Part 15

“Big Foot” Wallace had not been long in the country before he realized that something had to be done in order to keep law and order in this unsettled land. Besides the numerous raids of hostile bands of Indians—who roamed at will from New Mexico to the coast region of Texas—desperadoes and gamblers swarmed around all the border towns, and more particularly around San Antonio. No one was safe who opposed these wild fellows, and it was almost impossible to keep horses. The thieves would even dig through the adobe walls of the stables in order to steal them. A strong hand was needed to awe these desperate men and keep the Indians in check. There was one man in western Texas at this time who was quite equal to the emergency. His name was “Captain” Jack Hays.

The Governor of Texas sent for him.

“I hereby commission you to raise a company of Rangers,” said he to the gallant Captain Jack. “You will make San Antonio your headquarters and you must hold both Indians and horse-thieves in check. You can follow the redskins anywhere that you wish, and, if necessary, you can shoot any horse-thief upon the spot.”

“Big Foot” Wallace soon heard of the Rangers, and applied for admission at once. He was accepted, for he was strong, fearless, a good rider, and an excellent shot. Captain Hays was very particular as to the kind of men that he enlisted, and that is why he had the best set of Indian fighters that Texas ever produced. Each man had to have a good horse, valued at one hundred dollars, and also a rifle of the best make. The desperadoes and horse-thieves soon began to disappear from the neighborhood of San Antonio.

In the numerous affrays which now took place “Big Foot” Wallace had a prominent part. Several battles were fought with the Indians. In 1842 the Mexicans made a sudden descent from Mexico and captured San Antonio. At the quarters used by the Texan Rangers they found a pair of pantaloons belonging to “Big Foot” Wallace, and this they appropriated as their own.

“By the eternal prophet,” shouted the scout, when he heard of the theft. “I will sure get even with the Greasers for this, and I will kill a Señor and get another pair of breeches, or bust.”

Not long afterwards Jack Hays and his men rode near the town and gave the Mexicans such “a dare” that their whole force of cavalry and infantry came out to chase them. There were four hundred Mexicans and but a small squad of Rangers, yet the Texans kept up a stiff firing and retreated slowly across the plains. During the battle, “Big Foot” Wallace was continually upon the lookout to kill a big Mexican and get another pair of trousers to replace his own. He had not long to wait.

The Mexicans soon charged, and in the mix-up that ensued one daring fellow approached Wallace, and pointing his carbine at him, cried out: “Take that, you accursed cow-thief!” Whereupon he discharged his piece in his face. The large ounce ball from the clumsy musket just grazed the nose of the scout and nearly blinded him with smoke. “Big Foot” fired his own piece, but missed. As this occurred, another Ranger cried out: “My, my, what awful bad shooting,” and—aiming his rifle—quickly sent a ball through the Mexican’s body. The man from the south of the Rio Grande fell against a mesquite tree and soon died.

“Big Foot” breathed more easily, and during the next charge heard one of his companions call out:

“’Big Foot,’ yonder is a Mexican who has on a pair of pants large enough to fit you. Go get ’em, boy! Go get ’em!”

The Mexican in question was assisting some of the wounded back to the rear. Wallace kept his eye on him and said:

“If I can get him, I will. But th’ critter moves about so fast that I can’t draw a bead on him.”

As he spoke, he attracted the attention of General Caldwell, who commanded some infantrymen who had come to the assistance of the Rangers. The dress of the giant Texan, his massive frame, and his actions, were sufficient to mark him as a man born to leadership.

“What command do you hold, sir?” inquired Caldwell, as he rode up to the fighting Ranger.

“None,” answered “Big Foot,” saluting. “I am one of Jack Hays’ Rangers and I want that fellow’s breeches over there, as the Greasers have stolen mine from me.” He pointed, as he spoke, to his intended victim.

The general laughed and rode on, determined to advance “Big Foot” to a Lieutenancy, if the opportunity presented itself. The Ranger, meanwhile, crept nearer to the fellow with the big pantaloons, and before many moments laid him low by a well directed shot. Making a dash for the fallen man, he seized him by the shoulders, dragged him into the American lines, and soon was wearing a new pair of yellow trousers.

“Hurrah for ‘Big Foot,’” shouted his companions. “He has, at last, made good his threat of vengeance. Hurrah for ‘Big Foot!’”

The Mexicans were defeated, driven from San Antonio, and were followed by Captain Jack Hays and his Rangers as far as the Hondo River, where the rear guard was attacked by a detachment under “Big Foot,” and some cannon were captured. The mule which the leader was riding was slightly wounded, but this was the only mishap to the Americans. The Mexicans withdrew in safety to their own territory.

The blood of the Texans was now up. “Revenge for the taking of San Antonio!” was heard on every side. “Vengeance upon the Mexicans! Revenge!”

Thus, in retaliation for the invasion of Texas under Wall, an expedition started for Mexico in 1843, commanded by General Somervell. Captain Jack Hays was there with his Rangers, but the expedition went to pieces on the Rio Grande and most of the men came back, among them Captain Jack and many of his followers. Five captains, however, determined to go on, in the invasion of Mexico,—that is, if they could get men enough. Three hundred Texans immediately decided to fight: among this number, “Big Foot” Wallace and several other Rangers. Electing a certain Captain Fisher to the chief command, they crossed the Rio Grande and encamped opposite the town of Mier. Its streets were soon to run red with blood.

The chief man of a Mexican town is called an alcade, and, on the following morning, the Americans marched into the town and told the alcade that he must furnish them with provisions and with clothing.

“Yes, yes, Señors,” said the Mexican official, bowing. “To-morrow the articles will be delivered to you, two miles below your camp.”

But the Texans did not believe in taking any chances. They brought the alcade along with them when they went back to their camp, so as to be sure that the provisions would really be delivered. They waited two full days and no goods were to be seen. They grew anxious and soon their spies made them more so, for these reported that General Ampudia had arrived in Mier with a large force of Mexican troops.

“We will proceed to the town and give them battle!” cried out the Texan commander.

By four o’clock in the afternoon the Americans had all crossed and were on their way to the little Mexican post. The spies were in front and first met the Mexicans as they sallied out from Mier. But the Rangers knew how to shoot and Ampudia retreated before the Texan bullets. At dark the Mexicans again entered their stronghold and barricaded themselves.

The Texans had their fighting blood up, and, in spite of the darkness, advanced to Alcantra Creek, east of the little town, where they halted for some time. The stream ran rapidly, so that it was difficult to find a crossing, but at last they all got over. As they scrambled up the bank, they were met by a hot fire, and the Mexican cavalry advanced against them. Five of the Rangers were cut off and captured. Others made narrow escapes, for the Mexicans now came in close enough for hand to hand fighting, and surrounded many of the more daring. Several of the invaders were compelled to abandon their horses and make a run for it across fences and ditches. A Ranger called Sam Walker was caught by a powerful Mexican and was held down, while others tied him. One man named McMullins was seized by the legs as he was getting over a fence, but his boots pulled off and he made his escape. This was fortunate.

“Big Foot” Wallace was not among those first over the creek, and advanced with the main body, which now came on, driving the Mexicans into the town. The troops soon entered Mier and passed down a street leading to the public square, where the Mexicans had planted cannon. While advancing rapidly, they were repeatedly fired upon, and a Ranger named Jones was killed. As he fell, he lurched against “Big Foot” Wallace, who had felt the wind from the bullet that laid him low. The Texans pressed on and soon arrived at a point near the cannon, where they received a charge of grape-shot, which made them seek shelter behind some buildings. It was now dark. It was also Christmas evening, but there were no peaceful revels in Mier that winter’s day.

The Texans had but one way to advance: by opening a passageway through the buildings so that they could get in the rear of the deadly cannon. They worked all night in digging a hole through the adobe walls. When daylight came, they were within fifty yards of the death-dealing artillery.

“Big Foot” Wallace was among those in the very forefront of battle. While engaged in tunnelling through the building he discovered a Mexican baby which had been abandoned during the hasty retreat of the occupants of the house upon the approach of the Texans. It set up a terrific squalling when the Americans approached it, so “Big Foot” carefully took it up, and, advancing to a wall enclosing a yard, climbed up and dropped it over. At the same time, he shouted out in Spanish:

“Come and get the muchacho. Quick!”

He soon heard a woman’s voice and supposed that the poor infant was being taken care of.

Daylight dawned upon a scene of great activity. Port-holes had been opened in the various rooms into which the men had clambered, and the deadly crack of the rifles was soon heard, as the Texans began to fire at the artillerymen. The cannon were quickly silenced, for it was death for a Mexican to venture near them. Three attempts were made by the “Greasers” to storm and carry the Texan position, but each failed with fearful loss. The Mexicans, in fact, came on so thickly packed together that it was impossible to miss them. The bravest of all were the town guards, who wore black hats with white bands around them. They were nearly all killed.

The Texans were fighting gamely and the Mexicans were soon forced to abandon all of their artillery. Ropes were thrown around these instruments of war, from the corners of buildings, and the men from the South succeeded in dragging some of them away. “Big Foot” Wallace was doing a great deal of shooting. He says that he loaded and fired his rifle fifteen times, always waited for a good chance, and had a bead upon a Mexican every time that he pulled the trigger.

During the battle bugles sounded constantly, and it was reported that the Mexicans were being largely reinforced. The Texans, however, were undismayed at this report, and continued to load and fire their rifles with such deadly effect that great confusion prevailed among their foes, who continually uttered cries of rage and pain, amidst a constant blast of bugles. They occupied the house tops, where they kept their bodies well hid, and fired from the gutters and from behind the chimneys. The American leader, himself, was severely wounded, while many of the gallant Texans lay bleeding in the narrow streets of the quaint, little Mexican town.

A small guard had been left by the Rangers upon the other side of the creek. Just after daylight, upon the twenty-sixth of December, these attacked about sixty of the Mexican cavalry and routed them, but, seeing a large reinforcement approaching, they desperately endeavored to join their comrades in the little town. Out of the nine men who made this desperate charge, two succeeded; four were killed; and three were captured.

The fortune of war was apparently going badly with the Mexicans, but a sudden turn of events placed victory in their very hands. Captain Cameron had fortified himself and his men in the rear of a building occupied by Fisher and his support, where he had been exposed to a fearful fire. Upon the morning after Christmas day he entered the room occupied by his superior officer.

“Send me reinforcements,” he said, “for the bugles are blowing the charge and I am afraid that I will be annihilated.”

“I have no reinforcements,” Fisher replied. “You will have to fight on as you are.”

As he ceased speaking a white flag was seen approaching from the Mexican lines. With it was a Doctor Sinnickson—a Texan who had been recently captured by the Mexican troops. He had been ordered to tell the Rangers that there were one thousand seven hundred Mexican troops in the city, and that three hundred more were approaching from Monterey.

“Ampudia says that it will be useless for you to resist,” said the Doctor. “If you surrender, you will be treated like prisoners of war. If you resist, no quarter will be given!”

The Texan leader looked gloomily before him. He was on foreign soil. He was hemmed in on every side by his enemies. His men were nearly all worn out. The streets of Mier had run red with Mexican blood; and there was no chance to win. He was in favor of an honorable surrender. But some thought that they could make a sally from their barricaded position, and, by keeping together, could fight their way out of town and to the borders of the Rio Grande. These gathered around Cameron and begged him to take command; to make a rush; and to fight a way out. Great confusion prevailed. Some began to leave their positions and give their guns up to their enemies. Every few moments barricades would be torn away and men would march out and surrender.

Cameron held on to his position until many had given themselves up. Then he saw that all hope was gone, and therefore turned to his men.

“Boys,” said he, “it is useless for us to continue the fight any longer. They are all gone except ourselves.”

His followers stood for a few moments watching the crowds of Mexicans, who were making a great demonstration. Their cavalry was charging up and down the streets, while many were carrying away the guns of the Texans who were collected upon the plaza. The citizens of the town were cheering for victory.

“I’ll never give up,” said “Big Foot” Wallace. “My relatives were massacred after they had surrendered at Goliad, and that is what the Mexicans will do to us.”

But Cameron wished to save the lives of his men and so took the lead. As he marched towards the Mexican line, his soldiers followed. When they emerged from their position into the street they were met by a strong detachment of Mexicans. The painful work of surrendering their arms now commenced. “Big Foot” Wallace was the last man to give up his gun, his knife, and his pistol.

The bloody battle of Mier was over. The Mexican loss had been heavy. With two thousand in the field, five hundred had been killed. The Texans had two hundred and sixty in the town, sixteen of whom were killed and thirty of whom were wounded. The Mexicans lost forty artillerymen. The bodies of the slain Texans were dragged through the streets by the cavalry, and were followed by crowds of yelling townsfolk. Four rows of dead Mexicans were laid out upon the plaza, where the priests said mass among them. It had been a fierce little battle.

Now the troubles of the Texan Rangers really commenced. The wounded were left at the blood-bespattered Mier in charge of the good Doctor Sinnickson, while the able-bodied Americans were marched towards Mexico City, in charge of General Ampudia. Everywhere they were met by jubilant Mexicans, who made grand demonstrations as they passed through the towns, blowing bugles, hallooing, and charging around upon their horses. The Texans were so starved that they became thin and haggard, while their shoes were worn completely through. The Mexican women pitied the half-fed Americans, some of whom were mere boys. At Monterrey they came in with provisions and fed them. “Big Foot” Wallace—still wearing the trousers which he had captured—was thin but game. “Just give me a chance to escape,” he muttered to a companion.” Then,—watch me go!”

Finally the Texans were placed in prison at the Hacienda Salado. Their numbers were increased by a few ranchers who had been captured in other raids. All were anxious to make the attempt to escape, and a plan was set on foot to rush the guards at sunrise on the eleventh day of February, 1843. At Monterrey a similar plot had been hatched, but one of the Texan officers had disclosed it to the Mexicans, so the attempt had not been made.

All was soon ready for the struggle for freedom. Captain Cameron gave the signal by throwing up his hat, and two scouts named Lyons and Brennan led the charge upon the guards. The Mexicans were taken completely by surprise, were disarmed at the door of the prison, and saw the Texans dash into the outer court of the building where about one hundred and fifty infantrymen were guarding the arms and boxes of cartridges. The Texans numbered two hundred.

The frontiersmen rushed immediately upon the regular soldiers, who levelled their muskets at them and fired in their very faces. The Texans were not armed, but they pressed onward, received the fire, and closed in upon the yellow-skinned custodians of the jail. It was too bold a dash for the Mexicans. They surrendered or fled after the first fire, but the Texans had other soldiers to face.

A second company of infantry was stationed at the gate and a force of cavalry was outside. The gallant Texans did not hesitate for an instant. The desperate fellows rushed upon them, and a terrible fight ensued. Most of them had secured guns by now, and, when the second hand-to-hand fight took place, they were better prepared to force their way. “Big Foot” Wallace did not have a gun, so he rushed at a Mexican who had discharged his piece, and tried to disarm him. The fellow had a bayonet upon the end of his musket. He made a vicious thrust at the gaunt and lanky man from Texas.

“Big Foot” seized the bayonet with his bare hands, and a hard struggle took place for the possession of it. As they bent to and fro, an unarmed prisoner came up behind, and, seizing the gun in the centre, wrested it from the Mexican. The soldier fell upon his knees, held up his hands, and called out loudly: “Señors, have mercy! Have mercy!”

“You can go,” shouted “Big Foot” Wallace.

The fight was now raging fiercely and the scout went into the thick of it, brandishing the musket which he had just captured, and doing awful execution with the bayonet. The Texans were getting nearer and nearer to the gate which opened upon the streets of the town. The Mexicans were uttering screams and yells of terror and surprise. The Rangers were among them with clubbed guns and were delivering blows to the right and left. The cavalry became terror-stricken and fled. The infantrymen at the gate began to throw down their arms and try to surrender.

One Mexican lieutenant showed extraordinary bravery. His name was Barragan,—a son of the commander of the Mexican force. Backing against a wall, he brandished his sword aloft, and refused to surrender except to an officer. Six Texans surrounded him and thrust bayonets at his breast, but he kept his arm in motion and successfully parried every thrust. His sabre was moved about with such rapidity that it could hardly be seen.

At this time “Big Foot” Wallace came up. “Here,” cried a Texan, “you shoot this fellow, ‘Big Foot.’ He deserves death.”

But the lanky Texan shook his head. “No,” said he. “This man deserves better treatment, for he is a brave soldier. I refuse to shoot him.”

“Let me see your Captain,” cried the Mexican. “To him I will surrender my sword.”

Captain Cameron came up at once and the blade was turned over to him. With a proud look the Mexican stepped back and folded his arms.

“You are a brave man,” said Cameron. “You must be our prisoner, but you will not be injured.”

The Texans were now masters of the situation. They dictated terms to their enemies, one of which was that the wounded should be well taken care of. Meanwhile they prepared for instant flight, for they knew that a large force would soon be on their trail. Some of the Mexicans had tied their horses near by, and these were at once seized.

By ten o’clock in the morning the Texans were all mounted and set out for the Rio Grande. It was touch and go with them. The chances for their getting away were very slight, for they did not know the country.

“Big Foot” Wallace had secured a fine dun-colored mule which had belonged to a Mexican officer. The other Texans had good mounts, and by midnight were fifty miles from the scene of their battle. A short halt was made and the horses were fed. The men slept two hours, and, early in the morning, left the main road so as to go around the city of Saltillo. They soon abandoned the road for the mountains. This was a fatal mistake, for it was a barren waste with no water and no food.

For six days the gallant Texans pressed onward. They were soon perishing with thirst and starvation. So hungry were they that horses were killed and eaten. The Texans drank the blood of their mounts, and, leaving the remains of their slaughtered beasts for the coyotes and buzzards, they plunged into the arid, brown mountains in a vain endeavor to reach the Rio Grande. Many were on foot. Some became delirious and wandered away to die in lonely ravines. The party became badly scattered. “Big Foot” Wallace dried some mule meat in the sun and carried it along in a haversack. The frontiersmen toiled onward in the direction of the Rio Grande, but the Mexican cavalry was hot upon their trail.

Finally the yellow-skinned soldiers of the country began to come up with the half-dead Texans and to capture them. The majority of the invaders formed a hollow square and refused to surrender unless they could do so as prisoners of war. They were hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed and half alive, yet they cried out that they would fight unless granted an honorable surrender. The Mexicans were well mounted and well fed. They had the Rangers at their mercy, yet they granted them what they asked for. Of one hundred and ninety-three Texans who had made their escape, five died of thirst and starvation, four got through to Texas, and three were never heard of again.

The Texans were tied together with ropes and were marched in a single line to Saltillo. When they were brought into the city an order was received from Santa Anna to have them shot. The Mexican officer in charge of the prisoners refused to comply, and said that he would resign his commission before he would do so. The British consul also interfered, so the poor Texans were allowed to go on to Salado, where they had had their fierce battle for freedom. They were placed in irons. As they reached the town an order came from Santa Anna to have every tenth man shot.

When the prisoners arrived at the jail from which they had so gloriously escaped, some Mexicans were seen digging a ditch. “Big Foot” Wallace nudged a companion. “That ditch is for us!” said he. He was quite right.

The Mexican officers now decided to let the prisoners draw lots in order to see who should, and who should not be, shot. A large jar was filled with beans: as many beans as Texans. White and black beans were there. The white ones meant life; the black,—death. There were nine white beans to one black.