Soldiers of Conquest

by F. M. Parker

  “I’m a discharged official and have no authority to do that, and should I, I could be arrested for treason.”

  Lee saw Thornton was shaken. The financial interest of the British had been hurt by the war and the occupation. They were actively trying to bring about a treaty and a speedy return to business as usual. Further the cash payment the Americans would make to the Mexican government for land taken would make a substantial reduction in the $26,000,000 owed the British.

  “It’s just as well that I go to Washington for the Mexicans officials don’t seem truly interested in making a treaty with us,” Trist said.

  “There are several reasons for their slowness in coming to terms,” Thornton said. “A large group of Mexicans want the Mexican Army substantially weakened and since you Americans have taken control of much of the country, it no longer plunders the people as it used to. And the church isn’t so demanding in its request for tithes. The businessmen like the fact that you pay a fair price for the supplies you take for your army. You may not know it, but the city with General Scott as the ruler has never been run more fairly for the people. Most importantly, Mr. Trist, the commissioners and the president consider you an honest broker of peace and will eventually come to an agreement on the terms for a treaty. I assure you that we of the British legation will do all in our power to assist you.”

  “Eventually won’t do,” Trist said. “It’s too late now. And they should know that there is much talk, and many editorials are appearing in our newspapers that we should annex all of Mexico as the right of our conquest. President Polk may soon come to the same conclusion for he isn’t a patient man. In fact his order to General Scott to start the war again may be leading to that very end.”

  “I’ve been hearing the same thing and that worries me,” Thornton said. “How will the negotiations proceed with you gone?”

  “Pena will have to send the commissioners to Washington and deal with my government there.”

  “They’ll never do that.”

  “Then I’ll be forced to occupy the entire country,” Scott said. “And soon I will have the troops to do that. Then the Mexicans will lose everything.”

  “I mist go immediately and see President Pena,” Thornton said and deeply concerned. “General, would you provide me an escort to Queretaro?”

  “Certainly. Colonel Lee, go with Mister Thornton to Colonel Sumner’s camp and see that an escort of twenty troopers accompany him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Trist, I urge you most strongly, please remain here and carry on with the negotiations.”

  “That would be a treasonable act now that President Polk has taken away my authority to do so.”

  *

  “Eighty men were killed in the brothel district last evening.” General Scott’s voice was a growl and his face was flushed with anger. He leaned forward over his desk and aimed his scalding glared at Colonel Hays. “Our investigation has shown to my complete satisfaction that your Rangers did the killing. They were seen entering the street where it occurred, and that was just minutes before the shooting began. It was a slaughter and there’s no other way to describe what happened.”

  The general slammed his hand down on the desktop. A pile of written reports bounced into the air and fluttered like crippled birds to the floor. He looked down at the scattered papers and scowled.

  “One of my men named Adam Allsens was cut to pieces there,” Hays said. “Those Rangers that I questioned swear that they were fired upon when they went to find out who did the cutting. That they merely defended themselves against the thugs and pimps who run that district. That’s permitted by your orders. And there’s something I’d like to bring to your attention. The men call that place Cutthroat Alley for the reason dozens of Americans have been killed there. I’d say it was time those criminals were taught a lesson.”

  Lee, watching the exchange between the two men, was impressed with the Ranger colonel’s relaxed composure. He acted as if he was merely discussing the weather with the angry Scott.

  “It’s not up to your Rangers to teach them a lesson. That duty belongs to our patrols and the Mexican police.”

  “Yes sir, that’s who should do it,” Hays said. His tone stated clearly that the patrols and police weren’t doing their job.

  Scott rubbed his jaw and a flinty look came into his eyes. Then that faded and his usual gentlemanly expression came over him. “You may have a point there, colonel. Here’s how we’ll handle this. You’ll put yourself and your regiment of men under the command of General Lane.”

  Scott picked up a piece of paper. “I’ve prepared an order directing the general to be even more aggressive in his efforts to capture the leaders of the guerillas forces, Generals Rea, Paredes, Alvarez, and the renegade priest Caledonia Jarauta. He can use your men to help him do that for now with the Mexican army mostly disbanded and many of the soldiers having joined the guerillas, they’re larger in number then in the past.”

  “What about Santa-Anna, general,” Hays asked.

  “He’s on the top of the list. Find him and bring him before me. Look at Tehuacan first for I’ve had reports he’s there. As for the guerillas, give them no quarter. I want them destroyed. Any man caught should be immediately tried by three officers and if there’s no doubt as to his guilt of being a guerilla, execute him. Take what you need in the way of provisions and horses from the alcalde of the town nearest the place where you find the guerillas. Charge him three hundred dollars for each one of your men that’s killed.”

  Lee knew Scott had put together a tough, merciless group of men, and many guerillas would die over the next several weeks. Lane’s mounted riflemen and the Rangers together would number about 350 men. Lane was the best of the regular army guerilla fighters. During the past weeks patrolling the National Highway, he had attacked General Rea at Atlisco thirty miles from Puebla and killed some 500 guerillas. A week later he had again caught up with Rea and killed thirty more. Then in a joint operation with the Rangers, they had attacked Izucar de Matamoros and killed eighty of General Alvarez men and freed twenty-three Americans. There had been many attacks on smaller guerilla bands. Though deadly in dealing with guerillas, Lane had changed from what he had allowed at Humantla. He had hung two of his teamsters for killing a Mexican boy, and hung one of his soldiers for murdering a woman.

  “Do you have any questions?” Scott said.

  “No, sir,” Hays said.

  “Then carry out my orders.”

  Hays saluted and left.

  “The Rangers are as fine a company of fighting men as we have,” Scott said as he watched Hays disappear down the hallway. “But they can’t be controlled,” he added with regret.

  That unruly, vengeful attitude makes them what they are, thought Lee.

  CHAPTER 47

  Grant and Charlolita rode horseback across the Mexican valley on a mild December day. The sun was a golden globe floating high in a clear sky. A gentle breeze barely moved the knee-high grass that surrounded them. Beyond Mexico City and over the faraway south rim of the valley, a thick blanket of dark gray clouds poured rain down upon the mountains.

  The well-used road had carried them beyond the cultivated land of the valley center and now crossed over grazing land at the base of the northern mountains. Grant knew it led up through a pass and onward to Pachuca, a town some forty miles distant and known for its rich gold and silver mines. The man and woman rode at a gallop, Grant’s favorite gait for a horse. With each bound of the horse, he felt its muscles coil and bunched between his legs and then release as mighty springs to launched the steed forward in long, graceful leaps. Grant much enjoyed the rocking motion of the horse’s gallop.

  He glanced at Char on his left. She rode effortlessly, head held regally erect and her supple body swaying easily to the stride of her steed. He had enjoyed her pleasant company several times since they had met at the celebration of the arrival of British Minister Percy Doyle.

  Char looked, and catching Gran
t’s eyes upon her, gave him a gorgeous smile and a wink. Then to Grant’s surprise, she raised her face to the heavens and gave it a strong, lilting shout full of pure animal joy at being alive. Grant couldn’t resist joining her, and turning his face up as she had done, gave the heavens a second joyous cry. He was pleased that he was alive with this woman at this moment in time.

  They looked into each other’s eyes without the slightest embarrassment for yelling at the sky. With the knowledge they were amazingly alike, they broke into laughter. Grant had found a companion with the same passion for life as he possessed, and that person was a lovely woman.

  Char gave every sign of enjoying herself when with Grant, always quickly accepting his invitations to parties, dinners, and especially horseback riding as today. She had asked him to call her Char, explaining everybody else did for Charlolita was much too long of a name. He was surprised at the intensity with which she embraced life, as if she were having a last fling before some type of confinement. He was amazed at the degree of freedom she possessed to accompany him without a chaperon, though he had noted that this occurred only when they rode horseback away from the city, or went on one of the brightly painted canal boats to explore the city, or when she guided him to some small out of the way restaurants to dine. An older woman was always present in the background when they attended parties or gatherings of people.

  The thought came unbidden that it could be an enjoyable life to remain in Mexico. Many other men had come to the same conclusion for there had been more than three thousand desertions since the army left Veracruz. As the weeks passed and the monotony of occupying a conquered city wore on them, some of Grant’s officer friends had taken apartments in the city and found local girls to live with them full time.

  Grant sensed Mexico wasn’t to be his future, not even by being slain and buried here. Every enemy bullet had missed, whipping past with an angry hiss of disappointment at not being allowed to strike him. Not understanding how it was possible, he had believed fate that unknowable yet controlling element of every man’s life, had something large in scope for him to do in the future. For now though, he was a soldier in a land conquered by his army and would make the most of it.

  Char reined her mount off the road. A short distance later she halted by a spring in the shade of a grove of trees on the mountainside.

  “Will this do?” she asked.

  “For what?”

  “For our picnic.”

  Grant checked the height of the sun as if determining the time of day. ”Stop that, you know you’re hungry,” Char said.

  “Actually I’m starved. I thought you would never feed me.” Grant said with a laugh.

  Grant stepped down from his horse. Before he could get to Char to help her dismount, she jumped down to the ground.

  “You just take care of yourself,” she said with a mischievous light in her eyes. “I’m quite capable of getting off a horse.”

  “I think you could do whatever you set your mind to.”

  Char gave him a smile with her perfect lips, and turned to removing packets of food and a white cotton tablecloth from her saddlebags. In half a minute she had the picnic spread, sliced braised lamb, fresh bread, a dark wine, and peach pie. They ate leisurely talking and laughing.

  From their position on the mountain, they could look down on the wide, nearly circular valley and Grant took out his field glasses to survey the wide sweep of land. The capital city was plainly visible. Lake Texcoco to the left of the splendid city caught the sunlight just right and sparkled like a great silver coin. Char pointed out the ranchos of relatives and friends. Her father owned one near Toluca. He had a stable of excellent horses and everybody rode, including Char’s mother. Her uncle owned a sizeable wholesale business in Mexico City. Grant had discovered that he had purchased supplies for his brigade from the man, and once knowing who the man was, made more frequent purchases from him. Altogether her family was one of importance in Mexican society.

  “I’ve never looked through that,” Char said and indicating the field glasses. “May I use them?”

  Grant handed the glasses to Char. For a long time she viewed the scene, and uttering little cries of pleasure and surprise as she saw something she recognized.

  “It’s amazing how well you can see with them. I must buy a pair.”

  “I’ll have a pair for you the next time we meet.”

  “That would be a nice present. But the very best present you could ever give me you already have.”

  ”What was that?” Grant asked surprised.

  “It happened that day you came to Toluca and asked me to dance.”

  “That was sure my lucky day,” Grant said, and meant it. They never mentioned the war between their two peoples. Grant believed women were more practical and forgiving in that regard than were men.

  Char turned back to the field glasses. After a couple of minutes, she lowered them and pointed at the storm that had come down into the south end of the valley and was almost to the city. “Maybe we should find shelter before the rain catches us.”

  They gathered up the remnants of the picnic, stowed all away in the saddlebags, mounted, and rode down into the valley. With the imminent arrival of the rain, they passed other travelers on foot, horseback, or some type of vehicle hurrying along the road to find a roof to protect them from the rain.

  *

  “Best we find a dry place quick,” Grant said and feeling the cool dampness of the winds sweeping out ahead of the storm that blanked out half the sky.

  “Let’s take a look in that old hacienda,” Char said and pointing ahead at a long, low adobe structure sitting close beside the road but a couple of minutes ride away.

  “Right.”

  They lifted their horses to a fast gait for the short distance, and then drew rein in the yard full of tall grass and flowers gone wild.

  “It’s deserted and part of the roof’s caved in, still it’ll keep us dry,” Grant said. “We’ll take the horses inside with us,” Char said and glancing at the rapidly approaching storm as she dismounted.

  Leading their mounts they entered the open main door of the abandoned building. The old adobe house was cool and musty smelling and with dark shadows in the corners. Dust lay thick on everything. All the windows were open to the outside for the valuable glass panes had been removed. Grant unsaddled the horses and spread the saddle blankets on the earthen floor under a section of intact roof near an inside wall.

  “We should be dry here,” he said.

  He dropped down on the blankets to lie on his back and look up at Char. She gazed at him, however with her face hidden in shadows of the room, he couldn’t read her expression. Then she lay down beside him and pressed close and her touch held promises of things to come.

  “This isn’t too bad,” she said, with a smile in her voice.

  “I totally agree,” Grant said and put his arms around Char’s warm body. He hugged her close and kissed her lips, and felt them kissing him back.

  He felt a twinge of guilt, of betrayal of Julia, for the comparison that came unbidden that Char was more beautiful than Julia, and certainly more affectionate. He shoved the feeling away. He was a young man with a girl in his arms while Julia was three years in the past and most likely months in the future. And maybe never, for life held huge uncertainties. Concentrate on what’s in your arms. His kisses became more passionate, and to his joy, Char responded with sweet ardor.

  The shadows grew darker and a mist like rain came to run softly as the feet of spiders across the housetop. The rain gradually thickened to a muted drum on the rooftop. Water leaked through the aged roof in a score of places and fell to puddle on the earthen floor with wet plopping sounds. Still the storm built in intensity. Lightening flashed and thunder rumbled. One of the horses snorted in fright. The clouds opened to dump a torrent upon the old hacienda. Grant and Char lay wrapped in their own world of each other’s arms.

  Grant woke from a short sleep to the rain slackened to a steady
drizzle on the rooftop. Char lay beside him. Her finely chiseled face in relaxed sleep was a wonderful sight. He rose quietly and went to stand to look out one of the open windows. The wind blew mist in to strike his face. Water ran in the grooves cut in the road by the wheels of wagons and carts. Even when the rain ended, the ride to the city would be sloppy, muddy.

  He caught movement and looked to the left. A band of riders, he guessed nearly twenty, was coming along the road from the direction of Pachuca. He hastily stepped to the side and peered around the edge of the window frame. Any riders out in this kind of weather could be guerillas and they would be horrible to Char should she be caught with one of the hated Yankees.

  The horsemen came into better view on the road in front of the house. They rode slouched forward with shoulders humped against the soaking rain, and faces turned down to escape the strike of the plummeting raindrops. Their wet clothing was plastered to their bodies. To Grant’s surprise, the men’s clothing was a mixture of boots, pants, shirts, and hats of American Army uniforms. The pants and boots were those of the Dragoons, the shirts and shoulder insignia those of the Missouri Mounted Riflemen, and Pennsylvania Infantry black shako caps with short-billed visors crowned their heads. A tall, thin man in front, Grant thought he would be the leader, had captain’s shoulder straps. The man seemed somehow familiar and Grant tried to make out his face through the rain but couldn’t because it was angled too steeply down and into his collar. The riders passed on vanishing into the rain in the direction of Mexico City. Grant knew they were Americans and in disguise and believed they were one of the bands pillaging the outlying towns, and had been to Pachuca for its gold. He would make a report of what he had seen to the colonel of the provost marshals.

  CHAPTER 48

  Lee played poker with Longstreet, Johnston, and Pickett on the second floor of the Bella Union. He enjoyed the Union with its boisterous talk, laughter, spirited music, and the stomp of dancing feet resounding throughout. This was the place of choice of enlisted men and officers that wanted a rousing good evening with a woman, or gambling, or lively discussions on army politics, or the politics of the president and others back in the States. Arguments about the purpose of the war and whether or not the land that would be taken from the Mexicans was meant for slavery sometimes ended in fistfights. Lee thought the reason for the war was simple, President Polk meant for the United States to expand to the Pacific Ocean.