by Jeff Shaara
He knew Worth was a Texan, and would fight the Mexicans if only for that reason, but he also knew that Worth was a good soldier, and a commander who would not shame his men. If he had one maddening trait, one that was sure to always create a controversy with Scott, it was Worth’s strange habit to see the ghosts of the enemy as though a battle were always around the next bend. Zachary Taylor had experienced Worth’s panic, sending his men out through the countryside chasing an enemy who simply wasn’t there. It was a reputation that followed Worth south, and Scott had no use for panic.
They rode for a long while without speaking, and Lee had wondered why he was there, thought, You can’t assume he remembers you. It’s been a long time, and after all, he is a major general.
In the silence, he had stared out toward Orizaba, the grand mountain now out to the left. Scott had assumed Santa Anna to be near there, scrambling to gather men and equipment, salvaging what he could of the scattered pieces of his army. Lee looked again at the debris along the road, thought, I suppose Santa Anna doesn’t have to explain this to anybody. He’s a dictator, there is no one to sit in judgment, no one to blame him for the loss. He has all the ways of appealing to his army, can still tell them they’re fighting for their country. There’s a big difference between being an invader and being invaded.
That difference arouses a very strong sentiment in these people, at least to their army. The people, the private citizens, don’t seem to be concerned. They have seen their share of governments, of dictators. As long as Santa Anna can rally the army, as long as he shows power, then he is the power, until someone else comes along with more power. He began to feel naive, thought, This isn’t new. This is the way most countries are run. It’s easy to understand why Americans have a sense of superiority, why the government sees this war as necessary. We’re like missionaries, spreading the Word. Maybe one day that word will reach every corner of the earth, Manifest Destiny. God’s will. He looked at Orizaba again, suddenly felt a chill, thought, You’re thinking like a politician. Or a preacher. Better to think like a preacher.
He glanced at Worth, the older man riding stiffly in the saddle, thought, He hasn’t changed so much, still the thick curly hair, something youthful in his face not really showing his age. Lee estimated, counted the years, thought, Mid-fifties, I suppose. Worth looked at him now, said, “You’re mighty quiet, Captain. What’s on your mind?”
Lee cleared his mind, looked at Orizaba again, said, “Mighty fine view here, sir. Spectacular.”
Worth tilted his head, said, “More going on in your head than that. Don’t mean to pry. I had hoped we could clear the air.”
Lee was puzzled, said, “Clear the air? I don’t understand, sir.”
“Captain, let’s be precise. You are now the property of General Scott. You’re the fair-haired boy, the general’s rising young star.”
Lee felt a wave of embarrassment, began to protest, but Worth interrupted, “Let it go, Captain. I knew you’d take exception to that description. Doesn’t matter. It’s accurate. Every officer in the army knows it. It’s interesting, actually. There was a time when talk like that described me. Did you know I was on his staff? I was there when he made his reputation, the victory at Lundy’s Lane. God, it’s been how long … it was summer, 1814. There were not very many of us then, and we stood up to the finest army in the world. Hell, we flat out whipped them. It was his finest hour as a soldier. And we all shared in that, the glory, the recognition. But not for long. He absorbs the light around him. No one else can claim much attention when he’s the star. Since then, I’ve never known Winfield Scott to take a shine to anybody. He seems to need to protect that attention, make sure it doesn’t drift off to find some other hero. But for some reason, he’s noticing you. You should be flattered.”
Lee did not respond, recalled Joe Johnston’s words, the night before his mission at Cerro Gordo, wondered how many of the senior officers saw Scott’s attention as some sort of favoritism. A protest formed in his head, Surely they are mistaken.
Worth continued, “Don’t assume anything good will come from it, Captain. Scott must have some selfish use for you. He sure as hell has no use for me. And even I’m better off than Davy Twiggs, or that damned fool Pillow.” Worth glanced at Lee before going on, “You think I’m talking out of turn? Make you uncomfortable? Good. We’re even. General Scott makes me uncomfortable all the time. Make no mistake, Captain, I’m not his enemy, whether he believes that or not. There’s no one in this army better to be leading troops down here. No one in Washington either. Now, there’s a mess.”
The words had come toward Lee in a flurry, and the engineer was uncomfortable now, but not for the reasons Worth might have thought. The youthfulness was gone from Worth’s face, and Lee saw something bitter, angry, a hard cold stare replacing it.
I don’t understand why he says these things, Lee thought. I do not believe General Scott is so … petty. No, this is not your place to comment. He has waited a long time to say these things. It may not be accurate, or completely truthful, but he clearly believes it.
After a long moment Lee said, “I’m honored the general would take me into his confidence.”
Worth looked at Lee again, shook his head. “You always going to talk like a cadet?”
“Sorry, sir. It’s … habit.”
“Can’t argue with that. All your habits still good ones? You still keep sober?”
“Why, yes, sir. I’ve never felt the need to be … intoxicated. I can’t say I understand those who do.”
“I’m wary of men who claim to be champions of sobriety. They’re either liars or madmen. Or …” He smiled, looked away. “Maybe they’re in line to be commander.” Worth paused, then said, “How about a good swear word now and then? I recall, that wasn’t in your repertoire either.”
“Uh, no, sir. Can’t say I have mastered the use of profanity. There’s enough flowing around without my contributing to it.”
“It’s an art, Captain, a convenient skill. You should learn how to use it, but it requires some discretion. It can be an effective weapon, if used properly. Most of these men don’t understand that. They consider it an obligation to start cussing as soon as they get away from their mamas. But a well-placed curse can punctuate effectively, enforce a point. You should try it sometime. I’m certain General Scott would be a good instructor.”
Lee shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, scanning the horizon. He said nothing.
A long silence passed between them before Worth said, “I wish I knew why he dislikes me so.”
“Sir?”
“Even in the old days, even when he would visit the Point, I hoped he would allow me some of that glory, the recognition. But he would never speak of the war, barely acknowledged that we had served together. It was as though I was merely a staff officer, nothing more.”
Lee was surprised, thought, But you were a staff officer. Surely, there is more to this. But he’s serious, this really bothers him.
“Sir, I have learned that General Scott has a healthy dislike for most all the commanders. I can’t say I understand that myself. He has to endure … forgive me, sir. I don’t want to say anything inappropriate.”
“Nonsense, Captain. I appreciate your views.”
“I don’t understand the conflict with Washington. He is under enormous pressure to win this war, and the army doesn’t get support.” Lee paused, feeling his discomfort welling up in his chest. “I’ve said too much, sir. Forgive me.”
“I’m not in the best of health, Captain. After this war is over, I’ll probably retire. Makes me a bit fearless when it comes to Washington. You hear about Senator Benton?”
Lee shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Thomas Hart Benton, the esteemed senator from Missouri. Good friend of Polk’s, a good Democrat, makes all the right speeches, delivers the vote for his party. Few months ago, the President goes to Congress with a list of promotions, mine included. One of them is for the good senator to become a lie
utenant general. Just like that, the highest ranking officer in the army. Complete command. Never mind that he’s a civilian.”
Lee noticed that Worth’s expression had hardened, his lips set in a thin line.
“Apparently, Captain Lee, Senator Benton had ambitions to become a war hero, expected the President to reward him by sending him down here to run the show, win the war and grab the headlines. And his friend James K. Polk thought that was just a dandy idea. Word of all this came down to General Scott, while he was still in Texas.” Worth laughed, shook his head. “You must not have been at headquarters yet. You’d have learned something about profanity for sure. Half of Texas heard the explosion. A few congressmen went to the President and gave him the best advice he’ll ever get, said drop the Benton promotion. For the army’s sake, he did.”
Worth was laughing still, and Lee felt a wave of depression.
“I don’t understand that, sir. This is serious business. This is a war.”
Worth looked at Lee, serious again, said, “Captain Lee, you are not especially … political, are you?”
Lee looked down, said, “I try to keep up with events, sir.”
“It’s not a criticism, Captain. You are blessed. You don’t carry the infection. Simply put, Winfield Scott is a Whig. The president is a Democrat. Their politics don’t … blend well. What makes one look bad makes the other look good. And they both want to look good.”
There was a silent moment, and Lee looked out toward the mountain, thought, Yes, you are naive, Captain.
“There is more to command than I would have thought, sir.”
“That’s right, Captain. It’s a hell of a way to run a war.”
HE WAS STILL BESIDE WORTH, BUT THE CONVERSATION HAD faded away, drowned out by the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves. The focus now was forward, the first glimpse of the low buildings and tall church steeples of Perote. The line of skirmishers stayed far out in front, and Worth had strengthened them. Nearly a full regiment marched in a wide line of battle, prepared for a sudden assault by an army Worth was convinced was lying in ambush. As they drew closer to the small town, the quiet was broken by a burst of sound. Lee sat up straight in the saddle, stared forward, and Worth said, “Muskets! He’s there! I knew it! We could be in serious trouble, Captain. The whole Mexican army could be up there.”
Worth turned, shouted to an aide, “Advance, double quick! Move!”
The officers gave the commands, and the troops did not hesitate, had known the order could come any time. Lee moved off the road, watched the soldiers surging past, and behind them the wagons bunching up, the guards fanning out, protecting the supplies from the inevitable assault.
Worth was staring out through field glasses, said, “I don’t see anything yet … there must be … wait, horses … there, off to the left.”
Lee raised field glasses, studied the small town quickly, saw the dark mass of a very old stone fort that guarded the town. The muskets were still firing, and Lee could see a dust cloud, moving out south of the town. He thought, I don’t think that’s an army. It’s not much of a fight.
Worth was still glassing, said, “The major force must be beyond the town. That appears to be a small detachment, the scouting party for the main body. No major problem yet.” He looked at Lee. “That’s why we keep the march tight, the wagons well-guarded, Captain. It could come at any time. If we’re not prepared, it could be a disaster. We’re giving Santa Anna too much time to put another army together.” He looked back toward his staff, said aloud, “Let’s proceed, gentlemen.”
They resumed the march, moved down the long hill, the town quiet now. Lee looked out over rocky hills, thought, How could Santa Anna have put together another army? From where? Could this have been just … guerrillas? He rode behind Worth, studied him, the man staring out across the rocks, still expecting the sudden roar of an attack. Lee followed Worth’s gaze, thought, I have no business second-guessing him. I suppose it’s better to be prepared for the worst. He studied the rocks again, thought of the guerrillas. If I was a bandit, that’s where I would be. Not much we can do about it. Hard to chase anybody in country like this.
A squad of skirmishers was gathered near the road now, and the rest of the regiment began to file in closer. All threats from the small raid were gone. A younger officer stepped forward to address Worth. “General, we cleared them out. There were a few in the town, probably have families here. They didn’t seem serious about making a fight. Took off after a few shots.”
Worth removed his hat, stared out to the south, said, “Lieutenant Longstreet, you keep a sharp eye out. They’re clever. Post a strong guard. We’ll make camp in the town.”
Longstreet glanced at Lee, appraising, then looked at Worth again, said, “They won’t stand up to us, sir. A few well-directed shots and they scatter like birds.”
Worth grunted, said, “Overconfidence is dangerous, Lieutenant. If Santa Anna brings his whole army down on us, it will take more than a few well-placed shots to repel him.”
Longstreet looked at Lee again, and Lee could see a small frown of frustration on the young man’s face. He knows, thought Lee. It’s only the guerrillas. Keep your tongue, young lieutenant. Lee nodded slightly, said nothing, and Longstreet saluted, said, “With your permission, sir.”
Worth returned the salute, said, “Stay alert, Lieutenant.”
A small group of horsemen came out of the town, more of the advance guard, the men who would check the houses, draw fire if they had to, to make sure there was no ambush still waiting. The men rode up, and Lee saw a man with a bandaged arm, thought, I’ve seen a great deal of that lately. He stared at the wound, the man moving as though the bandage was not there, and Lee recalled the horribly wounded man at Cerro Gordo, the man’s quiet resignation. There must be something, some word from God, telling you whether or not you are going to die. Of course, God would give you that, offer you some kind of peace of mind. But there are many now, men like this one, the wounded who come back. They still have the fight in them, they do not focus on their injury. It is past, behind them, I suppose. That is … amazing. Could I do that, just ignore it, go back to work, hide the memory of that wound? Maybe that’s what truly makes a soldier.
Some of the men were pointing back to the town, their voices rising in excitement, and a young lieutenant called out, “General, you have to see this!”
The man reined his horse, still excited, and Longstreet said, “Easy, Mr. Pickett. Make your report.”
“Excuse me, sir, General Worth, the fort, we thought it was empty, like some of those others we seen. No, sir. It’s full of guns, powder. And, sir, there’s even prisoners.”
Worth said, “Prisoners? What kind … locals? Criminals?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, no. They’re Mexican army prisoners. Officers. Still wearin’ fancy uniforms and all.”
Worth looked at Lee with a cold grim stare, said, “Bait, Captain. Let our guard down, and they hit us. Keep a sharp eye, gentlemen. Let’s go have a look.”
They moved quickly into the town, and Lee could see the civilians now, moving out into the street, cautious, then slowly opening up, their smiles appearing again. Just like before, he thought, they’re glad to see us. It’s very strange.
They rode up to the old fort, the door flanked by four American soldiers. Lieutenant Pickett was down quickly, moved to the entranceway, said, “General Worth, welcome to Fort San Carlos de Perote. After you, sir.”
Lee followed Worth inside. They moved through a dark hall, and Lee felt his nose curl up, a thick cloud of wet stench, the distinct smell of human waste, blending with something more, worse, the stale odor of death. He lowered his head, tried to breathe in short quick bursts, thought, I wouldn’t want to be a prisoner here. They moved into a large low-ceilinged room, and Lee could see boxes, crates, cloth bags, all marked in Spanish.
Worth moved forward, leaned down, said, “Muskets … Spanish made. Pretty old.” He stood up, looked at the young officer, s
aid, “You said prisoners, Lieutenant.”
“This way, sir. Through here.” They moved again into a dank hall, and Lee could hear voices, low, absorbed by the damp stone walls. He saw a heavy wooden door, held shut with a fat iron bar. Worth pointed, and Pickett pulled the bar away, pulled the door open.
There was dim light, one small opening high on the wall, and Lee felt a damp rush of air, and more of the awful smell. Worth stepped into the room, and Lee could see past him, two men, struggling to stand. The lieutenant was right, Lee thought. They’re officers … high-ranking officers. Their uniforms were filthy, and Lee could see one man still wore a medal, dull brass, hanging loosely from his coat. Worth stepped around, moved to see the light on the men’s faces, and Lee saw now, the gaunt unshaven faces, hollow eyes.
Worth said, “Good God! I know these men!” He looked at Lee. “Captain, how’s your Spanish?”
Lee stepped closer, shook his head.
“Almost nonexistent, sir.”
“Mine too. Well, we’ll do the best we can. Captain, may I present to you General Juan Morales and General José Landero.”
Lee looked closely at the faces, and the men glanced at him, then focused their eyes straight ahead. They seemed to waver slightly, then stood at attention. Lee said, “Morales … the same … the commander of Vera Cruz, sir?”
Worth held out a hand, and Morales took one slow step toward him, raised a hand, spoke slowly, “General Worth.”
Worth shook the man’s hand, then suddenly released it, and Lee could see a twist of pain on Morales’s face. Worth looked at the man’s hand, said, “I’m sorry, General. You are injured.”
The man rubbed his hands together, seemed embarrassed. He put his hands behind him, stood again at attention.
Worth said, “General Scott was right. The loss of Vera Cruz was a disgrace. This is their punishment.”
Lee moved closer, the light now reflecting on the men’s faces, and he saw their weakness, the slow starvation in their hollow eyes.
