Many
Texas families have their particular Christmas
traditions, but the way the Hornsby clan used to observe the holiday may just
take the fruitcake.
Reuben Hornsby, born in Georgia and raised in Mississippi,
came to Texas in the early summer of 1830. Soon he obtained a one-labor headright
from Stephen F. Austin for land in the empresario’s newly organized upper colony,
which extended up the Colorado River.
Hornsby built a log cabin on the
land in 1832 and received full title to it nine years later. Located on the east
bank of the Colorado 30 miles north of Bastrop
in what is now Travis County, his land and the settlement that began there came
to be called Hornsby Bend.
“A more beautiful tract of land,” historian John W. Wilbarger later wrote, “can
nowhere be found than the league of land granted to Reuben Hornsby. Washed on
the west by the Colorado, it stretches over a level valley about three miles wide
to the east, and was…covered with wild rye, and looking like one vast green wheat
field.” The land
was fruitful and so were Hornsby and his wife Sarah. They had 10 children, the
seed stock of one of Texas’ oldest and best-known extended families.
Being
on the far edge of what passed for civilization in early Texas, Hornsby and his
family had a lot of trouble with hostile Indians. Hornsby rode as a Texas Ranger
and had several scrapes with Indians. In fact, Indians snuck up on son Daniel
Hornsby and a friend in 1845 while they fished in the river and killed them both.
Reuben lived
on for another third of a century, dying Jan. 11, 1879. His family and friends
buried him in the Hornsby Bend Cemetery next to his wife, who had preceeded him
in death by 17 years. By
that time, Hornsbys lived all along the river below Austin.
One of those Hornsbys was Reuben Addison Hornsby, who the family credits with
starting the tradition of letting loose with a blast from his shotgun every Christmas
morning.
But it was not just a one-volley salute.
As soon as Reuben
Addison fired his scattergun, neighbor Jess Hornsby would pull the trigger on
his shotgun. That shot would in turn be answered by a round from neighbor Mark
Gilbert, followed by shots from Smith Hornsby and Spurge Parsons. Wallace
Hornsby, who lived up the road, fired next, usually touching off two shots. The
sound of gunfire continued to echo along the river as Ernest Robertson and Jim
Hornsby joined in on the annual yuletide salute.
One year, according to
Hornsby family lore, neighbor Tett Cox had not had enough coffee before shouldering
his shotgun. He dropped the hammer too close to his front porch, blowing a hole
in his roof.
Still the holiday morning fusillade went on. It was the way
they said Merry Christmas to each other.
August Foster fired next, followed
by Paul Rowe, who lived near the Hornsby burial ground, and then Vince McLaurin.
From farther downstream came shots fired by Malcolm Hornsby, Willie Platt, Jimmie
Platt and Sam Platt. But just to be different, Sam Platt used his .45 revolver
in welcoming Christmas day. The years went by and the shooters began marrying
and moving off or dying. Slowly, the tradition faded.
One
Christmas morning, Harry Hornsby grabbed his shotgun, stepped outside and filled
the cold morning air with the sound of a shot. He stood waiting for an answer
but none came. For all anyone living in the area knew, someone had taken a shot
at a turkey or was showing their son how to fire the shotgun he’d gotten for Christmas.
Walking inside, Hornsby put the weapon away with the realization that
he was the last member of the family who remembered the old tradition. It was
the last shotgun Merry Christmas heard along Hornsby Bend.
© Mike Cox
"Texas Tales" December
17 , 2009 column |
