by Jeff Shaara
“Sir, what do we do with them?”
“We liberate them, Captain. These men are under parole. They were released from Vera Cruz with our assurances of safe passage. If we need any proof that they have observed their parole, consider that Mr. Santa Anna saw fit to put them in prison. Hell, they’ve been here now probably two weeks or so, don’t even look like they’ve had a scrap to eat. He just left them here to die. That’s proof enough for me.”
Worth pointed toward the open door, said, “General Morales, General Landero, you may, uh, vamos.”
The two men looked at the door, and both bowed slowly and with great dignity.
Morales said quietly, “Gracias señor, muchas gracias.”
The two men moved unsteadily toward the door, and Worth said, “Probably haven’t been fed in a while. We scared off their guard. They might never have been fed.” He looked at the young officer, said, “Lieutenant, make sure these men get rations. Get them cleaned up, and when they’re fit, they can go on their way. I don’t expect they’ll be any trouble to us, that’s for sure.” He looked at Lee.
“Captain, since you represent General Scott here, you have any objections?”
Lee said, “Uh, sir, I would not presume to represent General Scott. However, under the circumstances, I agree with your actions.”
“Good. So when General Scott breathes fire at me for making this decision without asking him, you can tell him just that. He’ll listen to you before he listens to me.”
Worth moved out into the dark hall again, said, “Dismal places, prisons. Let’s get out of here.”
They moved toward the front entrance, and Lee watched the two Mexicans step slowly into the daylight. They held their hands over their eyes for a few seconds, and Morales smiled, bowed politely again to the American soldiers who were gathering around them. Morales glanced at Landero, said aloud,
“Viva General Scott.”
11. SCOTT
MAY SECOND
SCOTT EASED INTO THE SOFT LEATHER CHAIR. HE LEANED FORWARD and ran his hand across the rich oak of the desk’s top, felt the inlaid leather along the edge, thought, Nice, very nice. We should always have a camp like this. Now he sat back, settled once again into the wonderful softness of the chair. Taking his time, he examined the short round man who stood before him, the man’s fine suit, the colorful trim of his shirt, the fine silver on the strange necktie. He slid a piece of paper across the desk, turned the writing toward the man and said, “You understand, it is the official policy of the United States government that the army simply take whatever we want.” The man glanced down at the paper but did not read what was written there. Scott thought, He speaks English, but that doesn’t always mean he can read it. He pulled the paper back, said, “Sir, allow me to read this.”
He looked up at the man’s face, saw quiet concern, a growing sadness. “President Polk sends me a great many letters. I even read some of them. Like this one. ‘If you continue to insist that only the resources made available by the government can sustain your army, and those resources are not being provided in a manner you find satisfactory, then the only reasonable alternative is for the army to lay claim to the territory it now occupies, and secure food and forage from the citizens of the hostile nation by whatever means necessary.’ ”
He waited for a response. The man nodded slowly, and Scott thought, He looks like he’s going to cry. Scott set the paper aside, said, “Señor, despite my government’s willingness to ride roughshod over your citizens, I have no intention of taking anything. We are neither bandits nor pirates, despite what President Polk would suggest. Under my command, the army will negotiate fair prices for the goods we require. Jalapa is prosperous, your authority covers an area that has a great many productive farms. I am sure we can arrive at a reasonable agreement. As mayor, uh, alcalde, you can appreciate the benefit this kind of relationship will have on your community. It is up to you to convince your people of the wisdom of cooperating with us.”
The man’s energy seemed to return, and he smiled now at Scott, said, “Yes, General. There is no need for you to see Jalapa as your enemy. Your enemy is not here.”
“Excellent, Alcalde. I will have the quartermaster accompany you to your merchants. His staff is authorized to negotiate in the name of the United States Army. A good day to you, sir.” Scott rose, shook the man’s hand, and the young Scott led the alcalde from the office. Alone now, the general moved around the desk, walked toward a large window and stared out into bright sunshine, said aloud, “A little diplomacy.” He shook his head and thought, They don’t think I know anything about negotiation. You don’t just rip your way through a foreign country, grabbing and destroying anything you want. I’m not Attila the Hun, for God’s sake.
His son-in-law returned to the office, said, “Sir, excuse me, but General Twiggs is here to see you. He is insistent, sir.”
Scott looked at the young man, thought, How much energy will this require? “Fine, show him in.”
Twiggs stood in the doorway, took a moment to compose himself, then moved stiffly into Scott’s office. He held his hat in his hand and said, “General, a moment?”
Scott pointed to the chair, and Twiggs eyed it, ran his own hand across the desk’s dark wood, pressed down hard as though testing its strength. He sat, appraised Scott for a moment before speaking, “Quite a nice place. The people are … surprisingly … uh …”
“They’re surprisingly gracious, General. The governor wouldn’t take no for an answer, insisted the army make use of his home. The mayor just left, is going to speak to the farmers, see about opening up a supply line for us here.”
Twiggs seemed at a loss for words, shook his head. “Not what I expected.”
“It’s all in how you treat them, General. Just a little respect. Washington thinks we should stampede through here. They have no sense of how these people can help us. We cannot make war against an entire nation with an army as small as ours. Our fight has to be with their government, and their government is one man. The surprising thing to me is these civilians don’t much seem to care about us being here. I had always thought Santa Anna was some great national hero, like their version of George Washington. He’s more like their version of James K. Polk.”
Twiggs said nothing, and Scott thought, He’s never been political, probably doesn’t get the joke. Good thing Pillow isn’t here. A silent moment passed between them, and Twiggs shifted in the chair. Scott broke the silence, “What’s on your mind, General?”
Twiggs sat up straight, stared down at the wide desk, said, “I would prefer, sir, that you not insult the President.”
Scott smiled, thought, So, he did get it. Give him more credit next time.
“What can I do for you, General?”
“Sir, the threat from the guerrillas is increasing. We can’t send wagons into the countryside without attracting a raid. If they think we’re the least bit vulnerable, they appear out of nowhere. The cost in supplies, and even in men …” Twiggs paused, searching for the right word. “… is unacceptable. We had two men killed last night, ambushed. We sent out a cavalry detachment, but they didn’t find anything. They’re like cockroaches.”
“I’m sorry about your men. I’ve been hearing a great many reports in the past few days. It may be that what we’re facing is all the force Santa Anna can muster. He can’t have much organized strength. His army collapsed at Cerro Gordo, and I suspect so did much of his ability to recruit new troops. Most of the troops he had are long gone, probably tending their farms.” He paused.
“General Twiggs, I don’t have much stomach for a drawn-out fight with a bunch of guerrillas, but it may be the only fight we’ll have. Do you have a solution?”
Twiggs looked up quickly, and Scott saw the spark, a rare show of enthusiasm. Obviously this was the opening Twiggs had come for. “I think we should organize a special squad,” Twiggs said, “Maybe the Texas Rangers, send them out on a specific mission to hunt down the guerrillas. Show no mercy. It�
�s the only thing those people will understand. They’re nothing more than thieves. Treat them like thieves.”
Scott said nothing, looked at Twiggs, who stared past him, out toward the wide window behind Scott’s desk. Scott thought, He never looks me in the eye.
“You can send out patrols if you like, General,” Scott said, “but I don’t think it will do much good. As you said, they’ll be as hard to catch as cockroaches, and it’s their countryside. If you think the Rangers will have some positive effect, then see to it. I may work on another remedy.”
Twiggs stood, bowed curtly, said, “Thank you, sir. If I may be excused …”
“Dismissed, General.”
Twiggs was quickly gone, and Scott looked again at the letter from the President, thought, It’s the same kind of problem. Maybe it needs the same kind of solution. He looked toward the door, saw the young Scott coming in, said, “Major, is the alcalde still outside?”
The young man replied, “I believe so, sir. He is waiting for the quartermaster’s staff.”
“Good. Go get him. I have another proposition for him.”
The young man moved outside, and Scott sat back in the chair, studied a painting on a far wall, a beautiful woman in a floor length dress, long black hair flowing beneath a bonnet of bright flowers. Something wonderfully … primitive, he thought, unspoiled. How many conquerors have torn through this land, how many revolutions brought by the ambitious against the corrupt. And then the ambitious become the corrupt, and so another revolution. This time, we bring the ambition, and we fight the corrupt. And all the while the people adapt, and survive, and live with whatever rule of law hovers over them. Well, General Twiggs may be right. We’ll try another rule of law.
He heard the outside door open, and the alcalde hurried in, holding his hat in both hands.
“Sí, General Scott, what can I do?” The mayor smiled and nodded his head.
“Sir, we have a problem. Unfortunately, it is also your problem. General Santa Anna has been forced to resort to fighting us with bandits, guerrillas, causing us a great deal of trouble. It makes it difficult for the men to keep their … kind attitude toward your people. I’m sure you understand. However, it has occurred to me that you might know someone who, quite by accident of course, has some direct contact with the guerrillas. Perhaps you can find some way to communicate with them, encourage them to … curb their activities.”
The alcalde seemed concerned, shook his head, and Scott thought, Give him a moment. Let him have his protest of innocence. The man thought, then said, “General, I do not know … these men, they are bandidos. We do not support what they do.”
“No certainly, señor. However, if we go after them, we will kill them. It would be a sad affair. Some of these men probably have families, señoritas here in town. A sad affair indeed.”
The alcalde stopped smiling now, and Scott thought, Yes, he is beginning to understand.
The alcalde said, “It would be a very sad affair, General. Still, I do not know what I can do.”
“I have an idea, señor. Since I cannot communicate directly with the guerrillas, I will do it through you. I believe it is a prudent policy to levy a fine for each raid against our men and supplies. You find a way to convince them to stop their raids, and no one will be forced to pay. If the raids continue, then the army will levy a fine. Let’s see, a fair amount would be … three hundred dollars. For each raid. And since I cannot hope to collect that from the guerrillas, and since I cannot, in good conscience, take money from the courteous people of your community, the most reasonable policy is that I will collect it from … you.”
He watched the man’s expression grow grimly serious, thought, Good, he understands politics and war.
The alcalde straightened his coat, trying to achieve an air of formality. “General Scott, I cannot say to you that I have any means of contacting the bandidos … the guerrillas. But I can assure you that I am outraged by their actions, and I will not tolerate this kind of activity under my authority as alcalde. I am not afraid of General Santa Anna. It would be a reflection on my, um, weakness if the raids were to continue.”
“Yes, señor, I believe you’re right. I do not believe you to be a weak man.”
The man bowed quickly as he backed slowly away, before turning and slipping past the young Scott.
General Scott sat back, a smile of satisfaction on his face. “Major, it’s a talent. That’s all, just a talent.”
He stared out the window, felt the sun on his face and said, “I don’t think there will be much more of a problem with the guerrillas.”
MAY SIXTH
The ship had eased into the wharf at Vera Cruz, pulled to the landing by the longshoremen. No one noticed the tall, thin man who made his way carefully down the ramp, his pale corpselike face standing out in stark contrast to his black suit. The man had obviously suffered for most of the trip, as many suffered, especially those who did not spend much time at sea. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp, tried to take in a deep breath and clear his lungs of the stale air of his quarters on the tall ship. His stomach still ached, still sore from the misery that had rolled over him as the ship rocked and pitched southward. He put a hand on his gut and closed his eyes as though in prayer. When he opened them, he watched as a sailor, a thick dark man who did not look at him, carried his bags down the ramp. The sailor set the bags down heavily on the wharf before turning and walking silently back to the ship.
The man moved to the larger cloth bag, picked it up, straining under the weight. He prodded it and a smile of satisfaction came across his face. He ran his hand over the smaller bag, fat with papers, picked it up, hoisted the larger one over his shoulder and began to move unsteadily. He was startled to see sailors suddenly blocking his way, an officer and two men behind him wearing pistols. He dropped the bags, looked at the pistols, and felt a sudden wave of the familiar sickness churning inside.
The officer said, “Good day, sir. May I ask your destination?”
The man still looked at the pistols. He moved one hand, pointed a bony finger toward the bags and said, “My orders. I am here on official business. I am here to see General Scott.”
The sailor smiled, glanced at one of the guards behind him, said, “Well, sir, General Scott’s whereabouts is privileged information. I can tell you, though, the general is not presently in Vera Cruz. What kind of business did you have with the general?” The officer looked at the bags then said, “You a salesman? You come a long way just to sell … what? Might you be selling guns? Perhaps you are also here to see General Santa Anna. He might be a better customer.”
The sailors all laughed, and the man felt a deathly helplessness, his brain a jumble of words. “No, sir. I am a clerk. The chief clerk, actually. That is, I have been sent …” He looked at the smaller bag again, said, “May I be allowed to retrieve my papers? They will provide an explanation.”
The officer nodded. “The chief clerk, no less. Well, Mr. Chief Clerk, you be careful going into that bag.”
The man reached down, his eyes again drawn to the pistols. He opened the leather clasp on the bag, felt inside, his heart racing. Finally he pulled an envelope out of the bag. He stood, felt light-headed, and nearly slumped to the ground before the officer grabbed him by the arm.
“Whoa there, steady.”
The man tried to straighten, felt the officer’s hard grip under his arm. He took a deep breath, his head starting to clear, and said, “Thank you. It’s all right. I’ve been on that ship for too long.”
The sailors laughed again, and the officer said, “You’ll get your land legs in a bit. You might feel the ground rocking for a while. Let’s have a look.”
The officer took the envelope, opened it and read the letter. His eyes wide-open, the officer looked at the man, shook his head as though in disbelief, read again. “I’ll be damned. Official business indeed.”
An army officer moved across the wharf and said to the naval officer, “A problem there, Lieutenant?”
The sailor held the papers out. “No problem at all Colonel. We got us an official visitor here. All the way from Washington.”
The colonel took the papers and examined them. “Well now, this is a surprise.”
The man felt a wave of relief, thought, Finally, and said, “Nicholas Trist, sir. As you can see, I’m here under instructions from the President and the Secretary of State. I wonder if either of you gentlemen can arrange for me to reach General Scott?”
12. LEE
MAY ELEVENTH
IT WAS NEARLY DARK, AND A GLORIOUS SUNSET FOLLOWED HIM into the town. He had returned from Perote, after days of making a detailed inventory of the guns and stores they had found in the old fort. It had not been a pleasant task, a mundane detailing on paper of matériel the army would probably never use. He did not understand why Worth would assign the job to him, since it did not quite fit his duties as an engineer. But worse, the work took place in that awful dark place, where the smell reminded Lee of old dungeons and torture chambers he had read about.
Worth had finally agreed to let him go, could find no more reason to retain the services of Scott’s engineer. Lee had begun to wonder if Worth’s keeping him at Perote was some aspect of the strange hostility between Worth and Scott. It was almost as if he were a hostage or a prisoner of war of that odd and unstated battle. Even Worth’s brief good-bye had been curt and angry, and Lee had left feeling depressed, as though his relationship with Worth would never be the same. As he rode along the ragged highway, he tried to recall the Point, when Worth was his mentor, his friend, giving Lee the benefit of experience.
That was a long time ago, he thought. What experience has made Worth so angry, suspicious, even … afraid? He believes Santa Anna is always there, always a danger, speaks of him as larger than life, some kind of all-powerful demon. General Scott will not listen to it, but General Worth’s staff has to. Does that mean eventually his fear will become theirs as well? How will that affect his men? Lee remembered Worth’s concern about his own health. It doesn’t show on his face, he still carries the energy of a younger man, but he doesn’t expect to stay long in the army. Maybe he’s afraid of that. He’s come as far as he can. There’s nothing left to look forward to.
