A letter from my grandfather, circa 1913
Over the last year, I have become addicted to the Internet crack otherwise known as Ancestry.com. Oh, what a high.
I have been fortunate enough that other distant relatives have blazed a trail for me to follow. The research is grueling, but it is hard to express how amazing it feels when I find a small piece of my past. I have uncovered everything from photos from the 1700s to a history book with an entire chapter devoted to my GGG grandfather, and even the unpublished 90-page memoir of my GGGG aunt, which was written in the early 1900s.
I have learned that my tree is littered with soldiers, politicians, masons and farmers. From it flows the blood of Wales, Ireland, Scotland, Germany and the Indian reservations.
There is an immense connection I feel to these people whom I never met, those who died long before my grandmothers were even a thought. One treasured item I discovered is the following letter, written by Abraham Hood Onstott II and published soon thereafter. Raised simply, he was a veteran of the Civil War, but unlike his siblings, was he very educated. He settled and named the town of Alvarado, Texas, and later became a sheriff and a respected judge.
Most of all, he was my GGGG grandfather, and when I read this for the first time, I had tears in my eyes. It was like I knew him and could feel the struggles he went through during the war. But when I got to the last line, I laughed like he was sitting in front of me with a pipe and a sly grin.
Then I cried some more. What a wonderful way to “meet” someone.
{Picture of actual document, transcript follows}
Written by Abraham H. Onstott in 1913
Fought Through Several Wars
I was born in Pike County, Missouri, on Spencer’s Creek, fourteen miles from Bowling Green, July 20, 1828. When five years old, in 1833 (the year the stars fell) my parents moved to Southwestern Missouri to what is now Jasper county and settled on Center Creek, five miles south of the present town of Carthage. We found plenty of game and fish there. The Osage Indians were there in large numbers and very few white settlers. Our bread was corn mashed in a mortar. It was forty miles to the nearest mill.
I received a common education in a log school house. When 17 I joined the Freewill Baptist. In those days we had fine camp meetings. In the spring of 1846 I came to Texas in a company of emigrants in an ox wagon, crossing the Arkansas River at Fort Smith. Went through the Choctaw Nation and crossed Red River at old Warren on June 1. It was wild country at that time and abounded in wild game, buffalo, etc. There were a great many Indians, too, and we had to be continually on the alert.
When I reached Dallas, I found two cabins. In one lived a Mr. Smith and a Mr. Patterson. They had a small stock of goods in the other cabin which was a trading post. They had dealings with the Delaware Indians and the few white settlers living there at that time. I crossed the river and went over the lonely prairie encountering wolves all along until I reached the Brazos River below the falls at Moseley’s Ferry. Thence to the Colorado River and on to Victoria on the Guadalupe River. On by Ward and Fannin’s battleground to the place where the massacre occurred. I went across to the San Antonio River from the present town of Goliad and from there to San Antonio and joined Capt. William G. Crump’s company, P.H. Bell’s regiment, Texas Volunteer Calvary to go to Mexico.
That was my first experience among the Mexicans. I was in the storming of the Black Fort at Monterey under Gen. Zachary Taylor. It was a trying time. We lost some good men there. One of the officers, Capt. Walker, was killed by a Mexican from an adobe house as we charged the town after taking the fort. I could see the white flags running up all over the city. Part of our regiment was detailed to escort Capt. Walker’s remains back to the Alamo for burial.
We were stationed on the border of Medina River, southwest of San Antonio. We had a battle with the Indians near the Rio Grande which lasted nine hours. We lost five brave men whom we buried on the lonely prairie. We had several fights with the Mexican guerrillas and lancers. These experiences were trying on our boys’ nerves. I was in another fight where we were ordered to charge and as I charged an old buck threw his tomahawk and just missed my head and grabbed me by my leg trying to pull me from my horse. It took some hard licks to knock him loose. That is what I call a close call. We killed several of the Indians and three of our men were wounded. We captured a band of horses and talk about brave men — the Kiowas and Comanche Indians were among the bravest. We had several other conflicts with the Indians and the Mexicans and lost some good men.
When peace was made we were mustered out and discharged at San Antonio and separated. I came back to Dallas and went into partnership with one Charles Turner of Dallas, later of Fort Worth to import mares and mules from Old Mexico to Texas. It was a risky thing to go into Mexico at that time on account of Mexican guerrillas. We made three trips and came out all right. We gave $6 for picked mares and $22 for picked mules. We crossed the Rio Grande at Matamoros with stock. On our last trip we had trouble with the Mexicans on the plains but came out all right.
In 1853 while peddling horses through the state, I met a beautiful young lady by the name of Amelia Farber and married her the same year near Greenville, Hunt County, Texas. We settled on a farm near the present town of Alvarado, which town I named. In 1854 Johnson County was organized. I was elected the sheriff. The first court was convened under a clump of trees on Buffalo Creek near the present town of Cleburne. David Mitchell was the county judge and Parson Easterwood was county clerk. Drew Kinnard was one of the county commissioners. We located the county seat on Nolan River and named it Wardsville. It was afterward moved to Buchanan, six miles northwest of Cleburne.
When the trouble came up between the states and Texas seceded, I joined the Southern cause and enlisted in the Confederate army for three years, or during the war. I was in Capt. H. G. Bruce’s Company H, Col. T. C. Bass’s Regiment, Twentieth Texas Cavalry. Then we marched off leaving our loved ones not knowing whether we would ever see them again in this life. Some of our company never lived to return. No one knows the horrors of a war except those who go through a four year war such as the Civil War between the States where brother fought against brother and father against son.
We marched to Missouri in time to be in several hard fought battles — Carthage, Newtonis, Pea Ridge and other fights. I had several close calls. Was in places where I believe if my head had been over on either shoulder it would have been shot off for the heat of the bullets would burn my ears.
We were dismounted four miles below Van Buren, on the Arkansas River, just before the Prairie Grove Battle and went into camp on the Missard prairie living on half rations. On the 4th of December, 1862, we started on the march north as webb foots and on the 6th we waded Cove Creek thirty odd times during the day and night on a forced march and on the 7th, early in the morning, we went into the battle of Prairie Grove.
There the men fell thick and fast leaving their brave wives at home to care for the little ones alone. Women wove and spun cloth and kept us clothed for four years with heavy jeans suits for the winter. The detailed men who were sent home after these clothes reported that the Southern women were faithful to the Southern cause. They saw some hard times as well as the men in the battle. My dear wife clothed me through the entire war. After the battle of Prairie Grove we retreated to Fort Smith. I was in several other fights.
In one battle at Elk Creek, in the Creek Nation which is called the “Honey Spring Fight” we fought ten to one and my Captain and First Lieutenant and most of the company were taken prisoners but I got out by sheer running under heavy fire for about a hundred and fifty yards. This is the only time I ever was scratched by a bullet in all my close calls. That was on July 17, 1863.
At last when the war was all over, I was glad to go home to meet my dear wife and little ones at my cabin door all in good health. It was a happy day but what a sad thought to remember so many homes where no man came back to embrace his loved ones.
Arriving home, I was down to bedrock with a wife and five children. We had 11 children born to us — two died in infancy and the rest have families of their own. The married ones are four sons and five daughters. The two oldest live in Arkansas – three live in Oklahoma – two in Washington – one in Oregon and one in Colorado while my wife and I live alone on a little forty acre farm in the hills of Spawnaw in Benton County, Arkansas. If we live until September 8 we will have been living together sixty years. I am 85, she is 76.
Now a few words to the lawmakers — that they sympathize more with the old tottering veterans and give them larger pensions.
Signed — Abraham H. Onstott
Rt. 2
Decatur, Arkansas
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