Saint Denis Massacre

__**Log# 277: November 18, 1898**__

*As I await Marie’s return to camp, I am left here to reflect on the event that separated us in the first place. It’s an event that I much prefer to banish from my mind for the sake of sanity. However, since first hearing the Van Strauss name mentioned once again, I can’t seem to put that terrible event behind me. The Fifth of May, Eighteen-Ninety-One is the day my life fundamentally changed. And I have not yet decided if the change was good or not. Though, I do know of some that would be disappointed that I was here again.*

--

I was riding with Van Strauss and her Family for quite some time by then, more or less two to three years. In that time, I had done a lot of robbing, a lot of killing, and a lot of various other terrible things. I do regret some of those actions, as not all of our victims deserved the Van Strauss treatment. Though, some of them, namely the rich and the powerful, in my humble opinion, only received the justice that only the Family could adequately deliver. I liked to think that the Family had done some good through its dealings, though, I’m not entirely sure if that is still true, or if it ever was. But that’s a topic for another time.

By the time of  the Saint Denis event, I was a well-established member of the Family. Marie and Thomas could rely on me for a great number of things: hunting, robbing, maintaining finances, recruiting...now that I look back, I wore many different hats. Though, the Family was smaller in those days, and we all needed to contribute in some way. Though, I must admit, I feel I did most of the heavy lifting when it came to basic necessities. Thomas and Marie were much more focused on the robbing and killing, and therefore did not have the time (or desire) to care about the running of a camp.

The morning of the incident, I was sitting by the campfire with one of our most recent recruits, a young black man by the name of Ernest Jones that I rescued from hanging down in Rhodes. His crime was horse theft. Not a crime deserving of the noose, but the law is quick to hang people of darker hue, especially in Lemoyne. Ernest wasn’t too keen on the outlaw life, but with nowhere else to go, and with the law after him, he had no choice but to join the Family. And over the last couple of months, he was slowly starting to ease up on his apprehension. Though, he was constantly stuck at my hip, and it was very difficult to get a moment to myself. I’m not sure he trusted anyone else in the Family not to slit his throat in his sleep, no matter how many times I assured him that they wouldn’t. Though to be quite frank, I can’t blame him, considering the brutality the Family dispensed on occasion. Despite all this, I did have a strange fondness for the young man, and I still think about him quite often.

Ernest made it clear that he did not think it was a good idea to go to Saint Denis. It wasn’t just his reluctance to return to Lemoyne; it was blatantly a trap. We all knew this. Even Marie knew this. But she seemed hung up on this woman who ratted us out. Señora Kirk was Marie’s lover, and while Marie clearly was fond of her, I certainly was not. She had a bad air about her, and I did not like when she would be brought back to camp. I did not trust this woman, and I was not  surprised when we received the news of her betrayal.  The woman was a snake in the grass, and I understood Marie’s anger.

Regardless, I did not think it was wise to pursue Kirk out of revenge. It was too risky, and it was putting the entire Family in danger. But Marie was hellbent on revenge, and as soon as the anonymous letter came, we were preparing to destroy her.

“I have a really bad feeling about this, César,“ Ernest said to me, nervously wringing his hands as he stared at the fire, “It don’t feel right.”

“Lo sé, hermano,” I replied, cleaning the rifle that has served me well over so long, “It doesn’t feel right to anyone here. Not to anyone but Marie.”

“Then why are we going? It’s obviously a set-up.”

“It’s what we do.We follow our leader.” I set the rifle down on my lap and looked into the fire. “It’s blind faith, I know, but it’s our duty to support her.”

“Even if you lose your life?” Ernest clearly disapproved. I could hear the judgment in his voice.

“We all owe our life to her. You know this,” I replied, my voice hushed. I did not want to alert our two leaders of the nature of our conversation.

“I owe my life to you. Not her.”

I did not know what to say to that, so I did not respond. I just went back to preparing for the long journey ahead. I made sure to pack enough provisions for the trip in everyone’s saddlebags so we did not need to stop to eat: a bit of bread, dried meat, and fruit for each person. I also made sure everyone was well-stocked with ammo, and that they all had a coat or warm layer. Despite the approaching summer, nights could get cold, and we had a long ride ahead of us.

We set out as soon as morning broke. Ernest hopped up on the back of my horse, Midnight, the same horse I stole away from Mexico and who carried me into this country. She was not the fastest, nor the bravest, but she was loyal and affectionate, and that’s all I really needed. We rode nonstop, and about halfway through the ride, I felt the telltale slacking of the limbs and the pressure against my back. I glanced back to find my riding companion dozing. He was not as accustomed to sleepless nights as I was, and the exhaustion was getting to him. I recognized it in many of the less-seasoned Family members. Their horses fell back a bit, and I noticed a few nearly slipping off their horses entirely. My heart went out to all of them, following our leader on her revenge mission, one that would certainly end in tragedy.

It was late at night when we arrived in Saint Denis. I did not frequent this city, due to the thick smoky air and the constant scent of piss. But I knew it was uncharacteristically dead. There were usually at least a few people wandering in and out of saloons. But there was no one. The clap of our horses’ hooves echoed across the city streets, and I’m sure Marie’s call of Kirk’s name woke the entire town up. No one was asleep that night.

“I don’t like this,” Ernest whispered to me. His grip on my shoulder tightened. I could sense he was terrified.

I urged Midnight forward, picking up the pace so I was in line with Marie and Thomas. “I’ll scout out the area. This doesn’t feel right.”

Thomas nodded in agreement. “Meet us at the saloon.”

Ernest and I rode ahead. We stopped the horse in an alley away from view. I dismounted and spotted a ladder to the top of the building. “Keep an eye out. I’m getting a better look.”

Ernest nodded and dismounted as well, keeping Midnight close and watching around corners for lawmen while I climbed quietly. I peeked my head over the edge of the roof, and seeing no one, I climbed up, crouching low as I scanned the area. I could see Pinkertons and lawmen everywhere. There had to he at least several dozen waiting in alleyways, in darkened shops, everywhere. I looked around for the gang and saw them entering the saloon. I immediately thought of all the people Marie dragged here with her. Kids, most of them, who weren’t bad folks like we were, but just people who had nowhere else to go. Children who were lured to the idea of a family to replace those they had lost. A part of me resented Marie for knowingly leading them into a trap, but there was no time to let the feelings stew.

I slid down the ladder and relayed the information I collected to Ernest. His shoulders slumped, and I could sense how hopeless he felt. He knew that it was unlikely for him to get out of this situation alive. And honestly, I didn’t think I had much of a chance either. The odds were stacked against all of us. And many people were going to die that night. But I didn’t want this young man to be one of them.

“Hermano, you do not need to stay. You can go,” I reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Take Midnight and ride out of this place before shots are fired. These men aren’t looking for you, so you can make it easily if you’re careful.”

“But, what about everyone else? What about you?” He asked. He was hesitant to abandon me, but his body language suggested a strong desire to leave. “I owe you my life.”

“And what good would it do to have you die tonight? Your sacrifice would be pointless. Just take the horse and go.”

He still hesitated, but after he saw the intent in my eyes, he took the horse, my longtime companion, away with him and out of the city. I never saw Ernest again.. I hope that he is doing well and that he is living a happy life.

I made my way back to the saloon, narrowly avoiding Pinkertons and lawmen along the way. I sneaked in through the back of the saloon and found a body on the floor next to Marie. So, it already began.

“César, what’s it look like out there?” Thomas asked quietly, but breathing heavily from whatever event just occurred.

“It’s bad. Pinkertons and lawmen...tons of them all over the city. There’s no way we’ll get out of here quietly.”

Marie sighed and glanced around to everyone in the dark room. She was regarding her family, those scared kids who had no business being here. I wonder to this day if she had regret for her actions. “Ernest? Where is he?”

I was about to confess to sending him away, but a voice from outside the saloon stopped me before I began. It may have been for the best, though, as I’m sure she would not appreciate me dismissing members of the family at their most crucial moment. But I would do it again for the rest of these kids in a heartbeat.

“Marie Van Strauss! This is the Pinkerton Detective Agency!  Come out with your hands up! We have this place surrounded!”

Everyone looked to Marie for direction. Myself included. I wondered how she planned to get out of this one. It was an impossible puzzle, and I could already feel the noose around my neck.

“We shoot our way out. Like we always have.” She said solemnly, but confidently. I wondered where that confidence came from. To be so sure that you will get out of a situation like this one. It was inspiring. And maybe that’s what really hooked me into the Family. Her charisma.

 Scanning the room for all the gang members’ faces, I knew that this was going to be a disaster. All of them were terrified and exhausted, and that’s when mistakes are made. I knew that most of them would not make it out alive.

We loaded our guns, and I made my way to the second floor of the saloon. I popped the window ever so slightly, just enough to fit the barrel of my rifle through. I was to provide as much cover fire as possible for the rest of the gang. I volunteered for this, of course. I knew the risk I was undertaking by staying here, cornering myself while the others escaped. But I thought it was my duty to protect them. As many of them as I could, at least.
I lined my shot, aiming for the Pinkerton agent barking orders to the gang, and pulled the trigger. His words fell silent, and he crumpled to the ground. That was the signal, and the gang moved forward, bursting from the saloon and firing at the Pinkertons and lawmen along the way.

I fired at the lawmen down the road, clearing a path for their escape, but no amount of shots on my end would be enough. My brothers and sisters were gunned down in the streets, many of them not even aiming for the lawmen, but either begging for their lives or running as fast as they could.  I watched as Marie and Thomas fled on their horses, but I lost sight of them through the gunsmoke and fog.

I could no longer get a good view on any of the lawmen, so I knew it was time to move. Keeping my head low, I made my way downstairs and headed out the back door. But someone clearly anticipated this. I felt the sharp stab of a bullet ripping through my hip which sent me to the ground. My rifle fell to my side as I reached for the wound, and looked to my attacker. A Pinkerton sauntered up, confident as ever. He must’ve thought he had me. That he had all of us. And, maybe they would, but not yet.

“Mister Castellano. You really pulled a number on us, firing from that window. Clever, for someone of your background,” he sneered as he reloaded his revolver. “But did you really think that you and your little band of misfits would make it out of here alive? You’re all sloppy.”

I did not give him the benefit of a response. I watched him carefully as he stepped closer and closer to me, and once he got close enough, I swung my leg and kicked his legs out from under him. He fell to the side, his gun discharging into my leg. I howled in pain, but struggled to my feet, limping my way away from the scene. He tackled me to the ground and flipped me over, a knife in his hand. He brought it down towards my head, but I was able to deflect just in time for him to just slice my face. A flesh wound. He tried again, but I managed to get a handle on my own revolver and shot him in the gut.  His body went slack, and could hear the whisper of his last breaths gurgling in his lungs. He coughed blood onto my face, and after a number of gasps, he went silent. Dead.

It took all the strength left in me to shove the corpse off me. God himself willed me to me feet, and I limped out of there, careful to avoid any other Pinkertons or lawmen. Getting out of the city was out of the question. They’d surely watch every entrance, and those that weren’t were gator territory. If the law didn’t finish me, they certainly would. After some time, I found a church. I thought that if I could just beg for mercy, they would take care of me. When the coast was clear, I approached the front door, banging on it.

Every moment of waiting was agony. Not only from the pain, but the worry that someone would notice me and alert the law. But after not too long, a nun came to the door. She was cautious, only opening the door a crack. I couldn’t blame her, considering all the gunfire.

“Hermana, please…” I coughed out, barely able to hold myself up. “Hermana, please help me.”


“Of course, mi hijo...hurry! Hurry!” She said in almost a whisper, with the telltale sign of a Mexican accent. Hearing this, I immediately felt more at ease. She ushered me inside, and helped me to a pew to inspect my wounds.

To this day, I do not know what it was that made her agree. She must’ve known the risk of helping me. She’d be liable to hang. But I can only assume her Christian duty and compassion was what saved me that day. Or maybe the willingness to help someone of her own kind. We were not always welcome in this country, and we had to look after one another.

Her and the clergy of that church hid me for the next few months while I recovered from the wounds that nearly killed me. Many things occurred while I was there, but that’s a story for another time. Once I was healed, there was no sign of the rest of the gang. I did not know if they escaped or if they all died. At that time, despite the compassion I experienced, I felt more alone than ever. I lost my Family again, and once again, I needed to find a new way to survive.