By Leonard Passmore

[From J. Marvin Hunter's Frontier Times Magazine, May, 1924]

It is a well conceded fact that Texas has never had a better class of immigrants than the Germans. For generations in their own land they had been compelled to get their living from the soil, thereby acquiring habits of thrift and perseverance. From the days of Frederick on, they had practiced most rigid economy, by which they had arisen from a petty kingdom to one of the five Great Powers of Europe. But Germany had been crowded and many of her people longed to go to some place where there were greater possibilities of building up homes, supplied with the necessities of life for themselves and posterity. From the time stern old Frederick had sent General Washington a sword with the inscription, "From the oldest general in the world to the bravest," they had looked with hopes and desires to America. From the time that a strong appeal was sent to the Powers of Europe, asking for an interference in the cruel warfare waged by the Mexicans after the virtual close of the Texas Revolution, the Germans began to see the possibilities awaiting them in the broad and unsettled domain of Texas.

In about 1846, a body of those honest sons of toil bade adieu to the scenes of their childhood, and with their wives and children came to seek new homes in the wilds of Texas. They were led hither by one Baron Von Meusebach, a man well educated and withal well suited to be a leader of men. In fact, all in the little company possessed a fair knowledge of the elementary branches of learning, due to the excellent system of compulsory education in the Fatherland. Such a class of people could not fail to build up the resources and increase the wealth of our Lone Star.

Landing near Indianola, the immigrants procured ox wagons which they loaded with the supplies and implements they had taken with them on their voyage, and slowly wended their way toward the interior of our fair state. All who saw the spinning wheels high perched upon the plunder and saw the knitting-needles of the worthy old dames being plied so deftly as the women journeyed along, could not well refrain from extending a welcome; for the five virtues of this people—industry, perseverance, economy, order and patience were exactly what were needed to be suspended from the five points of our star as mottoes of success to our own worthy sons.

Most of the immigrants settled at Fredericksburg. At first they suffered many severe hardships, the worst being a lack of bread. Many times their sufferings were almost equal to that of the Puritans when they dealt out the five kernels of corn. When wagons arrived with meal it was divided among the immigrants, each using his part as sparingly as he could in order that it might not be exhausted before the arrival of some more. “At one time," said Henry Mueller, member of that memorable party, "we were entirely out of bread. Some soldiers were stationed at Fort Martin Scott. They allowed us to pick up some grains of corn about their ‘encampment.’" But these hardships did not last. Prosperity began to smile upon the humble toilers and the circle of its magnitude has been widening ever since. With prosperity came satisfaction. The friends and loved ones across the sea were written to and told of the wonderful opportunities awaiting them in the far west.

There was not much at that time to be feared from the Indians. They had shown no signs of hostility. The Germans had sat with them in council, and with them had smoked the pipe of peace." When the lands were being surveyed, the Germans took with them Indian guides who proved themselves harmless and faithful.

Other immigrants continued to come. The old round church was built, and in it were sung the songs which before had echoed from "Die Kirchen im Faderland." Regardless of hardships these pioneers were happy and did not wish to return. They desired to stay, take the oath of allegiance and help build up Texas. They would become American citizens. The tongue trained to sing, "Die Wacht am Rhine," they would accustom to sing "The Star Spangled Banner. "

In the course of a few years some made their homes a little farther west. Among these were two brothers, Charles and Henry Kensing. The former settled on Squaw Creek, at that time a beautiful bold-flowing little stream, which wended its way through the hills uniting with Threadgill Creek, the two forming Beaver Creek. There lived near him Conrad Mund, H. Welge Sr., and his aged father, also John Dietz and a few others. From the peculiar shape of a little mount on the east side of the creek, this was called the "Platt Kopf " or "Flat Head Settlement." A little lower down was another, which by the pious people composing it, was called "Canaan." There lived in this community, Philip Buchmeyer, Fritz Winkel and a few others. Still lower down on Beaver Creek was another settlement, composed of William Geistweidt, Rev. Pluenneeke and others. It was among these that Henry Kensing made his home, on what is now known as the Apel place. He was a blacksmith by trade and he and Fritz Kneese ran a blacksmith shop together.

The Indians, which were at first so docile, at last became furious. The settlers were in constant danger. They, were afraid to leave home lest they find their families butchered on their return.

One Sunday morning, Henry Kensing and his wife went to visit his brother at "Platt Kopf." It was dangerous to do so, they knew. They feared mostly for their children whom they left alone, and did not deem the danger so great. The trip was a business one and necessitated their going. Mr. Kensing had that morning borrowed fifty dollars from Mr. Geistweidt. if my information is correct, telling him of his financial circumstances, and the business directly calling him away.

Some say that on his way to his brother's, Kensing and his wife stopped at Canaan and that he and the pious people there had a little prayer-meeting; but from the fact that Rev. Pluennecke was the only minister in this country, of the Methodist order, and was away at the time, makes it appear this is a mistake. The distance from "Canaan" to " Platt Kopf," was about five miles, through a rough, picturesque country. On the way no signs of Indians were seen. It was a beautiful day in spring, in the year 1863. The valley was full of fragrance and freshness. How like some they could recall which they had spent together in their old home across the sea.

But the time of parting had come. Before the two brothers were hardly aware, the sun was low in the western horizon. Calling his wife to make preparation for returning home, Henry in the meantime hitched up the team. Soon all was in readiness, and "Goodbye"—the last good-bye—was said. Right quickly the aged couple sped along the road which led around the little mount, Platt Kopf and down the slant beyond. Suddenly they found themselves confronted by a band of Indians. Putting the whip to his horses the man endeavored to get away. With nostrils extended and a look of terror in their eyes, the horses sped down the hard slant; for they were frightened at such vigorous strokes of the lash and the sound of other hoof beats beside their own in their rear—made by the ponies of the Indians who were in close pursuit.

At last the wagon was brought to a halt, and a desperate struggle for life ensued on the part of those within. The exact circumstances of it all, we have no definite way of knowing. From indications it is said to have appeared that in the struggle, the man and wife became separated—probably torn asunder by the overpowering savages. The husband was killed in a most brutal manner and scalped. The woman was dragged away some distance, and treated too shameful to be told of in these pages, after which she was shot with an arrow, scalped and left, no doubt, for dead. But she rallied to an extent sufficient to regain consciousness. however, she did not possess enough strength to stand on her feet.

After leaving the woman's body the savages proceeded to the wagon, and cutting the harness to pieces, took such parts as suited their fancy, and departed to the draws beyond. Whether they were ever seen any more in the settlement at, that time I do not know. This much, however is certain, with the two gory scalps dangling from their girdles, they pressed on to other parts where they could gratify their blood-thirsty natures upon other innocent victims.

Think of what a scene that was! There lay in the little vale near "Platt Kopf" a husband in the cold embrace of death, while near him was his bosom companion, faint, bleeding and only sufficiently conscious to realize the fearful tragedy and to utter a prayer for her children in the little home in Beaver Creek, who were at that moment unconscious of the fact that they were left a little bunch of orphans in an unfriendly world. But such are the uncertainties of mortal existence. At a time when one feels that life is sweet, he may be made suddenly aware that his skies are darkened.

In some way or another, the settlers around Platt Kopf became aware that some calamity had befallen their friends and a party went out to search. Following the wagon tracks they soon arrived at the scene of the tragedy. Seeing the wagon, they were apprehensive that their friends had been murdered. Soon the body of the man was found, in the condition before described. Then a diligent search was made for the woman, but she was not at that time discovered. It was thought that she was taken into captivity. Taking up the body of the man, the party returned, and made preparations for its burial. Before doing so, however, it was decided to return to the scene of the tragedy and make further search for the woman's body.

Looking about in the thick brush which was near, the party at last noticed something that appeared to be waving back and forth, much like the fluttering of a handkerchief in the breeze. Going nearer the men discovered that it was a handkerchief in the woman's hand, and had been shaken for the purpose of scaring away the flies, which were endeavoring to settle upon the gory head. It appears that it had been in the pocket of her dress during her struggles, and though faint as the poor woman was, she thought of it, and took it out for the purpose mentioned.

Approaching and looking into the pitiful eyes of the sufferer, one of the men said in her own familiar tongue, "Is that you, Mrs. Kensing?" Faintly and with much effort she replied "where is Henry?"

"He is all right," they said, "but not able to come to you." Thus they tried to evade telling her of his awful fate.

The poor, mangled creature was taken to the home of Charles Kensing and tenderly cared for in the best way possible under the existing circumstances. In the meantime Mr. Theodore Wiedmann, who was working for H. Welge at the time, was dispatched with all possible haste to inform the children and neighbors of the unfortunate couple, of the fearful tragedy. The poor little orphans were frantic with grief. Their pitiful cries could be heard for a long distance, and they wrung their feeble hands in agony.

Some of the neighbors—I did not learn who—took the children over to their uncle's, that they might take a last look at their father before his burial, and that they might view their mother in her suffering condition, and by their presence cheer her in the hour of death. It was plainly seen that the good woman could not live. Just what the mother said when the little ones approached, I do not know; but knowing the deep feeling of a mother 's love, I am prompted to say that she pressed their soft hands, and stroked their innocent foreheads and pronounced upon them an undying benediction of love.

Not far away from the scene of the tragedy, a grave was dug, and in it was consigned the remains of the dead man, his wife being made to believe all the time that he was still living. Quite a crowd assembled to administer the last sad rites, and many were the tears shed on the occasion. Each one felt, as the clods fell upon the coffin, that it was a matter of but few days till the same sad duties must be administered to the dead man's companion, and so it was.

The next day it was reported by those who had been so carefully administering to Mrs. Kensing, that the woman was worse and could live but a few hours. That evening, I think it was, she died and was taken away and buried beside her husband. Long had they been in life together and now were they put side by side in the land of silence. Today two lonely graves near the base of "Platt Kopf" is all there is to tell the people of that region of the horrors of frontier life. The birds in springtime pour out their music and melody over the same little vale that once resounded with the echoes of weeping and despair.

The surviving brother, Charlie Kensing, later moved to Threadgill Creek in Gillespie county. There he bought a ranch and accumulated a nice little fortune which he and his dame enjoyed to a ripe old age. Often has the writer heard him say in his quiet manner of speaking, "Those early days were days of suffering on the frontier. People now do not know what hardships are."

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