Colonel Buck Barry

J. Marvin Hunter, Sr.

From J. Marvin Hunter's Frontier Times Magazine, October, 1947

Colonel James Buckner Barry, better known to early Texans as "Buck" Barry, was one of those intrepid Texas Rangers, who before, during, and after the Civil War, became famous for his valor in defending the frontier and was noted for his high individual courage in all times of danger. He died at his home in Walnut Springs, Bosque county, nearly forty years ago at the ripe age of 87. Colonel Barry's history originated in the traditional wists of Irish annals. Two hundred years ago his great grandfather, James Buckner Barry, and three brothers were involved in a rebellion against the British crown, which, being put down, they were compelled to flee the country of years ago his great grandfather, settling at Beaufort, North Carolina, and the other brothers finding homes elsewhere in the colonies. One brother was Commodore Barry, father of the American Navy. The Colonel's father, Bryan Buckner, was seven years old when Cornwallis surrendered,

Colonel Barry, the subject of this sketch, was born in North Carolina, December 16, 1821, passed his boyhood on the farm and received his education in the subscription schools, and while a young man taught the first free school in the state of North Carolina. In the early 1830s an older brother had gone to Texas and on his return had many unusual narratives to relate of the wonderful country west of the Red and Sabine rivers.

Colonel Barry often spoke of him when he came to Texas while this country was a Republic. He said: "I went up Red River by boat to the place where Jefferson now is, and my first meal in Texas was eaten in the piney woods, on a pine log about three feet high, for which the price asked was twenty-five cents, but all the money I had was a dime, so my host had to take that." He located a headright of 640 acres of land near Corsicana. "You ask what my gainful occupation was in those days. Now, to be frank, I hunted most of the time, I had a farm, some negroes, and raised crops, but there was more hunting than anything else. The country was just as God Almighty left it. He had said, `Subdue the land,' and I went to work to subdue it. There were panthers, bear and every other kind of feathered and furry game, and it was quite in line with my love for outdoor life to give my time to the chase rather than the more prosaic occupations of farming."

While the Republic was still in existence he became identified with the Ranger service, for which his life history is especially notable. He first joined an independent company at San Antonio, and later became connected with Captain Jack Hays' company in North Texas. "Let me tell you how the country was protected in those days. You have heard of the famous 'minutemen' of the Revolution, and right here on the Texas frontier all the settlers were subjected to the same sort of service. Every man kept his arms ready and forty rounds of ammunition in reserve, and when the call came, even if it was in the dead of night or in the midst of storm or sickness, he hurried from home to the defense of his brother pioneers. But these men, under the command of Jack Hays, were the couriers and messengers rather than actual protectors of the frontier. They were under the imperative order, `Get into no fights,' which was the most difficult of all commands to obey, for they were born fighters and the enemy had never whipped them till they had killed the last man of them. No, these Rangers who were in regular duty had the task of Paul Revere,when the Indian alarm was given, they rode with daredevil haste and recklessness throughout the country, arousing the minutemen and marshaling the militia army to battle with the savage foe. It was the duty of these Rangers to picket the entire frontier line, each being stationed with a few hours' ride of a comrade, so that an alarm could be sounded all over the country in a brief time. This was the kind of service I was in before annexation, and up to the time of the Mexican war, I was with a surveying party along the Trinity river.

"You must allow me to relate a little experience of mine while I was with that surveying party. We were at work in the region not far from Corsicana, and one day two buffalo hunters, who were killing the buffalo for their robes, struck our camp and spent a few hours in our company. We were resting in the edge of the woods, the surveyor being seated on a log engaged in writing up his field notes and the rest of us were smoking and chatting and quite oblivious of what was going on around us, our guns resting on the ground or against the trees. Suddenly the practiced ears of the hunters caught a familiar tread of hoofs, and, directing our eyes to the prairie, we saw a herd of some fifty or sixty buffaloes coming toward us. Of course the hunters, in line with their occupation, prepared to do execution and urged all of the party to shoot into the drove and all did so except myself, who, as somewhat of a hunter also and never killing an animal except it returned an adequate reward in meat value, refused to shoot and left my gun standing by the tree. While the others were engaged in the destruction of as many buffalo as possible, my attention was diverted to a rather unusual tussle between a big dog that belonged to the hunters and one of the buffalo. The dog, seeming to pick out his game and running up to it, grabbed the buffalo by the jaw and hung on tenaciously, although unable to stay the progress of the big foe, and the two went crashing through the brush and apart from the rest of the herd. I was curious to know the outcome of this contest, and ran up to keep in sight of the struggling animals. The three-year old bull at last found he could not shake off nor gore his enemy and was bellowing and groaning desperately, while the dog, which was a magnificent fighter, was backing around a tree, against which both braced themselves and which afforded some protection to the dog against being trampled. When I got to the spot I pulled by bowie knife, and with a deep thrust, killed the buffalo. As it sank down the dog gave its head a final shake, and, turning his big yellow eyes np to me and then to the dead beast, reluctantly concluded that the fight was over and trotted back to his, masters. As I returned I found several of the men engaged in cutting up one of the slain buffaloes to get a meat supply, and I exclaimed: "I've got a fatter buffalo than that out in the brush yonder.' `You have; how did you kill it?' was the surveyor's distrusting reply, for he knew that I had left my gun by the tree and could not believe it possible to slay a buffalo without a gun. `I ran up and killed it with my knife,' was my explanation, at which there was a roar of skeptical laughter and for several minutes they bantered me unmercifully for my supposedly `big' tale. Finally the hunters said they would go over and get the hide, and when they examined the body and could find no other wound except the knife thrust they were compelled to admit the truth of my claim. But it was not easy to convince the party that I had overtaken and dispatched the big buffalo with the knife alone, and though I afterward told my companions in the surveying party of the important connection which the dog had with the incident, the hunters had never missed their dog during the excitement of the killing and parted from me in forced admiration of my prowess as a buffalo killer."

As soon as the news of the battle of Palo Alto reached him, Mr. Barry started for the field of war. joining the company of Captain Eli Chandler, which formed a part of the famous regiment of First Texas Rangers. Jack Hays was elected Colonel of this regiment on the Palo Alto battlefield, while some of the bodies of the slain Mexicans were still lying in the grass unburied. This regiment was a part of General Taylor's army, and was engaged chiefly in reconnoitering duty to locate the enemy, clear up to the battle of Monterey, in this,battle, while a number of the force that captured the second battery in the upper part of the town, Mr. Barry was wounded, he served through the war and then returned to his Texas home.

"In one respect, at least, I differ from the opinions of most persons in regard to our neighbors south of the Rio Grande. The Mexicans are human beings. Don't call them cowards. On one occasion while our regiment of Rangers was camped before Monterey, a regiment of lancers came out and formed in our front preparing to attack us. We had not slept any for the past two nights, were listless and in great disorder and in no fit condition to give battle. Hays, with his natural quickness, took in the situation at once and to afford delay to the attack, drew his sabre and, riding out toward the Mexicans, swore at them roundly (for he could speak Spanish well) and called out that their commanding officer should come half way and fight him on the field between the two lines. The Mexican officer accepted the challenge without hesitation, I suppose Hays knew little more about using a saber in a hand-to hand fight than I did, and this probably prompted him, as soon as the Mexican advanced, to jerk out his six-shooter and with a single shot laid the officer out of his saddle. Did you ever throw a chunk of wood at a hornet's nest? Well, this action of Hays in slaying the Mexican officer had a similar effect on those Mexicans, for, instantly and while the smoke from Hays' gun was still floating in the air, they swarmed forth in gallant charge. Here again Hays showed his quick wit. `Keep behind your horses and use them as a barricade,' he commanded, knowing that it would be impossible to form in battle array. Thus shielded, we stood and received the charge with deadly volleys from our pistols, but the lancers never wavered and their rush carried them clear through our lines to the rear, where they wheeled and, in perfect order, hurled themselves upon us with their lances. Although many of their number fell in these two attacks without corresponding loss on our part, they had no sooner formed in their original position when they repeated the charge and again submitted themselves to our deadly fire from behind our protecting horses. Fully eighty of the enemy were killed in this series of charges, while their lances were effective against only one or two of our number, although many were wounded, I have never since been able to call Mexicans cowards. They are a brave, gallant, chivalrous people,"

Col. Barry, after the war, returned to North Carolina, where he married his first wife, Sarah A. Matticks, and then returned to Navarro county, where he lived about ten years. He was elected the second sheriff of Navarro county, where, that being then the frontier, he had every cutthroat and desperado in Texas to deal with, but, backed up by the good citizens, he held his own and preserved law and order. "I have seen a heap of human nature and am well acquainted with the ways of men," commented the Colonel in his quaint philosophy of life. "Don't risk anything you value out of your sight. There are circumstances under which your best friends will go back on you. My experience has fastened this opinion on me, that every man on the face of the earth was born a thief and a liar. I once propounded this view in the presence of a number of people, and a preacher called me to account. `Look here, parson,' said I, `do you recollect your mother's sugar bowl? It is arrogance for us to claim to be better than our ancestors, Adam and Eve, one of whose first acts was to lie to their Creator.' Yes, I believe that priest, prince, potentate or president would swear a falsehood rather than give up their most prized possession."

About 1857, trusting to the protection which the grouping of the Indians at reservations and the better policing of the frontier with United States regulars seemed to guarantee, Colonel Barry moved to Bosque county, which has been his home ever since. But he had hardly been there a year before several persons were killed in the neighborhood and the insecurity of the isolated groups of settlers became apparent. "It was the notion of the Indians," said the Colonel, "that the soldiers were sent to protect the Indians while they were murdering the citizens of Texas, which country they did not regard as property of the United States."

Colonel Barry served under three flags, though all the while a resident of Texas: the Texas Republic, the United States and the Confederate States. He was commissioned by Governor Sam Houston to raise a company to protect the women and children of the frontier from the scalping knife of the Indian, this company being independent of the regular troops. He recruited his men from the hardy frontiersmen, he continued to hold his commission as captain under three governors, and when Texas seceded he paraded his men, read them the news of the secession, and then addressed them: "Secession or union, war or peace between the states, this frontier must be protected, and I want just as many of you as can stay with me." Fully half of his force chose to remain and his company was soon recruited to full strength. He continued in the Ranger service throughout the war, and from captain became major, then lieutenant-colonel, and as such performed practically all the field service. His headquarters for the greater part of the time were at Camp Cooper, and his range of operations called him all along the frontier from the Red River to the Rio Grande. Buck Barry's Rangers were justly famed through that period, for they were a body of men as fearless in face of personal danger, as resolute in performance of duty, and as loyal to all the offices of a frontier soldier as any similar organization known to history. They were constantly on duty, and a few hours of repose were granted to a Texas Ranger in those trying times. Colonel Barry claimed that his original company was responsible for the killing of all but three of the Indians slain by the entire regiment during the war. Such was his success as an Indian fighter and defender of the frontier that the State Legislature at its twelfth session voted him a present of the finest gun that could be bought. It was his fortune on four different occasions to be thrown into single-handed conflict with Indians, from all of which he escaped victorious and unscathed.

"During the latter part of the war," Colonel Barry related, "the Indians became so insistently hostile that I was compelled to concentrate two companies at Fort Belknap. About forty miles away, at Camp McCord, were stationed Captain M. B. Loyd and Captain Whiteside, each with his company. To assist them in the capacity of guides, messengers, etc., they had about eighty of the friendly Tonkawa Indians, who always remained loyal to the Texans. One day a soldier who had been out scouting around over the country was observed, when still at a considerable distance out on the prairie, to be returning with an Indian prisoner. Immediately the Tonkawas began jumping up and down, throwing their arms about in exultant gesticulations, and yelling, `Kiowa!, Kiowa!’ The scout had taken a lone Kiowa prisoner, thinking him to be a Tonk, and was escorting him back to his tribe. No sooner had the unfortunate Kiowa arrived in camp than the Tonkawas demanded him for execution according to their own barbarous customs, saying they were going to eat him.

The idea of cannibalizing the prisoner was, of course, abhorrent to Captain Loyd, and he was placed in a dilemma, for, at the same time, he felt it very necessary to keep the Tonkawas conciliated and do nothing to offend them as valuable allies. He accordingly sent a messenger post-haste to me, as Colonel commanding, asking what should be done in the matter. I studied for a solution of the difficulty for some time, and finally sent back word, `Tell the Captain he is not my Indian; he belongs to the scout who made the capture,' Thus I thought to relieve myself of all odium which might attach to the transaction. You understand that the message was delivered orally, for both the Captain and myself were shrewd enough to write no order, which would in time have found its way to the superior officers and might have brought abou t a courtmartial. The incident never was officially reported. Well, the question of possession being settled, the Indians went for the scout to turn over the prisoner to them, the scout refused for a day or two. Finally a duel between one Ton k and the Kiowa was suggested as the best manner of settlement, but the Tonks would take no such risks; they understood the prowess of the Kiowa too well, and knew that such a fight would afford their quarry but a certain method of escape. Finally it was agreed, and the Captain gave a reluctant consent, that three Tonkawas should fight the lone Kiowa. On the appointed day the entire populace went out to witness this strange form of the ancient gladiator combat. Two companies of soldiers, all the citizens, and the friendly Indians formed a close circle around the arena set apart for the contestants, the ground chosen being situated between Battle Creek and Deep Creek. Bows and arrows were the weapons and each Indian had three arrows. Of course the Kiowa was at a disadvantage, for his three adversaries could flank him and he could do little more than dodge and maneuver after he had spent his three arrows. But he put up a gallant fight. Finally being struck with an arrow, he pulled it out of his flesh, and threatening his assailants so savagely that they for the moment drew back, he eluded them and ran straight through the line of Rangers that blocked one side of the arena. The Tonkawas and citizens alike excitedly urged the Rangers to kill him, until one trooper, named Campbell, pulled out his six-shooter and with a single shot brought down the fleeing savage. Then followed a triumphant revel over the slain. A big fire was built, they all came up and cut off a piece of flesh each liked best, and around the leaping flames they danced in hideous and fantastic motions, burning the Kiowa's flesh on a spit, raving over it, chewing it, foaming at the mouth, and in every fashion known to barbarism showing their vengeance over an inveterate foe. They did not really eat the flesh, but their mouthing of it seemed just as repellent to the white men. Captain Loyd, in this affair, had three parties to please, the Rangers, the citizens, and the Tonkawas, and though repugnant though the incident is to modern civilization, it was the only avenue of escape from a very perplexing situation."

Colonel Barry returned to his farm in Bosque county after his Ranger service was over. He subsequently served as a member of the Legislature, and his activities in all lines were so prominent as to make him one of the best known old timers in Northwest Texas. His children grew up to be honored men and women, and he had an ideal home life in the companionship of his wife and family. His wife, his second marriage, whose maiden name was Martha Peveler, was herself an interesting pioneer woman, having come to the Republic of Texas in 1839.

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