The two Bowie brothers had been riding since dawn, and by ten on the morning of November 19, 1831, they were deep in the open prairie country of central Texas, roughly six miles from the old Spanish fort on the San Saba River. They were not alone. With James Bowie and his older brother Rezin P. Bowie rode David Buchanan, Robert Armstrong, Jesse Wallace, Matthew Doyle, Cephas Hamm, James Corell, and Thomas McCaslin, along with two servant boys, Charles and Gonzales.

Eleven armed men in all. They had left San Antonio on November 2, searching for the fabled silver mines of the San Saba mission. Nothing of interest had occurred for seventeen days. Then the trail behind them filled with Indians.

The warning had come twice first. Two days earlier, around ten in the morning on the nineteenth, a pair of Comanche Indians and a Mexican had overtaken the party. They explained that they belonged to the party of Isaony, a Comanche chief, whose followers numbered about sixteen. They were on their way to San Antonio with a drove of horses they had taken from the Wacos and Tawakonis, intending to return the animals to their owners, who were citizens of San Antonio.

Bowie’s men smoked and talked with them for about an hour, made them presents of tobacco, powder, and shot, and the visitors returned to their party, waiting at the Llano River. The next morning, between daylight and sunrise, the same Mexican came back to camp alone. His horse was much fatigued. After eating and smoking, he delivered a message from Chief Isaony.

The party was being followed by 124 Tawakona and Waco Indians, and 40 Caddo shadows had joined them. They were determined to have the scalps of the Bowie party at all hazards. Isaony had met with them the previous evening and tried without success to dissuade them from their purpose. The warriors had left him enraged and taken up the trail.

As a voucher for the truth of his statement, the Mexican produced the chief’s silver medal, a common token among the natives in such cases. Isaony had sixteen men, badly armed and without ammunition, but if the Bowie party would return and join him, he would give them such assistance as he could. The enemy lay between them and Isaony, so the Bowies deemed it more prudent to push on and try to reach the old fort on the San Saba River by night, a distance of thirty miles. The roads were bad and quite rocky, and the horses’ feet were considerably worn.

They failed to reach the fort that evening and had difficulty finding an advantageous place to camp. They chose the best that offered: a cluster of live oak trees, some thirty or forty in number, about the size of a man’s body. To the north lay a thicket of live oak bushes about ten feet high, forty yards in length and twenty in breadth. To the west, at a distance of thirty or forty yards, ran a stream of water.

The surrounding country was open prairie, interspersed with a few trees, rocks, and broken land. The trail they had come by lay to the east of the encampment. They took the precaution of cutting a road inside the thicket of bushes, about ten feet from the outer edge all around, clearing the prickly pears from among the bushes. Then they hobbled their horses and placed sentinels for the night.

Nothing occurred through the night, and in the morning they lost no time preparing to continue their journey. When in the act of starting, they discovered three Indians on their trail to the east, about 200 yards distant, and a footman about 50 yards in advance of the main body, with his face to the ground, tracking along the trail. The cry of the Indians was sounded, and all hands began to prepare for defense. They dismounted and fastened both saddle and pack horses to the trees.

As soon as the Indians saw they had been discovered, they gave the war whoop, halted, and commenced stripping themselves preparatory to action. A number of mounted Indians reconnoitered the ground. Among them were a few Caddo Indians, known by the cut of their hair, who had always claimed to be friendly toward the whites. The enemy numbered 164 against eleven.

It was agreed that Rezin P. Bowie should go out and talk with them, to try to reach a compromise rather than fight. He started, accompanied by David Buchanan, and walked up to within 40 yards of where the Indians had halted. He requested them in their own tongue to send forward their chief, as he wanted to talk with him.

Their answer was, “How do you do? How do you do? ” in English, followed by a discharge of twelve shots. One of the balls broke Buchanan’s leg.

Bowie returned their salutations with the contents of a double-barreled gun and a pistol, then took Buchanan on his shoulder and started back to the encampment. As he did so, they opened a heavy fire on them, which wounded Buchanan in two other places and slightly pierced Bowie’s hunting shirt in several places, though it did him no injury. Seeing the shots did not bring Bowie down, eight Indians on foot took after him with their tomahawks. When they had gotten close to him, the rest of Bowie’s party rushed to his assistance and brought down four of the Indians.

The other four retreated to the main body. The party returned to their position, and all was still for about five minutes. Then they discovered that a hill northeast of them, about 60 yards distant, was covered with Indians. They opened a heavy fire accompanied by loud yells.

Bowie’s men could hear their chief urging them to charge, in a loud and audible voice, as he walked his horse, appearing perfectly composed. When they first discovered him, their guns were all empty with the exception of Mr. Ham’s. James Bowie cried out, “Whose gun is loaded?

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Mr. Ham answered, “Mine is. ”

He was told to shoot the Indian on horseback. He did so, breaking the chief’s leg and killing his horse.

The chief was seen hopping around his horse with his shield on his arm to keep off the balls. At this time, four of the party having their guns loaded, all fired at him at once, and all the balls took effect through his hip shield. He fell and was immediately surrounded by his warriors, who picked him up and bore him off. Several of these were shot while carrying away their dead chief.

The whole party, with the exception of a few, retreated over the hill out of sight. A few dodged about from tree to tree to avoid the shots. The Indians soon covered the hill a second time, bringing up their bowmen who had not before been in action, and began a heavy fire with bows and arrows, which the Bowie party returned with well-directed rifle fire. At this time, another chief appeared on horseback near the spot where the first had fallen.

Again the question was asked, “Whose gun is loaded? ” And the answer was nobody’s. Then little Charles came running up with Buchanan’s rifle, which had not been discharged since Buchanan was wounded, and handed it to James Bowie, who instantly fired and brought the chief from his horse. He too was surrounded by six or eight of his men, as was the first, and borne off under their fire.

While they were thus defending themselves from the Indians on the hill, some fifteen or twenty of the Caddoes succeeded in getting under the bank in their rear, about 40 yards distant. From this cover they opened fire, wounding Matthew Doyle, the ball entering the left breast and coming out at the back. As soon as he cried out that he was wounded, Thomas McCaslin hastened to the spot where he fell and called out, “Where is that Indian that shot Doyle? ” He was told by a more experienced hand not to venture there, as from the reports of their guns they must be riflemen.

At that instant they discovered an Indian, and when in the act of raising his gun, he was shot through the center of his body and instantly expired. Robert Armstrong exclaimed, “Where is the Indian that shot McCaslin? ” He too was told not to venture there, as they must be riflemen. But he discovered an Indian, and just as he was raising his gun to shoot him, he was fired at, the ball cutting off a portion of the stock of his gun and lodging in the barrel.

By this time, the enemy had formed a complete circle around them, occupying the points of rocks and scattering through the bushes and trees. The firing became general from all quarters. Finding their situation too exposed among the trees, the Bowie party was obliged to leave them and take to the bushes. The first necessity was to dislodge the riflemen from the bank underneath the creek, who were now within shooting distance.

They soon succeeded, as they had the advantage of seeing the riflemen when the riflemen could not see them. The road they had cut around the thicket the night before gave them a great advantage: they had a fair view of the enemy in the prairie while they were completely hidden. They baffled the Indian shots by moving six or eight feet the moment they fired, as the only mark the enemy had was the smoke of their guns. The Indians would put as many as twenty holes in a place the size of a pocket handkerchief where they had seen the smoke.

In this manner they fought for two hours. One man was wounded: James Coryell, shot through the arm, the ball lodging in his side, having first struck a small bush, preventing it from penetrating deeper than the size of its. The Indians now discovered that the Bowie party was not to be dislodged from their position. They suffered very much from the fire of the rifles, which brought down a half dozen at every round.

They resorted to the stratagem of firing the dry grass, for the double purpose of routing the whites from their position and, under the cover of smoke, carrying off their dead and wounded, which lay near them. The wind was blowing from the west, and they placed the fire in that quarter. It burnt all the grass down to the creek and then bore off to the right, leaving a space of about five acres around the Bowie party untouched by the fire. Under cover of the smoke, the Indians succeeded in carrying away a portion of their dead and wounded.

In the meantime, the Bowie party was engaged in scraping away the dry grass and leaves from around their wounded men and baggage to prevent fire from passing over them. They also gathered together rocks and bushes and made a breastwork of them. The Indians now discovered that they had failed in routing the party by fire as they anticipated. They reoccupied the points of rocks and trees and commenced another attack.

The firing continued for some time, when the wind suddenly shifted and blew very hard from the north. The Bowie party saw they were in a critical position if the Indians succeeded in putting fire to the small spot around them. They kept a strict watch all around and had their servant boys employed in scraping away the dry grass and leaves from around the baggage and in piling rocks around the wounded men. The point from which the wind now blew being favorable to fire their position, one of the Indians succeeded in crawling down the creek and setting fire to the grass that had not been burned.

But before he could retreat back to his party, Robert Armstrong shot and killed him. There was no hope of escape now. The flames were about ten feet high and bearing directly to the spot where they were. They were compelled either to be burned alive or driven out into the prairie among the Indians.

This so encouraged the Indians that they fired volley after volley, shouting and yelling like so many demons, about twenty shots to the minute. As soon as the smoke hid them from view, the Bowie party collected together and held a consultation. Their first impression was that the Indians might charge them under cover of the smoke, as they could make but one effectual fire, since the sparks were flying about so thickly that no man could open his powder horn without the risk of being blown up. They determined that if the Indians charged them, they would give them one fire, then place their backs together, draw their knives, and fight them as long as one of them was left alive.

They also decided that if the Indians did not charge, they would retain their position, every man taking care of himself as best he could, and when the fire arrived at the ring around their baggage and wounded men, they would smother it with buffalo robes, deerskins, blankets, and the like. The Indians did not charge. The Bowie party carried out the latter proposition and succeeded after a great deal of exertion. Their thicket was so much burned and scorched that it afforded very little shelter now.

They all got into the ring that was made around their wounded men and baggage and began building their breastworks higher, using the loose rocks from the inside and the dirt they dug up with their knives and sticks. During this last fire, the Indians had succeeded in removing all their dead and wounded. It was now sundown. They had been fighting since sunrise that morning.

The Indians, seeing them all still alive and ready for a fight, drew off to a distance of 300 yards and camped there for the night with their dead and wounded. The Bowie party commenced the work of raising their breastworks still higher, and by 10:00 p. m. they had succeeded in building it breast high.

They filled their vessels with water, expecting another attack the next morning. They could distinctly hear the Indians crying nearly all night over their dead, which was one of their customs. At daylight, the Indians shot one of their wounded chiefs, it being their custom to shoot any of their tribe that were mortally wounded. They afterwards took their dead and wounded and went to a mountain about a mile distant, where they deposited them in a cave in the side of the mountain.

At 8:00 in the morning, two of the party went out from the fortifications to the encampment where the Indians had been the night previous and counted 48 bloody spots in the grass where the dead and wounded had lain. Finding themselves much cut up, having one man killed and three wounded, five horses killed and three wounded, they recommended strengthening their little fort and continued their labors until 1:00 p. m. , when the arrival of 13 Indians drew them into it again.

As soon as the Indians discovered that they were fortified and ready for action, they left. After that, they remained in their fort for eight days. Then they set out for San Antonio, where they arrived in safety, bringing out the wounded, after a journey of twelve days. Up to that time, there had been no encounter between Indians and whites so protracted and so desperate as this one.

Three tribes had allied, and counting on their numbers, they had expected an easy victory over the handful of whites. The Indians lost three of their chiefs killed on the ground, and probably about a third of their entire number. The Bowie brothers each wrote an account of the battle. Rezin’s was the much more detailed and vivid, and each implied in his narrative that he was the leader.

Jim Bowie had come to Texas from Louisiana in 1828, at age 32. He found that the fame of his knife had preceded him. He stood six feet tall and was all muscle. He was pleasing in look, speech, and manner to both men and women, though it is said that he seldom smiled.

Letters and other writings by him and Rezin P. Bowie are in clear, sinewy English. After he had been in Texas a while, he spoke Spanish as well as French. He was at home with the cutthroats and gamblers of Natchez under the hill, yet he dined in patrician houses on the hill and sat in the New Orleans theater.

He could pass from frontiersmanship to urbanity, moving as a well-bred gentleman in the best society of New Orleans, Natchez, San Antonio, or Saltillo. He was convivial and loved music. He was impetuous and concomitantly generous. He was ambitious and scheming, but seems to have been more eager in the game of gaining than for gain itself.

He played cards for money, and considering the facts, especially the debts of his plunging career, he must at times have lost heavily. Unlike most immigrants from the states, Bowie rode past the Texian settlements along the Brazos River until he reached San Antonio in the Spanish country. In June 1828, he was baptized into the Roman Catholic Church. His sponsors were Don Juan Martín de Veramendi and Doña María Josefa Navarro de Veramendi, who had united by their marriage the chief families of Spanish Texas and were parents of the lovely Ursula.

Don Juan Martín was about to become vice governor of Texas. Bowie looked toward Ursula, looked over the land situation, and looked for leads to Spanish silver. He rode back east, but early in 1830 was in Texas again. He rode on to San Antonio, and then in company with Governor Veramendi and family went down into Mexico.

On September 30, 1830, the Coahuila and Texas legislature at Saltillo passed an act making him a Mexican citizen, with the understanding that he would finance a textile mill to be built in Saltillo. Full citizenship gave him the right to buy up eleven leagues of public land at from 100 to 250 dollars per league, a right withheld from colonists. On April 25, 1831, James Bowie and Maria Ursula de Veramendi were married in the San Fernando Church at San Antonio, where the record of the marriage is preserved. She was 19, and he was 35, though he gave his age at 30.

As a married man, he received a headright league and seems to have received a certificate for a labor of land. Following the marriage, he made a note to Ursula’s grandmother for 750 dollars, borrowed 1,879 dollars from his father-in-law, and took his bride on a honeymoon trip to New Orleans and Natchez. In November, he and Rezin P. Bowie, with seven other Americans and two servants, set out from San Antonio for the fabled Spanish mine on the San Saba River.

The expedition was halted only a few miles from the abandoned San Saba mission by perhaps the most desperate Indian fight recorded in Texas history. After the battle, back in San Antonio, James Bowie was granted permission to raise an expedition against the Tawakoni Indians. He estimated that they had 2,000 horses worth capturing. A rumor spread that the object of the expedition was to further the views of speculators in mines.

A hot advertisement against the rumor was published. If the expedition was made, notice of it has eluded the searcher. Bowie kept on riding among the Indians, against the Indians, down into Mexico, across the settled parts of Texas, back into Louisiana, and up into Mississippi. He and Ursula lived with her parents in the Veramendi house, later called the palace.

As witnesses in a lawsuit over a league of land on the Navidad River testified a third of a century later, Bowie was treated as a son and furnished with money and supplies without limit. While without regular occupation, he hunted for mines in mountains of gold or silver. When he made trips east, he lived like a man who had plenty of money, furnished by Governor Veramendi. Bowie was on an extended trip east when, between September 5 and 8, 1833, his wife, their two infants, her father, and her mother all died from cholera at Monclova, where the Veramendis had a summer home.

Bowie was not aware of the catastrophe when he executed his will at Natchez on October 21 following. In it he designated as his sole heirs Rezin P. Bowie and their sister Martha Bowie Stirrett and her husband. His wife, he explained, had already been provided for.

He stipulated that 4,000 be restored to a friend who had advanced him that amount of money to invest in lands, and 4,000 more to another friend who had secured a loan to him for that amount. He must have believed or hoped, with him somewhat synonymous, that his land deals would pay off, for he stipulated that a niece and nephew be educated out of the proceeds of his estate. He was lying ill at the home of Angus McNeil in Mississippi when the words of the deaths in his family reached him. The deaths made Ursula’s grandmother, a Navarro, the inheritor of the whole Veramendi estates.

She died in 1837, leaving other Navarros to inherit and to make claims against the Bowie estates. A sentimental habit arose that after the death of his wife and babies, Bowie ceased to find joy in life, and that grief drove him into being dead drunk at San Felipe de Austin while a provisional government for Texas was being formulated, and to prolong drunkenness with his partisans at San Antonio, where he turned all military prisoners loose and banged the doors of the town calaboose open. He had never been a total abstainer. Whatever his feelings, and there can be no doubt that he suffered grief, he was on the go as usual in 1834, now in New Orleans, now at San Antonio, now down in Mexico.

Juan Martín de Veramendi, who died of cholera with his wife in September 1833, was then governor of Coahuila and Texas, having succeeded to the office after serving as vice governor. He died in office at a time when there was contention over whether to locate the state capital in Saltillo or Monclova. James Corryell, the man shot through the arm in the fight, would not die that day. He survived the battle and the long journey back to San Antonio.

Just a few years later, he went with Andrew Cavitt to Sarahville de Viesca, a settlement near Marlin founded by Sterling C. Robertson, who was impresario of the colony in 1834. Corryell made his home with the Cavitt family. Sarahville was also the site of Fort Milam, built to protect the settlers in the region.

In 1835, Corryell explored the Leon River country with Cavitt and applied for a land grant in what is now Coryell County. In 1836, Robertson became the captain of a company of Texas Rangers stationed at Fort Milam. During the spring and summer of 1836, Corryell was a private in Robertson’s Ranger company, and in the fall he joined Captain Thomas H. Barron’s Ranger militia to protect the 200 settlers living in Sarahville.

On May 27, 1837, Corryell and two other Rangers, Ezra Webb and Michael Castleman, were raiding a bee tree a short distance from the fort when they were attacked by Caddo Indians. His companions escaped, but Corryell, who was in poor health and unable to run, was shot and scalped. A party of men from the fort returned to the site of the attack and found Corryell wounded and bloodied, but still alive. He died two days later and was buried nearby.

The exact location of the grave was not recorded and was eventually lost. The Caddo Indians who were part of the group that attacked Bowie and his party in 1831 would eventually take the scalp of James Corryell. The silver mines of the San Saba mission have still not been found to the present day.

As for the Bowie knife, some historians view it as the chief weapon of the Wild West until the Colt Paterson revolver was used by Jack Hays and his Texas Rangers beginning around 1843.