An Unintended Consequence on the Frontier

Mural in San Angelo depicting figures of the Fort Concho era.

It’s a matter of logic first articulated in the 17^th century: Any given undertaking—big or small—is capable of leading to something totally unexpected. Sometimes what occurs is unfortunate.

Interestingly, this truism did not get a name until well into the 20^th century. That came with the 1936 publication of an essay by sociologist Robert K. Merton, “The Unanticipated Consequences of Purposive Action.”

Merton’s “unanticipated consequences” came to be known as “unintended consequences.”

Nearly a half-century before Merton would write his scholarly paper, an innocent decision made by a young Army officer stationed on the West Texas frontier led to an unintended consequence that irritated his higher-ranking officers and saddled with additional paperwork.

Since it left a company of cavalry temporarily horseless in hostile Indian territory, it could have resulted in disaster.

This happened on April 8, 1877, which must have been a fine spring day.

Commanding Co. D of the 10^th Cavalry, an all-black regiment led by white officers, Lt. Mason Marion Maxon ordered his men to make camp for the night near the head of the Concho River. The horse soldiers had been out on a routine scout, having ridden upriver from their base at Fort Concho, across from the small community of San Angelo.

Satisfied that all military matters had been attended to for the day, the lieutenant set out to get in a little fishing. How much luck he had is not part of the record, but his quest for catfish resulted in an unfortunate occurrence.

Two documents concerning the incident went into the record.

The first, just a brief report, noted that there had been a stampede of company horses, more commonly referred to in the Cavalry as “public” horses.

The next piece of paper was an order from post commander Benjamin H. Grierson, a noted officer whose service went back to the Civil War. Grierson ordered the lieutenant to forward a report outlining the circumstances of the stampede “without delay.”

In his report, other than noting that there had been a stampede of his company’s remuda, Maxon asked that other soldiers at the fort thoroughly search along the Concho “from the post to Johnsons [sic] Station” for three horses that remained missing.

While the bureaucratic verbiage was short and to the point, there was more to the story. At some point that same day, Grierson’s wife wrote a letter to their son Robert. In bringing him up to date, she revealed the actual circumstances behind the stampede that Maxon had omitted in his terse report.

“The other evening,” she began, “as Lt. Maxon was camped with Co. D, at the head of the Concho he came in after dark from fishing near the herd of company horses, he was carrying a cane fishing pole over his shoulder, which rattled against the limbs of the trees as he passed along toward camp, the noise frightened the horses and nearly the whole herd stampeded, some of them came into the post, and today some men brought in several more, among which were one or two private horses of Lt. Maxon, and one or two of Capt. Keyes—papa [Col. Grierson] told the men he would see that they were paid for their trouble in bringing them in. Papa thinks it was very careless in Lt. Maxon frightening the horses so.”

Though surely an embarrassment to the lieutenant, the cane pole-triggered stampede does not seem to have an adverse impact on Maxon’s career. By 1885, when the War Department ordered the 10^th Cavalry from Texas to Arizona Territory (marching all the way from Fort Davis along the right of way of the Southern Pacific Railroad), Maxon was regimental quartermaster. He stayed with the 10^th Cavalry his entire career.

A native of Cedar Creek, Wisconsin, he graduated from West Point in 1869. After serving at various frontier posts during the Indian Wars, he retired in 1891 as a captain. He went on to teach military science at various institutions. Settling in Ohio, he died at 87 in Cincinnati on May 28, 1934, and is buried there.

Whether the three missing horses were ever recovered is unknown. Nor is it known whether Maxon caught any fish that day and if so, how many. What is known is that what happened to the lieutenant was an “unintended consequence.”