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Fifty-Five Years Ago In The Wilderness, or The Old Ringtail Panther of Missouri
was originally published by Tom Parmer in Dallas, Texas in 1874 and was printed by the Dallas Daily Commercial Book and Job
Rooms. This book is a biography of Martin Parmer covering the years 1818 to 1825 and records many of Martin Parmer's adventures in
Missouri during this period.
It is clear that Tom Parmer published this book at his own expense. On page 18, he
writes, "And now, my friends, I feel like closing this little book as I am short of means that would enable me to have a larger
one printed..."
Thomas Parmer was a son of Martin Parmer and Sarah Hardwick. Thomas Parmer lived for many years in Walker County, Texas. Thomas Parmer was a close personal friend
of Sam Houston and he was an overseer of Sam Houston's lands and slaves for many years. Numerous letters written
between Sam Houston and his wife Margaret Lea Houston exist which refer to Tom Parmer and Tom Parmer's wife.
At the 2007 Palmer/Parmer Family Reunion, Kameron Searle presented the remastered edition
of the booklet above. This was the first printing of the booklet since it was originally published 133 years ago.
Searle made every effort to copy the original booklet including the misspellings, typographical errors and the unusual punctuation
of the original booklet. Copies of the booklet are available from Kameron Searle for $6.00 plus $2.50 postage and shipping
at 602 Sawyer, Suite 460, Houston, Texas 77007. Searle only printed 100 copies for the reunion and only has a few copies
left at this time.
Fifty-Five Years Ago In The Wilderness
Or, the Old Ringtail Panther of Missouri
As the humble writer has spent most of his life in the wilderness of Missouri and Texas, and as many remarkable occurrences
happened in his presence, and others that I had perfect knowledge of, that is perfectly vivid before me, although it has been
fifty years ago, --and knowing that your old humble grey-head writer is the only living witness, and he passing away to the
happy hunting ground of the buckskin-clad warrior, where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest, there
were many little scraps of history lost--for in the wilderness there was no paper or ink, nor pen--none to write; therefore,
these things have never come to light: and, dear reader, when you read this scrap, please recollect that you read the writing
of a man of the wilderness that never heard preaching until he was 16 years of age, and necessity learnt him to write; his
preaching was Nature, and Nature's God. I could see the Great Spirit in the snow-topped mountains, in the grandeur
of the marble-faced precipices, where you would have to strain your eyes to see the top, the moss-covered rocks--the myrtle
and fern hanging lazily down, down its giant form; the majesty of the mountain was preaching to me that its builder is God;
the wilderness--the pure wilderness--with its vast prairie spread out before your view that has never been polluted by whiskey;
never been cursed with an oath; never has drank the blood of a murdered man,--with thousands of acres of strawberreies; the
bear pacing before you; the gallant buck gazing
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