the utmost distress depicted on his countenance, said to us: `Keep still, gentlemen, you are safe. This is not from my orders, nor do I execute them.' He then informed us that an order had arrived the preceding day to shoot all the prisoners, but that he had assumed the responsibility of saving the surgeons and about a dozen others.” Señora Alvarez saved still others.
Altogether, there were spared thirty souls (Brown gives a list of names). There escaped by flight while the massacre was being consummated about thirty more. Yoakum gives twenty-seven escaped, Brown gives twenty-eight; but there are three names in Brown's list not in Yoakum's, and three in Yoakum's not in Brown's. There were some few spared in every company, but from some companies not a soul escaped. John Duval would himself have been spared could he have been persuaded to declare himself a Catholic to one of the Mexican officers who took a fancy to him.
This list is as near right as it is possible to make it. In the lists there are many discrepancies and misspelling of names, but by comparison and checking this is the result.
Fannin, who had been wounded at Coleto, was shot in the fort, and he met his death like the brave man that he was. The rest of the wounded were dragged from the hospital to the fort and there butchered. There were killed, that day, in cold blood, nearly four hundred men.
Brown says three hundred and ninety, and that there was a total of 526 killed altogether, in the few weeks, out of Fannin's little force. “Absolute accuracy is an impossibility, but (referring to his tables) these figures are close approximation thereto. Add to the 526, 183 who perished in the Alamo, and we have a total of 709 men lost from February 27th to March 27th—an appalling loss in view of the weakness of the country.”
This is John C. Duval's description of that dreadful Sunday morning's work. 5
“On the morning of the 27th of March, a Mexican officer came to us and ordered us to get ready for a march. He told us we were to be liberated on `parole,' and that arrangements had been made to send us to New Orleans on board of vessels then at Copano. This, you may be sure, was joyful news to us, and we lost no time in making preparations to leave our uncomfortable quarters. When all was ready, we were formed in three divisions and marched out under a strong guard. As we passed by some Mexican women, who were standing near the main entrance to the fort, I heard them say, `pobrecitos' (poor fellows), but the incident at that time made but little impression on my mind. One of our divisions was taken down the road leading to the lower ford of the river, one upon the road to San Patricio, and the division to which my company was attached along the road leading to San Antonio. A strong guard accompanied us, marching in double files on both sides of our column. It occurred to me that this division of our men into three squads, and marching us off in three directions, was rather a singular manoeuvre, but still I had no suspicion of the foul play intended us. When about half a mile above town, a halt was made and the guard on the side next the river filed around to the opposite side. Hardly had this manoeuvre been executed when I heard a heavy firing of musketry in the directions taken by the other two divisions. Some one near me exclaimed, `Boys, they are going to shoot us!' and at the same instant I heard the clicking of musket locks all along the Mexican line. I turned to look, and as I did so the Mexicans fired upon us, killing probably one hundred out of the one hundred and fifty men in the division. We were in double file, and I was in the rear rank. The man in front of me was shot dead, and in falling he knocked me down. I did not get up for a moment, and when I rose to my feet I found that the whole Mexican line had charged over me, and were in hot pursuit of those who had not been shot and who were fleeing towards the river about five hundred yards distant. I followed on after them, for I knew that escape in any other direction (all open prairie) would be impossible, and I had nearly reached the river before it became necessary to make my way through the Mexican line ahead. As I did so, one of the soldiers charged upon me with his bayonet (his gun, I suppose, being empty). As he drew his musket back to make a lunge at me, one of our men, coming from another direction, ran between us and the bayonet was driven through his body. The blow was given with such force, that in falling, the man probably wrenched or twisted the bayonet in such a way as to prevent the Mexican from withdrawing it immediately. I saw him put his foot upon the man, and make an ineffectual attempt to extricate the bayonet from his body, but one look satisfied me, as I was somewhat in a hurry just then, and I hastened to the bank of the river and plunged in. The river at that point was deep and swift, but not wide, and being a good swimmer, I soon gained the opposite bank, untouched by any of the bullets that were pattering in the water around my head. But here I met with an unexpected difficulty. The bank on that side was so steep I found that it was impossible to climb it, and I continued to swim down the river until I came to where a grape vine hung from the bough of a leaning tree nearly to the surface of the water. This I caught hold of and was climbing up it hand over hand, sailor fashion, when a Mexican on the opposite bank fired at me with his escopeta, and with so true an aim that he cut the vine in two just above my head, and down I came into the water again. I then swam on about a hundred yards further, when I came to a place where the bank was not so steep, and with some difficulty I managed to clamber up.”
The following is a summary of many actual dates and some approximate dates of the movements of John C. Duval from the time of his departure from Bardstown, Ky., November, 1835, to his arrival at the Brazos river and the Texan camp in May, 1836:
1835.
November.—He joined, for service in Texas, a Volunteer Company under the Command of his brother, Burr H. Duval, afterwards killed in the Goliad Massacre.
—The Company left Bardstown “the latter part of November” and after a two days' march reached Louisville.
—Next day they took a steamer for New Orleans.
December. —Five days later they arrived at New Orleans.
—They immediately left New Orleans, on a schooner, in tow, and via South Pass reached the Gulf.
—They set sail from South Pass for the port of Velasco, Texas. This was a seven days' sail.
—On the eighth day they anchored in the mouth of the Brazos River, landing at Quintana.
—They remained encamped “two weeks or more” at Quintana. They here made the acquaintance of Brutus and Invincible, warships of the little Texan Navy.
1836.
January and February. —The Company entered for Marine Service on board Invincible. They sail in search of the Mexican Warship Bravo.
—After an unsuccessful cruise, they return to camp at Quintana.
—A day or two after they are ordered to Copano.
—Invincible takes them to “Matagorda Island.” They remain several days there. Then they embark on a small vessel for Copano.
—They make a day's march to Refugio. And in another day and a-half reach Goliad.
—They here joined Fannin, who had “about four hundred men.”
—Their service at Goliad consisted of drills, strengthening the fortifications of the place, a march to San Patricio to secure two cannon, and a march to Carlos Ranch to arrest spies.
March 3d.—News of the defeat of Grant and Johnson arrives.(about)
10th.—King with twenty-seven men despatched to Refugio.
11th.—A despatch from Houston to Fannin arrives and it is “rumored in camp that Colonel Fannin should evacuate Goliad and fall back to the Colorado.”
13th.—Ward with 125 men was despatched to Refugio to aid King.
19th.—Fannin begins his retreat to Victoria. In the afternoon the battle of Coleto, or “Encinal del Perdito,” was fought.
20th.—Fannin surrenders to Urrea.
24th.—Miller and his eighty men who had been captured at Copano are brought to Goliad.
25th.—Ward and his remnant are returned to Goliad. All are now confined in the “Old Mission” at Goliad.
27th.—The Massacre. John C. Duval, John Holliday, and Samuel T. Brown escape together and travelled all the night under the leadership of Holliday.
28th.—All day they continue their retreat in drizzling rain.
29th.—They continued the retreat all day. Cold.
30th.—Duval now discovered that they were returning towards Goliad. Holliday, not believing it, reconnoitres, and gets a view of Goliad. Holliday assumes 1836. March—cont'd. leadership again, but in an hour Duval sees that he is again turning back towards Goliad, and insists on taking the lead, which he does.
31st.—They continue the retreat. They find a few wild onions, the first food they have had for four or five days.
April 1st.—They reach the Guadalupe. Here they try to drive a cow and calf over the bluff into the river, but fail. They go to bed in a “sink” by the river, and during the night they kill five young pigs of a litter.
2d.—Cross the Guadalupe. Duval saves Brown from drowning. They continue their flight across the prairie.
3d.—They continued the retreat.
4th.—They cross the Lavaca river. Brown and Duval are captured by some Mexican rancheros. Holliday evades capture. Duval escapes.
5th and 6th.—Duval wanders up and down the Lavaca bottom searching for his lost companions, but fails to find them. Brown was still in the hands of his Mexican captors.
6th.—Not finding his companions, Duval started across the prairie and swims the Navidad river the same day at 3 o'clock. He is here trailed by Indians with a hound, but evades these hunters. Proceeds on his journey, and comes to a house, where he captures a pig under the flooring.
7th.—Duval proceeds up the Navidad bottom in order to escape the coast lagoons. Discovers some jacales inhabited by Mexicans. He tries to possess himself of a gun of a Mexican soldier, but the butt refuses to come through the opening in the wall, and he has to retreat swiftly.
8th.—Proceeds eastward once more, and the following night is troubled by wolves.
9th.—Sees in the distance a band of Mexicans or Indians. Many deer and mustangs in sight. It is wet and dull. He finds a home in an Indian shelter.
10th.—Fine in the morning. He remarked Indian signal fires. It clouds again and mists. Duval gets lost and wanders in a circle, and crosses his own trail.
1836.
April—cont'd.
11th.—It was fine again, and Duval continued a correct course across the prairie. At mid-day he crossed the Tres Palacios creek. He makes a bow of cedar, but is much disappointed in failing to manufacture a suitable string. At night he is disturbed by a panther.
12th.—He crossed timber lands and finds a freshly shot hog at a ransacked house.
13th.—Duval crosses a considerable creek to a prairie with groves of oaks and hackberries. He here narrowly escapes a band of about twenty Indians. He camps in a turkey roost.
14th.—He finds wild onions, much to his delight. Crosses a wide prairie to timber, and finds the Colorado river high and rapid.
15th.—He swims the Colorado. It was two hundred yards wide, swollen by recent rains. He continues a long march to the timber on the “Old Caney.” The bottom of the Caney he describes as a continuous canebrake sixty or seventy miles long. In the timber he finds an abandoned settlement. The houses had been plundered. At one he finds a wild cat pursuing a hen. The cat shows fight and Duval retreats, but finally gets the hen.
16th.—No road across the Caney discovers itself. Duval explores down the bottom and finds another house, with several dogs, but otherwise deserted. It had remained undisturbed, and the dogs were glad to see him. He found here an abundance of food, furniture, clothes, and books. There were negro quarters. Duval, evidently, is very weak from want of proper food, fatigue and exposure.
17th, 18th and 19th.—Remains at this house to rest, feed and read.
20th.—He tries to leave, but the dogs persist in following. To evade them, he leaves quietly at midnight. One, however, followed his trail, and in spite of a beating was his companion to the end of his journey. He gave the dog the name of “Scout.” Duval camped for the remainder of the night in the cane-brake.
21st.—He discovers centipedes and bears. Tries vainly to cut his way through the brake. He comes to a house that is evidently the home of a wealthy planter. It is well 1836. April—cont'd. appointed, and has many signs of comfort. There are negro quarters, and much food in store.
22nd, 23rd, 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th, 28th.—Stays at this house, and from it explores the cane-brake up and down the bottom, vainly searching for a crossing. The cane is so dense as to prevent him from continuing his journey. On the 27th, he encounters two Mexican soldiers, but he continues, as if unconcerned, on his way, and they do not molest him. He proceeds to get an axe from the house to cut a way through, and runs across a trail and cut road. He meets bears, but they do not attack him. On the 28th he meets an armed Mexican soldier, but evades him before discovery. Shortly after he sees five or six Indians driving horses, and is almost discovered by them.
29th.—Comes out to the prairie. There is a prairie fire, which he fights with fire, burning the grass around him.
30th.—He crosses a bayou, but not divesting himself of his knapsack he comes near to drowning. He succeeds in cutting his knapsack loose, and so loses his provisions. He continued his retreat through a wooded country.
May 1st.—Although knowing nothing of San Jacinto, he surmises that the Mexicans have met defeat, for he sees, in the distance, many straggling troops going hurriedly westward.
2nd.—Duval crossed the San Bernard river and finds a deserted house. He here parches some corn, and is surprised in the occupation by two Texan scouts. He is told of San Jacinto. The three fall back to the Brazos river, and there join the Texan camp about May 4th or 5th, 1836.
As far as I am able to discover, John Crittenden Duval was the last survivor of the few who escaped the massacre of Fannin's men at Goliad, March 27th, 1836.
He died on January 15th, 1897, at the house of his sister, Mrs. Mary Hopkins, at Fort Worth, aged eighty years and nine months, and was buried from the house of Robert G. West, in the Duval burying lot at Austin, January 18th.
In his dying there passed a brave, sweet, lovable spirit; Texas was the poorer for his death.
“How did he impress you?” I asked of one of his old comrades, who had also passed through “those times that tried men's souls,” one who was well able, by the token of a great saber cut across the cheek, to judge of that kind of man. “Why,” said he, “John Duval was one of the bravest, kindest men I ever knew. He was generous,—almost too generous,—he made money, but did not know the value of it, gave it away to those he thought needed it worse than he did. He was a man who always saw the humorous and sunny side of the gravest question, and if it hadn't a sunny or humorous side he made it.” To all who knew John Duval, better than a passing acquaintance, and he was a reserved man, that estimate will appear truthful to the life and will meet with ready and affectionate indorsement.
He was born at Bardstown, Kentucky, March, 1816. He came of an old family, one that had produced men who were leaders in the times in which they lived. His father was William P. Duval, who was for sometime a member of Congress from Kentucky and was afterwards an active and able territorial Governor of Florida, and whose youthful adventures are entertainingly related by Washington Irving in his Geoffrey Crayon Papers as “The Early Experiences of Ralph Ringwood.” How highly the Governor was esteemed for his courage and active virtues by Irving may be judged by others of the Crayon Papers, notably “The Conspiracy of Neamathla,” the story of an incident in his dealings with the Seminoles. These same papers and their author, no doubt, had some influence in forming the literary style of John C. Duval.
The family, in America, was derived from Huguenot settlers in Virginia, and the white badge of St. Bartholomew's Eve is irresistibly brought to one's mind by its similar use at Goliad. It does not take a great stretch of the imagination to believe that history repeated itself,—that it is not improbable that more than once to members of this family a white handkerchief around the arms of others has been a sinister omen. 6
It was Governor Duval who came to settle in Bardstown, Kentucky. All his family, with a like spirit, made further migrations westward. Nearly all died in Texas. Of his sons, John Crittenden Duval is the subject of this sketch; Burr H. Duval was one of the victims at Goliad; his last letter to his father, dated March 9th, 1836, at that place, is for the first time made public in this paper; Thomas H. Duval, another son, was for a quarter of a century or more United States District Judge for the Western District of Texas; he had, besides, five daughters, Mrs. Laura Randolph of Florida, Mrs. Mary Hopkins of Fort Worth, Mrs. Florida G. Howard, Mrs. Marcia Paschal (whose husband was the author of the famous “Paschal's Texas Digests”), and Mrs. Elizabeth Beall.
Thomas H. Duval married his cousin, Laura Duval, and they had five children: John, who died early; Mollie, Mrs. John W. Maddox; Florence, who married the late Judge C. S. West of the Supreme Court; Nancy, who married Captain C. S. Roberts, U. S. A.; and Burr Grayson Duval, who after an active life as merchant and banker, a staff captain in the Confederate Army, and clerk in the United States District Court, died very highly esteemed at San Antonio, April 13th, 1893, leaving a widow and one daughter, Miss Kate Duval. The three sons of Judge West survive: Robert Green, Duval, and William Steele West. John C. Duval, therefore, dying unmarried, was the last male heir of this, the elder branch of the Duvals.
I shall in this paper lay stress on the personal characteristics and qualities of this man. It is fit that they should be recorded for the credit of Texas and the good of her younger sons.
Courage, modesty, courtesy, kindliness and disinterestedness are virtues he possessed in a generous measure. Our day is not so over-rich in some of them that we can afford to bury with the dead the memory of their fine interpretation by just men. One of the best uses of recorded history is to make us patriots, and to teach us and posterity to live more worthily and with fewer mistakes as individuals and as a nation. It is therefore the part of writers not merely to collect and speculate upon the dry bones of accomplished facts, but to remember the kind of flesh, blood, and soul that was their mainspring, and if these can be shown to be of a high order, such history will not fail to produce what it should, “the tonic of a wholesome pride.”
When his father was made Governor of Florida, John Duval went with the rest of his family from Kentucky to settle at Tallahassee. The Governor, indeed, was practically the founder of that town, and he otherwise left an outward mark and impress upon Florida. Jackson is in Duval county, and one of the principal streets of Key West is Duval street. It was a difficult and not too congenial task the Governor undertook during and subsequent to the Seminole War, but he is remembered as the Indian's best friend in those times. The family returned later to their old home in Bardstown.
John Duval's scholastic education was completed at the University of Virginia. He adopted the profession of civil engineer, and the greater part of his life was given up to surveying and locating Texas lands. Many of his fees were paid in land certificates, and often he was what is known as land poor. More than once when he was applied to by some needy person for help, not having the cash, he has been known to give that help in the shape of a land certificate. Certainly his virtues were not profitable to him, for he died a very poor man. In him there was an utter forgetfulness of self when he contemplated the misfortunes of others. Not so very long before he died there came to his home a tramp, begging. The man asked pitifully for a pair of shoes; he did not really need them, but he persuaded the old man that he did. Finally, Mr. Duval rose and courteously begged to be excused for a moment, and then went into another room. Presently he emerged in his stockinged feet and gave the beggar his own shoes. The shoes, however, were rescued at the gate, and when the old gentleman was gently remonstrated with he pleaded that the man was a young man in misfortune and must need shoes worse than he.
Few, even of his friends, were aware that he was all his life a sufferer from hemorrhage of the lungs. This was the real cause of his determination to spend as much of his life as possible in the open air. His profession of land surveyor took him much on the frontiers of Texas and New Mexico, where months passed without a roof covering him, and he enjoyed it. This same craving for the freedom of the prairie and the woods was one of the chief reasons for his joining the famous Jack Hays' Ranger Company. It was partly, too, an inherited dislike of restraint, as may be judged from Irving's “Ralph Ringwood.” The proverbial irony of fate was never more strongly reaffirmed than in his case. Here was a man, who, like St. Paul, had suffered almost every peril on land and water. He had escaped execution by scarcely less than a miracle, and but for an indomitable self-restraint should have been an invalid, and at last he dies of old age. He waited patiently, serenely, for the end as one knowing that it could not be far removed. Never, in suffering, I am told, did a complaint escape his lips,—the nearest approach to such was half-humorously spoken almost at his exit, and was more his way of saying farewell to a relative than a complaint: “Well, cousin,” said he, jocularly, “life is not such a blooming affair, after all.”
When the Civil War, the war that divided so many families, broke out, the two brothers, John C. and Judge Thomas H., found that they were not in perfect accord as to their lines of duty. The Judge was and remained a strong Union man. John, although he felt the South was not in the right, placed loyalty above all other considerations, and being a Southerner and his people being Southern people, felt bound to help it out as a fighter. The brothers disagreed, but being men of reserve and gentlemen, felt that it did not become their dignity to waste hot words. John simply and quietly left his brother's home, and without comment went to Alabama and there enlisted as a private. And because he felt that the South was wrong, he refused at first all preferment or advancement, although repeatedly urged to it. General Ben McCulloch offered him a prominent position in the Confederate Army, but he steadily refused it; yet at the close of the war he was a captain, and his change of view can only be explained by the fact that the South was getting the worst of the war, and the harder she was pressed the more he felt in duty bound to help her. He was reticent over this period of his life. It was known that he had been in many battles and had seen hard fighting. For four years after the War none of his people knew where he was; in fact, they had not seen him for nine years, when one day he walked into the Duval homestead at Austin, as if he had been absent but for an hour or so. He greeted every one cheerfully, but for years he made no mention of the lapse of time, or where he had been, or what he had done. 7
There was one other topic that he treated with similar reserve. With an outward air of easy nonchalance, he felt deeply. There were some things he could not forget. He never willingly spoke of the death, at the massacre, of his brother, Burr H. This seemed a matter so purely personal to him that he does not even mention the fact in his description of the campaign in his “Early Times in Texas.” He makes no mention or hint of a brother throughout its pages, and wherever he mentions him, which is seldom, it is simply as Captain D.— of his company.
About the year 1876 he was employed by the International and Great Northern Railroad Company to report on land and to locate and survey certain tracts. His letters to the Land Office were always looked forward to eagerly by the officials, not merely for their thoroughness, but for the literary flavor they had and for the quiet humor they contained. He had a dry and amusing way of describing even serious incidents. He was once called upon by the office for information concerning a railroad collision, in which he himself had been somewhat shaken up. He reported that when it occurred he had been sitting opposite a very stout old lady, one of the kind that it was easier to jump over than to go around, and that he was being mightily entertained, when suddenly he found that he had been “telescoped” by her, and that was all he remembered.
He possessed a natural gift for description. His love of nature made him observant of all that pertained to wood-craft and the prairie. Bird, beast, flower and tree were alike full of interest for him. His observations of them are always as those of one familiar with his subject. He wrote of these things and of his adventures, not as the artist; he knew little of the technique of the art of writing, or of the artistic construction of stories. What he had to say flowed naturally from his pen in a style his very own, but for the perceptible influence of Washington Irving that I have mentioned before. What he wrote commands immediate attention, it has a living and direct quality; especially this is so of “Early Times in Texas.” To pick up that means to read it before it is put down. No book of this kind, except “Robinson Crusoe,” has charmed me so much. I have read and re-read it may times, and always with renewed interest. I have gone very carefully over it and journalized by their actual dates the different events he describes and the progress of his retreat eastward after his escape. I have done this partly for historical interest and partly to show that he was accurate. A lapse of memory, here and there, is all I can detect with careful searching.
These discrepancies are not worth mentioning, for they do not affect, in the least, his main aim to present a truthful living picture of those events from his point of view. Some day this will be a Texas classic, and it will be a joy of every Texas boy's heart to possess a copy. A map also accompanies this paper, on which I have traced in red the line of his retreat from Goliad to the Brazos river: on it, besides, I have indicated the battlefields of the Revolution and the chief places of interest, notably the various settlements which became in turn the capital of the young and struggling Republic.
Besides “Early Times in Texas,” Mr. Duval wrote “The Young Explorers; or a Continuation of the Adventures of Jack Dobell;” a characteristic volume, “The Adventures of Big Foot Wallace,” and many other fugitive papers contributed to local magazines and to the press.
Duval and Wallace were life-long friends. Both of them had had brothers killed in that fearful Goliad slaughter, and they were for a long time comrades.
John Duval was of medium build, erect and active to old age. At rest his face wore a look of calm and native dignity. A fine, knightly face, with a regular grey beard and determined mouth. He had a high, broad forehead and intelligent blue eyes. The extreme modesty and diffidence he exhibited would have been an affectation in most men; with him it was one of the charms of his character, for with all of it there was an undefined force that gave assurance that his quiescent nature, like that of a lion, could, upon occasion, be aroused to a wonderful self-possession and alertness in the presence of danger.
Such, then, in short, was the man whom fate had decreed should outlive all his fellow-actors in that sad drama of La Bahia. Well, he was a noble representative of brave comrades. It was a solemn office he filled for a short space of time, the sole and worthy incumbent—an ambassador from the past to an all too heedless new generation. Who shall declare that his election to that office was not made sure by the silent ballot of a dead constituency? I can fancy him true to himself, true to a life-long habit, deprecating even that as too much honor. I can picture him an old soldier standing alone, patiently waiting for the grim adjutant to call the last name on his company's muster-roll. In his loneliness he must often have called to mind “the old familiar faces,”—no doubt communed with them, even as another grand old man,
“When the dumb Hour, clothed in black, Brings the Dreams about my bed, Call me not so often back, Silent Voices of the dead, Toward the lowland ways behind me, And the sunlight that is gone! Call me rather, silent voices, Forward to the starry track Glimmering up the heights beyond me On, and always on!”
4. The paper of the letter is here broken.
5. Page 53, “Early Times in Texas.”
6. “These men (Major Miller's eighty who had been captured at Copano) were confined with us, but kept separate from the rest: and to distinguish them, each had a white cloth tied around one of his arms. At the time, I had no idea why this was done, but subsequently I learned the reason.”—Early Times in Texas.
7. This is paralleled by a story of his father, the Governor, who when a lad was bidden by his father to fetch a log. The boy, being mortified that it was more than he could manage, left home for Kentucky. He concluded never to return until he could bring it in. Some years after, when he did return, he entered the house unannounced, with a huge log on his shoulder, and, throwing it down, said, “Father, I have brought in that log.” The father simply answered, “You've been a long time, William.”
How to cite:
Corner, William, "JOHN CRITTENDEN DUVAL: THE LAST SURVIVOR OF THE GOLIAD MASSACRE ", Volume 001, Number 1, Southwestern Historical Quarterly Online, Page 47 - 67. http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/publications/journals/shq/online/v001/n1/article_10.html
[Accessed Mon Dec 1 18:10:35 CST 2008]
