In the latter part of December, 1866, Colonel Dalrymple, 114 of Georgetown, and Jacob Schnively, a noted prospector, created an excitement over a supposed gold mine in the Sierra Nevada mountains on the Rio Grande River. Colonel Schnively claimed to have been there and he had in his possession several rich specimens of galena quartz. He said that the mineral was to be found in inexhaustible quantities.
In order to get men to accompany him as a guard, he promised to give each man an equal share in the enterprise, and, if gold should be found, to help to locate the land by certificate. Colonel Dalrymple, who was a noted Indian fighter, was instrumental in organizing the party. The writer, having made the trip through the country near the place where the gold mine was supposed to be, was selected for a guide. Colonel Dalrymple thought that ten men would be all that were necessary for the occasion. The names of those who were selected are as follows: Abe Hunter, Malcolm Hunter, Warren Hunter, Tom Holly, John Coen, Tom Jones, Temp. Robinson, Bud Robinson, George Carson, 115 brother of the famous Kit Carson, and A. Whitehurst.
We organized at Camp Colorado 116 about the end of December, 1866, or in January, 1867. The exact date I have forgotten. We started well armed and equipped with six months' supplies. Everything was carried on pack mules. After traveling three or four days we concluded to camp on the Concho river and to kill buffalo and cure as much buffalo meat as we could carry with us. While in camp at the mouth of Kiowa Creek, near the head of the main Concho, we met five men from San Saba, John Murray, Dr. McBunnells, and three others whose names I have forgotten. They had heard of our expedition, and had come there to meet us. We had some parleying and discussion before we would agree to let them join us, but, as they were good men and had come so far for that purpose, we consented to take them with us. Besides they had more buffalo meat already cured than we could very well carry. We remained in camp on the Concho two days. We packed our mules with nice, well-cured buffalo meat, and one morning as the sun arose we set out for the head of the Concho only ten miles beyond.
After leaving the camp about a mile, we discovered a party of Indians behind us chasing Tom Holly, one of our men, who had left his gun at camp. He was a quarter of a mile behind when he discovered a couple of the red devils trying to cut him off from us. The alarm was given, and our party now saw that a fight was inevitable. Colonel Dalrymple cried out: “Boys, now we have got to hold our packs and fight—fight for our lives, for just look, they are coming from every direction!” On our right there was a band that appeared to number as many as a hundred, and before us there were equally as many. They had planned the attack, no doubt, while we were in camp at the mouth of Kiowa creek. They would have been successful in their plan if Tom Holly had not made the trip back to the camp, for had we proceeded a mile fuurther we would have been at least two miles out on a level, open flat, where there were no natural fortifications whatever. As it was, we had to retreat only about half a mile to the banks of the main Concho, where we found a small ravine which we barricaded, and there we stopped with our little band. When we were first attacked Colonel Dalrymple ordered ten of the men to hold the pack animals, and five others to charge through the Indians who were between us and the Concho. He himself lead the charge with Bud Robinson, Tom Jones, and myself. We made the opening for the packs, but Colonel Dalrymple was wounded through the arm, carrying a lance away with him. His family still hold it as a relic of the event. My horse was killed in the charge. He was shot through with an arrow, but held out until we reached a little ravine on the bank of the Concho. Our pack mules were all killed while on the retreat, and the packs, which contained the bulk of our ammunition and all of our food, were captured.
Old George Carson was eighty or ninety years of age and bald-headed, and the Indians apparently respected his age and his baldness; otherwise they would have killed him, as he was the last to reach the place of refuge. In the charge he dismounted and came leading his horse as though nothing unusual was happening. Colonel Dalrymple also led his horse in. Warren Hunter and his brother Malcolm, Colonel Schnively, Tom Jones, Bud Robinson, and several others held to their horses. After the Indians got our position and brought their forces up, completely surrounding us (it was then about ten oclock), they made charges first on one side, then on the other, but every time we succeeded in repelling them, leaving several of them dead on the field. Colonel Dalrymple, because of his wound, could not use his right arm, so he gave me his rifle because I had lost my carbine when my horse fell. My only means of defense had been a Colt revolver, and I had emptied all six rounds into the Indians.
After we had taken our stand in the ravine the Indians, failing to rout us, commenced killing our horses, piling them around us on every side, and at the same time making for us very good breastworks. We kept them at bay by firing at every Indian that showed himself. Late in the afternoon we began to get very thirsty and hungry, but we had no water and not a morsel of food. Malcolm Hunter was wounded, having several of his ribs broken by an Indian who knocked him off his horse with the butt of a rifle. Dalrymple was lanced through the forearm, Abe Hunter shot in the hip, and the old man shot in the heel with a spent ball. Some of the others were slightly wounded.
We remained in our position until about twelve oclock at night, when a northwest wind came up, raising a dust, and we thought it a favorable opportunity to make our retreat for home. We silently stole away, passing through the Indian lines unmolested. We traveled on foot down the Concho until daylight, when we halted, killed a buffalo, made a fire, and broiled meat for our breakfast. We still had one wounded horse, which belonged to Warren Hunter, and, though wounded, it was able to carry Malcolm Hunter and Dalrymple. It was then proposed that three of us should hurry on foot to the nearest ranch, where Frank Tankersley was living on the South Concho, about seventy-five miles distant.
Tom Jones, Abe Hunter, and I volunteered to go. We left our comrades and struck out, taking tied to our belts some buffalo meat, of which we would eat a morsel occasionally. We traveled all that day and until four o'clock the next morning, when we met old Rich. Coffey on his way to the Pecos for salt. We heard the sound of his ox-bells about day-light, and found him camped on Spring Creek. His intention had been to overtake us on the Concho at our buffalo camp. We were delighted when we heard the sound of the ox-bells, as we knew that Uncle Rich. would be supplied with bread and coffee, of which we had not had a taste for two days and a half.
We related our defeat to Uncle Rich., and after we had breakfast he hitched up his ox teams and went with us on the back trail to meet our companions. We met them jogging along about thirty miles back. We put our wounded on the wagon and made our way to Frank Tankersley's about thirty-five miles distant. Frank received the crowd very cordially and hospitably and gave us each food enough to last until we reached home.
Before disbanding Colonel Dalrymple and Schnively told us to go home and prepare for another trip in the spring. We all agreed to meet on the Concho on the first of May with a company of one hundred men, which we did. Some of the company were very distinguished men from different portions of the State. Among them was General Hardeman, of Austin, Colonel Lane and Captain Cunningham, of Comanche, and Captain Carrington, of Bosque. We also had several mineralogists and geologists in the crowd.
We met on the Concho at the specified time with one hundred men, all well equipped, and made the trip across the Staked Plains, following the Pecos River. At Horsehead Crossing, on the Pecos River, we relieved a party of emigrants who were surrounded by Indians. The Indians had captured all of their horses and cattle, and burned their wagons. One lady, Mrs. Hoyett, whose husband was a photographer, was wounded, having been shot through the thigh. Several others were slightly wounded. The Indians had besieged them, trying to starve them out. The emigrants were about to take chances on slipping out, when we rescued them. When the Indians discovered our party, they disappeared, and carried the cattle belonging to the emigrants into the Guadalupe mountains. We had a bunch of beef steers, and we fitted the emigrants out with a wagon and steers to draw it. They pulled them through to Fort Summer, New Mexico.
After resting on the Pecos for a few days we marched on to Eagle Springs, in the Rio Grande country, where we were directed to look for the rich gold mine, but our search was in vain. We hunted several days in the surrounding hills for miles around. We then moved several miles south and made a number searches, but found no gold, nor any indications of any. Finally the men, becoming disheartened, disbanded, some going to California and Arizona, the majority returning to Texas.
115. George Carson was a member of the Mier Expedition. He escaped death at Salado by drawing a white bean. After the first defeat of the Schnively Expedition at the Concho River, mentioned further on, he returned to Georgetown, where he died shortly afterward.
116. In Coleman County.
How to cite:
Whitehurst, A., "REMINISCENCES OF THE SCHNIVELY EXPEDITION OF 1867 ", Volume 008, Number 3, Southwestern Historical Quarterly Online, Page 267 - 271. http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/publications/journals/shq/online/v008/n3/article_6.html
[Accessed Tue Dec 2 0:44:32 CST 2008]
