The Ft. Merrill Letters
by Jim Warren

Return to civilization

Rancho Santa Anita , Texas

March 15, 1851

Dear Mom,

After we left Santo Domingo , we ran into a little difficulty. The trail of hostiles we had been following split and one bunch took the stolen horses off towards the west while the others, about 18 in number, continued south and east.

The Sgt. said we didn't have enough men to divide up and follow both groups, so he chose to follow the raiding party to see if we could catch up to them before they caused more trouble. The other bunch will hide the horse herd in the thick brush and keep them together until the raiders return. They will meet at a pre-determined rendezvous and then return up north with all their ill-gotten loot.

We sent two men back to Los Ojuelos to tell Capt. Ford so when his troop gets rested up they can go looking for the horse herd, and maybe we will get lucky and cut them off so they can't get back up north.

It sounds awfully good on paper, but Valentin says it will be hard to accomplish. He says the hostiles with the horses will split up again if they get wind that the Rangers are in the vicinity, and then the Rangers will have to split up too or take a chance on only catching one to two Indians and a few horses.

It is a lot more populated down in this part of the country than up at Ft. Merrill . Of course, the Spanish ranchers have been here since the 1750s and it's a lot closer to Mexico than the Nueces Valley . This morning when the sun came up it was so clear we could see the mountains in Mexico as if they were just across the river. However, Valentin says they are over a hundred miles away. He showed me a notch in the mountains at a place called Cerralvo which is only a day's ride from his father's ranch. He sure got homesick when he saw those mountains!

He said if he rode real hard on a good horse he could be home in three days. I hope he is still here when I wake up in the morning! At least he won't be court-martialed if he deserts because he isn't really in the army, but just works as a scout and a teamster.

We got a real surprise when we arrived here at Rancho Santa Anita. There is an ox train camping here on the way back to Mexico loaded down with salt from the salt lakes. The lakes are only about 10 miles east of here.

There is a rancho near the lakes, but the Indians raided it last fall and now it is abandoned. The “salteros” are afraid to camp there now, so they set up their camp here and they ride over every day with an armed guard to work the salt deposits and bring it back to stockpile until they have enough to take back to Mexico .

It seems like a lot of trouble just to get salt, but they told Valentin they can make “mucho dinero” because some parts of Mexico are very short on salt and the people crave it in their cooking.

I guess you can tell that Valentin is teaching me to speak Spanish. I don't know if I will ever master it or not. He told me the name of his father's ranch is El Chipinque and tried to tell me what it means in English, but his English isn't the best in the world and my Spanish is still in its infancy, so I can't make it out yet. It has something to do with a tree but not the name of a tree. I'll let you know when I figure it out.

Write soon. Your son, Henry

Edinburg , Texas

March 22, 1851

Dear Mom,

Well, here we are back in civilization again! Edinburg is not a very large town, but at least it is a town with houses and stores and people in it. After spending so much time in the open, it feels odd to ride down a street with buildings on both sides and people wandering around not doing anything in particular.

We are camping about a mile from town on a small lake. We took up a collection amongst the troopers and Valentin went into town to buy some fresh food. We've been eating hard bread, bacon, and beans for so long we are thinking about eating grass to get something green!

Well, Valentin was very successful. He came back with fresh eggs, potatoes, onions garlic and some green stuff that at first we couldn't identify. He said it was “nopalitos,” which are the young, tender leaves from the prickly pear cactus.

The locals down here go out and harvest them this time of year when they first sprout, before they put on thorns, and eat them with nearly everything they cook! Valentin prepared a meal for us that was fit for roy alty.

First, he cooked the potatoes with onions and garlic and then scrambled the eggs in with and added some little green peppers and the nopalitos. We all nearly died from the aroma before it was ready to eat.

He also had some fresh corn “tortillas” to eat with it. They are a small, flat thing like a thin pancake made from ground-up hominy and are very tasty when fresh, but a lot like eating cardboard when they get old.

The Sgt. went into town this morning to see if he could find out anything about the hostiles that we have been looking for. He talked to a rancher from up at Los Ebanos who said the Indians had crossed the river just below La Grulla and were now in Mexico .

So we are planning to follow the river, looking for any sign that they may have re-crossed, and make our way up to Ringgold barracks to re-supply and change out some of our horses.

A couple of them are pretty lame, and one has the cholic and can't be ridden. Valentin says the horse probably ate some weeds that made him sick. There are a lot of green weeds growing now and the horses are craving green stuff as much as we are!

The pack-mules are all doing fine. I remember Dad telling me that mules are a lot smarter than horses and won't eat anything that is bad for them.

Some of the troopers who were raised in town don't take very good care of their mounts. The Sgt. is always having to reprimand them to get them to curry every night and keep their hooves in good shape.

Valentin and I work on our horses every time we have a spare moment. We don't want to be riding a sick horse when we run into a bunch of Indians, whether we are chasing after them or running from them!

Well, speaking of which, I better go check my mount and equipment since we are leaving at first light tomorrow.

Write soon. Your son, Henry

( Jim Warren is an archaeologist living in George West. )