1 The Devil’s Horsemen s the sun dropped below the western horizon on the evening of A August 9, 1862, a brilliant array of colors burst over the rugged landscape of Southwest Texas. Spectacular hues of gold, orange, and red erupted across the rocky cedar-clad hills overlooking the headwaters of the Nueces. It was an awe-inspiring scene that twenty-eight-year-old John W. Sansom would never forget. Unrolling his blanket and tossing his saddle on the ground, he probably hoped for nothing more than some peace and rest. But the camp around him was alive with the festive sounds of laughter, song, and revelry. Voices in English and German fi lled the evening air, as did the smell of venison cooked over a campfi re. Sansom covered himself and stared into the stars. It had been a long day on the trail, a diffi cult fi fteen-mile horseback ride over some of the roughest ter- rain in Texas. His body ached.1 Not since Sansom had ridden with James H. Callahan’s Rangers seven years earlier had he passed through this harsh country. But it was differ- ent then. In 1855 he had been chasing renegade Indian marauders. But on this trip, he was no mere private. This time his Unionist friends and neighbors had elected him captain of their company. Even so, just as before, he was running for his life. But this time he was not being chased by a thousand determined Mexican federales. Nor was he fl eeing Mexico with the fl ames of Piedras Negras at his back. Instead, he was now riding toward the Rio Grande and the safety of Mexican soil. And the border lay less than two days’ ride ahead. Just two more days, his commanding offi cer assured him, and he and more than sixty of his fellow Unionists would reach freedom. Just two more days and they would stand beyond the reach of the Confederate conscription law and the long arm of the Lone Star State. Since leaving the banks of the Pedernales, Sansom and his friends had forded the Medina and the Frio, and now they were just a couple of hard days on saddle to the Rio Bravo. All that separated them now from the protection promised by the Mexican border was fewer than forty miles of broken prairie. Just two more days and Sansom and his comrades could escape the horrors of the fratricidal war that had divided the nation. Just one more sunset remained, maybe two, and only one more river to cross. 29 QQ7306-Collins.indb7306-Collins.indb 2299 11/11/18/11/18 88:12:22:12:22 AAMM 30 A Crooked River But Sansom must have wondered if this sunset might be his last. Some- thing seemed wrong, terribly wrong, to the young seven-year veteran of the ranging service. Just before sundown he had tried desperately to persuade his commander, Major Gustav “Fritz” Tegener, to push on to the border without delay. Strangers had been reported observing their slow-moving column from a distance. At least two different hunting par- ties had seen them. Why would Tegener not believe him when he had pleaded that the men should strike camp and move out quickly? Why would the major not believe his own scouts who had told him that they were being followed? Why had Tegener not listened? There was a full moon rising, and it would be the perfect time to press ahead, Sansom had urged Tegener. Danger was following closely behind, he warned. Yet an aloof Tegener remained confi dent in his plan, and his pace toward the border. The major was a fool, Sansom must have thought to himself when he heard the order to bed down and settle in for the night.2 Why was Major Tegener placing only two sentries in the nearby cedar breaks lining the banks of the West Fork of the Nueces? And why did he instruct his men to camp in an open meadow where they could be easily seen in the light of a full moon? It was a perfect spot for an ambush. Could Tegener not see that too? Should they at least douse their campfi res, and maintain silence in the dark? But it was too late to worry about that now. There was nothing left to do but rest. Dawn would come soon enough, and if all went well, in less than forty-eight hours the company of Unionists should reach their sanctuary on the other side of the Rio Grande. Once across, Sansom reas- sured himself, no one could force him to fi ght for an unjust cause. He would rather die a free man than raise arms against the United States. He would rather die in defense of freedom, he had explained to his family and friends, than in defense of slavery. To Sansom and his fellow Union loyalists the German hamlets of Kerr- ville, Comfort, and Fredericksburg—all nestled in the scenic Texas Hill Country—seemed so far away now, and the promised asylum of Mexico so close they could almost reach out and touch it. It had been eight days since more than sixty young men—most of them German, all members of an organization called the Union Loyal League—had set out from Turtle Creek in southwestern Kerr County. Four days since Captain John Sansom of Kendall County, a Mexican guide named Pablo Díaz, and several Anglo- Texans had joined the fl ight to the border. To be sure, progress toward their intended destination, the confl uence of the Devil’s River and the Rio QQ7306-Collins.indb7306-Collins.indb 3300 11/11/18/11/18 88:12:22:12:22 AAMM The Devil’s Horsemen 31 Grande, had been slow and diffi cult. But as a restless Sansom reclined and closed his eyes, and the campfi re beside him fl ickered faintly, none of that seemed to matter. All the other men had fi nally hushed their chatter and called off their playful wrestling games. All the patriotic speeches about loyalty to the Union and love of liberty had also subsided.3 Now it was quiet, fi nally. Even the evening breeze seemed to have died down. And when the embers of the campfi re at last burned out, one could hardly hear a sound. Only a mournful songbird, a few chattering crickets, the faint trickling of waters running over the rocks that covered the nar- row bed of the nearby Nueces. A deathly stillness settled over the scene as Sansom drifted to sleep, both rifl e and revolver at his side. It was almost as if he could hear forever, and hear nothing. But his better instincts told him the enemy was out there. Somewhere in the darkness they were watching and waiting. Then it happened. Shortly after 3:00 A.M. fellow Unionist Leopold Bauer shook Sansom and motioned for him to remain quiet. Now awake, Sansom scrambled to his feet, grabbed his weapons, and followed Bauer into the cedar breaks. He was unprepared for what happened next. “When we had gone about sixty yards . [Bauer] in front, and I about twenty feet behind him,” without warning a single shot rang out, and Bauer fell dead. Seeing his friend drop to the ground, Sansom instinctively raised his rifl e and returned fi re.4 But it was no use. Dozens of Confederate partisans rose up from the brush, their silhouettes plainly visible in the moonlight as they rushed toward him. Knowing that the gunfi re had alerted his comrades, Sansom raced back toward Tegener’s camp, and within seconds he found himself exposed in an open plain, stumbling and scrambling toward the safety of the closest timberline. He was caught in the middle of a murderous cross fi re between the Confederate irregulars and a furious countercharge and fusillade of fi re from the Unionist camp. Not far from Sansom, Ernst Besler, a second German sentry who was posted in the cedar, also fell fatally wounded. Robert Williams, who rode with the Confederate par- tisans, recalled that the German boys appeared like a “swarm of bees,” and “confusion reigned supreme” in his own ranks during the opening moments of the fi ght. “No one knew what to do,” he remembered.5 Then came the command to charge, and all hell broke loose. The company of Texas mounted volunteers who had been trailing Tegener’s party for nearly a week suddenly hurled themselves headlong toward the enemy camp. From the south and east they surged to within fi fty meters of Tegener’s position, all the while pouring a steady fi re into the startled QQ7306-Collins.indb7306-Collins.indb 3311 11/11/18/11/18 88:12:22:12:22 AAMM 32 A Crooked River Unionists. The initial exchange claimed several injured on both sides, among them Major Tegener, who sustained two serious wounds. Williams remembered vividly the terrifying sounds of battle, “The bullets were whistling pretty thickly over our heads.” Then when the fi ring subsided, cries and moans could be heard as the wounded called out for help, but no one dared even to carry water to them for fear of becoming a target himself. Then a lull in the fi ghting followed. For more than an hour, and what must have seemed like an eternity, a surreal silence fell over the scene. But the quiet belied the impending danger. With both sides reluctant to advance again into a hail of rifl e fi re, Sansom crawled through the tall weeds to a place of safety.