Verbatim: Frontier Honeymoon

Merida Green Ellis and his wife were of a generation who lived through tremendous changes, having been born in the world of “cowboys and Indians” and dying in the world of traffic jams and jazz.

M. G. Ellis (1847-1932) was born in Denton County, orphaned as a child, and raised by an uncle, George P. Loving, in Fort Worth. In 1862, at age fifteen, Ellis enlisted in the 9th Texas Cavalry of the Confederate Army.

After the war Ellis sold farming implements for a while (city directory listing is 1878) and then real estate. He was an early developer of the city of North Fort Worth, a founder of the original stockyards in 1890. North Fort Worth named a school for him.

But let’s back up to 1868. In that year Ellis proposed to Margaret “Jenkie” Darter (1849-1932). Their honeymoon was a year-long trip across the wilds of west Texas, during which their first child was born. In 1912 Mrs. Ellis was interviewed and remembered that proposal and that honeymoon:

“When he put the question to me I refused him because I had on a homespun dress. I did not think it was in keeping with the chivalry of that time even to receive a proposal in a homespun dress. I told him if he would wait until I put on my Sunday-go-to-meeting dress I might have a different answer for him. . . . Mr. Ellis was a photographer and lived at Jacksboro. . . . We went on the trip as a business proposition, as there was much money to be made in those days by a traveling photographer. . . .  In most of the towns we visited the people had their first opportunity to have their pictures taken, and we did a big business. . . . Mr. Ellis received good money for his pictures. One single tin plate sold for fifty cents, large plates $1. . . . Our bridal trip lasted one year and two days, and we settled temporarily in eighteen different towns. It was not difficult for us to get ready in those days, for it took only an hour to pack our household effects and get dressed for travel. Our trip west was in a wagon drawn by horses, but returning we obtained a condemned government wagon, and it was drawn by three yoke of oxen. We had two horses tied to the back of the wagon with which to hunt the oxen, as they were turned loose each night to graze, and it was necessary to round them up. . . . Mr. Ellis named the middle yoke ‘Baptist’ because they would not eat with the others. They were wild and had never been hitched up before. The lead yoke he called ‘Campbellite’ [a religious sect that stressed water immersion for salvation] for they would always make a break for water when they saw it, no matter how far away. The oxen were driven without lines but were trained to go by a long whip and certain words which would not look well in print.

“. . . every morning I got one horse, and Mr. Ellis with the baby [got] on another, and [we] rounded up the oxen. I did this because I was afraid to stay at the wagon alone. We always drove a few hours after dark so that the Indians would not see where we would camp for the night. We would build our fire about one hundred yards from the wagon and would cook supper in a hurry and get away so that the Indians would not find us.

“. . . It was about November 1, 1869, that we started on our return trip. We climbed into the big government wagon and in half a day reached a small fort. People for many miles around had come to the fort for safety because of Indian attacks. They had left their possessions in a hurry. Leaving this fort we traveled for five days through a wilderness. We never saw a living soul but one time, and that was a government wagon loaded with soldiers. They asked us if we were not frightened to travel alone. I said, ‘I am scared to death all the time.’ We sure did hate for them to leave us.

“. . . My worst scare was at San Saba, when the Indians made a raid on the village. There was a dance going on at the time in a public hall, which was close to the doby [adobe] house which we occupied. It was about 11 p.m. when my attention was attracted by a noise at the door of our little house. When I looked up I saw a big Indian pushing over the table which we used as a door. The moon was shining brightly on the form of this half-bent Indian with arms stretched out in the direction of the rocking chair where my infant baby was sleeping. Of course, I screamed, and the Indian backed out. Suddenly I heard a regular stampede of horses running through our yard, followed by a large number of Indians. The horses belonged to the people of the settlement and had been rounded up by the Indians while the people were at the dance. The noise attracted the dancers, and in a moment our yard was filled with white men running after the Indians and firing upon them. The whites killed three men that night and got most of their horses back. One white man was killed. They [the Indians] did not capture him in order to scalp him.

“We drove through Fort Worth on November 19, 1869, on our way to my father’s home. When we got near my father’s house, my husband insisted that I walk out on the tongue of the wagon and cry out ‘hello’ to see if the people would recognize my voice.

“I was answered by my dear father, who said with tears in his eyes: ‘Heaven has blessed me in seeing you again, child.’”

M. G. and Margaret Ellis were married sixty-four years. They are buried in Pioneers Rest Cemetery.

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