In 1842 the Republic of Texas was in the sixth year of its existence. Though its independence had been recognized by several Powers, Mexico had not given up her claim to the country. This was evidenced by the expedition sent into Texas by the Mexicans during that year.

In March a force of 700 Mexicans under Gen. Rafael Vasquez captured San Antonio. About the same time small bands of Mexicans also captured Refugio and Goliad. After remaining a few days these parties withdrew beyond the Rio Grande River. In September Gen. Adrian Woll, with about 2,000 men, appeared so suddenly before San Antonio that Judge Hutchinson, the lawyers and other members of the District Court, then in session at that place, were captured. Couriers were sent out to the different settlements to spread the news and to secure aid in repelling the invasion. The settlers as they received the news hurried toward San Antonio, singly or in groups.

The following story was related by Milvern Harrell, one of the settlers that hastened to the rescue of San Antonio, and the only living survivor of the Dawson massacre:

In those days the only method of communication was by courier. Riders would be sent all over the country in times of danger to spread the alarm. When the horse of the rider would become exhausted another was furnished by a settler and the journey continued until all the settlements were aroused. Upon receiving the news the settler immediately mounted a horse, took his gun and a sack of corn bread and rode off to the place of rendezvous.

I was living in 1842 in a bend of the Colorado River, half a mile from where West Point now stands. Messengers had rushed through the country, reporting that a force of Mexicans were in possession of San Antonio. Settlers were hurrying forward, singly and in small groups. These would overtake, or be overtaken by others, until a band of fifty-three men had gotten together, and were marching for the relief of the place. The only organization affected was on the road, about dark, between Gonzales and Seguin, when Dawson of La Grange was chosen Captain by the men.

Col. Caldwell was in command of a small force of Texans near San Antonio, and he had directed that when Dawson’s men reached the Cibolo Creek for them to take a path to the right. On nearing the place Anlsey Miller and a man named McReady were sent forward to locate Caldwell. McReady, becoming sick, returned, and Miller proceeded alone. Going over a hill, he ran back and reported that Caldwell’s men were surrounded by the Mexicans and were being slaughtered. Dawson’s men dashed forward to the place indicated by Miller, but no Mexicans were in sight, and from the appearance of the grass, which was two or three feet high, had not been there.

But presently the Mexicans were seen approaching in strong force. It seemed that they were on their way to San Antonio, and as we were between them and the city, our little band had to either fight or retreat. Dawson suggested that we withdraw to a clump of trees some distance away, but a few of the old men complained at this, saying that they had been trying to overtake the Mexicans, and now he wanted to retreat at first sight of them. Dawson replied that he was willing to meet the Mexicans in that place if his men preferred it.

The Mexican cavalry, which numbered about 200 men, were sent forward and began surrounding us, stationing groups at intervals. While this was being done Anlsey Miller, who was instrumental in our becoming entrapped, rode off as though he were going to one of the groups of Mexican cavalry, but on nearing, turned and dashed between two groups. The Mexicans gave chase, and in the excitement which followed a horse belonging to Ed Manford of La Grange became frightened and ran off over the prairie, dragging a mesquite limb which he had broken from the tree to which he had been hitched. The animal was a fine one, and soon overtook Miller, running around him as if he desired help. Miller dismounted from his own horse, and catching Manford’s, detached the limb from the bridle and made good his escape.

When the Mexicans had us completely surrounded they began firing upon us. We returned the fire, but the Mexicans were out of range of our guns, and we did little damage. The fight lasted only a few minutes. Most of our men were killed. I think thirteen were captured and two escaped. Nearly all of the prisoners were wounded. I received several saber cuts in the back, and my uncle, Norman Woods, had his skull fractured. My grandfather, Zeddic Woods, 82 years of age, was killed in this fight.

The wounded Texans and Mexicans were taken to San Antonio and placed in a house that had been temporarily arranged for a hospital. Here Ed Manford wrote on the wall with charcoal the names of the Texas prisoners. This was found afterward, and during my eighteen months captivity was the only assurance my friends had that I was still alive. Some of the wounded Mexicans died while we were here, but I do not know how many of them were killed in the fight.

Gen. Woll retreated in a few days and took us with him into Mexico. As we were still suffering from our wounds, we were placed in a house at the Presidio del Rio Grande, just across the river on the Mexican side. Here we were guarded and kept confined for two months. Finally we planned to make our escape, but gave it up, as we concluded that we could not cross the river. A Frenchman came in soon after, and telling him of the plans we had entertained, he said that crossing the river would be easy, as it was low at that season. Encouraged by this, we again determined upon escaping.

Having noticed that the soldiers played cards a good deal, and satisfying ourselves that their guns were unloaded, one bright moonlight night, after the guard had passed the door, we slipped out and ran around the house toward the river. The ground was covered with rocks, and we fell several times. My uncle, Norman Woods, as he had not recovered from his wound, was easily retaken, but a man named Pattison, myself and McReady ran on. We did not go directly to the river, which was only a mile or two distant, but ran up stream for ten or twelve miles, reaching it about daylight.

We looked for a shoally place to cross, as we thought there the water would be shallow. As Pattison was the oldest of the three, we followed his advice. He selected a place where the river was narrow, and bent in toward the Texas side. A sandbar lay out in the water a little distance, and a high bluff arose on the opposite side. After wading past the sandbar, Pattison suddenly stepped into deep water, and swimming forward called us to come on, that we could swim over. The water was icy cold, and we had been confined until we were weak.

We had gone only a little distance when McReady called to us that he could go no further, and sank. Pattison and myself swam on. A jeans coat that Pattison had tied around him had slipped off, and he asked me to get it for him. I turned back for the coat, and taking it in my teeth, swam after him. On nearing the Texas bank we got into a swift current and were washed rapidly down the stream. Pattison called out to me that he could go no further, but must drown, and sank almost immediately.

By this time I was completely exhausted, and was helpless in the current, thinking every second would be my last. I was suddenly washed upon a rock in the river, and carried high upon it, the water being only about six inches over its surface. I stood up and stretched myself. It was sleeting now, and I was almost frozen. I decided that I could not reach the Texas side, and knowing that I would freeze where I was, I went back to the Mexican side of the river.

There was a long, smooth beach where I reached the bank, and I ran up and down it for some time to warm myself and to loosen my joints, which had become stiff from being in the water so long.

Then leaving the river and going upon a hill to get my location, I saw a house in the distance, and went toward it. A Mexican, seeing me approaching, came down to meet me. When he drew nearer, I recognized him as a Mexican I had known at San Antonio, and with whom we had traded. He came up and taking off his overcoat threw it around me. I went up to the house with him, where he had a big, bright fire burning in the chimney. He would not let me go near it, but had me to sit down across the room from it, and would have me move up a little at the time. His wife brought in some hot coffee for me, and I thought it was the best I had ever tasted. After getting warm, I told them that I desired to lay down, as I was sleepy. A bed was prepared, and I slept from about 7 o’clock in the morning until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, and on awaking I saw four Mexican soldiers in the room.

They had been scouring the country in search of us, and came to the house where I was. Of course they carried me back with them.

Soon after this we left the Presidio for the City of Mexico. At Saltillo we were joined with the Mier prisoners and kept with them until we were liberated.

The expedition had followed the retreating Mexicans from San Antonio to the Rio Grande, and after some skirmishing there was ordered to disband. About 300 of the number remained on the frontier, and, wishing to retaliate upon the Mexicans and hoping to secure a great deal of plunder from the Mexican cities, crossed the Rio Grande. At Mier they surrendered to the Mexicans and were marched off into the interior.

Below Saltillo, while confined in a hacienda about 100×60 feet, just at sunrise on Feb. 11, we seized what guns we could get and overpowered the guards. Capt. Ewing Cameron gave the signal, “Now’s the time, boys!” About 200 left for Texas, taking the guns and horses of the Mexicans. I did not leave, as Uncle Norman was unable to travel, and desired me to stay with him. The Texans left the road for the mountains, became lost and threw away their guns. After wandering for some time they were captured by a force of Mexicans and carried back to the hacienda from which they had escaped.

There an order was received from Santa Anna that every tenth man should be shot as a punishment for their attempted escape. As 176 prisoners were brought back seventeen were to be executed. An earthen mug was brought in containing 159 white beans and 17 black. The black beans doomed to death the drawer. Capt. Cameron, a tall, fine-looking man and as brave as a lion, drew first. He drew a white bean, but in a few days was executed by order of Santa Anna. Those that had drawn the black beans were taken out and shot at sundown.

I did not have to draw a bean, because I did not go with the escaped Texans, but I helped overpower the guards. I was not present, either, at the drawing.

After the execution of the seventeen Texans we were taken to the City of Mexico and confined in the Castle Perote. We were imprisoned there in March, on my birthday, in 1843, and those captured on the Texas side of the Rio Grande, including myself, were liberated on the same day the year following. The remaining prisoners were liberated about six months later.

Just before Waddy Thompson, the American Minister to Mexico, was about to leave for the United States he asked Santa Anna to release all of the Texan prisoners. This he refused, but agreed to liberate those that had been captured on the Texas side of the river, which was done, as stated previously, in March. I do not know why the Mier prisoners were liberated later.

All the time I was in Mexico I thought it was the most desolate country I was ever in. This may have been because I was a captive.

I think the Mexicans were very good to their prisoners. The ill treatment was usually for bad conduct. Those who behaved themselves were treated fairly well.

While we were at Perote the soldiers were hauling stone from the mountains in wagons and they used us for draft animals. On these occasions we would sometimes drink meschal, and then pretending to get unmanageable, would run away with the wagons. But as our men were sometimes hurt at this amusement, we gave it up.

It has now been sixty-three years since I went through these experiences, and I was 19 years of age the day I was liberated from Perote in 1844, but the incidents are still fresh in my memory. I know that I am the only living survivor of the Dawson massacre, but do not know whether any of the Mier prisoners are still alive.

Excerpt from The Dallas Morning News, Sunday, June 16, 1907.