Seven Mexicans, dressed as Indians, captured and executed

Much has been said and written about the hardships and privations endured by the Confederate soldiers 50 years ago and especially the straits to which he was often put in order to secure something to eat. We have heard and read about the mule meat eaten by the Confederates during the siege of Vicksburg. 

Of course, many of these stories were exaggerations. I was not at Vicksburg, and I do not know whether the Confederates ate mule meat or not. I do know, however, that the Confederate soldier was not the only man who often lived on short rations. 

The Texas Ranger often had to do without something to eat as well as water to drink. I had some little experience in both branches of the service and know what I am talking about. I have frequently seen men following an Indian trail or returning from having followed one go without water 24 hours or 48 hours until their tongues would be so swollen that they could scarcely articulate so that they could be understood. I was never able to decide which caused the most suffering, the pangs of hunger or those of thirst. 

There was an old song in the days that I was in the ranger service which I have frequently heard sung around the campfire, which quite adequately describes the situation, one verse of which ran something like this:

“All day without drinking,

All night without winking,

Things have now come to a terrible pass,

No rest for the sinner,

No breakfast nor dinner,

No sleep on a supperless bed on the grass.”

I remember on one occasion a squad of rangers had followed a party of Indians away up on the arid plains of Northwest Texas, where then water was very scarce where now artisan and other wells abound. We were in a section of country with which we were unacquainted and did not know where to look for the few streams and water holes which now existed. 

We had abandoned the trail and given up the pursuit, and had started back on our return to the settlements, though we came back by a different route from that we had followed when going up, hoping to find water and game more plentiful for our commissary department depended on the game which our rifles could furnish. We had ridden all day beneath a broiling sun and the water which the few canteens in the squad held, which had been filled at the last mud hole where we camped was exhausted before 10 a.m. 

We killed several jack rabbits during the day, and when about sundown we struck what the boys called a dry camp, that is a bivouac without water, we had enough rabbit meat for supper and breakfast but had nothing to drink. We were so thirsty that no one felt like eating and of course our horses were suffering as much or more than we were. We camped in a depression of the prairie where there were a few wild China trees. 

Macedonia, our old trailer, rode on an old dilapidated black horse who looked like he might have come into Texas with Santa Anna's army in 1836. And when he removed the saddle and turned the old critter loose the animal pricked up his ears, looked up the depression referred to, and started in a slow trot. Macedonia remarked that the old rascal had smelt water sure, and picking up his water gourd started to follow his horse. Several of the other animals would have followed but no one except Macedonia had turned his horse loose. 

In a few minutes, the old man came back with his gourd filled with water. He said there was a small lake or pond up there, which had been filled by the last rain, and we promptly moved camp to be near the refreshing liquid and after drinking heartily we concluded to do justice to the rabbit meal without salt.

A day or two later we had reached the vicinity of Devil's river, and while we had not suffered for water any more the little game that we saw was so wild that we could not get in gunshot of it. Our commissary was empty and one day we decided that if we killed no game before night we would be compelled to slaughter one of our horses. We were within 25 or 30 miles of old Fort McKavett but did not know it. 

Later in the afternoon, we saw a solitary horse feeding on the rich grass of the prairie, and our party which consisted of 10 or 12 men, spread out and surrounded the animal as nearly as we could and we closed in on him with the intention of either capturing or killing him. The horse was wild and acted like a thoroughbred mustang and finally broke to run at full speed. He ran between two of our men, both of whom being in gunshot fired at him and though they did not kill him wounded him so badly that he was soon dispatched. 

The horse was branded U. S. and had doubtless escaped from some detachment of soldiers before the civil war began. He was fat however, and we feasted on horse meat, without salt that night and the next day. It was not the first time I had eaten horsemeat, and I never could see but that the flesh of a horse was fully as good as beef, though any kind of meat without salt or bread, while it will satisfy the craving of hunger it is a poor diet and soon palls on the appetite.

On one occasion a squad of eight Texas rangers were camped on Black creek in what is now Frio County. We had been there several days and had seen no Indian trail and been having a good time hunting. One morning about 10 o'clock one of the boys came into camp and reported that he had seen an Indian trail which passed about a mile to the west of our camp and that the Indians were driving a small bunch of horses. 

We were soon in the saddle and when we struck the trail found that it was quite fresh and led in the direction of the nearest point on the Rio Grande. That section of country was unsettled, the party we were following, of course, knew this, and from the leisurely manner in which they traveled evidently did not anticipate pursuit. About 3 or 4 o'clock in the afternoon the trail crossed a small creek, which was bordered with a fringe of hackberry trees. When we crossed the creek and emerged from the trees we came in sight of the party who were not more than 200 yards from us. 

We promptly charged them and they were taken by surprise. They abandoned the horses they were driving did not scatter as Indians usually did. They took refuge in a small clump of live oak trees, dismounted and prepared to receive us. Justo Rodriguez, my corporal remarked that they were not Indians, but either Mexicans or gringos. We also dismounted and approached the shelter on foot and when about a hundred yards distant from them I called upon them to surrender. They replied with two or three shots. We returned the fire and then made a rush for the timber.

As we were about entering the timber a man appeared waving a white cloth upon which Justo remarked, “I knew they were not Indians,” though the man who was waving the white cloth was in full Indian dress. I again demanded their surrender and this man replied in Spanish “We want to surrender, as two of us are already badly wounded.” I told them to come out in the open and lay down their guns which five of them did. 

When we got among the trees we found them all in Indian garb, two of them lying on the ground badly wounded. The Indian headdress had fallen from the heads of the wounded men, one of whom was their leader, whose name I could give, but as he still has descendants living in that country I prefer not to do so. 

My men were all Mexicans, and they recognized this man and two others of the party. They were Mexicans who had gone to the border to evade the conscript law, and it was said had made frequent raids, disguised as Indians into our country with which they were acquainted. My men promptly announced that they were going to hang the entire outfit, I told them they should not do this. 

Justo Rodriguez remarked: “Sergeant ordinarily we will obey your orders, but we are going to hang these men.” There were 70 men against me, and of course I had to yield. Accordingly, the arms of the prisoners were tied behind them, they were placed on their horses, including the two wounded men, their own lariats placed around their necks, thrown over the limb of one large live oak tree and tied and their horses led out from under them and seven bodies left dangling from one tree.

We gathered up the horses they had been driving and found that many of them had been stolen from our own neighborhood, among them one saddle horse belonging to me.

Taylor Thompson, now deceased, was a printer, newspaper man, and Confederate soldier. He wrote a series of articles, describing his experiences on the frontier.