ELIZABETH CREEK, or a Couple of Near Nakid Cuties
Nov 17, 2013 20:23:22 GMT -5
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Post by Gordon Lee on Nov 17, 2013 20:23:22 GMT -5
Greetings Fellow SB Boarders
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ELIZABETH CREEK, or I Found a Couple of Near Nakid Cuties in My Creek
As most of you know my darling young bride and I sold the Lee Mansion in Maryland in June 2007 and in July 2007 we moved into a brand new super deluxe custom-built double-wide that we had plopped down on a little spit of land on the beautiful muddy banks of Elizabeth Creek abutting a small patch of the Eastern Cross Timbers of north Texass. Why Elizabeth Creek? Well, there are many reasons. But if you know me and my love of the strange, eerie, and down right spookiness, Elizabeth Creek hits the spot. Our humble abode is situated exactly one quarter mile from what was once Elizabethtown (population zero since the 1890 census, which makes it an outright certified ghost town) and the still active Elizabethtown Cemetery.
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It wasn't until after we moved here and I start further research about the area that I found out just how strange, eerie, and spooky.
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A quick geography and history lesson inserted here, if I may, because it played an awful important part of what all happened. (I know, who wants to read anything if they might learn something. I'll try to make it short and easy to understand.)
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You probably skimmed across the words "Cross Timbers" in my opening paragraph and probably didn't give it much thought. Even most long-time local folk around here have no idea what the term "Cross Timbers" refers, or why it played an important role in the establishing of the Lone Star State.
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The Cross Timbers of Texass are two long and narrow strips of forest region that extend parallel to each other from Oklahoma at the Red River southward to the Brazos River in Central Texass. It separated the Black Prairies on the east from the wide open Grand Prairies on the west. The Eastern Cross Timbers (the one where I now live) was about 15 miles wide and over 150 miles long. About twenty miles over is the smaller, in area and size, Western Cross Timbers. What makes these timbers important is that the early pioneers found the super dense underbrush impossible to cross these wooded lands by wagon, horse or on foot (thus the name Cross Timbers). It wasn't until the 1840's that the land between the Cross Timbers became settled. Until then it was neither occupied by whites, Indians, Spaniards, Mexicans, Texans, or any others. Any passer-through'ers had to either come down through Arkansas/Oklahoma or come up all the way from the south. Today however, over 150 years of progress and modern expansion, only sparsely scattered patches of the great natural barriers remain. (Evidently because it's out of sight, it's also out of mind. Two of state's most early notable landmarks are almost totally gone and almost completely forgotten.)
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Back in 1836, after the bloody civil uprising by the citizens of the territory of Tejas against the Mexican Government, the newly established Republic of Texass continued the practice of using empresarios, or land agents/companies, to promote and entice new settlers into the new country. (Stephan Fuller Austin being the most famous of these empresarios.)
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Only a few settlers arrived without the help of an empresario. One was the brave and gallant soul, with his wife and six children, the Reverend Captain John Bunyan Denton, Esquire. This young Tennessee orphan worked on a Mississippi River boat until he learned to read and write at the age of eighteen after marrying his beautiful sixteen year old bride. With a bit of education behind him, he became a Methodist Episcopal preacher and rode a circuit throughout Missouri and Arkansas. That didn't pay a whole lot. So, in 1837 he moved his family to Clarksville, Texass, to start farming. At the same time he began studying law. Within six months he became a full-fledged lawyer. He also volunteered in the local militia and was appointed the rank of captain. The folks that knew this gentleman held him in high esteem and thought highly of his honest, hard working character. Many considered him the smartest man in Texass.
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In late April of 1841 the Ripley family was massacred by Indians over in Titus County. The militia gathered itself and took off after the Indians. After twenty or so days the seventy man militia troop thought they had the Indians cornered. What ensued is called the Keechi Village Fight. It wasn't much of a fight. What the militia didn't know was that the Keechi Indian camp on Rush Creek (it runs dead center between the present day cities of Dallas and Fort Worth) contained more than 1,000 braves. When the militia popped up to ambush the Indians they soon realized their bone-headed mistake and the dire lopsidedness of their situation. Fortunately for the militia, only one of them was killed before they fled. Unfortunately, the one killed was what many considered the smartest man in Texass, the Reverend Captain John Bunyan Denton, Esquire.
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At this point in the history/geography lesson, let me interject the relevance of John Bunyan Denton in my research. Texicans are proud of their local history and have a natural proclivity to hang a title, or name, to places and things that remind them of their regal past. Denton County, as well as the city of Denton, is named after the very same riverboat hand, preacher, farmer, lawyer, soldier that was killed during the Keechi Village Fight. John Denton never set foot (while alive, believe me, this is a whole-nother story) in either Denton or Denton County. Besides the city and county, the main tributary flowing out of Denton County is called (get this), Denton Creek. One of the main feeders into Denton Creek is, of course it would be, my very favorite Elizabeth Creek. This creek, as well as Henrietta Creek, is said to be named after the daughters of John B. Denton. But I don't think so. Why? His two daughters were named Sarah Elizabeth and Narcissa Jane. Plus, there's a more compelling reason,¦ and the reason why this little geography/history lesson fits into this "Dreams and Supernatural" blog category. Okay, end of interjection and just a tad more lesson until the stranger than fiction begins.
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Right at about the same time as Denton bit the dust, one of the more successful empresarios was contracted by the Republic of Texass for 800 new citizens. He was an Englishman by the name of Willie Peters (honest, there are some things you just can't make up). Willie round up people from England, and the states of Pennsylvania, the Carolinas, Georgia, Ohio, Illinois, Tennessee, and primarily Kentucky with the promise of free Texass land. Most of these folks left their home with only the possessions they could carry. They left everything else behind with the letters "GTT" (Gone to Texass) painted on their front door informing friends, neighbors and relatives of their expected whereabouts.
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Willie originally named his company the Texian Emigration and Land Company. It soon become shortened and forever now known as the Peters Colony and was assigned land distribution on the Grand Prairie west of the Eastern Cross Timbers. Many of the older townships in Cooke, Tarrant and Denton Counties were established by these early settlers of the Peters Colony, including my Elizabethtown. Before the first of these 800 hearty souls boated up the Red River and landed at Swells Bend to head southward to their promised land, however, a scout for the Peters Colony must survey the uncharted territory. Now the fun begins.
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Hired by Willie Peters to scout and survey the promised-land was Daniel Montague. This transplanted Mississippian, and good friend to Sam Houston, planned on leaving his homestead in Fannin County and head south to the Trinity River, head west through the Eastern Cross Timbers, and then northward back up to the Red River to greet the new arrivals to Texass within a month time. Although a snap with the surveying business, Daniel never had been on the other side of the nasty Cross Timbers. He felt pretty confident that he could get the job done. Atop of his speckled gray mare and loaded with plenty of provisions in his saddle bag, off he set.
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The first part of his journey to the Trinity River was a piece of cake. The trail was fairly well marked and every ten or twenty miles friendly homesteaders waved as he passed, once they noticed he wasn't wearing war paint or sporting a headdress. It didn't take long at all before he reached one of the last safe havens on his trek, the outpost established by John Neely Bryon at a natural ford on the Trinity River.
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Dan spent a whole day at John Neely Bryon's trading post. First, he wanted to give his horse a needed rest before attempting the rigors before them. Secondly, he wanted to extract as much information from Mr. Bryon as he could about what to expect on the other side of the Cross Timbers.
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Even though John Neely Bryon charged a small fee for travelers to wade across the Trinity at his self-claimed spot on the trail, he was pretty fair with his dealings at his meager trading post, and completely free with information. There was loads of information he could share with Daniel about the way east, north or south. But he knew next to nothing about out west. "Nobody ever went that away ... well, except about a year ago a family did head off in that direction. They said they'd settle down not far from here, but I've never heard a lick from them since."
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Early the next morning Daniel Montague thanked his host at the natural ford on the Trinity River (today, this little outpost is known as Dallas, Texass), remounted his speckled gray mare, and rode west. He was glad he left early because it was tough going. It took a whole day before he broke out of the dense growth of the Cross Timbers.
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He followed the Trinity River, taking notes about the terrain for the upcoming colonist. If everything went according to plan he should be able to crisscross the plains a dozen times between the Eastern and Western Cross Timbers and zigzag his way 70 miles northward to the Red River. On the way he'd keep an eye peeled for that family, too.
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Daniel Montague found himself surveying a beautiful Grand Prairie; a vast savannah of high, rolling hills with vast vistas of tall grasses and mesquite shrubs, bisected by deep meandering streams. Most of the soil consisted of marl clay with many outcroppings of hard limestone. Plenty of deer, elk and bison roamed between the two Cross Timbers.
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On the fifth morning he awoke looking up into a pink and orange sky. Not wanting to be caught out in the open, Daniel packed his gear to make a beeline towards the Eastern Cross Timbers.
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As the morning progressed darkness descended and looming thunderclouds rumbled ominously on the horizon. A healthy breeze started blowing and rain started falling. Soon the storm grew and the sky got darker and darker and then dark. The rain fell in buckets. Lightning and thunderation intensified to where it seemed almost a constant light and a steady boom. Daniel, who could no longer see farther than his horse's head, decided to give up and simply let the animal follow its own nose.
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Wet and cold, Daniel Montague spied the tree line way off in the distance during the bright flashes of lightning. He knew, at least, that he and his horse were headed in the right direction. On ward he and his gray trudged through the down pour. Dan's focus upon his wretchedness was suddenly interrupted when he discovered that he was not alone.
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A man stood directly in front of him. The feller was just standing there stock still in the wind and rain with his back to Daniel. This tall, heavyset man wore rough homemade frontier clothing, all of which fitted him just fine. Daniel reckoned this man just might be part of the family that old Mr. Bryon told him about back at the Trinity River trading post. If so, then hopefully he can lead him to shelter. Daniel cupped his hands and yelled against the howling wind, "Hey there!"
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The man started walking away. Well, maybe the wind carried my holler away and he just didn't hear, thought Daniel Montague. He yelled out again, "Hey there, mister!"
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Without missing a stride, the stranger quickly glanced back at Daniel. The first thing Daniel noticed was that this stranger was an old man. He sported a long scraggly beard, mostly gray with tinges of aging red and blond hair. The second thing Daniel notice was the man's expression of keen anxiety.
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Daniel spurred his weary gray horse in an attempt to overtake the old gray feller. The faithful speckled mare briskly picked up the pace. Unbelievable, so did the old guy. As fast as Daniel and his mare could go under the circumstances caused by the bad weather, so did the old pedestrian. In fact, the old bearded fellow was pulling ahead. Each stride he took he seemed to skim right over the ground.
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As unnerving Daniel Montague found this situation, he took some solace in having someone to follow, no matter how odd. This strange game of fox and hound continued across the stormy plain for half an hour. That's when they hit upon a small narrow clearing in the trees and bush. Daniel doubted if he could spot this clearing on a clear day without someone pointing it out to him.
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In the shelter of the trees Daniel noticed that the rain wasn't blowing sideways like it was out in the open. Although a bit darker under the trees, it was much easier to see without the raindrops pelting and stinging his eyes. He noticed, too, that the silent old man silently disappeared. But at the far end of the narrow forest alcove sat a crude cabin. As crude as it looked it certainly was a welcomed sight.
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The place gave an impression of being cold, dark and deserted. Daniel dismounted and tied his horse, then pounded on the door. It was unlatched and swung open easily. Daniel stepped inside, pulled a Lucifer match from his waterproof case and struck it.
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He found himself in a large room close to a fireplace, over which a wooden axe-hewed shelf was situated, and on this mantel he found an oil lamp, to which he applied his lit Lucifer.
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As light spread across the shabby interior Daniel was again taken by surprise that he was not alone. At his feet, huddled by the heaped ashes in the fireplace hearth was a little girl of three or four. As Daniel held up the lamp he noticed at the other end of the scantily furnished room laid a man strewn across a bed. There was no doubt that this was the same silent stranger whom he had been following. The fellow had the same bushy beard, the same features, and the exact same clothes. A chill gripped Daniel's soul as he realized that the clothing the man wore was completely dry and the old man was completely dead. Staring at the dead body, Daniel tried to understand how a man could be lying dead in a bed and out walking in the rain at the same time. Next to the dead feller was cuddled another child, even younger than the first. His heart skipped a beat until he noticed that the small body stirred. Meanwhile, a tiny voice near his feet said, "Please, we hungry."
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A quick search produced a couple of eggs from almost bare shelves from the small kitchen. Along with a few vittles from his saddlebag and after boiling the eggs in the fireplace he stocked and stoked, the two little famished waifs were fed. He then toted the dead old man to the doorway. He tucked the little gals into the bed. With their hunger pangs satisfied and the warmth radiating from the fireplace, they dropped off fast asleep.
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Daniel tended to his tired, wet, and neglected horse. After that, he performed, as best he could, a simple burial service for his prairie guide, the dead man. Only then did he plop into a heap in the corner of the cabin, closed his eyes and fell sleep.
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By morning the rain stopped. As the light of dawn spilled through the blackjack and post oaks and the pecan trees, Daniel could see that the cabin, although in disarray, was very well made. A lean-to shed and wagon, as well as a few farm implements sat behind the cabin. There was no sign of horses, of stock or of the hens that laid those eggs he found inside.
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The two little girls slept way past mid-morning. From the older girl's limited vocabulary, Daniel pieced together the tale of the tragic events that befell this devastated frontier family. It seems Pa, Pawpaw, and older brother Jack went out hunting on the prairie. Liz and little Henri (evidently the shorter version of Elizabeth and Henrietta) stayed at the cabin with Ma and Meema. An excited early return of the men folk brought news that a band of Indian warriors were approaching. Pawpaw took the young girls back behind the cabin, out through the dense woods and hid by the creek. Daniel could only speculate the fate of those staying at the cabin facing the Indians. The Indians probably ran off with the livestock and chickens.
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Daniel Montague wrote copious details in his surveyor notes about the cabin's location and the fate of the family. He bundled the girls and hurriedly headed straight north to the Red River (about sixty miles). Keeping to the edge of the Cross Timbers and keeping his eyes constantly on the lookout for marauding Indians it took two days to reach the little settlement of Swells Bend.
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One of the first families under the auspicious of the Peters Colony to arrive at Swells Bend was Peter Harmonson, his wife Anna, and his almost grown eight children. Not only did Peter and Anna Harmonson take in young Liz and Henri, they also established their homestead of 640 acres where Daniel Montague found the two girls. That homestead lies mostly between the beautiful banks of Elizabeth and Henrietta Creeks (named after, I now firmly believe, to be the two children rescued by Daniel Montague).
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After Daniel Montague safely left the small child Liz and the toddler Henri with the folks up in Swell Bend he quickly finished his survey of the Grand Prairie. A few years later, he was widely known as a fierce Indian fighter, especially famous for an exploit that occurred at a place now called Montague Groves. He served as a captain with the First Texan Calvary during the Mexican War. After the war he accrued extensive land holdings and was elected a State Senator. Daniel Montague is most famously known as being the jury foreman in the infamous Gainesville Great Hanging (another story that needs to be told for remembrance sake). Another Texass county and a city were named in his honor.
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I can find no record giving the family name of little Liz and Henri. Census records, however, show the Harmonson family leaving Kentucky with eight children. The first Denton County Census (a couple of years later) indicates ten children living with Peter and Anna.
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The Harmonson homestead became a center of activity where Elizabeth Creek meanders across the Grand Prairie and enters the Eastern Cross Timbers. By 1845 the community of Elizabethtown was firmly established. Peter Harmonson was elected as the first Denton County sheriff. In 1854 he and Anna moved to Fort Belknap. There he became the Chief Justice of Young County. He died January 9, 1865, as a result of arrow wounds inflicted by an Indian raiding party.
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The fledgling cattle industry of southern Texass ensured the growth and prosperity of little Elizabethtown. As with all good real estate, the slogan "location, location, location" rings true. The two Cross Timbers acted as solid borders along a highway on which cattle could be herded north to Kansas and on to consumers. This route is the Chisholm Trail. The near constant and easy flow of Elizabeth and Henrietta Creeks provide water to the cattle and the wild tall grass of the Grand Prairie offered the perfect resting place for the herds. The town became a natural supply station for the cowpokes.
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By 1852 the town boasted a hotel, a general store, a doctor, a post office, a church, a wagon maker, a water mill, three blacksmiths, and six saloons.
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Like the rest of Texass, almost all able-bodied men went off to fight in the American Civil War. Left behind, undefended, were old folk, women and children. The Comanche took advantage and raided several outlying homesteads. (This is another story in the works.) That ended after the Civil War when Johnny came marching home. Elizabethtown boomed even greater.
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The Chisholm Trail was running full steam and soon Elizabethtown was really thriving with four general stores, another hotel, two more churches and a Masonic lodge. (This town was way bigger and busier than Fort Worth at the time.) Elizabethtown was also famed for it tent revivals and camp meetings. Folks came from all across Texass to meet at Elizabethtown to set up their tents on the prairie to sing praises to the Lord, shout "Halleluiah" and listen to the traveling ministers preach salvation from the damnation of fire and brimstone of hell. During one fiery sermon, a famous preacher who attracted an unusually large crowd needed to cut his damnations and halleluiahs short because the flames from the campfires attracted so many damn bugs and flying insects that it wasn't safe to open one's mouth. Thence forth, many folks referred to Elizabethtown as "Bugtown."
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Well, the good fortune of Elizabethtown ended for almost the same reason it boomed, location, location, location. The hotshots that ran the railroad, specifically the Texass & Pacific Railroad, decided the surefire-est way to get cattle up to Kansas and make more money at the same time was to lay tracks down to were the cattle come. Besides needing steel for the rails, to build a railroad you also need lumber for the ties. The best place to get hard wood in Texass just happened to be the Cross Timbers. Why chop down a tree and pay to haul from where it falls? Just cutting it into ties and lay the rails on top is cheaper and it's exactly what the Texass & Pacific went and done in 1871, right up through the middle of the Cross Timbers, missing Elizabethtown by two miles.
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Knowing how their bread is buttered, in 1873 when the railroad was completed, the Elizabethans moved (lock, stock and barrel) on over to the other side of Henrietta Creek. There they established a new town. Now I'm not saying they were not good spellers, but they named the new town Runronoke. That wasn't the worse part. The worst part was they set the middle of the new town on a low spot. After the first flood, they moved up onto higher ground and respelled the name of their town to a more comfortable looking Roanoke. The last Elizabethan blew out the light along Elizabeth Creek just before the 1890 census, which showed a population of zero.
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I feel fortunate that my darling bride and I have discovered our little "garden spot." The trees in our backyard are quite beautiful, in their twisted, gnarly way. The birds are entertaining. The majestic hawks surveying their domain, the flitting and colorful humming birds with their comic antics, the flocks of woodpeckers claiming their own special territory, the bright crimson cardinals singing sermons, and the butcher birds devouring their meals after performing their ritual grace, provide us with hours of enjoyment.
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I'm grateful I spent a few hours in the local libraries plugging away at the dusty old history books. I'm more appreciative of knowing where I'm at and what happened here. Although I haven't yet seen him, I do keep an eye open for a silent old bearded gentleman wearing rough homemade frontier clothing wandering the beautiful muddy banks of Elizabeth Creek.
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Bibliography:
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Sam Hanna Acheson, Dallas Yesterday, ed. Lee Milazzo (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1977).
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Sam Hanna Acheson and Julia Ann Hudson O'Connell, eds., George Washington Diamond's Account of the Great Hanging at Gainesville, 1862 (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1963).
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William Allen, Capt. John B. Denton, Preacher, Lawyer, and Soldier: His Life and Times in Tennessee, Arkansas and Texas (Chicago: Donnelly, 1905).
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Edward Franklin Bates, History and Reminiscences of Denton County (Denton, Texas: McNitzky Printing, 1918; rpt., Denton: Terrill Wheeler Printing, 1976).
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William Bollaert, Observations on the Geography of Texas (London, 1850).
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C. A. Bridges, History of Denton, Texas, from Its Beginning to 1960 (Waco: Texian Press, 1978).
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Jo-Anne Christensen, Ghost Stories of Texas (Lone Pine Publishing, Auburn, WA, 2001).
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Michael Collins, Cooke County, Texas: Where the South and West Meet (Gainesville, Texas: Cooke County Heritage Society, 1981).
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Seymour V. Connor, The Peters Colony of Texas: A History and Biographical Sketches of the Early Settlers (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1959).
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Carrie J. Crouch, Young County: History and Biography (Dallas: Dealey and Love, 1937; rev. ed., A History of Young County, Texas, Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1956).
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E. Dale Odom and Bullitt Lowry, A Brief History of Denton County (Denton, Texas, 1975).
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George William Montague, comp., History and Genealogy of the Montague Family of America (Amherst, Massachusetts: Williams Press, 1886).
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Frederic William Simonds, Geographic Influences in the Development of Texas (Austin: Journal of Geography, 1912).
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Respectfully submitted,
Gordon Lee
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ELIZABETH CREEK, or I Found a Couple of Near Nakid Cuties in My Creek
As most of you know my darling young bride and I sold the Lee Mansion in Maryland in June 2007 and in July 2007 we moved into a brand new super deluxe custom-built double-wide that we had plopped down on a little spit of land on the beautiful muddy banks of Elizabeth Creek abutting a small patch of the Eastern Cross Timbers of north Texass. Why Elizabeth Creek? Well, there are many reasons. But if you know me and my love of the strange, eerie, and down right spookiness, Elizabeth Creek hits the spot. Our humble abode is situated exactly one quarter mile from what was once Elizabethtown (population zero since the 1890 census, which makes it an outright certified ghost town) and the still active Elizabethtown Cemetery.
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It wasn't until after we moved here and I start further research about the area that I found out just how strange, eerie, and spooky.
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A quick geography and history lesson inserted here, if I may, because it played an awful important part of what all happened. (I know, who wants to read anything if they might learn something. I'll try to make it short and easy to understand.)
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You probably skimmed across the words "Cross Timbers" in my opening paragraph and probably didn't give it much thought. Even most long-time local folk around here have no idea what the term "Cross Timbers" refers, or why it played an important role in the establishing of the Lone Star State.
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The Cross Timbers of Texass are two long and narrow strips of forest region that extend parallel to each other from Oklahoma at the Red River southward to the Brazos River in Central Texass. It separated the Black Prairies on the east from the wide open Grand Prairies on the west. The Eastern Cross Timbers (the one where I now live) was about 15 miles wide and over 150 miles long. About twenty miles over is the smaller, in area and size, Western Cross Timbers. What makes these timbers important is that the early pioneers found the super dense underbrush impossible to cross these wooded lands by wagon, horse or on foot (thus the name Cross Timbers). It wasn't until the 1840's that the land between the Cross Timbers became settled. Until then it was neither occupied by whites, Indians, Spaniards, Mexicans, Texans, or any others. Any passer-through'ers had to either come down through Arkansas/Oklahoma or come up all the way from the south. Today however, over 150 years of progress and modern expansion, only sparsely scattered patches of the great natural barriers remain. (Evidently because it's out of sight, it's also out of mind. Two of state's most early notable landmarks are almost totally gone and almost completely forgotten.)
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Back in 1836, after the bloody civil uprising by the citizens of the territory of Tejas against the Mexican Government, the newly established Republic of Texass continued the practice of using empresarios, or land agents/companies, to promote and entice new settlers into the new country. (Stephan Fuller Austin being the most famous of these empresarios.)
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Only a few settlers arrived without the help of an empresario. One was the brave and gallant soul, with his wife and six children, the Reverend Captain John Bunyan Denton, Esquire. This young Tennessee orphan worked on a Mississippi River boat until he learned to read and write at the age of eighteen after marrying his beautiful sixteen year old bride. With a bit of education behind him, he became a Methodist Episcopal preacher and rode a circuit throughout Missouri and Arkansas. That didn't pay a whole lot. So, in 1837 he moved his family to Clarksville, Texass, to start farming. At the same time he began studying law. Within six months he became a full-fledged lawyer. He also volunteered in the local militia and was appointed the rank of captain. The folks that knew this gentleman held him in high esteem and thought highly of his honest, hard working character. Many considered him the smartest man in Texass.
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In late April of 1841 the Ripley family was massacred by Indians over in Titus County. The militia gathered itself and took off after the Indians. After twenty or so days the seventy man militia troop thought they had the Indians cornered. What ensued is called the Keechi Village Fight. It wasn't much of a fight. What the militia didn't know was that the Keechi Indian camp on Rush Creek (it runs dead center between the present day cities of Dallas and Fort Worth) contained more than 1,000 braves. When the militia popped up to ambush the Indians they soon realized their bone-headed mistake and the dire lopsidedness of their situation. Fortunately for the militia, only one of them was killed before they fled. Unfortunately, the one killed was what many considered the smartest man in Texass, the Reverend Captain John Bunyan Denton, Esquire.
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At this point in the history/geography lesson, let me interject the relevance of John Bunyan Denton in my research. Texicans are proud of their local history and have a natural proclivity to hang a title, or name, to places and things that remind them of their regal past. Denton County, as well as the city of Denton, is named after the very same riverboat hand, preacher, farmer, lawyer, soldier that was killed during the Keechi Village Fight. John Denton never set foot (while alive, believe me, this is a whole-nother story) in either Denton or Denton County. Besides the city and county, the main tributary flowing out of Denton County is called (get this), Denton Creek. One of the main feeders into Denton Creek is, of course it would be, my very favorite Elizabeth Creek. This creek, as well as Henrietta Creek, is said to be named after the daughters of John B. Denton. But I don't think so. Why? His two daughters were named Sarah Elizabeth and Narcissa Jane. Plus, there's a more compelling reason,¦ and the reason why this little geography/history lesson fits into this "Dreams and Supernatural" blog category. Okay, end of interjection and just a tad more lesson until the stranger than fiction begins.
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Right at about the same time as Denton bit the dust, one of the more successful empresarios was contracted by the Republic of Texass for 800 new citizens. He was an Englishman by the name of Willie Peters (honest, there are some things you just can't make up). Willie round up people from England, and the states of Pennsylvania, the Carolinas, Georgia, Ohio, Illinois, Tennessee, and primarily Kentucky with the promise of free Texass land. Most of these folks left their home with only the possessions they could carry. They left everything else behind with the letters "GTT" (Gone to Texass) painted on their front door informing friends, neighbors and relatives of their expected whereabouts.
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Willie originally named his company the Texian Emigration and Land Company. It soon become shortened and forever now known as the Peters Colony and was assigned land distribution on the Grand Prairie west of the Eastern Cross Timbers. Many of the older townships in Cooke, Tarrant and Denton Counties were established by these early settlers of the Peters Colony, including my Elizabethtown. Before the first of these 800 hearty souls boated up the Red River and landed at Swells Bend to head southward to their promised land, however, a scout for the Peters Colony must survey the uncharted territory. Now the fun begins.
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Hired by Willie Peters to scout and survey the promised-land was Daniel Montague. This transplanted Mississippian, and good friend to Sam Houston, planned on leaving his homestead in Fannin County and head south to the Trinity River, head west through the Eastern Cross Timbers, and then northward back up to the Red River to greet the new arrivals to Texass within a month time. Although a snap with the surveying business, Daniel never had been on the other side of the nasty Cross Timbers. He felt pretty confident that he could get the job done. Atop of his speckled gray mare and loaded with plenty of provisions in his saddle bag, off he set.
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The first part of his journey to the Trinity River was a piece of cake. The trail was fairly well marked and every ten or twenty miles friendly homesteaders waved as he passed, once they noticed he wasn't wearing war paint or sporting a headdress. It didn't take long at all before he reached one of the last safe havens on his trek, the outpost established by John Neely Bryon at a natural ford on the Trinity River.
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Dan spent a whole day at John Neely Bryon's trading post. First, he wanted to give his horse a needed rest before attempting the rigors before them. Secondly, he wanted to extract as much information from Mr. Bryon as he could about what to expect on the other side of the Cross Timbers.
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Even though John Neely Bryon charged a small fee for travelers to wade across the Trinity at his self-claimed spot on the trail, he was pretty fair with his dealings at his meager trading post, and completely free with information. There was loads of information he could share with Daniel about the way east, north or south. But he knew next to nothing about out west. "Nobody ever went that away ... well, except about a year ago a family did head off in that direction. They said they'd settle down not far from here, but I've never heard a lick from them since."
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Early the next morning Daniel Montague thanked his host at the natural ford on the Trinity River (today, this little outpost is known as Dallas, Texass), remounted his speckled gray mare, and rode west. He was glad he left early because it was tough going. It took a whole day before he broke out of the dense growth of the Cross Timbers.
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He followed the Trinity River, taking notes about the terrain for the upcoming colonist. If everything went according to plan he should be able to crisscross the plains a dozen times between the Eastern and Western Cross Timbers and zigzag his way 70 miles northward to the Red River. On the way he'd keep an eye peeled for that family, too.
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Daniel Montague found himself surveying a beautiful Grand Prairie; a vast savannah of high, rolling hills with vast vistas of tall grasses and mesquite shrubs, bisected by deep meandering streams. Most of the soil consisted of marl clay with many outcroppings of hard limestone. Plenty of deer, elk and bison roamed between the two Cross Timbers.
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On the fifth morning he awoke looking up into a pink and orange sky. Not wanting to be caught out in the open, Daniel packed his gear to make a beeline towards the Eastern Cross Timbers.
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As the morning progressed darkness descended and looming thunderclouds rumbled ominously on the horizon. A healthy breeze started blowing and rain started falling. Soon the storm grew and the sky got darker and darker and then dark. The rain fell in buckets. Lightning and thunderation intensified to where it seemed almost a constant light and a steady boom. Daniel, who could no longer see farther than his horse's head, decided to give up and simply let the animal follow its own nose.
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Wet and cold, Daniel Montague spied the tree line way off in the distance during the bright flashes of lightning. He knew, at least, that he and his horse were headed in the right direction. On ward he and his gray trudged through the down pour. Dan's focus upon his wretchedness was suddenly interrupted when he discovered that he was not alone.
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A man stood directly in front of him. The feller was just standing there stock still in the wind and rain with his back to Daniel. This tall, heavyset man wore rough homemade frontier clothing, all of which fitted him just fine. Daniel reckoned this man just might be part of the family that old Mr. Bryon told him about back at the Trinity River trading post. If so, then hopefully he can lead him to shelter. Daniel cupped his hands and yelled against the howling wind, "Hey there!"
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The man started walking away. Well, maybe the wind carried my holler away and he just didn't hear, thought Daniel Montague. He yelled out again, "Hey there, mister!"
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Without missing a stride, the stranger quickly glanced back at Daniel. The first thing Daniel noticed was that this stranger was an old man. He sported a long scraggly beard, mostly gray with tinges of aging red and blond hair. The second thing Daniel notice was the man's expression of keen anxiety.
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Daniel spurred his weary gray horse in an attempt to overtake the old gray feller. The faithful speckled mare briskly picked up the pace. Unbelievable, so did the old guy. As fast as Daniel and his mare could go under the circumstances caused by the bad weather, so did the old pedestrian. In fact, the old bearded fellow was pulling ahead. Each stride he took he seemed to skim right over the ground.
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As unnerving Daniel Montague found this situation, he took some solace in having someone to follow, no matter how odd. This strange game of fox and hound continued across the stormy plain for half an hour. That's when they hit upon a small narrow clearing in the trees and bush. Daniel doubted if he could spot this clearing on a clear day without someone pointing it out to him.
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In the shelter of the trees Daniel noticed that the rain wasn't blowing sideways like it was out in the open. Although a bit darker under the trees, it was much easier to see without the raindrops pelting and stinging his eyes. He noticed, too, that the silent old man silently disappeared. But at the far end of the narrow forest alcove sat a crude cabin. As crude as it looked it certainly was a welcomed sight.
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The place gave an impression of being cold, dark and deserted. Daniel dismounted and tied his horse, then pounded on the door. It was unlatched and swung open easily. Daniel stepped inside, pulled a Lucifer match from his waterproof case and struck it.
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He found himself in a large room close to a fireplace, over which a wooden axe-hewed shelf was situated, and on this mantel he found an oil lamp, to which he applied his lit Lucifer.
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As light spread across the shabby interior Daniel was again taken by surprise that he was not alone. At his feet, huddled by the heaped ashes in the fireplace hearth was a little girl of three or four. As Daniel held up the lamp he noticed at the other end of the scantily furnished room laid a man strewn across a bed. There was no doubt that this was the same silent stranger whom he had been following. The fellow had the same bushy beard, the same features, and the exact same clothes. A chill gripped Daniel's soul as he realized that the clothing the man wore was completely dry and the old man was completely dead. Staring at the dead body, Daniel tried to understand how a man could be lying dead in a bed and out walking in the rain at the same time. Next to the dead feller was cuddled another child, even younger than the first. His heart skipped a beat until he noticed that the small body stirred. Meanwhile, a tiny voice near his feet said, "Please, we hungry."
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A quick search produced a couple of eggs from almost bare shelves from the small kitchen. Along with a few vittles from his saddlebag and after boiling the eggs in the fireplace he stocked and stoked, the two little famished waifs were fed. He then toted the dead old man to the doorway. He tucked the little gals into the bed. With their hunger pangs satisfied and the warmth radiating from the fireplace, they dropped off fast asleep.
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Daniel tended to his tired, wet, and neglected horse. After that, he performed, as best he could, a simple burial service for his prairie guide, the dead man. Only then did he plop into a heap in the corner of the cabin, closed his eyes and fell sleep.
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By morning the rain stopped. As the light of dawn spilled through the blackjack and post oaks and the pecan trees, Daniel could see that the cabin, although in disarray, was very well made. A lean-to shed and wagon, as well as a few farm implements sat behind the cabin. There was no sign of horses, of stock or of the hens that laid those eggs he found inside.
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The two little girls slept way past mid-morning. From the older girl's limited vocabulary, Daniel pieced together the tale of the tragic events that befell this devastated frontier family. It seems Pa, Pawpaw, and older brother Jack went out hunting on the prairie. Liz and little Henri (evidently the shorter version of Elizabeth and Henrietta) stayed at the cabin with Ma and Meema. An excited early return of the men folk brought news that a band of Indian warriors were approaching. Pawpaw took the young girls back behind the cabin, out through the dense woods and hid by the creek. Daniel could only speculate the fate of those staying at the cabin facing the Indians. The Indians probably ran off with the livestock and chickens.
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Daniel Montague wrote copious details in his surveyor notes about the cabin's location and the fate of the family. He bundled the girls and hurriedly headed straight north to the Red River (about sixty miles). Keeping to the edge of the Cross Timbers and keeping his eyes constantly on the lookout for marauding Indians it took two days to reach the little settlement of Swells Bend.
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One of the first families under the auspicious of the Peters Colony to arrive at Swells Bend was Peter Harmonson, his wife Anna, and his almost grown eight children. Not only did Peter and Anna Harmonson take in young Liz and Henri, they also established their homestead of 640 acres where Daniel Montague found the two girls. That homestead lies mostly between the beautiful banks of Elizabeth and Henrietta Creeks (named after, I now firmly believe, to be the two children rescued by Daniel Montague).
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After Daniel Montague safely left the small child Liz and the toddler Henri with the folks up in Swell Bend he quickly finished his survey of the Grand Prairie. A few years later, he was widely known as a fierce Indian fighter, especially famous for an exploit that occurred at a place now called Montague Groves. He served as a captain with the First Texan Calvary during the Mexican War. After the war he accrued extensive land holdings and was elected a State Senator. Daniel Montague is most famously known as being the jury foreman in the infamous Gainesville Great Hanging (another story that needs to be told for remembrance sake). Another Texass county and a city were named in his honor.
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I can find no record giving the family name of little Liz and Henri. Census records, however, show the Harmonson family leaving Kentucky with eight children. The first Denton County Census (a couple of years later) indicates ten children living with Peter and Anna.
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The Harmonson homestead became a center of activity where Elizabeth Creek meanders across the Grand Prairie and enters the Eastern Cross Timbers. By 1845 the community of Elizabethtown was firmly established. Peter Harmonson was elected as the first Denton County sheriff. In 1854 he and Anna moved to Fort Belknap. There he became the Chief Justice of Young County. He died January 9, 1865, as a result of arrow wounds inflicted by an Indian raiding party.
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The fledgling cattle industry of southern Texass ensured the growth and prosperity of little Elizabethtown. As with all good real estate, the slogan "location, location, location" rings true. The two Cross Timbers acted as solid borders along a highway on which cattle could be herded north to Kansas and on to consumers. This route is the Chisholm Trail. The near constant and easy flow of Elizabeth and Henrietta Creeks provide water to the cattle and the wild tall grass of the Grand Prairie offered the perfect resting place for the herds. The town became a natural supply station for the cowpokes.
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By 1852 the town boasted a hotel, a general store, a doctor, a post office, a church, a wagon maker, a water mill, three blacksmiths, and six saloons.
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Like the rest of Texass, almost all able-bodied men went off to fight in the American Civil War. Left behind, undefended, were old folk, women and children. The Comanche took advantage and raided several outlying homesteads. (This is another story in the works.) That ended after the Civil War when Johnny came marching home. Elizabethtown boomed even greater.
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The Chisholm Trail was running full steam and soon Elizabethtown was really thriving with four general stores, another hotel, two more churches and a Masonic lodge. (This town was way bigger and busier than Fort Worth at the time.) Elizabethtown was also famed for it tent revivals and camp meetings. Folks came from all across Texass to meet at Elizabethtown to set up their tents on the prairie to sing praises to the Lord, shout "Halleluiah" and listen to the traveling ministers preach salvation from the damnation of fire and brimstone of hell. During one fiery sermon, a famous preacher who attracted an unusually large crowd needed to cut his damnations and halleluiahs short because the flames from the campfires attracted so many damn bugs and flying insects that it wasn't safe to open one's mouth. Thence forth, many folks referred to Elizabethtown as "Bugtown."
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Well, the good fortune of Elizabethtown ended for almost the same reason it boomed, location, location, location. The hotshots that ran the railroad, specifically the Texass & Pacific Railroad, decided the surefire-est way to get cattle up to Kansas and make more money at the same time was to lay tracks down to were the cattle come. Besides needing steel for the rails, to build a railroad you also need lumber for the ties. The best place to get hard wood in Texass just happened to be the Cross Timbers. Why chop down a tree and pay to haul from where it falls? Just cutting it into ties and lay the rails on top is cheaper and it's exactly what the Texass & Pacific went and done in 1871, right up through the middle of the Cross Timbers, missing Elizabethtown by two miles.
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Knowing how their bread is buttered, in 1873 when the railroad was completed, the Elizabethans moved (lock, stock and barrel) on over to the other side of Henrietta Creek. There they established a new town. Now I'm not saying they were not good spellers, but they named the new town Runronoke. That wasn't the worse part. The worst part was they set the middle of the new town on a low spot. After the first flood, they moved up onto higher ground and respelled the name of their town to a more comfortable looking Roanoke. The last Elizabethan blew out the light along Elizabeth Creek just before the 1890 census, which showed a population of zero.
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I feel fortunate that my darling bride and I have discovered our little "garden spot." The trees in our backyard are quite beautiful, in their twisted, gnarly way. The birds are entertaining. The majestic hawks surveying their domain, the flitting and colorful humming birds with their comic antics, the flocks of woodpeckers claiming their own special territory, the bright crimson cardinals singing sermons, and the butcher birds devouring their meals after performing their ritual grace, provide us with hours of enjoyment.
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I'm grateful I spent a few hours in the local libraries plugging away at the dusty old history books. I'm more appreciative of knowing where I'm at and what happened here. Although I haven't yet seen him, I do keep an eye open for a silent old bearded gentleman wearing rough homemade frontier clothing wandering the beautiful muddy banks of Elizabeth Creek.
. . .
Bibliography:
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Sam Hanna Acheson, Dallas Yesterday, ed. Lee Milazzo (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 1977).
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Sam Hanna Acheson and Julia Ann Hudson O'Connell, eds., George Washington Diamond's Account of the Great Hanging at Gainesville, 1862 (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1963).
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William Allen, Capt. John B. Denton, Preacher, Lawyer, and Soldier: His Life and Times in Tennessee, Arkansas and Texas (Chicago: Donnelly, 1905).
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Edward Franklin Bates, History and Reminiscences of Denton County (Denton, Texas: McNitzky Printing, 1918; rpt., Denton: Terrill Wheeler Printing, 1976).
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William Bollaert, Observations on the Geography of Texas (London, 1850).
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C. A. Bridges, History of Denton, Texas, from Its Beginning to 1960 (Waco: Texian Press, 1978).
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Jo-Anne Christensen, Ghost Stories of Texas (Lone Pine Publishing, Auburn, WA, 2001).
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Michael Collins, Cooke County, Texas: Where the South and West Meet (Gainesville, Texas: Cooke County Heritage Society, 1981).
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Seymour V. Connor, The Peters Colony of Texas: A History and Biographical Sketches of the Early Settlers (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1959).
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Carrie J. Crouch, Young County: History and Biography (Dallas: Dealey and Love, 1937; rev. ed., A History of Young County, Texas, Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1956).
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E. Dale Odom and Bullitt Lowry, A Brief History of Denton County (Denton, Texas, 1975).
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George William Montague, comp., History and Genealogy of the Montague Family of America (Amherst, Massachusetts: Williams Press, 1886).
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Frederic William Simonds, Geographic Influences in the Development of Texas (Austin: Journal of Geography, 1912).
. . .
Respectfully submitted,
Gordon Lee
