Part 10

Howard returned to El Paso early in December. Lieut. John B. Tays was then in command of about twenty State troops (Rangers) then in El Paso County. Tays was a foreigner, an alien and a bitter partisan. I quote the opening lines of Tays’ report of the bloody tragedies which followed, in order that the reader may have some idea of the lieutenant’s conception of his duty. He says: “By request of Mr. Howard I sent an escort to El Paso on the 13th inst., as he wished to come to San Elezario on business. He rode down to San Elezario in the ranks.” If “all Americans” were in danger, why was one man _only_ selected to be protected by the Rangers?

Howard had tempted fate too far, and his day had come. But the bloody sequel shall be told in the language of another. Capt. Thos. Blair of the United States army, was on the ground with a detachment of regular soldiers, but to “interfere in the domestic affairs of a sovereign State” would offend the political sensibilities of many.

(President Cleveland was later on repudiated by his party for interfering with the pastime of a mob at Chicago.)

True, Governor Hubbard had had the good sense to call on President Hayes for assistance, and it had been granted, but unfortunately the order had not yet reached the Captain. Captain Blair, in his official report, says:

“As soon as Howard arrived in San Elezario the town was surrounded by a cordon of armed men (Mexicans) and pickets posted on all roads. As soon as Tays saw the state of affairs he and his party retreated to their quarters (which was a detached building with corral) and barricaded the doors and windows and cut port-holes in the walls. On Thursday morning the firing began, and continued with but few intermissions until the Rangers surrendered on Monday forenoon. Mr. Ellis, a merchant, was the first one killed; that was on Wednesday night. When the tumult began he went out to find out what it was, and not stopping when halted by one of their sentinels, was shot. Afterward his throat was cut and his body thrown into an acequia. On Thursday morning Sergeant Mortimer, of the Rangers, was killed while making his way to the building where the others were posted. The Rangers consisted of just twenty men, I believe. With them in the building were Howard and his colored servant, Mr. Atkinson, a merchant of San Elezario, a Mr. Loomis from Fort Stockton, I believe, and Mrs. Campbell, the wife of one of the Rangers, and her two children. After hearing that I had been inside Mrs. Marsh and Mrs. Campbell went down from El Paso on Sunday morning. Mrs. Marsh got out her son, who was with the Rangers, but the Mexicans disarmed him and retained him prisoner. Mrs. Campbell got out her daughter-in-law and her two children. The Ranger party on Monday found that they could not hold out much longer, the men were being overcome by sleep, and under a flag of truce went out and had a talk with the leaders, who told them if they would give up Howard it was all they wanted. This he refused to do. They then said that if Howard would come out he could soon make arrangements by which it would be all right. Tays returned and told him so, but told him also not to go unless he wanted to do so, that he would defend him to the last man. Howard returned with Lieutenant Tays to the leaders. However, after some talk they asked Tays to leave Howard to them and go into another room, which he refused to do, whereupon he was seized by about a dozen men and carried out and then found that all his party had surrendered at the instigation of Atkinson (it is said).

“During the afternoon Howard, Atkinson and McBride, Howard’s agent, were all taken out and shot. A strong effort was made by the more violent of the party, and by those from the other side, to have all the Americans shot, but Chico Barela opposed this (it), said there had been enough blood shed, and that only after they had killed him could any more Americans be killed. Tuesday forenoon they were released, each one having his horse returned to him, but their arms were retained. Some of the Rangers with whom I have talked inform me they were all asked whether they were employed by the Governor of Texas or by Howard, and then each one was required to sign a blank paper. They were escorted as far as Sorocco by a guard.

“The mob is estimated by Lieutenant Tays at not less than five hundred, many of the leaders being from the other side. The loss was five Americans killed and at least one Mexican, belonging to a party under Captain Garcia, who tried to assist the Americans. The losses on the side of the mob are unknown, but at least five or six are known to have been killed and a large number, not less than forty or fifty, wounded.”

_During_ the siege Captain Blair held several conferences with the Mexican leaders, which he relates as follows:

“I found the people much excited over the fact that Howard, who had taken a life, was permitted to go at large, while two of their number who had only _said_ that they would go for salt to his ‘salinas’ had been arrested, tried and sentenced to imprisonment. They said Howard had killed their friend Cardis, and they would have his life, cost what it might. I found their force to consist of about three hundred and fifty sober, well-organized, well-armed, determined men, with a definite purpose. Howard they wanted, nothing less, nothing else. I told them I thought they would regret their course, that for Howard personally I cared nothing, but I would be sorry if anything happened to Lieutenant Tays. Yes, they said, but why was he defending Howard?”

* * * * *

The object for which the Mexicans had armed and assembled being accomplished, they disbanded, seeking no more blood. They killed Howard because he had killed Cardis, their friend and leader. They had known Atkinson for fifteen years, and they killed him _on general principles_.

The killing of McBride was inexcusable murder. Ellis, the merchant, was, I believe, murdered by some personal enemy who took advantage of the turbulence to gratify private vengeance. Sergeant Mortimer, the only ranger who lost his life, was killed in the fight. Five were killed in all. All the other unfortunates were citizens who had exasperated the people by voluntarily attaching themselves to Howard’s fortunes. There _were_ some Mexicans, many or few, from the Mexican side of the river, who came as the commission report, “some to fight and some to steal,” but there was no “organized invasion.” Considerable property was taken or destroyed, but the _object_ of the uprising was always clearly stated, and that object was _not_ plunder.

The good feeling which has usually existed between the two races in the valley was soon restored, and no one has ever been punished for participation in this deplorable _emente_.

THE AFTER MATH.

It is not pleasant to have to write of what occurred after the mob had dispersed, and therefore I will be brief. The regular force of Rangers had behaved well and obeyed orders, but now Governor Hubbard ordered that an additional force should be recruited at Silver City, New Mexico, to assist the authorities and restore order in El Paso County. About thirty came. Of these the Judge Advocate General of the Army reviewing the testimony says:

“Many outrages were committed on innocent people in the neighborhood during the excitement, but of these not a few were perpetrated by members of the State force raised in New Mexico under authority of the Governor of Texas. These last seem especially to be responsible for the rapes, homicides and other crimes of which the people justly complain.”

The United States Commissioners, Colonels King and Lewis, before whom all the testimony was given, say:

“On December 22d, another small force of about thirty men arrived from Silver City, who had been called into temporary service under telegraphic instructions from the Governor, but unhappily, as was natural and according to experience in raising volunteers along the border, when the exigencies of the occasion does not permit that delay which a wise discrimination in the choice of material would cause, the force of Rangers thus suddenly called together contained within its ranks an adventurous and lawless element, which, though not predominant, was yet strong enough to make its evil influence felt in deeds of violence and outrage matched only by the mob itself. Notable among these atrocities should be classed the shooting of two Mexican prisoners, who were bound with cords when turned over to the guard at Ysleta, ostensibly to bury the bodies of Howard, Atkinson and McBride, then lying in the fields of San Elizario, and when next seen, about an hour after, were pierced with bullet holes, their appearance giving rise to grave apprehension in unprejudiced minds that their death was ‘neither necessary nor justifiable.’ Another was the killing of the Mexican and the wounding of his wife in a house in Socorro, through the door of which a shot had, it was said, been fired, and, being a spent ball, had struck without hurting one of the Rangers belonging to Lieutenant Tays’ company. On a personal examination by the board of all the outside doors of the house, there could be found no marks of a bullet-hole, but through an inner door, across the ‘Sala,’ behind which the unfortunate victim had received his death and his wife a serious wound, were counted no less than fifteen bullet-holes, piercing the door from the outside, and none merging from the inner side. These are regarded by the Board as wanton outrages.”

These Rangers, like the leaders of the mob, escaped punishment.

THE BLOODY REIGN OF MARSHAL STUDEMEIER.

Twenty years ago, with the coming of the first railroads to El Paso, there came also many bad men, and our mayor and city fathers concluded in their wisdom that they must have a city marshal who would be “bader en anybody,” and they succeeded beyond their most sanguine expectations. They imported one Dallas Studemeier, and installed him in that office.

His coming, if we can trace human events back to their causes, cost the lives of half a dozen men, his own included. The supplanted marshal, a Mr. Johnson, was the first victim. He was killed one night on San Antonio street, near its junction with El Paso, “by parties unknown,” as was said at the time. No one dared ask why or by whom he was killed.

Studemeier brought with him a brother-in-law, one “Doc” Cummings, a man of his own ilk. Soon the Studemeier-Cummings party became involved in a quarrel with the four Manning brothers, who resided here at the time, and Cummings was killed by Jim Manning in a fight.

It is enough to say that Manning was fairly tried and acquitted on a plea of self-defense.

In the Bosques above El Paso there were several parties of cowboys, both American and Mexican, some of whom were, no doubt, looking after their own cattle, while others were certainly looking after other people’s cattle. One morning the bodies of two young Mexicans from Juarez were found dead at their camp near Canutilla, sixteen miles above El Paso. They had been recently shot. The Mexicans of Juarez asked permission to send an armed party to take home the bodies, and they passed through El Paso. With them went a young German named Kramkauer, a stranger in El Paso, but who we afterward learned was a good man, and he certainly was a brave man.

On their return, this party of about thirty armed men halted on El Paso street, appearing angry but making no threats or hostile demonstrations, but Kramkauer did not hesitate when questioned to say that the signs at the Mexicans’ camp clearly showed that the two young Mexicans had been surprised while preparing their breakfast and assassinated. This was too much for the American cowboys and their friends who had collected on the street, and for a time I feared a conflict between them and the thirty armed Mexicans, which I knew would be a bloody affair, and therefore interceded to prevent it. But the Mexican party sullenly moved south on El Paso street, and halted when about half way to the river. Now the wrath of the American party was turned toward Kramkauer, who remained on El Paso street, near the head of San Antonio, and one Campbell, of whose history or character I know but little, but who appeared to be the spokesman of the party, called on Kramkauer to retract what he had said. Kramkauer quietly but firmly refused, saying that he had stated only the truth. I was standing near these two men, and was surprised at the low, protesting, almost pleading tone of voice in which they spoke to each other. Both were sober, both were brave. The marshal, Studemeier, was standing near me and them, but spoke no word. Others soon gathered about us, but the young German was without friends. I believe these two men might not have fought, but Johnnie Hale, who was intoxicated, called out: “Turn her loose, Campbell; damn ’em, turn her loose,” and drew his pistol. Studemeier, who stood within four feet of Hale, shot him in the back of the head, and Hale fell and died in a few moments. Campbell and Kramkauer fired simultaneously at each other, both shots taking effect. Each fired several times. Campbell fell, and the German staggered to the wall, and, leaning against it with his smoking pistol still in his hand, said, “I will fight till I die,” and he died soon. Campbell lingered till the next morning, and died.

A second shot fired by Studemeier accidentally killed a Mexican who happened to be passing down the street. I do not know who Studemeier was shooting at then, and I don’t believe he knew himself. Less than ten seconds time passed between the first shot and the last one, but four men were killed! Two of the three participants in the above affray having killed each other, and Studemeier having killed two men “on the side,” as it were, he became a hero with the rabble and a _terror_ to the more thoughtful of the city officials, who sought to get rid of him. But it is sometimes easier to catch such a man than it is to let him go. I found a way.

I was deputy United States marshal at the time, and at the next meeting of the council I presented a telegram from the United States marshal of New Mexico, stating that Studemeier had accepted an appointment as his deputy, thereby vacating the office of city marshal, and the city council declared it vacant. An alderman immediately nominated Studemeier to succeed himself, and Alderman Hague nominated the writer of these pages. The vote stood four and four, and then the mayor, to the surprise of many, gave the casting vote to Studemeier! One night, soon after the above occurrences, I went to a public meeting at the old Central hotel, and in the hall, in the presence of many people, Studemeier accosted and cursed and threatened to kill me, and called on me to defend myself. I was unarmed, and so informed him. He then produced two pistols, and generously offered to loan me one, but I had seen that trick played before, and I told him that as he and I were not good friends I did not feel like accepting a favor from him, and he went away. I went home and armed myself and returned to the meeting and met Studemeier, but nothing more was said or done. This was the last time, so far as I know, when I have been in any great peril from my fellow men—unless from their tongues.

There are probably as many Davids as Goliaths, and this desperado was about to meet his David—and his death. Dr. Manning was small of stature, modest in deportment, devoted to his family and his profession, and as to fighting, his disposition is well described in the words of the old negro, “Mammy,” in speaking of her old master. She said, “Colonel Purdue want no man to go about hunting for no fuss, but if anybody brought a fuss to him and laid it in his lap, he would nuss it and coddle it and try to keep it from ketchen cold.”

Studemeier gathered his few followers about him and announced that he was going to meet the Mannings and make peace or “have it out.”

The meeting was at the old stand, Uncle Ben. Dowell’s saloon. A peace was patched up, and of course some drinks were taken, and then all left except the marshal and Dr. Manning. Suddenly Studemeier found some pretext for anger, and, drawing his pistol, suddenly fired at Manning’s heart. The bullet missed its mark but wounded the doctor in one hand (the other hand had been crippled in a former fight), yet the little man grappled the large one with one hand and with the other drew his pistol, and in an instant the giant lay dying on the ground!

This shall be my last story of bloodshed. I was foreman of the jury which tried Dr. Manning, and he was rendered a verdict of not guilty without leaving the box.

LONGMEIER—A CLOSE CALL.

In the bad times soon after the coming of the first railroad, I returned to El Paso as deputy United States marshal, and encountered many strangers, and was called to the custom house to appraise some liquor which had been smuggled by one Longmeier. Although I had nothing to do with the seizure of the liquor, Longmeier thought I had, or else he thought it no harm to kill a deputy marshal, anyhow.

That night, while sitting at supper with my back to a window which opened on the common (which window had a hanging curtain), I heard the landlord call from the outside: “Mills, get your pistol; a man is going to kill you.” The landlord, John Woods, colored (who was afterwards killed by a policeman), had found Longmeier crouched at the window, pistol in hand, trying to find an opening through the curtain, and when asked what he was doing, replied that he was going to kill the d—n deputy marshal.

Longmeier fled and went to Silver City, and was soon after killed by a man of his own class.

A HOLD UP.

Soon after the above incident, I went one night about 9 o’clock to call for my wife, who was visiting some friends near McGoffin’s place. As I walked unarmed and with my overcoat thrown over my shoulder, I heard and saw a man walking suspiciously behind me, and determined to watch him, but as he followed a different street at a junction I dismissed him from my mind. Suddenly he sprang from the bushes about fifteen feet from the road, with a very large pistol directed at me, and the following dialogue ensued:

He—“Halt! Your money or your life.”

I—“My friend, I haven’t a damn cent.”

He—“Er, er. Hold up your hands.”

I did as requested.

He—“Ain’t you got no jewelry nor nothin’?”

I—“I told you no.”

He—“I believe you are a d—n liar.”

I—“Ain’t it bad enough to be broke without being insulted about it?”

He—“I’ve a damn notion to kill you, any how.”

I—“I am afraid you will. You don’t intend to kill me, but that pistol is pointed right at me, and you are nervous and it might go off.”

I positively saw that man move his pistol so that, had it been discharged, the bullet would have missed me by several feet. His voice quivered and I could see him tremble.

He—“Throw off that overcoat and step to one side.”

I complied.

I—“When you take the coat please take the papers from the pocket and leave them in the road.”

More conversation, and then:

He—“Pick up your coat and walk straight down the middle of the road; no bad breaks, now, or by —— I will kill you.”

And though I was never a Populist, I walked that night down the “middle of the road.”

* * * * *

One day I passed where two strange roughs were evidently critisizing some new comer who they thought was claiming honors which did not belong to him. I heard one of them say contemptuously: “Calls himself the Deadwood Kid! Why, he’s no more the Deadwood Kid than I am. Why, the Deadwood Kid has killed half a dozen men, an’ I don’t believe that ‘_moke_’ ever killed anybody!”

* * * * *

Early one morning I heard a saloonkeeper talking to his friend, evidently about some row he had had the day or night before. He said, “Well, no; I don’t think I was too drunk. Well, I was just about like I am now; and if he had got the best of me I wouldn’t have said a word. But my own opinion is, I would have gone through him p-r-o-p-e-r-l-y.”

* * * * *

The next day after the notorious ex-convict and desperado, Wesley Harden, was killed on San Antonio street by a worse man than himself, who was a constable or something, people, though not sorry at Harden’s taking off, were shocked at the manner of it, but feared to condemn the act, because no one knew who would be the next victim. I was passing along the street, and a merchant friend called to me and said, seriously and in a low tone of voice, “What do YOU think about this killing of Harden?” I placed my hand at the side of my mouth and whispered, “I’ll tell you if you say nothing about it. I have just been down to the undertakers and I saw Harden, and I think—I think he’s dead!” I believe my friend kept my secret.

* * * * *

Some years ago my friend, Mr. Park Pitman, now (1900) the efficient clerk of El Paso County, was a candidate for a county office on the Democratic ticket, and was the only candidate of his party defeated—possibly because he was the best man on that ticket. Soon thereafter, I was a candidate for a city office on the Republican ticket, and was the only Republican defeated (whether we voted for each other or not is nobody’s business). Soon after my defeat, I met Pitman with a party of friends, and I said to him: “Let us mingle our tears.” He replied, “I am writing a book which is to be entitled, ‘Bleeding Inwardly,’ I will compliment you with a copy.”

* * * * *

On my return from Washington City, in 1897, my friend, Zack White, congratulated me upon my appointment as United States Consul at Chihuahua, Mexico, and I told him I had been surprised at receiving so many congratulations and that I believed most of them sincere. He replied, “They are _all_ sincere. It’s like this; half of the people of this town are your friends, and, like me, they are glad of your success, and the other half are glad because you are going away. _It’s unanimous._”

I think a man who makes an “even break” among the people of El Paso does fairly well, and I “let it go at that.”

The North American Review, November, 1889.

THE UNION MEN OF THE SOUTH.

By W. W. Mills.