Murdered general the last of his line
With the way the war was going, the news from Houston on Apr. 6, 1865, was enough to make a grown man cry. Another wellknown name had been added to the Confederate casualty list, but this time the fatal bullet had not been fired by a Yankee.
The victim was the last of a prominent line. His father William H. Wharton, a key figure in the independence struggle and Texas’ first minister to the United States, was killed in a freak accident in 1839. The previous year, an incurable fever had taken the life of his uncle and namesake John Austin Wharton, revered as “the keenest blade of San Jacinto.”
The second John Austin had done the distinguished Whartons proud. He went away to college in 1846 and came back four years later with a degree and the daughter of the South Carolina governor as his bride. When the sectional pot finally boiled over a decade later, the successful attorney and prosperous planter was already set for life.
But duty called, and Wharton answered by joining Terry’s Texas Rangers. Following the deaths of the cavalry cofounders Benjamin F. Terry and Thomas F. Lubbock, he assumed command and rose to the rank of major general on the strength of his bravery and brilliance.
Reassigned to Louisiana in the winter of 1864, General Wharton played an important part in thwarting the Union invasion of Texas. The weary warrior might have taken a moment to savor the sweet victory at Mansfield had he known the South was destined to dine on a steady diet of defeat.
Lee’s Appomattox rendezvous with his alcoholic adversary was just three days away on Apr. 6, 1865, but Wharton was too preoccupied with preparations for the last-ditch defense of his home state to worry about what happened in faraway Virginia. Like most Confederates out west, he had resolved to fight on in spite of the expected surrender.
Brigadier General James E. Harrison was at the controls of the buggy carrying Wharton to the Houston depot that fateful morning. Recognizing one of two approaching officers as Colonel George Wythe Baylor, the major general told the driver to stop and called out, “Where is your command?”
“Near Hempstead,” Baylor replied with unmistakable disrespect. Wharton’s face darkened as he growled, “You had better be with it.”
A heated exchange ensued which swiftly escalated into a shouting match. Caught in the verbal crossfi re, poor Harrison did not have a clue as to the root cause of the conflict.
When Wharton ordered Baylor to report to his headquarters under arrest, the defi ant subordinate retorted, “I will see General Magruder and have justice.”
“You will report to him as under arrest,” corrected his superior.
According to Harrison’s statement at the subsequent inquest, the war of words raged on with Baylor warning the day was coming when they would be “on equal ground” — a clear reference to the imminent end of the war and their return to civilian life. This transparent threat was followed by a punch aimed at Wharton’s face, which missed the mark only because Harrison alertly snapped the reins and moved the target out of range.
Harrison and his agitated passenger went onto the station and boarded the train.After brooding over the matter for several minutes, Wharton suddenly announced he was staying in Houston to settle things with Baylor. Harrison had no choice but to accompany him to Magruder’s headquarters.
General John Bankhead Magruder was eating breakfast at the Fannin Hotel, when Baylor barged in “so much excited that he wept as he spoke.” The Confederate commander left the incoherent colonel in a private room upstairs with stern instructions to pull himself together.
Wharton was looking for Magruder, when he opened the door and found Baylor sitting on the side of the bed. The quarrel resumed, and Wharton moved toward his antagonist with fists clenched.
Intent on preventing a fight, Harrison stepped between them. As he did, Wharton took a swing at Baylor, who ducked and pulled his pistol. Harrison pushed Wharton away with one hand while grabbing the gun with the other, but he could not stop Baylor from squeezing the trigger.
The ball entered Wharton’s torso slightly below the ribcage, and he dropped like a rock to the floor. He groaned twice and died before a doctor could be summoned.
The fact that John Austin Wharton was unarmed seemed to make it murder in anybody’s book. The chaotic collapse of the Confederacy precluded a military court-marital, but the case still went to trial in a civilian court three years later.
Breaking with the hang’em-high tradition of frontier justice, the jury acquitted George Wythe Baylor. At his death in 1916 he was far better known as an Indian fighting Texas Ranger than the killer of John A. Wharton. But Baylor did have 51 years to think about the senseless slaying he termed a “lifelong sorrow.”
Bartee welcomes your comments and questions at barteehaile@gmail.com or P.O. Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393.
