Soldiers of Conquest

by F. M. Parker

  Grant missed a step as he observed one of the girls scrutinizing him with a keen interest. To his amazement she came toward him a short distance before abruptly stopping. She glanced quickly at the other girls, then back to Grant. He recognized the girl as the one that had endured his poor dancing at Toluca. His heart did tattoo against his ribs. He lifted his hand to her and hastened forward.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” Grant said in Spanish as he clasped her offered hand. “But I’m glad that you are.”

  “So am I. My uncle lives in the city and I’m staying with him now.”

  She was telling Grant that she would be here for a time. “My name is Ulysses Grant.” He should have told her his name at Toluca.

  “Mine is Charlolita Paz.”

  “Charlolita Paz,” Grant said. “That has a nice sound to it. Would you walk with me?”

  “Certainly. Where should we go?”

  Grant pointed at the grounds with the flowers and the path leading down to Lake Texcoco. “To the lake, if that would be all right.”

  “That should be an enjoyable walk.”

  Grant held out his arm for her to take. Keep it formal until later.

  As Grant and the girl strolled down the slope, the sun rolled down the last length of its ancient sky path and disappeared behind the lava mountains surrounding the valley. The big stars came out in the evening dusk. An orange glow formed on the eastern horizon, heralding the rise of the full moon. The evening was turning out to be a beautiful one.

  Grant took hold of the girl’s hand and she didn’t pull away. A good first step toward friendship.

  CHAPTER 45

  Grant sat on the rocking chair with his feet braced on the sill of the open window in Chilton’s quarters and rocked back and forth and gazed out at the valley of the Aztec’s. He was impressed by the striking beauty of the land lying within its sheltering circle of mountains; the three lakes, the city with its canal streets, large buildings painted with bright colors, and the hundreds of farms with their fields and orchards. What it needed was a government that worked for the people instead of for the self-interests of the politicians, the army generals, and the church officials.

  He waited for Mathew Chilton who slept on the bed behind him to awaken. Chilton had been seriously wounded by a lance thrust through his chest during the Dragoons’ battle with the Mexican Lancers at the battle for the Molino. He had healed slowly but had now left the hospital and taken quarters with other wounded officers in a commandeered home. Grant worried about his friend’s health and the fact he brooded too much about the deaths of the men he had led in the battle. Death was to be expected in war. An officer must guard the lives of his men and that was true enough, but once they were dead, he must keep his mind off them. Grant heard a stir behind him.

  “Sam, what do you see out there?” Chilton said and rose to sit on the edge of his bed.

  “A beautiful land, perhaps one of the most beautiful in the world,” Grant said and twisting the chair around to face Chilton. “How do you feel?” Chilton’s face was haggard and his eyes held a tormented look.

  “Getting better. I can ride some now.”

  “You had a bad wound.”

  ”It came close to doing me in.” Chilton rose from the bed and came to sit in the second chair in the room. He too stared out the window.

  “How are you doing?” Chilton said.

  “Just soldiering along.”

  “I heard you’re giving the profit from your bakery to the Soldiers Fund.”

  “Yes, that’s so.” Grant had rented an abandoned store and hired six Mexican bakers. His bakery was in constant operation with the fires of the ovens never out. He was supplying bread for his men, and selling bread to the other brigades. His profit was forty percent and he gave it to the Soldier’s Fund that provided financial help to the wives and children of crippled and dead solders.

  “I think that’s a fine thing to do. I’d like to do something for my dead and those that’ll be crippled for the rest of their lives. In the fight for El Molino, I lost a third of my men in less than a minute of fighting. That counts to more than a 1,000 years of my men’s future that won’t be lived, that’s destroyed and lost forever. And we have some men so badly wounded that they’ll also die.”

  “Mat, I think you fret too much about your men for it can get you down. In battle there’s death, and those still living must not anguish too much over it.”

  “Sam, how do you discharge a debt to dead men?”

  “The only way I can think of is to help their families with money to live on.”

  “Like you’re doing by giving money to the Soldier’s Fund. Yes, I can see that’s a way. I’ll give the idea some serious thought.”

  “The army should pay pensions to the wives and children of men killed in combat. Maybe one day it will. For now think of something else. Spend your time with a pretty woman and that’ll keep your mind off your men.”

  *

  Grant lengthened his stride along The Street Of The Silversmiths toward the Aztec Club. The club was the commandeered splendid mansion of Senor Bocanigra, former Mexican minister to the United States. The mansion contained all it furnishings, china plates, cups and saucers, with gold and silver table utensils, and fine tablecloths. The officers had added eight round tables to the bottom floor for gambling. The top floor had billiard tables, a dance floor, and a well stocked bar. Grant was anticipating an evening of cards and some drinks.

  As Grant drew close to the entrance of the club, Dent and Hazlitt, and several other officers came hurrying out. “Where’s everybody going in such a hurry?” Grant called out.

  “Someone said the new promotion roster has been posted,” Dent replied as he and Hazlitt stopped by Grant. “Those fellows who think they’ve earned another bar are going to check it out.”

  “Come along with us,” Hazlitt said. “Maybe you’ve gotten lucky.”

  “Bob, you already got your captain’s bar,” Grant said.

  “Well I’d accept another one to major.”

  “Sure you would. Let’s go.”

  They arrived at the National Palace and went inside to the bulletin board where copies of all official announcements were posted. The men that had arrived ahead of them blocked the way for a couple of minutes. Words of approval and gladness rang out, and some mutters of disappointment sounded as men turned away from the board. Then Grant and the men with him moved close enough to read the list.

  “Mat, you made captain,” Dent exclaimed. “Congratulations.”

  “So did you, Fred,” Grant said reading down the alphabetical listening.

  “Sam, you lucky dog,” Dent said his voice rising. “You got two promotions from second lieutenant to first and then to captain.”

  Grant felt his heart suddenly pounding. He had known the battle for Mexico City was his last chance to earn a promotion. But two of them! He had been correct in convincing Garland to formally assign him to a fighting unit.

  “I didn’t make major,” Hazlitt said. “But I can live as a captain. So let’s four captains go and celebrate with a drink.”

  “I’m buying,” Grant said.

  “Any man who gets two promotions at one time sure as hell should.”

  *

  “Big lies, that what it is,” Beauregard exclaimed.

  Beauregard was with Lee and Hitchcock at a table in the Aztec Club and reading the American Star. The paperboy had just passed through selling the latest issue. Twenty or so other officers were present and bent over their copies.

  Lee’s attention was riveted on two articles on the front page, a reprint from the Pittsburg “Post”, and another from the New Orleans “Delta”. The article from the Post was a letter that claimed General Worth and Colonel Duncan had rescued General Scott from his own bad judgment by persuading him to adopt the Chalco Road for the assault of Mexico City rather than the National Highway running past El Penon. Lee had been present when that decision had been made and knew first ha
nd that Scott had personally chosen to march west to Chalco and assault the capital from the south.

  The Delta article was a letter extolling Pillows military genius and signed by Leonidas. The letter took up half a newspaper column. Lee read it through and then went back and reread the highlights of the article. “General Pillow’s plan for the battle of Contreras and the disposition of his forces, were most judicious and successful. He evidenced in this, as he has done on other occasions, that masterly genius and profound knowledge of the science of war, which has astonished so much the mere martinets of the profession… During the great battle, which lasted two days, General Pillow was in command of all the forces engaged, except General Worth’s division, and this was not engaged… (General Scott gave but one order and that was to reinforce General Cadwalader’s brigade.)”

  Beauregard finished reading and spoke to Lee. “Colonel, what do you think of this letter about General Worth and the Chalco route?”

  Lee shook his head. “You know it’s not accurate. You were there at the meeting same as I was when the decision was made and you know Scott chose the Chalco route.”

  “I remember well enough for it’s the one I recommended. And this piece about Pillow is all lies. He’s the worst general we have.”

  “Robert, who wrote the Leonidas letter?” Hitchcock asked.

  Lee almost said Pillow, but caught himself. He didn’t know that for certain, however if he were to bet, that’s the man he would choose. “I don’t know. But what could he have been thinking to brag so shamelessly when other people would know the truth?”

  “We both know who,” Hitchcock said sternly. “Only Pillow could brag himself up and belittle Scott at the same time. General Scott will know it too.”

  All around Lee, other officers were discussing the news items in loud voices. Laughter broke out and quickly spread throughout the room. Lee knew the cause of the laughter for there had been a previous letter written by someone calling themselves Veritas that had puffed Pillow’s actions on the battlefield. The general was making a fool of himself. However back in the States, many people might believe it.

  Beauregard joined the laughter. Lee couldn’t even manage a smile because he saw much trouble ahead. He noticed Hitchcock’s face was glum. Pillow and the person who had written the Worth and Duncan letter had gone much too far this time and Scott would have to take action.

  “Scott will find out who wrote it,” Hitchcock said. “Then somebody’s ass will hang.”

  Lee agreed with Hitchcock, for the letters hit Scott in his most vulnerable spot, his vanity.

  *

  Trist and Lee rode into the Grand Plaza and to the National Palace. They dismounted and the sergeant of the headquarters’ guard saluted them past and onward down the wide hallway to Scott’s office. The office door was open and Scott was visible pacing about the room with his ponderous strides, and Hitchcock, and Colonel Tipton the Chief Provost Martial sitting at the table with newspapers spread in front of them.

  Scott stopped and looked down at the seated men. “I have given this matter much thought as to what action to take against the three officers. I have decided there can be but one response. Any general-in-chief who once submits to an outrage from a junior officer such as these, must lay himself open to suffer the same from all the vicious men under him, and even the great mass of spirited and intelligent among his brothers in arms would soon reduce such a commander to scorn and contempt.”

  Lee knew Scott was talking about Pillow, Worth, and Duncan. Scott had reissued an old army regulation that forbade the publication of any private letters, or reports describing military operations before the end of the campaign, and further any officers found guilty of making such report for publication would be dismissed from the service. Scott had used the regulation to strongly castigate the writers of the Leonidas and Veritas letters by adding words not in the original order such as, taking false credit, self-aggrandizement, self-puffery, and malignant exclusion of other honorable officers who love their country, their profession, and the truth of history.

  Following the issuance of the order, he had questioned Pillow about the authorship of the Leonidas and Veritas letters and Pillow had denied writing them. Duncan had admitted writing the Chalco Route letter but said it had been to his brother and not for publication.

  Worth had taken affront at Scott’s wording of the order, and in the discussion with the general about it had become abusive in his language. Following that episode, he had written Secretary of War Marcy and President Polk a derogatory letter about Scott.

  Scott spoke to Tipton. “Place General’s Pillow and Worth, and Colonel Duncan under arrest. We’ll allow a board-of-enquiry to sort out the truth of the matter regarding each of them. The three shall be restricted to the city limits until the board meets.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Tipton and left the office.

  Lee believed Scott had just condemned himself to much trouble in the future. Pillow was a favorite of President Polk and it was doubtful if he would allow harm to come to the general. Lee felt saddened that Duncan, a skilled and brave officer and a good friend, was caught up in this with Pillow. Still Scott was correct in his action against the officers. The duties of a commanding general in the heart of an enemy country, the army flush with victory, and with little to keep the men busy, must maintain control of his troops with firmness and discipline.

  Scott saw Trist and Lee in the hallway. “Come in gentlemen and give me some good news.”

  “I wish to God that I could,” Trist said. “The commissioners are most inflexible and won’t negotiate to resolve anything. They become angry when I point out to them that they are totally defeated with General Kearney controlling New Mexico and California, General Taylor occupying Monterrey, Saltillo, and Matamoros, and you, general, the center of the nation including their capital city. The commissioners won’t even agree to a boundary for Texas that has been independent of them since 1836. At the end of each meeting, they promise to discuss our proposal with the president, but nothing ever comes of it.”

  “We must take an action that will force them to come to terms,” Lee said. “You’re correct, colonel. We’ve learned by now that talking does no good.”

  “We can’t occupy more of Mexico just now for we barely have enough troops to hold the capital and Puebla and Veracruz,” Hitchcock said.

  “But we can levy taxes, huge taxes,” Scott said, his harsh words showing his exasperation. “This war is costing our government millions of dollars. We’ll make Mexico pay part of it.”

  “President Polk will think that an excellent plan,” Trist said. “That’ll help him defend the war against those who condemn it for its high cost.”

  Scott spoke to Hitchcock. “I think a tax levy of $3,000,000 should get their attention. Divide the levy according to the best estimate of the populations of the nineteen states and the Federal District holding Mexico City. Then prepare an order levying the tax for my signature.”

  “With pleasure, general,” Hitchcock said.

  “General Scott,” the sergeant of the guard spoke at the doorway, “mail riders have just arrived from the coast and there’s an official mail packet for you. Do you want it now?”

  “Yes, sergeant, bring it in.”

  The sergeant came into the room carrying a leather mail pouch and placed it on the desk and retreated.

  “Should Lee and I leave, general?” Hitchcock asked.

  “No remain for there are other things to discuss.”

  Scott focused on the mail. “Let’s see what Washington has to say to us.” He unbuckled the strap that held the pouch closed and removed a sealed packet. He broke the seal and removed several letters.

  “There’s a letter from the president for you, Nicholas.” Scott handed him the envelope with its maroon colored wax seal.

  “And several for me, one from the president himself.”

  Lee sensed the general’s reluctance to open the letter. It was well known that there had be
en friction between Polk and Scott almost from the day Polk had become president. The ill feeling had grown steadily worse since Scott had led the army to Mexico. This past May, Scott had offered to resign as commander in the field. Polk had declined the proposal and Lee was glad for it.

  The two men broke the final seals and began to read.

  “My, God, this can’t be true!” Trist exclaimed. “I’ve been ordered to cease negotiations with the Mexicans and return to Washington. The president says he’s much disturbed by our lack of progress in obtaining a treaty.”

  “My orders are equally astounding,” Scott said. “I’m to prosecute the war with increased energy. Now who would I battle for we have totally beaten the Mexican Army?”

  Scott and Trist looked at each other, both stunned at the sudden turn of events.

  Then Scott spoke. “Nicholas, all our plans are for nothing.”

  Trist, his face showing disbelief, reread his letter. He looked at Scott. “Perhaps it is best that I go to Washington and discuss the situation directly with the president. The mail requires four weeks or so to make the round trip, and I think President Polk is getting too much slanted information from the newspapers and private reports from some of our officers.”

  “The British have been working behind the scene to help us in our negotiations with the Mexicans and should be made aware of these developments. Colonel Lee, ride and bring the Britisher Thornton here. Ask him to come at once if it’s possible for him to do so. Say nothing to him as to why I ask for his presence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Thornton came into the room flashing his usual broad smile. The smile faded swiftly as he saw the gloomy faces in the room. “What has happened?” he asked.

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” Scott replied. “Nicholas has been ordered back to Washington. And I’ve been ordered to restart the war.”

  “But, general, the war is won. And you, Mr. Trist, must not leave. The negotiations have to be brought to a conclusion. To fail to seize this opportunity could indefinable postpone the settlement.”