With the military campaigns in motion, Polk and Secretary of the Navy George Bancroft considered a secret plan to end the war as quickly as possible. They sent instructions to Commodore David E. Conner, commander of the Home Squadron patrolling the Gulf of Mexico. That summer, he allowed General Antonio López de Santa Anna, a former president of Mexico, to return from exile in Cuba. The “Napoleon of the West” previously sent a message through an associate to the White House, saying that “a treaty can be made.” Owing to the back-channel communications, he disembarked at Veracruz “without molestation” by the Navy. However, he decided to renege on any promises made to the gringos. Eventually resuming power in Mexico, Santa Anna raised an army of 20,000 men and marched toward San Luis Potosí.
Entering Mexico from the north, Taylor crossed the Rio Grande with small boats and heavy mortars. Arista withdrew from Matamoras on May 18, as Taylor took control of the town. The Americans provided medical care for the patients in the hospitals and avoided disrupting civilian affairs. To avoid clashes between U.S. soldiers and the townspeople, Taylor maintained his headquarters and his units outside Matamoras.
American volunteers arrived in mass at Point Isabel and quickly joined Taylor's army on the Rio Grande. Although the Mexican army in the field outnumbered them, U.S. forces possessed a superior arsenal. For example, Samuel Colt of Hartford, Connecticut, devised firearms with a revolving cylinder that locked into alignment with a fixed barrel. The mounted troops often wielded percussion rifles, while most infantrymen carried flintlock smoothbore muskets. Noted for their contempt of Mexicans and Indians in the borderlands, a special regiment known as the Texas Rangers wore a belt of pistols around their waists. The states of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, Maryland, and Ohio raised thousands of better-armed soldiers, who filed across the border into Mexico.
At the age of 24, Lieutenant Rankin Dilworth of Ohio deployed to Mexico that summer. A graduate of West Point, he began keeping a diary shortly before arriving on the Rio Grande. Like many of his comrades, he wanted to “see the elephant” on the other side. He waxed romantic about the strange and exotic landscape, which looked nothing like the places he knew back home. His passages referred to a girl he left behind, but they also took note of beautiful senoritas near the Army camp outside Matamoras.
That August, the Army moved hundreds of miles downriver to camp at Camargo. On the journey, the troops occasionally went ashore to gather wood. The banks teemed with snakes, tarantulas, ants, and scorpions at almost every turn. To their surprise, the Mexicans greeted them with a fandango – an open-air dance marked by fiddling, gambling, smoking, and drinking. However, tempers flared after one American volunteer stole another's catfish. Misery followed the Army to Camargo, where one out of every eight perished from disease.
Marching overland from Camargo to Cerralvo, U.S. soldiers anticipated “mucho fandango” in Monterrey. In mid-September, Taylor divided nearly 6,220 troops into two wings to attack the fortified city from opposite sides. General William J. Worth led a division from the west to sever the city's road to Saltillo, while Taylor ordered the main body to attack from the east. Under the command of Ampudia, more than 7,000 Mexican soldiers opposed the assault. A citadel dubbed the “Black Fort” belched cannonballs from the north side of the city. Under a hail of Mexican artillery and musket fire, the Americans entered the city's outskirts and maneuvered through the narrow streets. They fought house to house, battering down doors with planks. Eventually, General John Quitman's brigade captured the Mexican batteries at El Teneria redoubt and turned the guns on the fleeing enemy. Mexican forces rallied in the central plaza, where U.S. howitzers blasted them with indirect fire. On the morning of September 25, Ampudia agreed to an eight-week armistice and to evacuate the defenses. As the Mexican divisions marched out of Monterrey, they left behind a “vast cemetery” of unburied corpses.
The Battle of Monterrey produced 561 American casualties, including Lieutenant Dilworth from Ohio. The last entry of his diary appeared shortly before he experienced his first action, when a cannonball tore off one of his legs. He perished a few days later. Because his family lacked the money to pay for the return of his body, the Army buried him in Monterrey.
The news of an American victory at Monterrey stirred no pride in the Polk administration. Instead, the cabinet admonished Taylor for the “great error” of offering lenient terms to Ampudia. If Taylor had captured the opposing forces, some members opined, then “it would have probably ended the war with Mexico.” While settling on a plan for “masterful inactivity” south of Monterrey, Polk cancelled the armistice on October 11.
Polk turned his attention to the Gulf Coast, where the port of Tampico represented a military objective. On November 14, Commodore Conner entered the harbor and took control of the town. A week later, an American detachment from Brazos Island arrived by ship to secure the area. With more troops sent directly from the U.S. to strengthen the garrison, the war against Mexico expanded.
Unbeknownst to the troops in Mexico, the Polk administration eyed a larger prize. Benton convinced the commander-in-chief to authorize an expedition to seize the Gulf port of Veracruz. The base of operations, he surmised, would enable American regiments to march inland to capture Mexico City. If appointed lieutenant general of the invading army, then the senator offered to take command and to negotiate with Santa Anna himself. Pending congressional approval of the superior rank for Benton, Polk and Marcy decided to assign interim command to Scott.
Scott soon reached Camargo, while Taylor marched to Victoria. Their professional relationship soured thereafter, because the former removed a number of regiments from the latter's command. Despite the reduction in numbers, Taylor's army linked with a division under General John E. Wool and marched to Saltillo that winter.
On February 22, 1847, Santa Anna commanded close to 15,000 Mexicans in a battle that began on George Washington's birthday. Six miles south of Saltillo, Taylor directed 4,750 Americans to defend a mountain pass called Buena Vista. After reading a summons to surrender, he responded with eloquence: “I beg leave to say that I decline acceding to your request.” Unofficially, “Old Rough and Ready” told the Generalissimo “to go to Hell.”
As the sun rose the next morning, a slight drizzle fell upon the colorful lines that formed on the plateau. Mexican cavalry and infantry assailed the American flanks with deliberate movements, while the main body launched a direct assault against the center. Heavy fire from U.S. batteries turned the tide of battle. Their volleys of grape and canister halted the advancing enemy, while the Mississippi dragoons of Colonel Jefferson Davis withstood a series of massive charges. A sudden thunderstorm delivered rain and hail that afternoon, but the Americans held their ground and forced the Mexicans backward.
The two armies stood a few hundred yards apart in one of the fiercest fights of the war. Hour after hour, the sounds of screaming soldiers, neighing horses, cannon fire, and musket balls filled the mountain air. The pungent odors grew unbearable with the smell of burning flesh, including dead and rotting animals. As clouds of gun smoke drifted across Buena Vista, the fog of war shrouded almost everything by dusk.
After the Battle of Buena Vista ended, Santa Anna withdrew his exhausted troops southward to San Luis Potosí. The Mexican army suffered more than 1,800 casualties, while U.S. forces counted 264 killed, 456 wounded, and 23 missing in action. Instead of pressing onward, Taylor returned to Monterrey in victory. American newspapers compared him favorably to Generals Washington and Jackson, but Buena Vista was his last battle in Mexico.
Forward March
The northern boundaries of Mexico encompassed a land of a thousand deserts. With inhabitants concentrated along the Rio Grande, near the Wasatch Mountains, and on the Pacific Coast, foreign observers noted large strips that appeared virtually ungoverned. For years, British officials threatened to seize California in order to curb the transcontinental ambitions of the U.S. If Americans did not overrun Mexican territory, Polk f
eared that the European powers would establish a foothold west of the Rocky Mountains.
Even before the war began, Polk sent First Lieutenant Arnold H. Gillespie of the Marine Corps as a “special agent” into Mexican territory. After traveling across Mexico, he boarded a U.S. ship at Mazatlán and sailed to California. He delivered messages to Larkin, the American consul, and to Commodore John D. Sloat, the commander of the Pacific Squadron. He also carried secret letters to Captain John C. Frémont, the son-in-law of Benton and a celebrated leader of topographical expeditions. Eventually, they met on the shores of Upper Klamath Lake.
Whatever they discussed, much of California teetered on the brink of revolt. Native Californios such as General Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo in Sonoma believed that their economic interests no longer tethered them to Mexico City. Even more belligerent, hundreds of rowdy Americans resided at Sutter's Fort on the Sacramento River. The Pacific Coast appeared ready to gravitate into the orbit of the U.S.
On June 14, 1846, a group of 40 men from Sutter's Fort assailed the town of Sonoma. William B. Ide, a settler from Vermont, led them. After proclaiming the independence of the “California Republic,” they hoisted a flag with a grizzly bear and a single star painted on a white cloth. Frémont returned to the Sacramento Valley, although the Mexican authorities had previously ordered him to leave. Among the instigators of the Bear Flag revolt, he agreed to lead a battalion southward to conquer all of California.
Less than a month later, Commodore Sloat steered the Pacific Squadron to the northern coast of California. Alarmed by rumors that a British fleet approached, he sent sailors and marines ashore at Monterey and Yuerba Buena. They raised the Stars and Stripes and claimed California on behalf of the U.S. His actions prompted the Bear Flaggers to join the U.S. forces, though the aging officer soon retired from command.
His successor was Commodore Robert F. Stockton, who resolved to seize southern California that summer. To cut off retreating Mexican forces under General José Castro, Stockton sent Frémont by ship to San Diego with the “California Company of mounted riflemen.” Landing at San Pedro, Stockton dispersed Castro's soldiers along the coast with a “gallant sailor army.” Within days, Stockton and Frémont occupied Santa Barbara and Los Angeles. On August 17, they announced that all of California belonged to the U.S.
Meanwhile, Colonel Stephen W. Kearny led the Army of the West on one of the most remarkable marches in American military history. At Fort Leavenworth, he outfitted 1,600 soldiers from the First Dragoons and the Missouri volunteers. During the summer of 1846, they set out on the 780-mile Santa Fe Trail. Though hardships abounded, they traveled about 20 miles a day to reach the Raton Pass. As Kearny approached unopposed from the north, the governor of New Mexico, Manuel Armijo, decided to flee southward. On August 18, Americans captured Santa Fe without firing a shot. They erected Fort Marcy while establishing a set of laws known as the Kearny Code. “General Kearny,” Polk remarked upon reading a dispatch from New Mexico, “has thus far performed his duties well.”
After leaving volunteer regiments in New Mexico, Kearny marched 300 dragoons to the far west. Beginning in September, they journeyed nearly 1,000 miles across a landscape of extremes. At Socorro, they met a party led by the “mountain man” Christopher “Kit” Carson, who reported that U.S. forces already occupied California. Retaining 100 dragoons in his command but sending the rest back to Santa Fe, Kearny pressed westward with Carson as a guide. At the junction of the Gila and the Colorado Rivers, they learned that a Californio insurgency had thrown off the “Anglo-Yankee yoke” from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara. Nearly 40 miles from San Diego, the exhausted dragoons made contact with a small party led by Gillespie and Lieutenant Edward Beale of the Navy. The Americans reconnoitered the area and readied for battle near the Indian village of San Pascual.
The Battle of San Pascual began on December 6. At 2:00 a.m., Kearny directed a column to conduct a headlong attack on a mounted band of Californios. However, 160 lancers suddenly turned and charged their line in the darkness. The cavalry sabers and naval cutlasses proved ineffective against the long lances. A charging lancer wounded Kearny in the groin, while Gillespie received a mark on his face. With 18 dead and 13 wounded, the Americans clung to Mule Hill for days. Kearny sent Beale with Carson and an Indian to San Diego for help. Eventually, a detachment of 180 sailors and marines rescued Kearny's desperate command.
Following his arrival in San Diego, Kearny joined with Stockton in an effort to recapture Los Angeles. Shortly after the New Year began, a joint force of sailors, marines, and dragoons reached the mission of San Luis Rey. On January 8, 1847, they engaged 350 Californios at the San Gabriel River just 12 miles from Los Angeles. On the anniversary of Andrew Jackson's victory at New Orleans, the Battle of San Gabriel lasted less than 90 minutes. Next, the opposing sides skirmished at La Mesa. U.S. forces suffered one dead and 13 wounded from the two confrontations. The Californios evacuated Los Angeles, thereby leaving the town to the Americans. A week later, Frémont reappeared with a battalion of soldiers, a number of cannons, and the Treaty of Cahuenga. Weary of the hostilities, Stockton recognized the treaty and appointed him as governor of California. Kearny protested to no avail, though he later demanded a court martial of Frémont for insubordination. Despite the bickering among the American officers, the Californio insurgency melted away.
The Americans in New Mexico faced an insurgency as well. The civilian governor, Charles Bent, underestimated the discontent in Santa Fe and beyond. In early 1847, a drunken mob in Taos decapitated him at home. Violence spread quickly from pueblo to pueblo. On February 3, Colonel Sterling Price led a battalion to Taos and crushed the insurgents with ferocity. Thereafter, the population of New Mexico tolerated U.S. control.
Before the revolt in New Mexico, a thousand Missouri volunteers commanded by Colonel Alexander W. Doniphan marched southward along the Rio Grande. A towering lawyer from Liberty, Missouri, he skirmished with Indian tribes along the way. He did not fear “the Devil or the God that made him,” or so his men believed. During late 1846, they defeated a larger Mexican battalion commanded by Colonel Antonio Ponce de León in the Battle of the Brazito. After storming El Paso, the Americans turned toward the city of Chihuahua.
On the road to Chihuahua, Doniphan's march encountered significant resistance near the Sacramento River. On February 28, 1847, General García Condé opposed the Americans with close to 3,000 Mexicans. Using unconventional tactics, Doniphan overwhelmed Condé's dispositions along a plateau. Only one American perished in the Battle of the Sacramento, but the Mexicans suffered hundreds of deaths that afternoon. Doniphan took possession of Chihuahua a few days later.
From Chihuahua to Sonoma, U.S. forces occupied Mexican territory without losing a major battle. Across a thousand deserts, Americans in uniform accomplished feats of strength that prompted comparisons with the legends of the ancient world. Few expected to rest on their laurels, because Mexico City remained unconquered.
War at Home
U.S. victories on the battlefields failed to silence the carping in regard to “Mr. Polk's War.” Although their arguments varied, many Whigs expressed misgivings about the armed conflict from the outset. Even some Democrats privately suspected that the president had manufactured the hostilities with Mexico. Nonetheless, the dispatches of war correspondents on the front lines raised public interest in the anticipated spoils of Manifest Destiny.
On a hot night in the summer of 1846, Congressman David Wilmot, a Democrat from Pennsylvania, sparked a fiery debate about Manifest Destiny that consumed the country for years. As a supporter of a “necessary and proper war,” he wanted to secure “a rich inheritance” in North America for the people “of my own race and own color.” He proposed an amendment to a wartime appropriation bill stating that “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall ever exist” in territory acquired from Mexico.
Labeled the Wilmot Proviso, the amendment encouraged kindred spirits from the northern states to set aside party
affiliation for an ideological goal. “I make no war upon the South,” Wilmot insisted, although his proviso promised to stop the spread of the slave labor system into New Mexico and California. The House of Representatives passed the bill as amended, but the Senate took no action in regard to “free soil.” In subsequent months, more appropriations bills passed through the House with the Wilmot Proviso attached. Eventually, southern slaveholders in the Senate filibustered measures that prevented U.S. citizens from “emigrating with their property.” Sectional interests divided Congress during the war, splintering the caucuses of both the Whigs and the Democrats.
As the discontent in Congress grew, a first-term Whig from Illinois named Abraham Lincoln introduced another controversial resolution. When running for office during 1846, he asked the citizen soldiery of his pro-war district to “secure our national rights” by volunteering for military service in Mexico. After arriving in Washington D.C., though, he denounced the commander-in-chief as “a bewildered, confounded, and miserably perplexed man.” He demanded to know the exact location on Texas soil where American blood was shed. The “spot resolutions” won him accolades from fellow Whigs, even if they achieved little else. As a result, colleagues in the chamber derided the little-known lawyer with the nickname “Spotty.” Unhappy Illinois constituents made Lincoln a one-term congressman.
Though fanning the flames of sectional animosity, a majority in Congress endorsed the transcontinental visions of an American republic. Opponents of the war slandered Polk as a tool of the “Slave Power,” while antislavery politics enhanced the popular cravings for Mexican lands west of the Rocky Mountains. The Mexican War Bounty Land Act, a measure passed by Congress on February 11, 1847, promised a federal land warrant of 160 acres for veterans. With the sale of additional sections, the auctions of the General Land Office would help to raise revenue for financing the war debt. Consequently, Secretary of the Treasury Robert J. Walker lobbied Congress to create the Interior Department for the proper disposal of the national domain to all citizens. Upon completing their military service, scores of Americans expected to feast upon the “free soil” of the far west.
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