Monday, April 29, 2024
EDITOR’S NOTE: The story of John McCoy is told by his fifth great-grandson, Jason Chall. Jason is a member and past president of the Alamo Chapter of The Sons of the Republic of Texas in San Antonio. Jason serves the SRT as the Heart of Texas, District Representative and as Chairman of the Communications Committee.
Padre or Devil – guess those are my two nicknames I’ve earned through the years. The one you choose, I’m afraid, will matter greatly on what side of my temperament you find yourself. I, John “Padre” or “Devil” McCoy, am the rough around the collar dogged head of the McCoy Clan, who set out from the Missouri area for Mexican Tejas, DeWitt Colony, in 1827.
My first wife, Nancy Finch Hill McCoy, passed away in Missouri in 1807. The McCoy family now consisted of my new bride, Martha Dunbar, and a mix of older full and younger half-siblings. I had eight children with Nancy: Joseph Hill, Margaret, James, John Jr., Thomas, Samuel Hill, Timothy and Jessie McCoy. Martha and I had two children, Daniel and Louisa.
My decision to go to Texas would be a mixed blessing for the family. Let me explain, Texas delivered all the freedom, opportunity and prosperity we desired but it also came with a heavy price. Five of us McCoy men would never get to see the great state that Texas would become, including myself.
Mexican Texas in the 19th century was a harsh place, not a land for the weak or weary but I seemed to thrive in such an environment. Years out on the frontier in Indian country had forced me to accept the necessity in having to take a life at times to save your own. I also fought on many bitter military campaigns with other McCoys under Daniel and Capt. Nathan Boone in Missouri.
When I arrived at the DeWitt Colony, I saw such opportunity and quickly suggested improvements to the new community right away. Along with another colonist, I constructed the first ferry boat in Texas to provide transportation across the Guadalupe River. We were paid $95.75 for the work which was pretty-big money.
After almost 20 years in Mexican Texas, we McCoys had occupied many positions of authority and importance in the DeWitt Colony. For example, my son Jesse had served many terms as sheriff of Gonzales, the capital of the DeWitt Colony. One evening Jesse was summoned to a home of a colonist whose pantry had been taken over by an inebriated Mexican soldado (I’m guessing he was tired of camp rations). As the soldado was being escorted out to the street, he wrestled free and struck Jesse over the head with the butt of his rifle. The Mexican military authority in Gonzales promised severe disciplinary action for the soldado but we later learned none was given. Colonists soon began to gather in protest – this was one of the first sparks that lead to the “Come and Take It” uprising.
When it finally came time for Texas to declare independence, the McCoy clan – James, Jesse, John Jr. and I – all volunteered our much-needed experience, a decision that would later change the McCoy clan forever. Jesse was the first McCoy to pay the ultimate price for the Texian cause. With the Alamo surrounded, Lt. Col. Travis pleaded for anyone to send relief. 1st Lt. Jesse McCoy rode with 32 other men from Gonzales to San Antonio to answer the young Commandant Travis’ plea for help. Those famed men are now known as the Immortal 32.
The news of the fall of the Alamo and Jesse’s death quickly made its way back to the DeWitt Colony. Panic struck as the colonists grabbed what they could and hastily raced to the protection of the Eastern colonies, what Texas history calls the “Runaway Scrape.” My oldest son, Joseph Hill McCoy, extremely sick with fever, had to be moved from his bed; this proved to be too much for his already weakened state. Joseph died on the road near Nueces.
And on a grim Palm Sunday, March 27,, 1836, a third McCoy lost his life for Texas. James, a private in Captain Uriah J. Bullock's Company, wounded and on a cot, was callously executed along with 400 others at the Massacre of Goliad.
John Jr., who survived the Revolution, is listed on the rolls at the Battle of San Jacinto, I’m sure the thoughts of his brothers turned his blood cold, and I feel for any Mexican soldier that crossed his path that heroic day, April 21, 1836.
As for me, my name has popped up in a few stories dealing with the Texian Revolution over the past 180-plus years. Some write that I fired the first cannon shot at Gonzales “The Come and Take It’ uprising; others state I was part of the vanguard at San Jacinto that protected the baggage train. And even though it can't be officially proven, many of my descendants like to believe I was on that swampy plain at San Jacinto fighting alongside John Jr. and Gen. Sam yelling “Remember the Alamo” for Jesse and “Remember Goliad” for James – a place where the “Devil” would have surely been?
A year after the Revolution ended, we thought the violence and tragedies surrounding the McCoy clan were now behind us, but we were proven wrong. On a routine survey trip, my son Samuel and I were ambushed and killed by some Kiowa. I felt at those last moments the dual nature of my nicknames, the” Padre” relentlessly protecting my son Samuel with my last breaths and the “Devil” taking as many lives as I could down with me.
The location of John McCoy’s grave has never been located.
