Tuscaloosa, from a chief of the Choctaw Indians, the English equivalent being "Black Warrior." Curiously enough the river named for the chief in Alabama bears the English name instead of the Indian one.

The name "Black Warrior" was very familiar to Americans during the administration of President Pierce, the passenger-steamer of that name, plying between New York and New Orleans, via Havana, having been fired upon by a Spanish vessel of war, and war in consequence being threatened.

Walker County was named for John Williams Walker (1789-1823) the first U. S. Senator from Alabama.

Wilcox County was given the name of Lieut. Joseph M. Wilcox, of the Third U. S. Infantry, one of the early graduates (1808) of West Point. During the Creek War, 1813-14, he served with his regiment and was killed Jan. 15, 1814, in an action on the Alabama River.

Winston County, for John A. Winston, (1812-71) governor of the State in 1853. He was known as the "Veto governor”, on account of his opposition to legislation which would extend state aid to railroads.

I

THE SANTA FE EXPEDITION OF 1841

N August, 1914, died Caspar D. Murray, at his remote ranch. home in the hills of Blanco County, Texas; and with him passed away the last one of the ill-fated Santa Fé expedition of 1841, which endured one of the worst ordeals known to early Texas history. Mr. Murray was ninety-two years old, and it was seventy-six years ago that he was one of the band of three hundred-odd persons who set out on the long journey of suffering and tragedy.

In 1839, Mirabeau B. Lamar was president of the Republic of Texas, and recommended that Texas should assert her jurisdiction over the then Territory of New Mexico, then a part of old Mexico; and in 1841 an expedition to invite the inhabitants to join Texas, was determined on. Colonel William G. Cooke, Dr. R. F. Brenham and Colonel J. A. Navarro were appointed Commissioners, to treat with the authorities and people, while General Hugh F. McLeod was military commander of the expedition, which started from Brushy Creek, near Austin, June 20, 1841, with two hundred and seventy soldiers, mounted infantry and artillery, and about fifty citizens. Incredible as it now seems no route was mapped out in advance, and no one had any real knowledge of the country to be crossed; it appears to have been a happy-go-lucky affair from the start. Travelling northwest, the Brazos river was crossed (July 14) and here began the real trouble which was to dog the footsteps of the unfortunate party to the end; a prairie fire threatened to envelop the expedition, and the next day, after an all-day march, a halt was made without water-men and animals suffering alike.

Indians appeared a day or two after, and they continued to hang on the line of march ever after, killing stragglers and stampeding the animals on every occasion. Then the wagons began breaking down, involving frequent delays for repairs. The "Cross Timbers" were entered, without any visible road, and two weeks were spent in a broken country, full of impassable ravines, the banks of which had to be dug down to enable the wagons to cross, or else the adventurers had to go around the head of the ravine, which might be miles off. On reaching Noland's river, July 26, the oxen were so exhausted that a halt of four days was needed.

On August 17, fifty of the best mounted men were sent on a search

for the Red River, the rest moving on as best they could. More suffering for want of water was varied by the appearance of a large force of Indians, who killed a detached party within sight of the camp, and escaped without loss.

Another party, this time of a hundred horsemen, was now sent forward, with orders not to return until the New Mexico settlements had been reached. Without a guide, and with scanty provisions, they set out, leaving the small remainder of a hundred and seventy to follow as best they could, and soon came to an immense chasm with precipitous banks and a small stream of water at the bottom. Indian and buffalo trails led to the water, but the white men got down only with great difficulty, and even when at the bottom, it was long ere a place of ascent of the other side could be made. Next day another and a worse gulf, eight hundred feet deep and five hundred wide, was encountered, and another toilsome and perilous crossing made. Then came a prairie of a hundred and fifty miles, but no game for foodnaught but hunger, thirst, fatigue and exposure their lot, until a wornout horse had to be killed for food, and some wild plums were found. Well might a survivor say "Travelling day after day, enduring the sharpest pangs of hunger, and in a state of harassing uncertainty even more trying than was starvation, our chances were becoming desperate.'

Thus they struggled till on September 12th-nearly three months after leaving Brushy Creek--when Mexican settlements with large flocks of sheep were reached, and food obtained, when the unfortunate were at their last gasp. Here four of their party went sent forward, to San Miguel, to meet and confer with the Mexican authorities. It must have been a forlorn assemblage that they left behind, for the shepherds gave them the first news of the detachment of August 17—that they were detained as prisoners at Santa Fé.

But the four proceeded-it being the only thing they could do under the circumstances-and on the way to San Miguel learned, as was to be expected, that the population were hostile to the expedition and its object. Still they were not interfered with until the hamlet of Cuesta was reached, where occurred the obvious-capture by a band of Mexican soldiers, disarmament and imminent death at the hands of the commander, a savage named Salazar. A survivor says "He ordered twelve of his men armed with old muskets or carbines, to march up in front of us. They drew up only ten feet from us. We were pale and

trembling, though still we could not suspect the leader's horrible design; but soon it was plain-he meant to shoot us on the spot. At this juncture an altercation ensued between him and a Mexican named Vigil, who insisted that we had entered the place openly and peaceably asking an interview with General Armijo. At last he prevailed on him to spare our lives."

But under guard the unfortunate men were then marched to San Miguel, and thence towards Santa Fé. On their way a thousand Mexican troops were met, going to capture the Texans who were still behind—and Armijo directed the return of the prisoners to San Miguel. Here they were confined in a small room, and were informed by a priest that one of their number was to be shot at once. He pointed through a window—they saw a man, hands tied behind him and eyes bandaged, forced to kneel, and then shot in the back, at a distance of twenty feet by six Mexicans. He had tried to escape!

Nor was this all-Samuel Howland was also shot for having attempted to escape and warn the hundred and seventy Texans of the fate awaiting them also. These also soon appeared at San Miguel, having surrendered on October 9, near Red Lake. "They were worn down by hunger and fatigue, pale and haggard, and with scarcely enough clothing to hide their nakedness." On the 17th all were put under the charge of their brutal jailor Salazar (probably an ancestor of Ynez Salazar of the Mexican border of 1916) and started on the long march for the City of Mexico.

But one blanket apiece was allowed them--the nights were cold, the ground their bed. Their only food was a little bread, occasionally an ear of hard corn. At Albuquerque Salazar's devilish cruelty began to manifest itself. One of the Texans died of want and exposure. The fiend cut off his ears "to account for a man missing" threw the body into a ditch, and ordered his wretched comrades to march. John McAlester, another prisoner, prefering death to further sufferings, declared he could walk no more. Salazar shot him with his own hand, cut off his ears, and left the naked body for the wolves. The awed remainder resumed their awful march, and kept it up until the border of the arid waste ninety miles across, known as the "Jornada del Muerto" or Dead Man's Journey." As though their sufferings were not already enough, they were now notified that they were to be driven through the hideous journey without sleep or food, and with only such water as they could

carry in their canteens. Many had no canteens The terrible march began a steady tramp all day was succeeded by a bitter cold night. All the second day the miserable wretches toiled on. About sunset two shots were heard-another exhausted prisoner, Galpin, had been shot, mutilated and abandoned. Next morning another, Griffin, fell exhausted. No bullets were wasted on him-the butt of a musket ended his sufferings, two more "gringo" ears were added to Salazar's string of such trophies, another naked body was left to the wolves, and the procession of misery went on. At eight in the morning a halt was called, as Salazar saw he would otherwise have nothing but ears to hand over to his successor. A lean and worn-out ox was killed, most of its flesh eaten raw, and then the miserable captives were graciously allowed a few hours' sleep. With the afternoon they were forced to continue for several miles, and the next day a long march was made.

Here the miscreant Salazar was put under arrest by Gonzales, the military commandant, who succeeded him—but nothing goes to show that he was otherwise punished. The prisoners were also allowed three days to rest and refresh themselves. At the next stopping-place, the village of El Gallo, a new commander, Captain Roblado, assumed charge and actually seized a hundred donkeys, and the exhausted men were allowed to ride the rest of the long journey, which did not end until February 2, 1842, when the City of Mexico was reached and quarters assigned them in the old and ruinous palace of San Cristobal. The whole journey, in a straight line from San Miguel, was about fifteen hundred miles and they had been three months and a half on the way. After a few days' rest those able to travel were divided into three parties and sent to the prisons of Puebla, Perote and Santiago, where, after about a year, they were released.

Truly the Mexicans of 1841 and the Huns of to-day were as six to half-a-dozen.