Little Caleb ran screaming from the cabin. Seeking safety, he piled on his Granny Ruth’s lap.
“Land Sakes! What has come over you? Have another bad dream?” asked his granny as she folded him into her arms. She held him close until the sobs began to subside.
“Do you want to tell your granny about it?” she asked while stroking his head. He began to shake his head no, violently no, and tears welled up in his eyes again. He clung tight to his granny, almost daring her to put him down.
“What is wrong? Can’t you tell your granny?”
The thoughts of his dream wouldn’t leave him alone. He pulled free from her grasp and ran to the barn. In the corner was a ladder which he immediately scrambled up. Burying himself in the loose hay, he began to cry himself to sleep. While he was asleep his ma and pa and three older sisters came home from town.
Grandpap met them by the barn.
“Any trouble, Luke,” he asked.
“No, but we have to be careful. The Comanches are raiding again. They hit the McClameys night ‘for last. No survivors.” answered Luke.
“Oh, no! I liked Ellen and Roscoe,” he sadly said, “who found them?”
“Captain Pickett and his Rangers got there too late to help. They buried them on the knoll behind what was left of the house,” answered Luke.
“It’s just a shame. They were good people. I’ll unhitch the team and bed ‘em down. You go on in the cabin. Granny’s got supper on the stove.”
“Thanks, dad. Come on, Anne, the children are hungry.”
Caleb listened to the conversation from the open loft door. He was hungry but he didn’t want to have to put up with any mollycoddling. He settled back into the hay and went to sleep.
Dusk was settling in and the two men were on the front porch, comfortable in their rockers, their pipes in their hands.
“Awful quiet out tonight,” murmured Luke.
“By gum, you’re right. The crickets aren’t chirping and the night birds are quiet. It’s eerie,” replied Grandpap.
“What is that old saying we keep hearing. “When you don’t see an Injun they are around. You don’t suppose?”
“Luke, better get your gun,” ordered Grandpap.
Grandpap got up from his rocker, started for the door, and grabbed the handle when the arrow hit. One moment he was fine and the next he had an arrow sticking out of his chest.
Luke started to scream and found out he couldn’t. An arrow had penetrated his neck and came out through his spinal cord. He dropped next to Grandpap.
Hearing the commotion, Anne came to the door and met a Comanche warrior face to face. Screaming, she turned to run, but it was too late.
The scream woke Caleb up. He could hear something happening but couldn’t figure out what it was. Crawling out of the hay, he crept to the loft door and witnessed his dream. It was all there in vivid detail. Grandpap and his dad were sprawled in front of the cabin. He could see blood on the top of their heads. He also saw a warrior waving a bloody scalp in the air. It was his father’s scalp.
The screaming he had heard abruptly stopped. In the doorway, his mother was struggling with the warrior. He watched as the warrior slit her throat and then scalped her. He had no idea what had happened to Granny and his siblings. Terrified, he burrowed deep into the loose hay. He crammed his fingers into his ears and closed his eyes tightly, hoping to block out the sounds and vision he had in his mind.
In a few moments, he began smelling smoke and got worried. Peeking from under the hay, he could see the glow of the burning cabin. Looking through a hole in the floor, he could see the end of the barn on fire. Going back to the loft door, he slowly peeked over the sill. He couldn’t see any Comanches anywhere.
Maybe they were gone. Regardless, he had to get out of the barn. He shimmied down the ladder and was about to go outside when he heard horses coming. Ducking back into the burning barn, he looked for a place to hide. In the firelight he watched as mounted men rode into the barnyard.
“Jones, Jacobs, Rawlings! Look for survivors!” came the command from their leader.
“Yes, sir!” they replied as they dismounted and began their search.
The rest of the men set up a perimeter defense in case the Comanches came back. One of the dismounted men entered the barn and found Caleb cowering in the corner.
“Captain! We have a survivor!” he shouted and then slowly approached the trembling boy. He could see the fear on his face and didn’t want to frighten him any more than he already was. Scooping him into his arms, he ran out of the barn as it began to collapse. Taking the boy to the Captain, The Captain dismounted and picked him up and held him.
“You’re safe now. They’re gone,” he gently spoke, “what is your name?”
“Caleb,” he answered through his gentle sobbing.
“Caleb, we are the Texas Rangers. I am Captain Pickett. We heard that the Comanches were raiding in this area. We saw the fire and came to investigate. Are you all right?” he softly spoke to the boy.
Caleb could see the bodies of his family and began to wail. Sensing what was wrong, the Captain held him tight as he walked away from the scene. Patiently he waited for the distraught boy to calm down.
“Caleb, what happened,” he asked.
“My dream,” he whimpered.
“Your dream? What do you mean?”
“My dream,” came the reply again.
“Caleb, I don’t understand.”
“My dream,” he again whimpered.
A mounted Ranger approached them, reined his horse, and spoke.
“Burial detail, sir?”
“Yes, let’s get these poor souls buried,” he answered.
Half the rangers stood guard while the others interned the bodies under the cottonwood tree behind the ruins of the house. The Captain spoke a few words over them, then they mounted and left the ranch.
Caleb was riding behind the Captain, his arms wrapped around him and his face buried in the Captain’s coat, tears streaming down his face.
“Caleb, we are going to take you to town. We’ll take you to Bertie Conway’s place.
She’ll take you in. That is the best I can do,” he offered.
Caleb never spoke again except for two words, “My dream”. It was as if he was in a trance. Nothing or nobody could get through to him. When spoken to his response was “My dream” every time.
What people didn’t understand is that Caleb’s dream was real. Long before that night he had dreamt about the massacre. He could see every detail in vivid, full color. He relived that dream over and over in his mind. It was always there and easy to pull up. It controlled and destroyed him. And because of it, he hated Indians, especially Comanches. When he got older he would disappear for days, come home, and would always have fresh scalps to show. It was obvious that they were Indian because they were long, black, and shiny.
Until the day he died those two terrible words haunted him relentlessly. And when he did die the epitaph on his marker was simple and straight to the point.
‘HERE LIES CALEB AND HIS DREAM”
June 24, 2023