I left Scotland in summer of 1867; went to Canada, landed at Quebec; went to Montreal, from there to Toronto; stopped there about a year; went from there to Quincy, Ills.; worked on railroad bridge a while when building it across the Mississippi River; traveled through considerable of Missouri, Illinois, Iowa and finally landed in Clark County Missouri. Got acquainted with a Dr. Mason going overland to Old Mexico; so left Gregory's Landing on the river in Clark County, Mo., and started for Mexico on 2d of March 1870; but the doctor got grouchy on the road so I left him when we got to the Red River. He begged me for my part of the horses we were taking to Mexico to trade for ponies to bring back, so that was the last I ever saw of him or my horses.
Went to work for the man by name of Smith who had the Rock Bluff Ferry rented from the owners by names of Jim Shannon who lived then on the old road between Colbert Ferry and Sherman; now on the western portion of Denison. The other by name of Bud Randolph who had married an Indian girl, claimed the Territory side of the river, who lived back from the river about 2 ½ miles close to the cattle trail. Rock Bluff Ferry was the main cattle crossing, and there was a good many emigrant wagons crossed there.
So Smith offered me $30 per month with board, such as it was. He had another fellow with him and a Mexican who helped to run the boat by oars, and sure they were poor hands, and I did not know but very little, but had a little knowledge for I had went a few voyages with two of my uncles who were ship captains. So after a few days he left the whole thing with me, and went off on his pony; would not come back again until night. We got along pretty well; there was a large lot fenced with logs and trees cut down, making a good place to hold the cattle should they not take to the water, and at the lower end there was a large rock jutted into the river making practically a chute for the cattle to go into swimming water at the first jump. I would take the skiff and keep the cattle straightened out across the river while the other men would keep them crowed up, some times they would get to milling, that is going round in a circle then we had to break the mill, sometimes with me in the skiff and sometimes by swimming to punch out a leader which was dangerous work, but the wilder the cattle were, the easier to put across. Would put across from one to four herds a day; of course there were days that we had none to cross.
So we got along well until the river took a quick rise while we were eating dinner, the boat being tied to a stob floated off, the skiff being fast to the boat, so we had nothing to follow it with. When Smith came back that night we told him, he said that he would head the boat off, so he took all the money with him that night. He forgot to pay any of us and I suppose he is still trying to head off the boat. However, I sent word to the owners, and I saw them. He had forgot to pay them the last month's rent.
The owners in a few days went up on the Washita River to hew out gunwales out of cottonwood trees, but before they went I proposed to get lumber and build a skiff, so that I could put cattle across, by sending their chuck wagon around by Colbert's Ferry and they could swim their horses, then I could take the saddles and men in the skiff; so they agreed to it, and told me that what I made to keep, so I kept crossing the cattle.
Well I had $10 when I came here, so bought lumber, paid for the hauling and had 25¢ left; crossed cattle, horses, and men until I had made $60, when they came back from Washita. They heard where the boat had hung up on a drift at Sowell's Bluff; they wanted me to go with they to get the boat back, so they left a man by name of Dave Tooney to take charge of the ferry. We were gone about a week. Jim Shannon borrowed my $60 to help pay expenses; told me when we got back to keep all the money till we got even, so when we got back found that I had lost all of my clothes except what was on my back. Thought my introduction to Texas was though.
It was nearing the end of cattle driving, but the largest herd was yet to come. One morning two men rode down, and looked the place over; told me they had a herd of 1800 or more to cross; asked me to take everything out of the way as they were going to stampede the cattle and run them across. Soon we heard them shooting and whooping; then heard the roar of the cattle coming down the road, horns and hoofs apounding, and into the water they went nearly damming the river. They did not lose a one but sure was a sight to see that many cattle on a wild run.
Everything went along smoothly but the owners never forgot to come every day or two, and ask for what money I had, so they kept me broke. We had many comical and serious troubles to contend with; one night the boys all went up to Preston, then a small village, to get some tobacco. Was left by myself; we had no beds only shake-downs on the floor, and had no guns so I kept the old axe by my side at night; so that night I hear someone come to the door and gave it a push, then walk around the house and stop at the chimney; the chinking was pretty well knocked out so they could see into the shack. I laid just as long as I could stand it, thinking that someone was looking through at me, got up with the axe in my hand, opened the door, slipped around the way the foot steps went. When I got to the chimney corner, up jumped a big black object; "boo" it went - my hat went one way and the axe the other way! It was a big hog - I was looking for a man, not an animal!
The owners wanted to run the outfit another year but would not pay enough wages so they got two brothers by name of Nichols to run it, and just about that time Charles Gooding and another man told me to bring over the skiff, that they wanted to speak with me. Gooding introduced me to B. F. Colbert who wanted me to run his ferry. We made a trade for a year, so I saw Randolph and Shannon to get what was coming to me for wages. Shannon said he did not have any, but Randolph gave (me) a spotted pony and bridle; had an old saddle so I arrived at Colbert's house on Sunday eve with a small bundle of clothes tied to my saddle and no money. Think it was January 8th, 1871.
Will describe the place. It was a large two-room house with a hall, two shed rooms behind, making a four room house, painted white; two log houses about ten feet from east end, one room for kitchen the other a sleeping room for the negro cooks. No stove only skillets and lids for baking. Don't know how they done so much cooking for was never less than from ten to twenty to eat. However, they put up good food and plenty. There was a 20x20 house on northwest end about thirty yards from the main house with three double beds and fire place. Called it the office, painted white. Main house had a large veranda in front, Bermuda yard with three or four large Oak trees and a good orchard on southwest side. On east side was the garden with some two or three graves. On east of garden was the barn; north of barn, sow and hog lots with a large lot of near five acres with Bermuda. It was a pretty place. The main road was about one-fourth miles north of house, leading down to ferry. There was several hundred acres in cultivation with the negro houses in different parts of the fields. It was a stage stand where the coaches changed horses and drivers, one coach south at night and the other north generally about noon. They always had two drivers, one for each way. He kept around 100 head of hogs; they milked eight to ten cows. He had a ranch about 12 or 15 miles northwest where he had several hundred head of cattle. After a few years he moved all his cattle up to some few miles from Erin Springs where he broke out a large farm and fed his stock of beef cattle; raised nothing but corn. His oldest son took charge of it.
Well, that first Sunday night I put feet under a table and slept on sheets for the first time since leaving Clark County Missouri. Got down to the boat the next morning; there was two negros running it, so I took charge of it. Boat carried four two-horse wagons. The toll was $1 for two-horse wagon; $1.25 for four-horse wagon, and $1.50 for a six-horse. 25¢ man and horse; 10¢ a head for loose cattle or horses.
There was very heavy immigration all through 71 and 72. Would put across from 25 to 200 wagons per day, besides loose stock. It was also the main road for freight between Fort Gibson and Sherman. The freight wagons were from 4 to 6 mule teams with trail wagons, and ox wagons from 4 to 5 yoke of cattle to each wagon and trail wagon. Their load would weigh 30 or 35 cwt. on front wagon, 20 to 25 cwt. on trail wagon. There would be from 20 to 30 teams to an outfit under a wagon master. The boat run on a cable across the river, would make a round trip in 25 to 40 minutes when we had no trouble and a good current, but many times had trouble with the teams coming on to the boat and sometimes with the drivers. We had to deal with all kinds, good and bad. Sometimes they walk up to me, talk a while, and say 'You're an Irishman', or 'a German' or 'French'. Would tell them generally, 'yes'. They would ask from what part of the country or town if they were foreigners, being fairly well posed on European geography, would call some town; they went off pleased, thinking they had found a countryman.
There was a store on the Texas side about 200 yards from the ferry landing. It belonged to Colbert, Charles Gooding, and James (Jim) Colbert, a brother of Frank Colbert, had charge of it. They (carried) groceries, some dry goods, and whiskey; called the First and Last Chance, coming from the North the first chance to get whiskey, and the last chance going North. They done a good business.
There was only two houses between the River and Carriage Point, a distance of twelve miles. First house was Dan Collins on this side of Colbert Station, then Dr. Goldsby about two miles north of Colbert. There was no Colbert Station until the MK&T was built. At Carriage Point Calvin Colbert, a half brother to B. F. Colbert, had a farm and ranch. There was no Durant then nor Calera, Caddo, Atoka. Up the River there were only two or three farms, first was J. A. Smith, then Jim Colbert's, then Old Sam Love for ten miles down the river road to Bloomfield, fourteen miles, there two places Charles Eastman then Holmes Colbert, a cousin Frank. Northeast about six or seven miles there were a few Indians by the name of Hillhouse and old Abija Colbert an uncle of B. F. and some others; around Bloomfield there were a good many; the towards Tishomingo and Rock Creek a good many. If you found a trail through the woods you would come to an Indian's cabin; they all lived away from any road. Could get on a horse, take a course, no fences to bother you. Grayson County Texas was very thinly settled. Sherman was our nearest town and it was just a very small place. There was a dwelling house and garden on west side of square.
The Indians would bring down ponies to sell or trade for whiskey and tobacco. The store would not buy them, so I bought a good many. There was another store little over a mile south of the River on the road, owned by John Maupin and Jim his brother. John was one of Quantrel and Anderson men. When I did not buy, they did. Any good horses they brought down I would not buy; knew that they were stolen.
Nearly every week or two Indians would come, four or more in a bunch, go across to the store and stay a few hours, come back loaded down with whiskey and feeling good. Then I had to keep my eyes open for they would shoot and we would have trouble. So one day there came six of them, stayed a few hours, then came back. Jim Hillhouse was Indian Sheriff and he used to watch for them, so that day had been on the lookout and met them at the turn of the hill not over seventy-five yards from the boat landing when they went to shooting. He had the Indian constable with him. When the shooting began, the two niggers run down the river bank and crawled up the back. Then they told all about it. There was five of them lying dead and two horses lay dead. Where I was, could not see any of it but heard bullets whistle. Three of the Indians got killed and the sheriff. There were several other killings before and after that.
In those days there was two laws, the Indians' one if they killed one another, the Indian law saw to it; but if a white man killed an Indian or the Indian killed a white man, the US law took hold of it. There was several Deputy Marshals scouring the country all the time, but might be several months later before any arrests were made and many time none. It was a lawless country; people had to go to Fort Smith to court, possibly stay there months before their case came up, so they kept their mouths shut.
It was nearing the end of 1871 when after supper one night, just as stepped off the porch, Colbert called me back. When I went he had his double barrel shot gun in hand. He said 'Her John, take this and stay hid, but be in sight of the boat and where the cable is tied to an Oak tree, and if you see anyone monkeying around, shoot to kill. The gun is heavy loaded with buck shot and I will see you out of it.' So I took the gun. I put on a dark coat, asked no questions, but went down and made myself comfortable for a good place to watch. Stayed until day, saw no one. At daybreak, looked across the River, saw Jim Colbert rise up close to the windlass for tightening the rope. We waved at each other and that was the last of that. I never asked no questions when I gave back his gun. Heard after that some one had threatened to cut the boat and rope loose.
1872 rolled around and he rented out a half interest in the ferry to John Maupin. Maupin moved his stock, put them both together and Gooding and Jim Colbert moved back home. I was sorry to see them go. Both were fine men and Jim Colbert just as fearless as they make them. Jim Maupin had charge of the store and I the boat. We got along just fine though Jim was rather reckless sometime.
Travel was getting heavier so one boat could not do the work. About first of March put on another boat. (Colbert put a larger boat last fall.) Each boat could carry six to seven two-horse wagons. The upper boat run on a steel cable and the lower one on the old cable moved down just far enough apart so they would not collide. I had now two to look after. Times sure was getting hot; railroad bridge was building; railroad outfits moving back and forth and the further down the MK&T got the more freight wagons. Denison started to be a town, and sure was a tough one. The towns north started as the railroad came along. The Texas Central was building at the same time; [Warner?] was their terminus; they built several houses down in the bottom, had a depot, had a town laid off, and a man by name of Captain Faulkner selling town lots. There were two saloons, a dance hall, hotel and a few dwellings, a turn table for cars, two or three big wells, both tracks run side and side up to Denison. Finally they compromises but for a [???] ... be in the bottom. Frank Colbert, John Maupin, Thorton Downing and I bought 20 acres of land in an addition to Denison from Joe Laing, a farmer there, one half of it was on Main Street north for two streets, now worth millions. We got afraid that the town was going to be in the bottom. Colbert got a tip that it would be so him and Maupin sold out to Munson. Colbert kept after me to sell night and day but I still held, he said that the town would be in the bottom, said he got it from the Chief Engineer, so I sold like a fool, only doubling my money. Downing sold soon after, but Denison kept growing.
One morning Jim Maupin and I fixed up all the money we had on hand to take to the bank, the old Van Winkle Bank, there was no F& M Bank at that time. We had several thousand in gold, silver and paper money; had $300 in script consisting of 10, 15, and 25, and 50¢ paper money, all secured in our saddle bags; got our guns and started; loped our horses all the way. The bank was on north side of square. Unbuckled our saddle bags, went into the bank, took out our money and over $300 was missing. We could not account for the loss. We deposited the money, stayed an possibly an hour in Sherman and came back. There was no use to look for it as the road was practically lined with wagons. We got back; we had no safe, only a paper trunk. We looked everywhere, asked the two men we had in the store, they said they never saw it. Jim left it for me to tell. In a few days John Maupin came over. I said 'We played the dickens taking that money down to Sherman.' 'What did you do?' 'Lost $300 of the shin plasters.' 'How', he said. 'Don't know how.' 'Well, I'll charge it up to you fellows.' He turned around, looked at his brother, 'Jim, charge it up to profit and loss.' John Maupin, as I stated previous to this, was in Quantrel's and Anderson's command in time of the Civil War, and the James boys, also Cole Younger, and some others were comers and goers with us. Got well acquainted with them; Frank James went by the name of Frank Rapp; Jessie by name of Williams. If I had time and space could relate many funny incidents that occurred between them and Denison and Sherman officers.
There was a company of soldiers camped at Colbert Station for two or three weeks. Every few days some of the officers would cross and go to Sherman and back. One morning the Major came down to the boat with two or three soldiers and a 4-horse wagon. He had another man in civilian clothes. They walked up to me, the Major said 'Mr. Malcom, let me introduce you to Mr. Fred Grant, President Grant's son.' I replied jokingly, 'Major, you are giving me taffy'. 'No', he said, so shook hands with him. He was a gawky looking fellow. Major told me that they would be late before they got back and if I would kind enough to put them across. I told him I would and showed where they could ford it. They agreed. At that time I slept over at the store. We heard them pass the store about 11 o'clock, we were all in bed. In about half or three-quarters of an hour, they came back; had bogged up in the River; wet and cold, asked if we had a fire. Jim said no, but told them to go around to the kitchen where the negro woman had a good fire. They called her to let them in to warm and dry, but no she would not let them in. Major told her, said 'Auntie, I fought and bled for you, think you might let us in.' 'Humph', she said, 'you never fought and bled for me, sir.' So we got up and called them to come in, made a fire. When the Major saw me, said he did not know I was here. So they all took a drink or two. The soldiers went back for the harness left with us nd rode back to Colbert bare back.
It was getting in the Fall by this [time?]. Travel was very heavy and the railroad bridge nearing completion. Christmas came and the first passenger train went across on Christmas afternoon, 1872. Soon after that all freight wagons stopped and our travel was cut in half. 1873 came they discontinued one boat. Colbert and Maupin audited the books, then settled up with all hands. My turn came. Maupin and I had some hard words over our settlement for I had drawn out money as I required it and put back more than I drew out. Jim had neglected to give me credit for money that I had returned. However, we settled a little to my loss. That evening when Mr. Colbert came across he made the remark that Maupin did not treat me right as I told Mr. Colbert to look out for another man to take my place. 'Oh, no', he said, 'Maupin will have nothing to do with the ferry this year, only a half interest in the store, so you just keep going. I will raise your wages.' So I stayed.
B. F. Colbert was one of the best men I ever worked for. He was strictly honest and a perfect gentleman in ever sense of the word and expected everyone to be the same.
1873 wore along just the same routine. Mr. Colbert got to studying about a bridge. Him and I had several conversations in regard to it. That Spring he went to Washington to see about getting a charter. Throckmorton of Texas, and others assisted him in getting it. When he came back he told me that he got an introduction and shook hands with the President, and he was sure proud of it. I asked him if he would not have to get some authority from Texas. 'No', he said. "The Chickasaws claims to the high water mark on south side of Red River, and when I sold my land over in the bottoms I reserved the right for a boat or bridge landing and a way cut,' so finally he got his charter that Fall. He let the contract to a man by the name of Baker; I forget his initials. Think the work started in 1874.
Well, the old ferry boat kept on making its regular trips across the river, with its various troubles, only with a greatly decreased travel, although the country commonly called the Nation was certainly increasing in population both in town and country, so 1873 came to an end and 1874 began. Sometime in the Spring, work began on the bridge but progressed very slow; travelers in wagons still kept a going, but we had no more freight wagons, just only a few freight wagons from Sherman up [????].... The Fort Sill people hauled theirs from Colbert Station and Caddo. Durant did not increase very fast. Caddo was far ahead of it at the time. Durant had a very small depot; Charlie Case was both night and day agent. Colbert, Maupin, and Gooding put a store. Charley Kingsberry was Post Master at Colbert Station, then Frank Colbert put up a custom corn and flour mill, a small l-stand cotton gin, and saw mill, all combined in a 3-story house.
The bridge was finished either in 1874 or 75, I forget which. However, it only stood about eleven months and a few days for I tended the bridge all the time. In August of 75 or 76 it came the biggest overflow that was known of Red River; the railroad bridge went out first, one span of it floated down and lodged around the north pillar of the wagon bridge, but did not even shake it. There was a heavy drift of logs and trees coming down and lodged around the middle pier. Sometimes it would break loose then big cottonwood trees would strike it endwise and just bounce back like a rubber ball. Frank Colbert and I measured how far the bridge was above the water. It measured 14 feet from the lower cord of the bridge to the water, for it was guaranteed by the contractor to stand up to 12 feet; but the center pier was just battered out of the pilings by the heavy drift. I was out on the north span and a boy by name of Lidell was about 20 steps behind me when the pier and the two middle spans went out and the boy went down with it. It did not take me but a few seconds to get off the span. The boy was popped up; he had on a straw hat and it was floating at his side; he picked it up, gave it a dash on his hip, put it on his head. We hollered to stay on, that we would send the skiff after him. A man by name of George Hall ran down where the skiff was and put out after him; found him about 20 miles below where the wreck lodged on the Texas side of the river; got back home next day. Thirty thousand dollars was gone in a few minutes; that was the cost of the bridge. The south pier and abutment went out that evening; left one pier on north side with span still standing and stayed there for several years.
That night Colbert told me to be ready to go to Atoka; make out a bill of lumber for another boat. Next morning he got off a little before I did. When I got to Colbert Maupin met me a short distance from the depot; told me that there was a lot of men at depot marooned. Frank Colbert met me at the end of the platform, said there was about 30 men wanted to get across the river and if I could put them over; that Harding, the superintendent, was among them. Colbert introduced me to them, told them they could trust in what I said. Harding asked if I could get them across, told him I could if I had a small boat, but there was none as the small skiff we had got away last night. Maupin spoke up and said that pile of lumber was his, and help myself to build one. I got a carpenter to help me. Harding asked how long it would take, told him about two o'clock. We went to work; gave Frank Colbert the bill for the ferry boat and he went to Atoka the first chance on a train. Had a skiff finished by two o'clock. Harding had an engine and flat car to take us all to the river. When we got there, I asked who wanted to go first. Think Harding said he would. I asked him if he could swim and he said yes. Took just him the first trip to see how things went for there was large whirls in the river and if the skiff got into one of them we might have to swim. We fixed by taking off part of our clothes, but we got along fine. There was a train standing on the Texas side track, partly in the water, but I got them all across that evening. Harding asked if I would transfer the mail and passengers; we made a trade. That night made another pair of oars so that two of us could row the boat, it was too hard for one. We transferred passengers and mail for over a week. About 10 A.M. came one train; 8 to 9 P.M. came the other. Finally the company got a boat built in about 7 or 8 days. The lumber arrived for the Colbert boat. Harding wanted to keep me, but I had promised to help Mr. Colbert. So with the aid of a carpenter and some other help, we had a ferry running in about 10 or 12 days. Boat was 80 feet long by 16 feet. Had to run by oars until we got the cable up. Run it over a year when I took charge of the mill and gin.
Rented for two years, married the second year; in 1879 moved to Texas on a farm that I had bought a few years before. Lived two years and sold out everything but six horses and mules, fixing to go to Southern Texas. Went to Denison one afternoon, met Frank Colbert who wanted me to take the ferry, farm, mill at Colbert Station and the prairie farm. We made a trade; took possession January 1st, 1883. He was at his cattle ranch on the Washita; so was there again for four years. Had to quit the river on account of my health. About two years previous he built a large two story house of right rooms; there was around 800 acres in cultivation, with pasture of 300 or 400 acres; the prairie farm had 240 acres at that time. He had more broke out until there was over 600 acres.
I have related some few incidents which happened, but many I have not told though some were funny and some rather serious. Many an evening he would relate stories when the government moved the Choctaws and Chickasaws to this country in 1833, and how he got the River farm and ferry. He was about one-eighth Indian, the finest and best friend I ever had; not only to me but all he done business with and a friend to the poor. He also was a Royal Arch Mason.
Related by John Malcom.
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