Lesser Known Referees in Texas History by Mikey Sproat

By Michael C. “Mikey” Sproat
Curator of Education, Sam Houston Memorial Museum

You may know the phrase “Come and Take It” from bumper stickers on big farm trucks, a slogan voiced at every gun show in Texas, and most recently as one of the many waving flags in the background on a recent ESPN College Gameday broadcast in South Bend, Indiana (see “transplant Texan” in the Texanist’s dictionary).  The origin of this mysterious missive developed from the Battle of Gonzales, Texas in 1835.  The battle resembled more of a tennis match as the opposing troops accomplished little, but the significance of the skirmish was huge.  Not everyone on Texas’ side agreed upon what they were fighting for: some for the restoration of the Mexican Constitution of 1824, some for independence of Texas from Mexico, and some for the love of a political fight.  Mercenaries or revolutionaries, there was one person in Gonzales that was caught in the middle as the proverbial tennis ball in this particular volley of the tennis match known as the Texas Revolution.

The small frontier town of Gonzales was (and is) located southeast of San Antonio.  In 1825, empresario Green C. DeWitt named the capitol of his colony in honor of the governor of Coahuila y Tejas Rafael Gonzales.  In good faith and being so far removed from other big cities, the Mexican government reciprocated the gesture in 1831 by providing a six-pound cannon to the town in order for the defense against marauding native tribes.

With the Law of April 6, 1830 – essentially banning the further flow of immigration from the United States to Mexico – and with growing tensions between the federalists supporting the Constitution of 1824 and the centralists under the dictatorship of President Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna who basically threw the 1824 government in the trashcan, the Mexican government decided it wanted its cannon back from the little town.  Lt. Fransico Castaneda, under orders from the Mexican government, brought one hundred soldados to Gonzales to request the cannon be turned over.  Castaneda camped outside of town along the Guadalupe River when the townspeople decided that they wanted to hold on to the cannon.

Dr. Lancelot Smither was in San Antonio when he heard of the potential clash.  He took it upon himself on September 29 to travel straightway to the Mexican camp in order to be a translator – he wasn’t the only person who knew Spanish, but maybe as well ought to have been as everyone else was hell-bent on fighting for the sake of it.  His message was for a peaceful resolution.  So to the Texans he returned with the message from the Mexican side: we don’t want to fight, we just want to talk with the person in charge.  Col. John Henry Moore for the Texans sent Smither back to Castaneda with a message of goodwill that “he should have any communication he wished.”  The good doctor remained in the Mexican camp until dawn of the next day, October 1.

By this time, Moore made up his mind that he would not back down.  Word spread to surrounding cities, and Texas volunteers and militia were showing up.  What started out with only about 20 people turned into a little less than 200 people for the Texans.  After being tipped off by an Indian scout, the Mexican camp moved further up the river and kept an eye out for an attack.  The meager to and fro musket fire came early in the morning hours on October 2 when a group of Texans crossed the river and tried a sneak attack on the Mexican camp.  Castaneda chastised Smither, who knew nothing about the events, took his donkeys, money, clothes, and put him under arrest.  Realizing he needed a translator more than a prisoner, Smither was sent back to the Texan side later that morning and relayed a message of parley from Castaneda to Moore.  Moore, growing tired of Smither, placed him under arrest for being a bit too friendly and familiar with the Mexican side.  Dr. Smither was thoroughly unamused.  He convinced Moore to let him return to the Mexican camp under a flag of truce in order to get his mules and bags.

Moore accompanied Smither to the neutral ground where he talked formally with Castaneda.  Following the conversation each returned to his side.  On the Texan side, the cannon was loaded, and rifles were primed, ready to go.  A white banner with the black image of the cannon barrel was raised by the Texas militia.  Below the image was the challenge, “COME AND TAKE IT”.  The cannon was touched off and rifles fired.  A few muskets on the Mexican side were sounded, though to no real effect.  Castaneda didn’t want to “compromise the honor of Mexican arms,” and withdrew from town without the cannon.

Thus, being refereed by Smither, the skirmish at Gonzales is known as the “Lexington of Texas,” or the first legendary shot of the Texas Revolution.  We are in our 176^th year of Texas Independence and the Texas Spirit is still prevalent today as it was then, with the lesser known folks like Dr. Lancelot Smither.