“That ain’t true,” the man argued. “If you look out there you can see the dust where Taylor’s headed north.”
Whipple put his hand on his pistol. “There ain’t been no fight and General Taylor ain’t runnin’, so I says yer a liar.”
Sarah came around the counter and landed a powerful punch on the soldier’s jaw, sending him sprawling. “You God damned son of a bitch. There ain’t Mess-kins enough in Mexico to whip ol’ Zach Taylor. You just spread that lie some more and I’ll beat you plumb to death.” She kicked him and when he started to crawl toward the door, she kicked him again.
Whipple laughed uproariously and slapped his leg, raising a cloud of dust. “If you don’t beat all, Sarah.”
She took one more kick at the fleeing man then grinned at Whipple when he had gone. “‘Guess he won’t tell that tall-tale to nobody else.” She went back to the task of making coffee. “How much time we got before Santa Anna gets here?”
“Here or to Buena Vista?”
“Which way’s Buena Vista?”
“North.”
“So General Taylor is retreatin’ like that fella said?”
“No, no. He’s just findin’ better ground, like I said. And if that kid was tellin’ true about the dust in the north, Zach’s sure as hell-fire headed fer Buena Vista, like I said.”
“How much time before the Mess-kins get to Buena Vista?”
“His advance party is probably here already. They’ll follow Zach and get there at more or less the same time he does.”
“How’d they get here so fast?” she asked.
“They was better mounted than us and they left a day earlier. But it’ll be two, maybe three more days before the main body can catch up.”
“Oh. Then I got time to pack out.”
“Like I said, I’ll help you.” Whipple gave her a grin.
“You ain’t got a horse, I reckon.”
“I stole me a mustang, but he’s no account.”
“I’d be glad to have you ride with me.”
“I’d be obliged.”
February 22, 1847
Buena Vista, Mexico
With General Taylor checking his rearguard at Saltillo and with General Wool and the brigade commanders setting up the defenses, Major W.W.S. Bliss, who was General Taylor’s aide-de-camp, found himself temporarily in command of the entire army.
“My compliments, Major Bliss,” the scout reported.
Bliss returned the salute.
“They’s a party o’ five Mess-kins comin’ up the canyon under a flag o’ truce, sir.”
“Very well. Return to your post,” Bliss replied.
“Yes, sir.”
Bliss turned around. “Marina?”
She was sitting behind Taylor’s field desk with her feet up and watching Bliss. “Yes?”
“I need you.” He buckled on his saber belt and put on his hat.
“How badly?”
He turned to look at her. “What?”
“It’s gonna cost you.”
“Marina. We don’t have time for games.”
“Ask me how much.”
“How much?”
“The price is three letters: W.W.S.”
“I’m not telling you my name, Marina. We’ve had this conversation before.”
“Okay. See if you can negotiate with Santa Anna in your lousy Tex-Mex.”
He glowered at her. “Alright. But you have to swear not to tell anyone.”
“No deal.”
“Damn it, Marina. This isn’t the time for fooling around.”
“What does W.W.S. stand for?”
“William Wallace Smith,” he growled.
“Sir William Wallace, the Scottish hero?”
“He was some kind of distant cousin. Can we go now?”
“Yes.” Giggling, she got up and followed him out. “Who was the Smith? Captain John Smith? Maybe you’re part Indian on Pocahontas’s side.”
“Stop it. I’m nervous enough without you tormenting me.”
“What are you nervous about?”
“I’ve never done this before,” Major Bliss said, as he mounted his horse.
“Done what?” Marina accepted a boost from the cavalryman who had brought her horse.
“Negotiated a surrender.”
She laughed and rode out. “Santa Anna didn’t come to surrender,” she called over her shoulder.
“Then what’s he want?” Bliss caught up to ride beside her.
“He’s probably going to say something about giving us no quarter if we don’t surrender immediately. That’s what he did at the Alamo.”
“Us surrender? I don’t have that authority.”
“If you did, would you?”
“No.”
“Then having the authority is immaterial. You just say no. You don’t need diplomatic training or any more authority to say no.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a maddening woman?”
“Yes.”
They rode silently for the rest of the way.
The Mexican general, flanked by two musketeers on each side, was wearing a red velvet coat with so much gold braid on the shoulders and medals on the breast that it had deformed the material and made him look hunchbacked. He spoke quickly and haughtily to Major Bliss as if Marina was not present.
Marina waited for him to finish then turned in her saddle toward Bliss. “Santa Anna seems to think that we surrendered by withdrawing from Saltillo to here. This man, who’s too rude to introduce himself, has come to discuss terms.”
“Terms?”
“Yes. We moved north, so he thinks we ran.”
“Tell the arrogant pig that the Mexican army must surrender unconditionally,” Bliss snarled. “No terms.”
Marina grinned then nodded, faced the Mexican General and translated in a haughty tone.
The man responded with a string of curses.
“What did he say?”
“If I told you, you’d want to shoot him.”
“I already want to shoot him.”
“Let’s go. There’s nothing else to be said here.” She turned her horse.
Bliss had not moved and was locked in a staring contest with the general.
“If you come now, William Wallace Smith Bliss,” Marina said. “I’ll promise to keep your name a secret.”
Bliss broke eye contact with the Mexican general and turned his horse. “Where can I get one of those six-shot revolving-chamber-pistols like Josiah Whipple has?”
“I think you have to join the Texas Rangers or be friends with Captain Sam Walker.”
“If I had one I could have shot that general and his escort.”
“Not very diplomatic.”
“Wish I knew his name?”
“Who?” she asked.
“That general.”
“Pedro de Ampudia.”
“You said you didn’t know his name.”
“No, I said he was too rude to introduce himself, I didn’t say I didn’t know his name.”
“God, you’re a maddening woman.”
February 23, 1847
Buena Vista, Mexico
General Pedro de Ampudia attacked at dawn, pushing the left flank of the General Lane’s Second Indiana volunteers back into the Illinois volunteers. General Wool sent a messenger to Lane ordering him to hold the line at all costs, but the best Lane could manage was an organized withdrawal, taking the Illinois regiment with him.
General Taylor, returning from Saltillo, joined the Mississippi Rifles commanded by Colonel Jefferson Davis and attacked the flank of Ampudia’s column. At the onset, Davis was wounded in the foot but he stayed in the fight.
Taylor and Davis’s charge enabled General Wool to halt the retreat of the Indiana and Illinois volunteers and he placed them beside the hacienda where he had already placed two cavalry regiments and a battery under command of Thomas W. Sherman. The Third Indiana was brought forward in support of Davis and the Americans were back in control of t
heir small army.
The next Mexican attack marched into a hail of bullets, grape and round shot from the hacienda. The Mexican soldiers fell, faltered, slowed and then broke and fled in panic. No amount of urging or threats from their officers could turn them around.
Mexican General Francisco Pérez, with artillery support, launched an assault on the center which was answered by a battery of Braxton Bragg’s artillery. The Mexican attack soon fizzled as rain began to fall, leaving the battlefield to the dead and wounded.
~
“This one’s not gonna make it,” Sarah Borginnes said to Marina. She stood up and slogged through the mud toward the next wounded man.
Marina wiped the rain from her eyes and blinked into the gloom. “The ambulance is stuck in the mud and the cavalry detachment went to pull it out. Maybe we should go back a bit. It’s not safe here, so close to the Mexican pickets without protection.”
“We’re okay.” Sarah pointed toward the Mexican lines. “I been a camp follower long enough to know the sound of a army breakin’ camp. Santa Anna’s pullin’ out. Help me turn this boy over so he don’t drown.”
Marina knelt in the mud beside her. “My son asked me whose side I was on and I gave him an evasive answer because I was feeling sorry for these peasant boys. Now I’ve decided that I was wrong in blaming the United States. I want that bastard Santa Anna dead so he can’t do this again.” She looked back at the mired ambulance. “The Mexicans don’t even bother to send medical personnel or bury their dead.”
“Course not. That way we gotta do all the dirty work while they rest.” She glanced toward the Mexican line. “Shit. You got your pistol?” She struggled to her feet, then scrambled in the mud to retrieve a pike.
Marina’s hair was in her face and it took her a moment to see the two mounted men cantering toward them from the Mexican lines.
“Shoot the one on the right and I’ll take care of the one on the left,” Sarah said.
Marina pulled up the mud-soaked hem of her dress and groped for the holster on her calf. After fumbling with the snap on the tie down strap, she eventually managed to draw the little pistol. But before her cold fingers could find the safety and the hammer, the riders, who were spinning heavy lariats, threw their loops.
Sarah ducked under the rope that was thrown at her and slapped the man who had thrown it in the chest with the pike. When he fell, she stabbed him in the throat.
Marina was caught by the lariat across her elbows, jerked off her feet and dragged toward the enemy lines. Sarah ran hopelessly after the horse until she could run no more.
~
“I am General Don Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón, the President of Mexico.” He put his fists on his hips and looked down at Marina haughtily.
“I am an interpreter.” She was naked, on her knees with her wrists tied to her ankles behind her back. There was blood in the white of her right eye and it was swollen half closed. Her breasts were bruised and there were teeth marks on her shoulder, neck and around her left nipple that were oozing blood. “A non-combatant.”
“You were armed and looting our dead soldiers,” Santa Anna said.
“You know that I was giving aid and comfort to your soldiers. You have no right to hold me.”
“The woman who was with you killed one of my vaqueros. You will not be held, you will be hanged.”
“Then I shall be waiting for you in Hell,” she snarled angrily. “And I suspect that the wait will not be long.” She squirmed in an attempt to relieve the pressure of the tight bindings on her ankles and wrists.
He was taken aback by her venom and modified his tone to be more reasonable. “The reason that you are not already dead is a letter you had in your possession from Lieutenant General John Van Buskirk.”
“What about it?”
“Who is he and why do you have his letter?”
“He is my husband,” Marina said, after a moment.
“Then you are a spy.”
“I thought I was a looter of the dead,” she replied in a bored tone.
“Are you a citizen of Mexico?”
“I am a citizen of the United States of America.”
“You speak my language like a native,” he observed.
“Your language?” She laughed. “Perhaps you can fool a few of the ignorant peons, but I know who you really are, Spaniard.”
“I was born in Mexico,” he said defensively.
“You are a criollo,” she countered. “I hear it in the way you speak and I see it in the arrogance of your demeanor.”
“Who do you think you are?” he spluttered.
“I know who I am. I was born in the Anáhuac Valley and became a United States citizen when the Louisiana Territory was sold to the United States.”
“Then you are a traitor.”
“Looter, spy or traitor. Call me what you will. I am a Mexican but not a Mexican citizen. You are a pretender. I owe no loyalty to you.”
“That is all very good because, when we reach Mexico City, you will hang as an enemy of Mexico.”
“I shall proclaim my innocence from the gallows.”
“Everyone proclaims their innocence from the gallows and no one listens.”
“Many will listen to the granddaughter of La Malinche.”
“You lie.” He slapped her across the face.
She glared up at him, the hatred burning in her eyes. “You strut like a peacock and behave like a coward. I am a direct descendant of La Malinche, the first Mestizo. This I can prove by probanzas de sangre and I can also prove that you are a pretender. Kill me quickly or I shall lead the people in rebellion against you. And this time you will not be spared and exiled; you will be publicly judged and hanged.”
He slapped her again and she spit blood in his face.
“I will teach you,” he shouted, struggling with his belt in an effort to drop his trousers.
Marina laughed. “Are you going to show me your cork leg now? I have always wondered if you had lost your manhood with it. Your wife has no children. But then again, she is but a child herself and you are a pitiful, old, one-legged man. Show me your cork cock.”
~
During the night, General Santa Anna declared victory and withdrew south leaving his dead and wounded behind and taking Marina Cortés Van Buskirk with him.
March 8, 1847
The Bay of Veracruz, Mexico
Fortress Veracruz, consisting of Fort Santiago on the south, Fort Concepción on the north, Fort San Juan de Ulúa on Gallegos Reef, and Fort La Mancha on the cliffs, was the strongest fortified city in the Western hemisphere. Nearly four thousand men under the command of Brigadier General Juan Esteban Morales garrisoned the walled city.
The United States Expeditionary Force commanded by Major General Winfield Scott included the First Division of Regulars under General William J. Worth, the Second Division of Regulars under General David E. Twiggs, and the Third Division of Volunteers under General Robert Patterson.
Brigade commanders included Colonel John Van Buskirk, Colonel John Garland, Colonel Newman S. Clarke, Brigadier General Persifor F. Smith, Brigadier General Bennet Riley, Brigadier General John A. Quitman, Brigadier General Gideon J. Pillow, Brigadier General James Shields, and Colonel William S. Harney commanding the dragoons. Scott’s Chief of Staff and Executive Officer was Lieutenant General John “Yank” Van Buskirk.
General Scott had chosen Collado Beach, three miles south of Veracruz, as the landing zone. The First Regular Division under General Worth was chosen to make the assault before dawn on the morning of March 9th. Now all was ready and the army had nothing left to do but wait aboard the ships until zero hour came.
“Dad,” Robert said, as Yank appeared on deck. “Please allow me to introduce these officers who are all recent West Point graduates.” He smiled at the men. “My father taught at the Academy in its infancy.”
“It was not the institution then that it is now,” Yank said. “I would, of co
urse, be very proud to meet your friends, Robert.”
“General John Van Buskirk,” Robert said, bowing formally to his father, “it is my honor to introduce Captain Robert Lee, class of 1829, Lieutenant George Meade class of 1835, Lieutenant Sam Grant, class of 1843 and Lieutenant Thomas Jackson, class of 1846. Gentlemen; my father.”
“I had the honor of being a friend of your father,” Yank said, shaking Lee’s hand. “In case you gentlemen were not aware,” he said to the others, “Captain Lee’s father was General Henry Lee, who was better known as Light Horse Harry Lee, a genuine American hero.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lee replied. “My father spoke very highly of both you and your father often.”
“Captain Lee finished second in his class,” Robert said.
“Indeed?” Yank nodded.
“I fear my position was undistinguished by being nineteenth in a class of fifty-six,” Lieutenant Meade said, stepping forward to shake Yank’s hand.
“I was distinguished by being near the foot of mine.” Lieutenant Grant shook Yank’s hand.
“As was I,” Lieutenant Jackson said in his turn.
Yank smiled at the young men fondly. “I fear that we set an early precedence on the importance of class position. The Academy’s task was to produce good officers and the simple fact is that anyone who graduates from The United States Military Academy, regardless of class position, is material for flag rank.” He bowed to his son and to Captain Lee. “Not to diminish my son Robert or Captain Lee’s outstanding scholastic achievements in any way, of course.”
“Father,” Robert said. “We’ve been discussing the upcoming battle and, since none of us have any experience with a prolonged siege, perhaps you could provide some insights.”
“I wish that I could, but every battle I’ve ever been in was a straight up fight. I just missed being besieged at the Alamo by an odd twist of fate, however. I had planned to visit my old friend Davy Crockett on the day of Santa Anna’s attack but Sam Houston asked me to accompany him to Goliad and we were on the road some distance from the fortress when we heard the guns. Sam thought it was thunder. A short time later, Deaf Smith came riding toward us…” Seeing the embarrassment on Robert’s face, he stopped short.
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