by F. M. Parker
Robert E. Lee, Captain of Engineers and one of Scott’s staff officers, noted the beauty of the city, the scores of ships lying upon the turquoise water of the bay and Fort San Juan de Ulua located on the western edge of a coral reef one thousand yards directly seaward from Veracruz. The grand vista added to Lee’s pleasant feeling from being part of a band of men planning the invasion of a large nation and fighting great battles with its army. He regretted the killing and destruction that would be done to win the war. He pulled away from those dark thoughts and concentrated his attention on Veracruz.
The city lay in the shape of a crescent moon and hugging the shoreline. Its landward perimeter was two miles long and enclosed many tall buildings of whitewashed masonry. Sixteen splendid white domed buildings promenaded along the waterfront and several magnificent Catholic churches pierced the sky with tall steeples each bearing a cross. The city contained such an abundance of white buildings that it glowed with a luminous sheen. Eight stone piers extended out from the quay and dozens of fishing boats with sails lowered were berthed along them. The city appeared immensely prosperous.
Veracruz was protected from an attack from the sea by a massive granite seawall strengthened at the northern end with Fort Conception and at the southern end by Fort Santiago. He couldn’t see the opposite side of the city, but had studied reports describing the city’s defensive walls as being some fifteen feet high, three feet thick, and with nine well-constructed cannon bastions reinforcing it. Slots in the wall through which muskets could fire upon attackers were spaced every four feet. Besides its renowned fortifications, the city was famous in Europe and America for its pretty, free-spirited women, and for the dreaded and deadly el vomito, yellow fever.
He tried to picture how this land of the Aztecs might have looked when in the spring of the year 1519 A.D. the eleven ships of the Spanish General Hernando Cortez appeared off the white sand beach. Perhaps there had been a village of brown skinned men, women, and children who watched in awe as the general and his five hundred and fifty soldiers, their blood hot with thoughts of gold and jewels, came ashore wearing their metal armor and armed with muskets and swords, fourteen bronze cannons, stores of powder and shot, and sixteen horses. Cortez had burned ten of his ships, and in a “do or die campaign”, built a road following the aged footpaths - the Aztecs had not invented the wheel - and climbed into the mountains where they had been told a fabulously rich city lay. After killing thousands of the Aztecs in battles, the Spaniards fought their way down into the valley and into the great capitol city of the nation. The Spaniards stole shipload upon shipload of the Aztec people’s gold, silver and jewels and sent all back to Spain. Cortez named the land Mexico. Spain ruled it for three hundred years, until 1821 when the Mexicans wrested back control.
Lee turned his spyglass away from Veracruz and to the several ships hanging on their anchors and crowding the harbor. Most prominent were the three American battleships, the heavily armed Albany, Potomac, and John Adams showing the open bores of their big cannons to the fort and city, and as a warning to any Mexican or foreign ship’s captain that might be considering running the blockade.
Also present were foreign men-of-war, two British frigates, a French frigate and a Spanish sloop. The foreign warships were here to protect their country’s nationals and business interests during the coming war. The British were most concerned for they owned most of the gold and silver mines in Mexico, and scores of other business ventures.
Lee turned back to Fort San Juan de Ulua. The massive structure with its strong battlements was made of coral stone faced with tough granite. It had been built by the Spanish two centuries before to protect Veracruz from pirates, and had served its purpose admirably for no pirate fleet had ever captured the city. The fort, stained a dark brown by the ages, rose menacingly from the reef with vertical, sixty-foot tall walls, above which were two additional fortified levels. Towering still higher was a round tapering column of three levels, the topmost level being constantly manned by lookouts watching the sea. At the base of the fort, water batteries lay wherever it seemed possible to make a landing. The Mexican national flag, a tricolor of red, white, and green with an eagle holding a serpent in its beak, fluttered from a tall staff on the domed peak of the highest tower. Lee had spent four years strengthening the American forts along the Atlantic seaboard and knew from that experience that Ulua with its walls bristling with cannon had to be the strongest fortification in the western hemisphere. Capturing it would be a formidable endeavor.
He saw Mexican artillerymen working swiftly at their cannons in Ulua and called out. “General Scott, there are men working at the guns on the second level of the fort.”
Scott intently studying Veracruz, now swung his field glasses to Ulua. “Ah, yes. They’re sponging the barrels of their pieces and we shall soon have a shot at us.”
“Shall we move out of range?” asked Commodore Conner.
“Not just yet, commodore, if you please” Scott said and looking down from his lofty height at the admiral, frail and sickly from old wounds, and the months he had spent blockading the Mexican coast with its inhospitable climate. “The Mexican gunners will need a few rounds to get our range so we’ll have time to do our reconnaissance. And reconnaissance of a foe’s weapons and defenses is the key to victory.”
“The Mexican gunners most often shoot high the first time,” said General Worth who had fought the Mexicans with General Taylor in northern Mexico.
Through his field glasses Lee watched the Mexican gunners prepare their cannons. Scott was gambling his campaign by not withdrawing beyond range. The Mexican gunners might get lucky and hit the Patrita with one of their first shots. A shell exploding on the boat could end the invasion before it began for standing on the deck with him were the senior officers of the American Army; Generals Worth, Twiggs, and Patterson who commanded the three army divisions, Chief Engineer Colonel Totten, Chief Of Artillery Colonel Banks, and Major Turnbull Chief of Topographical Engineers. The death of Commodore Conner would decapitate the navy.
General Scott spoke from behind his field gasses to Commodore Conner. “Commodore, what information have you gathered about the current ordnance in Ulua?”
“I’ve talked with several of the British naval officers who have been in the fort recently and one of them informed me that besides some fine old Spanish guns, there is a new, heavy battery of sixteen British bronze long 24-pounders. That’s the worse for us for the British make excellent weapons. In total I estimate the ordnance in Ulua, counting cannon, mortars, and howitzers at three hundred. From what I’ve seen, nearly half of them, including heavy ten-inchers, could be aimed at any ships I might send against Ulua. We would suffer heavy losses.”
“How about the number of men stationed there?”
“My best estimate from what I’ve heard is around twenty five hundred.”
“I see no weakness in the fort’s defenses,” Scott said. “It may be impregnable from the sea. If the city was taken first, the fort might hold out for months. We have no time for a siege for the yellow fever season will be upon us within the next few days and the troops must be got off the lowland and into the mountains before it arrives. Yet we must have possession of the harbor and shipping facilities for they’re needed in all future operations.”
“General, the British have just run up flags signaling that they want to come aboard for a parley.” Conner said, his field glasses aimed at the frigate commanded by the senior British officer.
“They don’t like the war and are itching to know as much of our plans as we would divulge,” Scott replied with a wry smile. “We’ll signal them when we get back to the Massachusetts and arrange a time. What’s your estimate of the Mexican military in the city?”
“I’d say approximately thirty-five hundred. And about eight thousand civilians remaining from the normal population of fifteen thousand. They won’t leave for various reasons, mainly from fear their possessions would be stolen.”
Scott nod
ded acknowledgement of the information and turned back to Veracruz. “It’s a beautiful city, but I’ll capture it even if I have to destroy it in the taking,” he said.
Lee knew that he would use all his strength and skill with weapons to help Scott capture the city. The cruelty in which he was about to participate was disturbing. Yet that changed nothing at all for first he was a soldier. Given that he was a soldier, then he would prove his skill and show his bravery and gain promotion.
He was watching the fort when one of its manned cannons blossomed with smoke and flame. Hardly had his mind registered the flash when a shell screamed past some thirty feet over the mast of the Patrita and burst close above the water one hundred yards beyond. The coarse cries of the circling seagulls became shrill and they fled. Wise birds, thought Lee.
In but a few seconds two other shells came arcing down, one landing to the left side of the boat and one just in front, both exploding and flinging up tall geysers of water. Another seven shells fell about the boat but did no harm. Then one landed very close on the starboard side and exploded just above water level. Metal fragments hammered the boat’s hull and went whistling across the deck, but hitting nobody.
“Commodore, I think they may have now calculated the powder charge and fuse length,” Scott said. “If you’re agreeable, we shall withdraw and inspect the landing site you’ve recommended.”
Commodore Conner called out to the naval lieutenant, captain of the Patrita, who was anxiously waiting for the command to move his vessel out of cannon range. “Lieutenant, you heard the general, make way for Collado Beach on Mocambo Bay.
CHAPTER 2
“An excellent site for the landing,” Scott said to Commodore Conner. “It’s well out of range of the guns of the fort and city, and more than ample beach for my first wave of troops to all land at one time.”
Lee agreed with the general’s observation. The Patrita was stopped two hundred yards off shore, and the officers were examining Collado Beach. The shoreline was a smooth, white sand beach some half-mile long and the shoaling water leading up to it appeared quite suitable for the surfboats to run in to land. Still the landing could be hazardous for inland some three hundred feet the dunes rose steeply and just behind them was a dense stand of chaparral in which the enemy could lie in wait and destroy the Americans as they waded ashore.
“I thought you might approve,” Conner said. “I’ve scouted the shore for miles both to the north and south of Veracruz searching for the best invasion site and this one is my choice.”
“I greatly appreciate that, commodore,” Scott said. He gestured at Isle de Sacrificios, a coral and sand island lying a mile distant to seaward. “What can we do about the small area between the island and the beach? I don’t believe my troopships can maneuver enough there to pull off the landing in a swift manner.”
“Much too restricted,” agreed the commodore. “I propose that you allow me to bring your troops from Anton Lizard on my naval vessels for they’re more ably handled than your transports with their civilian crews. Further once your troops are load into the surfboats my steamships could tow them into place.”
Scott caught Conner’s hand in his giant paw and beamed as he said, “With you and your warships to support me, how can we possibly fail to make a successful landing. No, by the Holy Spirit, we shan’t fail.”
“I’m glad that you approve,” Conner said and delighted by Scott’s words.
Scott drew himself up to his full height and spoke to his officers. “Gentlemen, we have seen that which we must capture. All principal officers and aids shall meet with me aboard the Massachusetts at two this afternoon to draw up plans for the landing.”
*
“Good luck to you, Sam,” said Lieutenant Bob Hazilitt. “I’ll wait here for you.” He halted by the ladder down which he and his comrade officer had descended to the lower deck of Talbott’s Trader, the much used and abused ocean-going cargo ship converted to a troop ship and under contract to the army. The ship lay sullen and listless on the end of sixty fathoms of anchor chain in the large harbor at the island of Anton Lizardo twelve miles south of Veracruz.
“I’ll need all the luck I can get,” Lieutenant Ulysses Grant replied to the blond headed man. He and Hazlitt were of the Fourth Infantry, of Colonel Garland’s brigade, of General Worth’s division. “The colonel has turned me down three times already and I don’t think this time will be any different.”
Sam wasn’t Ulysses correct name. The name had became attached to him due to West Point duty postings often listing him as U. S. Grant, and the other cadets seeing this began to call him Uncle Sam. That was swiftly shortened to Sam.
The two men were each twenty-four years old, had graduated together from West Point two years before, and were fast friends and messmates. They had been with General Zachary Taylor fighting Mexicans for the past nine months in northern Mexico.
He moved toward Brigade Commander Colonel Garland’s quarters at the end of the companionway dimly lighted by the rays of sunlight being refracted down from above through the deck by an oculist, a conical glass prism set in the overhead. Colonel Garland had assigned Grant duties as quartermaster for his brigade early in the campaign with General Taylor. Those duties entailed obtaining all the provisions necessary to keep the brigade, consisting of the Second and Third Artillery and the Fourth Infantry, some 1,300 men clothed, fed, and tented, and their hundreds of animals tended to. Grant’s men also acted as wagon drivers, ferriers, guards, and transported all the provisions from camp to camp. During the voyage south, the soldiers had been provisioned from central stores. Now the brigade was about to land at Veracruz and Grant hated the thought of again taking up the duties of foraging across the foreign land in search of supplies to buy, or take by force if necessary, as the army fought its way inland. The muscles hardened along his jaw. He had come to fight as a line officer and win promotion, and somehow he would find a way
Grant came to Garland’s quarters and knocked. At a gruff “Enter”, he pushed aside the partially open door and stepped across the raised threshold and into the small cramped cabin with the ceiling made of the beams and planking of the deck above. Garland sat at a small desk holding several sheets of papers, pen and ink well. An open porthole above the desk gave light and a little air. A bunk, a three-foot square table with two chairs, and a large brass bound trunk took up most of the space. The quarters had been that of the ship’s first mate until the colonel had commandeered it. Grant saluted the colonel.
“What is it, lieutenant?” Garland said and returning the salute of his senior quartermaster. Garland liked the young lieutenant, standing some two inches below average height, slender, square jawed. He recalled him in the fight for Monterrey with General Taylor in northern Mexico. Garland had been ordered with his brigade to advance into an unknown maze of buildings with narrow, crooked streets against an enemy that was twice their number and behind heavy stone defensive works and with every rooftop full of Mexican riflemen firing down on them. Grant had galloped up and joined in the fighting just as Garland was ordered to advance deeper into the city, and this without allowing the brigade to replenish their ammunition which was in short supply from the first attack. The Americans were brought to a stop as they drew near the center of the town. Mexican riflemen and artillerymen firing canister from two strong forts knocked half the Americans off their feet within a few minutes. A third of the officers were killed or wounded. Returning the heavy fire, the brigade soon ran low on ammunition. Garland asked for a volunteer to ride for ammunition. Grant quickly volunteered. He sprang upon his horse and with an arm hooked around the horse’s neck and hanging along the side of the horse opposite the enemy fire, raced away. At every street intersection, the Mexicans poured heavy fire at Grant. Reaching the supply depot, he loaded a packhorse with powder and shot and sped back. The Mexicans flung a hail of bullets at Grant at every crossing. Unwounded, Grant had fought on through the two-day battle for Monterrey.
“Sir, I request
to be relieved of quartermaster duties and returned to my company for line duty.”
“And why is that, lieutenant?”
“I wish to be part of the landing.”
“I can understand your feelings, but the men deserve a skilled quartermaster. You fit that bill.”
Grant wasn’t going to give up easily. He must be assigned line officer duties. “Sir, as you know, I’ve foraged all over northern Mexico for supplies for the brigade. I sincerely request that I not have the same duties here. It seems quite fair to pass the duties on to someone else and allow me to go on the line. There are many other men who can perform the duties of quartermaster.”
“None as well as you. You know animals and equipment and keep accurate accounts of funds. I’ve heard other officers say that the men of our brigade are the best fed and best clothed in the army. No, I can’t do without you as my senior quartermaster.”
“But, sir…”
“No buts, lieutenant. Your request is denied. Attend to your assigned duties.”
CHAPTER 3
The little steamship Patrita wound a course through the scores of ships housing Scott’s army and crowding the harbor of Anton Lizardo and sidled up to the tall hull of the Massachusetts. The steamer’s boatswain flung a line to a seaman on the Massachusetts and the little steamer was made fast to the ship.
Captain Lee, waiting on the deck of the ship with the other officers that had been ordered to assemble, watched as General Scott and Commodore Conner came up the gangway to the deck. Scott looked up at his commander’s flag with its blue background and red center waving at the main truck. Lee saw a hint of pride come over Scott’s face. The expression was swiftly erased. Both men faced Old Glory and gave her a snappy salute.
