One of the unique characters of Texas was John Taylor, known as Wandering John Taylor, from the fact that he was constantly on the move, and seemed to have no fixed abiding place. His home was said to be in Cherokee county, if a man of his restless roving habits could be said to have a home. He was a lawyer by profession. I never heard that he was a soldier, or that he fought for Texas, or that he was a politician or office-holder, or that he ever impressed in any way his personality on the laws or jurisprudence of Texas; yet there was about the man a strangeness of habit, a mysterious singularity, coupled with talents of the highest order, and a wonderful eloquence that entitle him to some recognition and remembrance as one of the characters of Texas.
On the meeting of the district court at Centreville, in Leon county, Texas, in the early spring of 1852, a gentleman on horseback, with three led horses, tied head to tail, tandem fashion, packed with blankets, provisions, and camp equipage, passed across the public square of the town, rode down to the creek near by, and in the shade of some trees where grass was plenty proceeded to dismount, and unsaddle, unpack, and stake his horses. This was my first sight of Wandering John. He had a wide range of itineracy, confining himself to no particular court circuit, and going from court to court and seeking business in the country by-ways from the people at their homes. In traveling through the country, one would meet him in the must unexpected places. He traveled on horseback, generally leading from one to three horses packed with blankets, provisions, and camp equipage. These led horses, I suppose, were gathered in the way of fees for his legal services. In this style of travel, he would suddenly appear at the county seat, at the commencement of the district court; and, as grass in those days was plenty, and stake ropes and stake pins the order of the day, he would select some convenient spot, affording grass and near to water for camp, and there take up his temporary lodging. He would attend the session of the court, and if he had or secured any business, he would remain until it was disposed of. If he had no business in the court, or secured none, he would wait round for a day or so, and then decamp as suddenly as he came.
In traveling, if he became fatigued or night overtook him, he made his home for the time being at the first spot that offered him the welcome hospitality of shade, grass, and water, which seemed to fill the entire measure of his desires. Here in the depths of the forest, under the great trees and beside the murmuring stream, he could, undisturbed by the ambitious rivalries and struggles of men for place, power, and wealth, commune with himself and nature; and for aught I know ponder upon the cause that determined him to isolate himself from men and society, among whom and in which he was by education and the gifts of nature so well fitted to shine. Outside of business, he seemed not to have or desire any intercourse with his fellowmen. To the spirit of the corps, and the social feeling so characteristic of the legal profession, he seemed an utter stranger. Unlike Napoleon, who it was said, “Sat on the throne a sceptered hermit, wrapped in the solitude of his own originality,” Taylor wandered among his fellowmen, wrapped in a strange and mysterious singularity, taking no interest in politics, or in other affairs that interest ordinary men, and are matters of conversation and comradeship among them; holding himself aloof from his fellows, and communicating with others only in matters of business, in which he was concerned.
The man and his conduct seemed an enigma—a strange mystery. Doubtless there was a cause for all of this strangeness. It may have been some great wrong done him, some great disappointment that had overtaken him, or some great sorrow that had seized him for its own, penetrating the innermost recesses of his soul, and strangling in him the sense of human fellowship, and changing the whole nature of the man. Quien Sabe? What the trouble was, we shall perhaps never know. For a man like him, who appeared to have all of the gifts that would enable him to enjoy the fellowship of his kind, the cause that wrought such a change must have been extraordinary.
Taylor was about six feet high, slender, well proportioned, and straight as an arrow. He had an eagle eye, a kind and pleasant face, and a graceful carriage. His dress was not elegant, but always decent. From his language, which was chaste and proper, he must have been a man of finished education. He was a speaker of wonderful eloquence, a finished elocutionist—inflections, gestures, all were perfect. His flow of language was accompanied by no effort. He never hesitated for a word; and every word was suited to the purpose he had in view, and was calculated to make his expression plain, strong, and distinct, in the comprehension of his every hearer. In fact, such was his command of language, that one describing it likened it to the impetious flow of a swollen mountain stream.
Taylor was well versed in the elements of the law. He delighted in, and was especially successful in, criminal cases. His eloquence as an advocate contributed much to his success in this branch of the law. He was deeply versed in all the intricacies of human nature, and by the witchery of his eloquence, he could play upon the fountains of sentiment and feeling, and sway and bend them to his will, as the ripening corn is swayed and bent by the summer breeze.
The susceptibility of jurors, especially of Texas jurors, to the witchery of the eloquent lawyer has no doubt freed many a guilty man; and such result is but the tribute paid by human emotion to the gift of eloquence. Who shall say 'tis wrong? The emotions, sympathies, sentiment, and feeling possessed by man are among the characteristics that elevate him above the brute. The people of Texas, especially the early pioneers, dearly loved and admired the eloquent lawyer. The greatest lawyer, in their estimation, was the most eloquent one. With them eloquence was the open sesame to political advancement. In a criminal trial, the greatest interest of the case centered in the “pleading.” They could not afford to miss hearing the lawyers “plead.”
From 1852 up to the breaking out of the Civil War I occasionally met Wandering John at the courts, or heard of him passing through the country. His principal range of travel, so far as I know, was in the counties of Cherokee, Anderson, Houston, Leon, Madison, Robertson, Limestone, and Freestone. Some time before the commencement of the war he located a son of his on Clear creek, in Leon county, and commenced the erection of a saw mill on the creek. I think his mill never made a foot of lumber, for the reason that he never completed it. The location of this mill was in a wild spot, in or near the edge of the bottom of the Navasota river, just above the junction of the creek with the river. The seclusion of the place seemed to suit Taylor, and he visited it quite often, spending considerable time there. I met him there once. The mill, like its builder, has long since disappeared, leaving no trace that it ever was, except a vague tradition about it among the old settlers in that vicinity. It was the rumor in the neighborhood of the saw mill, while it was being built, that Taylor lived in a house in Cherokee county of curious build and shape something on the style of a fort or prison, and into which visitors were not received. Being a strange man, strange stories grew up about him.
I have no knowledge of his antecedents. I never found anyone who professed to know anything of his early history. I do not know where he was born, nor where he came from to Texas, nor when. I have no recollection of seeing or hearing of Wandering John after the close of the Civil War. I do not know when or where he died. He disappeared and was not leaving no trace behind, so far as I know. His life, as well as his exit and entrance, seemed to be a mystery. Many of the old men living in his itinerating range knew Wandering John, and the children of these old settlers have a tradition of him, his led horses, and his packs; and that in bad weather he would ask permission to put up and sleep in the barn, crib, or some outhouse.
I never knew him to put up at a hotel more than once. When night came on, John and myself were assigned to the same room, and the same bed, as was often the case in those early days during the crowded court time. After we had retired to bed, the writer's position soon became unpleasant, on account of the assault of those bugs, in the defence of the life of one of which, it is said, Prentiss made the most eloquent of his many eloquent speeches. On account of the unpleasantness I got out of bed, took my blanket and spread it on the floor, and slept there the remainder of the night. John seemed undisturbed in his position on the bed, and slept soundly. While he was dressing in the morning, the writer, from his place on the floor, saw two very large bugs, so full that they fairly glistened, creep into John's pants pocket, as much as to say, “Strange as you are, we like you, and we intend to keep you company.”
Endowed with an unusual intellect and the gift of eloquence, this strange man might have been a man of mark, a leader among his fellows, and have written his name high up on the scroll of fame; yet as it was his talents, like the fleeting meteor, were wasted and left no mark, and he is now remembered only as Wandering John Taylor with the packs and led horses. With all of his cynicism, his misanthrophy, and disgust of humanity, he had gifts and talents that deserve a better fate than to drop into the grave of utter and absolute forgetfulness. To prevent this utter forgetfulness from soon overtaking his memory is the object of this writing; and, if possible, to induce someone who knew this strange man and his life better than the writer, to give it to the public. His history, could it be fully known, must be of a deep and tragic interest; for in point of intellect and eloquence he was so far above the common herd that there must have been at the foundation of his misanthrophy and strangeness of habit no common or ordinary cause.
The writer feels sure that Judge John H. Reagan knows much about the history of this strange and extraordinary man.
How to cite:
Wood, W. D., "WANDERING JOHN TAYLOR ", Volume 003, Number 3, Southwestern Historical Quarterly Online, Page 214 - 218. http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/publications/journals/shq/online/v003/n3/article_5.html
[Accessed Tue Dec 2 20:40:08 CST 2008]
