While researching at our Brownwood Public Library, I found the
following passage about William C. Anderson in the book, The Nice And
Nasty of Brown County" by Ruth Griffin Spence, 1988. The author,
Mrs. Spence, was my civics teacher at Brownwood High School.
***
"
"William Clarke, a guerrilla commander, better known as Quantrill,
began a criminal career of horse stealing and murder about 1860. At
the outbreak of the Civil War, he raised a troop of Confederates and
received a captain's commission. This was one of several groups who
specialized in plundering and robbing the Union Army and its
sympathizers. Several of the early Brown County settlers were
thought to have ridden with Quantrill. One of these was William C.
Anderson.
After one of Quantrill's raids, Anderson was reported to be dead and
buried in Missouri. Upon the official pronouncement of his death,
Bill decided it was a good time to get away from his life of crime
and start anew.
As so many others, he headed for Texas and traveled until he found a
lovely valley on Salt Creek in Brown County. He married Martha
Anderson, the daughter of Brown County's first county clerk. They
had ten children and in 1925, the Brownwood Banner described his farm
as, 'One of the best in Brown County, level, productive and on it
something worth while is always growing.'
After he was old and living alone, he became ill. He lay on his bed
two or three days getting no better. He knew he needed medical
attention but was too sick to leave his house. Then he remembered
his days with Quantrill and his survival instincts returned. He
picked up his two pistols of different caliber, opened the window and
fired the pistols alternately as if two men were engaged in a deadly
battle. He reloaded the guns and fired again. This was after
midnight and the echoes of the firing guns reverbrated up and down
Salt Creek.
The noise aroused his neighbors. They hurridly put on their clothes
and headed to Anderson's house to 'save Uncle Bill from his
attackers.' There were no lights or sounds from his home but
suddenly the shooting began again. The neighbors could see flares of
two guns in one window, followed by silence. Anderson's friends
crept to the back door and knocked. 'What's the matter, Uncle Bill?'
'What's the matter?' he answered. 'By damn! I'm a sick man, and I
want someone to get a doctor for me. It's heedless of neighbors to
let a man lay here and die. Get me a doctor and get him quick!'
He had a doctor as quickly as a neighbor could ride to town. He
lived another two years and died at the age of eighty-seven."
***
~Jay~