Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 77, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 March 1914 — "SHOT AT SUNRISE” AS DEMONSTRATED IN REAL LIFE AND IN FICTION [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

"SHOT AT SUNRISE” AS DEMONSTRATED IN REAL LIFE AND IN FICTION

How Two Mexican Peons Met the Fate of Traitors in the City of Juarez—Neither of Doomed Men Show Interest, While Firing Squad Is Just as Indifferent—One Woman Was Observed to Weep.

New York. —“To be shot at sunrise” Is a phrase that has long done duty in the Civil war romances. Of late It has cropped up in the “sunrise for yours” form of vaudeville, and now bids fair to become one of the standard phrases of humor. A short time ago I heard the expression in a vaudeville theater at El Paso, Tex., and laughed, says a writer in the New York Sun. The next morning 1 saw the actual thing—and didn’t laugh. The execution, as Mexican executions go, was a mere incident. There had been many before this one, there will be many in the future. The two men executed were named Juan and Ramon, last names unknown, and the only reason why their end, which was similar to that of many others of their class, is now recorded is the fact that one of the El Paso .newspaper men happened to be with me at the time the “sunrise” expression was used in the theater and remarked that the actual thing was cheaper than that on the stage, as no admission was charged and that an execution was due in Juarez the next morning. At that time Colonel Castro was in command at Juarez, the Mexican bor-

der port across the river from El Paso. My newspaper friend arranged with him for passes for us to witness the execution, which was to take place at sunrise. Thus it was, then, that at five o’clock on a chilly morning we made our way across the river to Juarez. The streets were deserted when we arrived, but the bells in the shot-riven tower of the cathedral of Guadalupe, where old Don Porflrlo’s men made such a gallant stand against Madero two years ago, were ringing for early mass and devout Mexican women were entering the church. The old caretaker of the plaza drifted about picking up scraps of paper, atnd altogether the scene was one of peaceful quiet. We walked up to the barracks, a large one story adobe building in the rear of the cathedral. Besides being the barracks, all the municipal offices are located in this" building. Like every other building In the town, It is liberally punctured with bullet holes. We showed our passes to the guard and were led to a room off the main courtyard. The Inevitable paintings of Juarez and Hidalgo hung on the walls, flanking a vilely executed painting of the national coat of arms. Soon a second captain, whose rank about corresponds to that of a first lieutenant in the United States army, came into the room and the three of us walked out into the courtyard. Lined up at one side of the inclosure were a dozen federal soldiers and two buglers. We waited a short time and presently an iron bound door opened at the south end of the yard and between two guards Juan and Ramon stepped out. The captain gave an order and the soldiers fell into double file, the prisoners in the center. At a second command the little procession started for the door and we fell in behind. ! We passed up a back street and headed for the eastern edge of the town. The bells in the church were still ringing and the caretaker at the plaza gave us an uninterested glance as we marched past. As we went I took a good look at the condemned men. Each wore the faded blue shirt and dirty khaki trousers generally used by the peon class. Cheap sandals were on their feet Neither wore a hat Juan, the younger, was probably twenty-five. The other, Ramon, was about forty/ I There was nothing dramatic in their appearance. There was nothing of the “marchiim straight and defiant to their doom.’® Both shambled along, their eyes on the ground, and showing not the slightest emotion. They might have been going to mass, to the bullfight, for a walk —their expression of stolid lack of interest would have been the same. No one spoke, and we marched along steadily for about half a mile. The buildings were becoming more scattered. In the early light we could see the big 12-story Mills building in El Paso looming up. The procession halted at a dilapi-

dated adobe wall that surrounded a Chinese truck garden. Two rough coffins leaned ageinst the wall. A woman in a rusty black dress was waiting. She was Juan's “woman,” I afterward learned. The peons don’t usually bother with marriage ceremonies. Two of the soldiers escorted the prisoners to the wall. Their hands were placed at their sides and they were bound, the rope being wound about them breast high. The woman was ordered away, and she shambled off a short distance, muttering. There was no snap or military precision about any of the movements. The whole thing was done in a slipshod way, the captain pointing to the spot where he wanted the firing squad to stand and the position of the coffins. The firing squad was lined up about' 20 feet from the condemned men. The captain fumbled in his pockets and looked a little annoyed. He began going through his pockets again and finally drew out a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. The soldiers looked on with no apparent interest; the prisoners kept their eyes on the ground as the captain read the charge. It was something about plotting against the government of Mexico; the usual thing, my friend told me. The men were asked if they had anything to say. Neither__.made any reply, or in fact, seemed to pay any attention. The captain stepped back on a line with the firing squad and one of the soldiers stepped forward and tied a brightly checkered piece of cotton rag about Ramon’s head. He moved over to Juan to do the same, but the prisoner shook his head and mumbled something. There was nothing dramatic about the action; it seemed one more of petulance. The soldier stepped back into line.

“Prepare,” commanded the captain. The gurn .were raised- Juan looked sullenly straight into the muzzle; Ramon slightly turned and . cowered against the wall. I heard the woman sobbing. “Fire!” came the command. There was a ragged volley, the last rifle barking as the first ones were being lowered. I had kept my eyes on the prisoners. At the first report Juan jumped on tiptoe and wrenched his arms, nearly freeing them. He fell forward on his side. Ramon sagged to his knees, swayed a' moment and then slid forward on his face. The woman had turned her back to the sight and cowered against the wall, holding a little wooden rosary and muttering. The firing squad looked on stolidly. In three years of newspaper work in western mining towns, where strikes were hardly classified as gentle pastimes, I have seen many wounded men and some dead ones. One gets used to the sight, but as Ramon finally slipped forward on his face I became faint. Two strong, healthy men in a moment

turned Into Inert masses Is not a pleasant sight to witness. The firing squad had brought their guns to the order and the captain stepped forward, at the same time drawing his revolver to administer the “tiro de gcaclas,” the act of thanks. He placed the muzzle of the revolver at the head of Ramon and fired and then stepped to the body of Juan 4 and, repeated the action. I do not know whether the two men were dead before this, but I think they were. The bodies were placed side by side, face upward. And then the strangest part of the whole affair took place. The firing squad, the two buglers in front, were formed in single file. The first man stepped forward a pace

and stood beside the bodies. Pointing at them with bis right hand he said: “The fate of traitors.” He passed on and the next man stepped to the bodies, pointed, and repeated the sentence. This was continued until each of the men had performed the act,. I kept my eyes on their faces to se« the effect that the ceremony would have. Hardly a sign of emotion was shown

Victims of “Shot at Sunrise” Order.

Men Previous to Being Executed.