Kilt* First

Joe Moore was standing in the doorway of the store. As the three Redbone men reached the door, Louis Lacaze, who had missed his rendezvous with fate at Chinquapin Gulch that morning, stepped out of the wide doorway behind Moore and unguardedly started toward his horse. Simon Morrows instantly threw his rifle on Lacaze, and was balked in his murderous purpose only by Moore’s quick action in springing between Morrows and his intended victim. “For God’s sake Simon,” Moore cried, “don’t do that!” The trigger of Morrow’s rifle was not pressed. The esteem and respect which the Redbones still held for Moore saved Lacaze’s life and also Moore’s own. Morrows lowered his gun, and Lacaze, realizing that he had better not start off through the cordon of Redbones in the woods, reentered the store. Moore followed closely behind Lacaze. The heavy doors were then quickly slammed shut and barricaded, as a roar of rage went up from the disappointed crowd of Redbones who were now advancing on the building. This turn of the situation fell so swiftly as to catch several “Whites” outside, who were now left to the disposition of the Redbones. Within the big store at this time, and upon whom devolved its defense, besides the present reviewer, were Joe Moore and Dr. Hamilton, proprietors, John Watson, Louis Lacaze, Sam Nolan, a stranger from the settlements whose name was afterwards learned to be Hugh Sanders, and Moore’s three sons, Mayo, Dan and Joe Jr.’ fifteen, thirteen, and eleven years old respectively.

The Moore & Hatch store at Westport was the base of supplies for a large territory between the Quelqueshoe and Sabine Rivers, at a time in the history of Western Louisiana, when firearms were a necessary adjunct to livelihood; and unfortunately for the besiegers, the garrison was rather amply supplied with means of defense. Marion Perkins, who had been left prisoner upstairs, had been watching developments from his position near the window, and at the first outbreak of hostilities, he came down to the ground floor of the building. It was reported that Moore immediately unbarred the rear door of the store and allowed Perkins to go, unmolested. But another account, given by the Redbone and more likely correct, is that young Perkins fought his way down the stairs and out of the store with a “Double derringer and two other pistols”: his coat having been shot to threads. It is known that he was wounded which adds some confirmation to the story. A few minutes after Perkins’ escape, the first fatal shot of the Westport Fight rang out to echo sharply upon the crisp air of that bright Christmas Eve morning. It was fired by Marion Perkins himself immediately after his peaceful (?) release from the “protection” of the “Whites,” and that shot killed a quiet, inoffensive non-participant in the race riot, a man named Hance Dykes who, innocently and unarmed, had come to the Hatch store to do his Christmas buying. But Dykes was a “White” settler and he was living in that domain which the Redbones had reserved for their own. The “White” settlers must go out of the Cherry Winche country, now and forever, or be killed. After young Perkins, “in cold blood,” shot and fatally wounded his victim, the man staggered a few steps to the side of the building, groaning in his death agonies. In that condition and over his pleading that he was already a dead man, Dykes was attacked by the older Perkins and brutally beaten over the head with a six gun. One of the men inside the store, crouching against the wall, plainly heard the pleading and the attack, and announced to his co-defenders that old Tom had killed a man. To the Redbones, this opening act was simply retribution. The Anglo settlers had crossed the Quelqueshoe. To the “Whites,” barricaded within the store, it appeared as a ghastly outrage, and it was the casting die in favor of a fight to the finish, without quarter. So as the old Redbone gloating, returned to the front of the store, he was shot down and instantly killed by a charge of buckshot fired by some man within the building, and thus the penalty old Tom had earned was paid while his hands were still hot with the earning.


Gordon Musgrove was the next victim. He was another who had failed to get inside the building before the doors were barricaded and during Marion Perkins’ mad rushes, he came upon Musgrove, shot him several times and left the young timber jack lying on the ground, in a perfect pool of his own blood. After Perkins had hurried away in search of other victims on which to vent his murderous wrath, another Redbone, Matt Johnson it is said, came across Musgrove, perceived some sign of life in him, fired another shot into the prostrate man, after which the Redbone seized a piece of rough scantling and beat the helpless body with it until he was sure no life remained in it. The rifle fire which was opened on the building as old Tom fell, now became a steady bombardment. Ranging from window to window inside the store, the defenders of that little civilization which existed west of the Quelqueshoe, were sending out hot lead into the thickets of pine through which skulking forms of the attackers ranged from tree trunk to fallen log. And with an accuracy that was fast making every window on the store a dangerous porthole, the long-range rifle fire(1) of the Redbones poured into the opening. Musgrove remained on the ground lying in the crimson stain in which he had fallen. After an hour or so of this ineffectual warfare and during a lull in the firing, Moore peering cautiously, very cautiously indeed through a small window, thought he saw Musgrove’s eye lids quiver. So, on the chance that a spark of life still lingered in the man, it is said that Moore “risked” his thirteen year old son by sending the boy out to investigate. Perhaps in all justice to this boy, we should say that he was the real hero of the Westport Fight. I suppose God alone knows what saved him from a bullet as he made his investigation. But Dan, like Daniel of old, got safely back and reported that the man still breathed. The defenders then sent out two volunteers whose names it has not been possible to ascertain; but who, under a terrific volley of shots, succeeded in bringing their wounded comrade inside.

1 so much for the romanticized long bow & arrow
* see footnote in 'I'm Kilt' further on down