The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 63, July 1959 - April, 1960 Page: 585
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Notes and Documents
blow, and ruffled the feathers of the chickens that hovered about
the henhouse door. Some of the chickens had even gone to roost-
and it still broad open daylight.
When men came in from the fields for dinner, many a farmer
queasy about the weather unharnessed his teams and turned them
loose in the horselot. Only the stolid ones, indifferent alike to
suggestion or rheumatic twinges, ignored the storm warnings on
land, in the air, and in the sky.
Robert E. Lee Miller was a gangly ten-year-old, sturdy enough
to do a man's work with a hoe in the field but young enough
to be at home from school this spring day with a good case of
chicken pox. This is the way he described the awful windstorm
that blew away the town of Bellevue that April day in 19o6. The
long years since have not dulled his morbid fascination in the
drama or his zest in describing that awful day in the spring of
1906 when seventeen people were killed, many more injured, and
the whole town of Bellevue wiped out.
Me an' Willie was to home with chicking pox that day an' my
Sister Mattie was old enough she didden haff to go to school an'
she were bringin' the clothes in offen the line for ma. Me? I was
ten and Willie he was eight or nine.
After dinner Ma tried to git Pa to stay to home, but he said no,
he was gonna weather hit out. Chances were hit were a thunder-
shower an' he wanted could he do it to git the corn furrowed up
afore hit was too late. Ma followed him to the door and cautioned
him to keep a weather eye out fer storms an' she wisht we had
us a storm cellar.
"Go to Doc Price's iffen ye git skeered," he called back to Ma
as he set about goin' back to the field.
Mattie brought in some of the clothes as was dry an' put the sad
irons on the stove to heat whiles Ma done the dishes.
Then the wind riz an' the sky got darker 'n' darker. Ma told
"Bob, you an' Willie run on to Doc Price's. Me an' Mattie'll be
right behine you." An' she said to Mattie, "Mattie, you fetch in the
rest o' them clothes, dry or no dry, whiles I empty the coals outta
the stove an' shet the windows."
Seein' me an' Willie hangin' back, still underfoot, Ma picked
up a piece o' kindling and said, "Now you boys gitl"
So we tuck out barefooted acrost the cotton field to Doc Price's
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Texas State Historical Association. The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 63, July 1959 - April, 1960, periodical, 1960; Austin, Texas. (texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth101186/m1/719/: accessed April 29, 2017), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Texas State Historical Association.