A Texas Horror.

—

The Massacre of the Lynch Family.

[Hockley (Texas) Cor. St. Louis Globe-Democrat.

The "Hockley horror, as the Lynch tragedy and massacre are called, is still fresh in the minds of the people of Texas.

George W. Lynch, a most respectable, honest and honorable citizen — a native of Texas — a Master Mason in good standing — years ago married a Miss Hargrave, belonging to one of the most reputable families of Central Texas.  They lived happily together.  Her husband built them a quiet and beautiful home in Waller county, seven miles northwest of Hockley.

Besides the father and mother — the latter having died two weeks before the dark tragedy that ushered her offspring into eternity — the family, now in their graves, consisted of the following: Miss Carrie Lynch, a beautiful young girl of 17; Miss Loraine Lynch, her handsome young sister, aged 13 years; Lodie Lynch; Abigail Lynch, Jerome Lynch, aged 11 years; China Lynch, Phoebe Lynch and Hayes Lynch.  The last-mentioned was the innocent babe (a few weeks old) bequeathed by the tender wife of Mr. Lynch to his keeping, and which also perished in the conflagration set by the hand of the devilish assassin.

A Globe-Democrat correspondent recently called upon George W. Lynch, the father of the ill-fated family, who, since the affair, and the more effectually to recover from his wound, has been removed to Hockley, where alone, in the midst of his friends, his life is deemed safe from the same infernal demons that sent his innocent children to their grave.  When the correspondent alluded to his lost ones, the unfortunate man burst into tears and wept like a child.  Said he: "They say the bodies of all my children were recovered from the ruins of my house; but I know better; only six bodies were found."

"What became of the other two, and was the body of Miss Carrie one of them?"

"I don't know;" and Lynch, who is a strong man, mentally and physically, averted his gaze, and shed tears again.

Hence the question arises among the horrified people of Texas, if the body of Miss Carrie Lynch, his unfortunate girl, was not recovered from the ruins of the burned building, what has become of her? If she was not burned up with the other children, what was her fate? Abduction? The future alone must answer.

Lynch's story is as follows: After attending to some farm duties, he entered his home about 8 o'clock and lay down to seek repose in the midst of his eight motherless children.  He intended arising again to feed the baby, who, with Miss Carrie Lynch, occupied a bed in a corner of the large hall, and near the fire-place.  The other six children lay on beds in the same apartment.  A lamp was dimly burning on the bureau.  Lynch says when he lay down all the children were asleep, and the last he saw of Miss Carrie she was slumbering with her face toward the little babe.  It was past midnight, and the brilliant stars looked down upon the shadow that stealthily crept into the doomed home.  Lynch was suddenly awakened by the report of a pistol and a ball piercing his bosom.  His eyes were opened by the shock to perceive a dark object bending above him.  No word was spoken.  The demon fired again.  This time the ball penetrated his breast under the collar-bone.  He fell senseless.  How long he was insensible he does not know.  The next he remembers he was making his way out on the veranda, while a sheet of flame licked its red tongue out through the doorway.  He was, in a narrow lane in front of his residence, encountered by two of his horrified neighbors, Lado and his brother-in-law, Hargrave.  Lynch said: "I'm shot twice, and my children are all burned up.  Look for them." The wounded man was taken to a neighbor's house, that of Mr. Weaver.

Just as the two neighbors came up the north wing of the building was falling in, and the entire structure going down before the fierce flames that were wreathing around the bodies of Lynch's eight children — everything he held dear on earth.  For a day or two Lynch was unaware of the certainty of the fate of his children, and until one of his friends, sitting by his bedside, said:

"George, it is my duty now to tell you that you have not a child on earth!"

It has been concluded by some of the best detectives that the eight children had either been killed or rendered insensible before their father was aroused by the shot of the assassin.  Their bodies were found in the exact position they occupied when they lay down to sleep.  Not one had been turned over or changed position.  Some think they were chloroformed, and probably their father, who was only awakened from his stupor by the shock of the murderer's bullet.  This view is strengthened from the fact that the neighbors who first arrived heard no cry nor infant's wail, as the flames formed their fiery winding-sheets.  It is argued that, had any of these innocent victims been alive or influenced by some drug, the first shot at their parent would have awakened some one of them, who would have made their escape.  The victims uttered no screams as they all went down in their fiery death.  This it is that gives this unparalleled tragedy its inexpressible and thrilling horror.  How long had these eight beautiful children been killed before the conflagration was set, and how were they killed? These are questions that still remain a dreadful and apparently inscrutably mystery.

"A Texas Horror."The Michigan Argus, Friday, October 25, 1878, p. 1, col. 5

"A Texas Horror".Ann Arbor District Library