Malissa married:

(1) Samuel H. Livingston on April 29, 1858.

Samuel H. Livingston died on October 11, 1869. His mother and brother died on October 18, 1869. Another brother died on October 29, 1869. They are all buried in the Whitesboro Cemetary in Grayson County, Texas.

Children:

Rebecca Jane Livingston
Born March 27, 1859

Uel Green Livingston
Born January 22, 1861

Lucy Ann Livingston
Born October 19, 1863

Thomas Livingston
Born September 3, 1866

Margret Ollive Livingston
Born May 8, 1869
("Ollie" was about five months old when Samuel died)

(2) Gus Everett on April 6, 1874. Gus came to Texas from Georgia. Gus died in 1910 in Garden City.

In 1879 the Everetts moved to Montague County and bought 160 acres of county school land there.

In 1885 they rented their farm and moved with his family to Albany, Shackelford County, Texas, where Gus freighted during the winter.

The next summer they moved to San Angelo. After the drought of 1886, Gus obtained work on a railroad and spent 18 months earning money to pay out his land.

In 1889 the Everetts sold out and started west. Reaching Big Spring, they left the train and settled on the Concho. As soon as Glasscock County was organized and Garden City was chosen as the county seat, Mr. Everett put in a hotel. (Click below to see photo)

Garden City Hotel

The Western Weekly, Sunday, December 20, 1925

Thrills and Dangers of Pioneer Days in Texas

West Texas Woman Remembers When Men Were Hanged By The Wholesale

By: Howard Barrett, Staff Correspondent

Garden City, Texas, Dec. 1925

The tragedies and agonies of the pioneer days of eastern Texas following the War with Mexico, the perilous times of the 60's when 40 men were victims of wholesale hangings within a few days time at Gainesville, the ever-prevailing danger of Indian raids, the hard gruelling toil for existence and survival in West Texas more than thirty years ago - all of these combine with a hundred other thrilling episodes to make the life story of Mrs. Malissa C. Everett.

Mrs. Everett is 85 years old and as active as a woman two-thirds her age. Though the passing of time has dimmed her eyes and affected her hearing, it has not removed her keen enjoyment of life. The continual fight for existence in early life built up a stamina and physical strength that holds its own and every day finds her doing something in her yard here, out in God's great out-doors and deriving keenest enjoyment in her close communion with nature. Her strength is clearly shown in her words: "I can still do the 'school hop' and I have seen several girls younger than I am who can't".

Mrs. Everett was born Malissa C. Martin, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. William R. Martin, in Tishomingo County, Mississippi, February 6, 1840. The long wagon journey, one of the wagons being drawn by oxen, to Texas was begun in 1851. Crossing the Mississippi at Memphis the party of nineteen, including four negroes, entered upon the long string of adventures which characterized the life of everyone in Texas at that time.

"It was a long journey to take with wagons and teams, but there were no railroads in those days", Mrs. Everett said as she rocked in the big chair in her home here. "There was no bank in which we could put our money and we had to bring it along with us. My father had several thousand dollars with him and we were frightened frequently. One night, as we came through the Mississippi bottoms, my father and the other men stood guard all night. That evening three men had met us three times. The third time my father asked them what they wanted and they told him they were hunting. After they had passed we stopped, got our guns, loaded them and everyone who could shoot carried one. We didn't see the men any more after that".

"Crossing the Red River at Shreveport, we went on to Harrison County where my father's brother lived. We stopped there a few days and then went on to Smith County where we rented a place from a man named Holden. We stayed there and made a crop. Everyone in our group, except my mother and an old negro woman, had the measles that year."

In a Blizzard . . .

"In the fall we moved to Cooke County, reaching there January 15, 1853. My father carried a little bunch of cattle, and some hogs with him. A married man could take up to 320 acres of land then - it was between Pilot Point and where Whitesboro now stands - so my father and three of my brothers took up land.

Winters do not get as cold now as they used to", Mrs. Everett continued. "The first night we were in Cooke County, a terrible blizzard came up and we nearly froze to death as we hadn't been used to anything like it. It was a beautiful day the next morning."

"As to the blizzards, they usually came up suddenly, resembling a cloud, and it would often be freezing ten minutes after one struck. I remember one evening while we lived in Cooke County, my husband was about four miles from home. He saw a blizzard cloud coming and set out for home as fast as he could ride. By the time he reached there it was freezing. We didn't have a stable and he put the horse in a shed next to our smokehouse. The next morning we found the horse frozen to death."

"The day after reaching Cooke County my brothers went to splitting logs, making boards and building a smoke house for shelter. After that was finished they began splitting logs to build a house. Everybody lived in log houses then and had puncheon floors. The next thing was to put in a farm. The first land that was broken was plowed with what was called a bull-tongue plow. There was only a very few people in the country at that time and they told my father he was fooling away his time, that nothing could be raised there. He answered that from what he could see, he didn't think anyone had tried and that he was going to give it a fair trial and if he couldn't raise anything, he would go where he could. I don't remember of him having to buy corn after the first year. Of course, it didn't take much for the range was as good as coule be."

"In those early days we ground our meal by hand on a steel mill. The last land was taken in cultivation by my father with a turning plow. He broke the land, punched a hole with a hand spike and covered the grain with his heel. Corn, watermelons and pumpkins were planted and the crop that year was very fine. All of us were pleased with the country. Plenty of grass, good water and lot of game such as antelope, deer and turkey, no Indians to bother us, helped us a lot. The bad part was that we had no schools, no churches and very few neighbors, though we finally got to having preaching once a month. Later on we organized a church and my two brothers were converted there and joined the Baptist Church."

Used Ox Teams . . .

"All of our supplies came from Jefferson, 200 miles away. Ox teams were used and it would take several weeks to make the trip. Cattle herds at that time were very small and two men named Doomas and Emerson, who lived four or five miles from us, had the largest herds. The grading up of cattle didn't begin until sometime after that and I don't remember of them making any big cattle drives until after that.

The fall of 1854 saw the country filling up rapidly and a number of Tennessee families migrated to the frontier territory. The construction of a little log schoolhouse, with split logs for seats, was the next improvement. It was named Happy Hollow", Mrs. Everett said.

"They got Parson Davis to promise to teach our school", Mrs. Everett continued, with her steady, confident smile. "He was to teach us ten months. Oh, but I was glad for my father told me he wanted me to go every day and I did want an education so much. But the teacher's family got sick and it only lasted ten days. How often I have thought, Oh, if I only had an education, I might have been of some use in this old world! But instead, I have just done just what I could."

Mrs. Everett was married on April 29, 1858, to Samuel H. Livingston and the following years were thrilling ones indeed. The Civil War was rushing forward to engulf the country and the high tension caused by its approach kept everything at pin's point. Indians, heretofore peaceful and docile, began their deadly raids and thefts, slaughtering and scalping of white people. And the tragic hanging of 20 men, many of whom were later believed to have been innocent, was just in the offing. Indians did not come into Mrs. Everett's immediate neighborhood at that time, but they were always close enough to keep the settlers on the lookout.

"The Indians always came on the light of the moon", Mrs. Everett said, "and we knew that was when they would do their mischief. I well remember one night my sister had let my two younger sisters go home with a school teacher. After they were gone, news came that the Indians were hitting the trail and intended to take the whole country as far east as Jordan Cut, which would take us in. My husband was at home sick at that time. His health was very bad and they wouldn't keep him in the army for long at a time. There was no man to send after the children. My sister, sister-in-law and I saddled our horses and started after the children who were three miles toward Gainsville. As I was riding a horse I didn't know much about, my sisters took the children up behind them. We didn't waste any time getting home. The Indians didn't bother us that time. We sold the horse I rode, though, for $900 in Confederate money. Captain Roff got him and later said he was a regular outlaw, that no man could ride him. I felt like Providence had saved my life then, as it has done in many instances".

Indians appear . . .

"On one occasion, the Indians came near Gainesville and the soldiers took after them. One of the soldiers was killed. His friends ran into the fight and got him before the Indians could scalp him. This happened six miles west of Gainesville. One of my brothers and two other men carried the dead man on their horses back to Gainesville.

On another occasion", according to Mrs. Everett, "a family by the name of Jones living near Gainesville, escaped the terrible results of an attack by Indians by sheer bluff. The Indians appeared and began circling around the house continually drawing closer and yelling. It wasn't common for them to attack a house", Mrs. Everett said. "The family thought their only chance was to bluff the Indians, so the girls put on their father's clothes. They got sticks, like guns, took places in the hall where the Indians could see them, shook their fists at the attackers and dared them to come on. It worked, all right, and their lives were spared."

"A family by the name of Bose lived near the same place. As I remember, they had been east on a visit and on their return home, the Indians ran onto them and killed all of the family, except the mother and two or three daughters. The Indians had found that the white people would buy the captives back. The women were bought back by their friends and relatives."

The most exciting time in Mrs. Everett's life was the period of wholesale hangings at Gainesville during the early days of the Civil War. Though time has dimmed her memory, she recalls most of the facts dealing with these tragedies.

A Peace Company . . .

The lower class of people, which included also a number of northern sympathizers, organized a secret society, calling it a Peace Company. The members were sworn into the order with the threat of death if they ever divulged the workings of the society. Many members regretted their membership but the certainty of death made them keep silent.

"A man named Childs joined and found out what it was", Mrs. Everett recounted. "He felt all alont that something was wrong and that was why he joined. He called in the soldiers and the arrests began. We knew nothing about it until one morning we were eating breakfast and a man rode up and asked my husband to go to Gainesville with him. When he said he couldn't, the man insisted and said he had a prisoner to take to Gainesville. It was a man by the name of Harper and we were well acquainted with him. My husband didn't know what the trouble was, so he went along and when he reached Gainesville, there were 300 soldiers there bringing in prisoners from every direction.

My husband was named to guard the prisoners. When night came, he asked to go home but the officers refused to let him. He insisted that he had told me he would be back at night and that when he made such a promise, he always carried it out and that unless he did, I would come to Gainesville to find out what the trouble was. They let him off when he promised to return the next morning. I don't remember how many days he was gone, but they guarded the town day and night for a long time.

Childs found out as to all the leaders and they were arrested, found guilty, and were hanged on an old elm tree which still was standing a few years ago. Many of them, on the gallows, acknowedged their intention was to kill men, women and children, which they didn't see fit to take with them. They then planned to drive all the stock to Kansas.

A widow named Wosley, who lived in Gainesville, had two sons who joined the army when the war started and they had made true soldiers. Her two youngest boys were gulled into this secret order and were put in prison. She didn't ask any lawyer to plead their case but went down herself and got down on her knees and pleaded with God. My husband said he had never heard such a prayer come out of a mouth and that he didn't think there was a dry eye in the courtroom. Her boys were released and she took them home. I always have felt there was no doubt that God answered her prayers."

Some were innocent . . .

"A number of the leaders were given 90 days in which to go to their own side in the war. They wouldn't go and I believe innocent men were hanged on their account.

Two old men, Arfus Dawson and Jimmie Ward, were drawn into the order. When the arrests began they thought they would make their escape. They went to where Mill Creek enters Red River, but couldn't cross. They decided to come to Gainesville. They were waiting for their trial when news came in that one of their party had waylaid and killed Colonel Young, one of the leading citizens of the country. His son, Jim Young, came in asking for revenge.

The killing aroused lots of feeling and nineteen men were taken out and hanged on the old elm tree. I think that made forty in all. Those two old men I spoke of were in the bunch.

Mr. Ward had known me when I was a girl. He came to my house one day just before all this trouble began. He was wrought up considerably; he walked up and down the room and wouldn't sit down. He said to me then: Malissa, we are going to have the worst times ever known right here among us and it will be right on us in a few days. You don't know anything about it, but I do! About that time, our hired man came in and he didn't say any more. I couldn't understand what he meant until all of this came to light, but I believe he intended to tell me so that I could make my escape."

A short time after the tragic events at Gainesville, Mrs. Everett and her family moved to within four miles of Whitesboro. It was while here that she became interested in the church and on June 5, 1864, she was converted. She joined the Baptist church and has been an active and enthusiastic member of the Baptist church since then. The war had grown tiresome and the entire country was turning to God for relief. One of Mrs. Everett's happiest moments was when she led an infidel to conversion.

Her first cook stove . . .

"Would you like to hear of my first cook stove?", Mrs. Everett asked with a smile. "Lots of people moved away from around Gainesville on account of the Indians and couldn't take their stoves with them. A Mr. Scott bought several stoves from these people. A friend of mine went up and bought one. She had never had a stove and as she was highly pleased with it, she tried to get me to get one.

Cloth was the currency of the country and we wove lots of it. I talked my husband into the idea and we gave the man thirteen yards of cloth for it, the second stove I had ever seen. I didn't know a thing about one and Mr. Livingston would laugh at me and say he had no idea it would cook. I could hardly sleep for fear it wouldn't. But old Mother Garner had seen several before she came west and she kept telling me she believed it would.

We aimed to put it in the fireplace and let the pipe run up the chimney, so we left the stove in the hall waiting for warm weather. One day all of the family was gone and I thought it was time to try it. The wind was in the south and I pulled it over to the north side of the hall, so the smoke would go out of the house, built a fire, put on some cornbread - the hardest thing there is to cook. I kept putting in fuel and it couldn't cook at all and the bread looked like it had been lying in the sun. I took it and gave it to the hogs, cleaned out all the ashes, and pulled it back into its place.

When I got a chance, I told Mother Garner that stove won't cook a lick. She went out into the hall and looked at the stove, then said, "where's your pipe"? I said I didn't have any and she told me it would never cook without one. She asked me if I had turned up the damper. I hadn't even found it and when she explained that it was to regulate the heat, neither of us could understand why it hadn't been called a regulator.

When she kept saying it would cook I wasn't entirely satisfied, but I felt some easier. When the time came to set it up I knew that if it wouldn't cook, I would never hear the last of it. Mother Garner told me what to get to make the hottest fire and all the family stood around looking on to see the outcome. I went ahead to get the supper and the stove got red hot right now and it looked like it would set the house afire. It burnt up everything I put about it until my husband finally said he would give it up and that it would cook. I was might relieved from my experience with my first cook stove."

The practice of grading up cattle was not begun until after the war and then only on a small scale. There was much ridiculing of the practice. Mrs. Everett recalls many of the cattle drives to Kansas over the old Chisholm Trail. Though she never accompanied the men on these drives, her brother-in-law, Uel Livingston, carried many large herds over the trail. Many of the experiences of these hardy pioneers were told to her by him.

Mr. Livingston died on October 11, 1869; his mother and a brother died on October 18 and another brother on October 29, all in the same year. Mrs. Everett spent the next several years at back breaking labor in an effort to keep her farm going and to care for her children. She married Gus Everett, who had come to Texas from Georgia, on April 6, 1874. He died in 1910 in Garden City.

Indians cause trouble . . .

"After the war closed the Indians kept causing trouble. A number of families moved into our neighborhood and they told me often of their trouble with the Indians", Mrs. Everett continued. "The friendly Indians used to come to our house from across Red River. At first, they brought baskets and wooden spoons to trade for something to eat. Then they quit bringing anything and just begged. They were coming so often that the white people just had to put a stop to it.

Buffalo, antelope and deer were all over the country and this, too," she added, "men would go out and kill buffalo, take the hides and leave the meat lying there on the prairie. I have seen load after load of hides pass our house and I have always felt like it was a shame to leave the meat to waste."

In the summer of 1874, Mr. and Mrs. Everett went to Commanche County to visit relatives. Several families made up the party, since it was dangerous to travel alone on account of the Indian raids. She recalled they camped on the Trinity River where Fort Worth, just a small village then, now stands. The last trouble with the Indians in that section of the state was in 1874 when the Huff family was killed in Wise County and just a few miles from the Everett home.

"Just after the war thieves nearly took the country and there was a string of them from Missouri to the Pacific coast," Mrs. Everett said. "People right there among us kept them informed and it looked like they would never be broken up. There were no banks in the country then and people were afraid to keep money about the house. A good horse was in danger of being stolen at any time."

In 1879 the Everetts moved to Montague County and bought 160 acres of county school land. A great deal of land was put on the market and the country settled up rapidly, 17 families moving right into the neighborhood with the Everett family and hauled water from the same place. A school was organized and other improvements accomplished within the short time of two or three years. Good crops helped the country and land payments were kept up regularly.

Came to Albany . . .

In 1885 Mr. Everett rented his farm and moved with his family to Albany, Shackelford County, where he freighted during the winter. With the coming of summer, the Everetts moved to San Angelo. The terrible drought of 1886 left the entire state in an impoverished condition. Crops failed everywhere and water for teams had to be bought. The Everett family returned to Montague County and found conditions very serious there. Down near Gainesville, Mr. Everett obtained work on a railroad and spent 18 months earning money to pay out his land.

"We were near Whitewright and Bonham in 1887 when they had the first prohibition election in Texas", she said. "I was boarding the men my husband was working on the railroad. It was a nice set of boys but I was the only pro in the crowd. They joked with me about it all the time. The pros had blue ribbons on their horses and the antis all had red ribbons. Of course, all the negroes had red ribbons and I would always class the boys who boarded with me with them. I told them I hoped to live to see the day that liquor would be put clear out of the state and I am glad I have."

In 1889 the Everetts sold out and started west. Reaching Big Spring, they left the train and settled on the Concho. The long fight between farmers and cattlemen continued through a number of years, but several blocks of land soon were placed on the market. As soon as Glasscock County was organized and Garden City was chosen as the county seat, Mr. Everett put in a hotel. Garden City was chosen under the name of New California in the election against Dixie. As soon as land began coming on the market, Mr. Everett bought several sections, moving onto it in 1902. The only family living at Garden City when Mrs. Everett reached here was that of Mr. Highsaw. Mr. Everett served as county treasurer six years.

"We lived in Garden City 2 years and heard only two Baptist sermons", Mrs. Everett said. "The Methodists were organized but there were few Baptists. Finally a Baptist preacher, N. D. Bullock, came and held a meeting. Another preacher named Cook was moving through here and he stopped to help organize the church. There were eight members, my husband, my two daughters, one son-in-law and myself were among the charter members. We called Brother Bullock as our pastor and when he opened the door of the church five others joined.

We held our services in the school house. At one time the trustees refused to let us have the building any more because we wouldn't let them bring a keg of beer to one of our entertainments. We went to the courthouse and they finally got ashamed and invited us back."

Opposed to settlers . . .

"The stockmen had full possession of the country then and they didn't want settlers coming in. They saw the country was going to settle up anyway, so they made an absolute lease law in favor of the stockmen. the leases were for five years and when they began to run out the settlers grabbed the land. The stockmen tried to fight for a while, but found it was of no use so they gave it up and the country began to settle rapidly.

It was open range when we came here and drift fences ran east and west to keep the cattle from drifting north and south. Each man finally fenced off their pastures and country for miles and miles was in one pasture. That was when they began trying to keep out the settlers and wire cutting began. About the first man who went to jail did so for wirecutting. They came far and near to hear the trial. I don't remember the outcome.

Glasscock was cut off from Tom Green County. The first court was held in our house here and officers were elected here. Sterling County also had been organized and Sterling City chosen as the county seat. They had a school there and we moved there to put our daughter in school. We found out they were teaching dancing as much as anything else, though, so we went to Big Spring and stayed 10 months.

There was no buffalo in this immediate community when we came here but just a few miles away could be found lots of them. Antelope could be seen going in big bunches like cattle. When we were in Smith County, a Mr. Flint who had been out here, told us we could go out and in a few minutes get all a slide could carry. We laughed at him, but when we got here we found it was the truth. But they are all gone now."