by H. W. Brands
Gaines recommended raising a force substantially larger than Santa Anna’s army. He said he had taken the liberty of applying to New Orleans to borrow that city’s legionary brigade, which had answered in a way that signaled its leaders’ understanding of what was required. “The officers of the legion, with the gallant general at their head, cordially responded that they would, whenever it might be deemed necessary, promptly repair to the frontier, delighted with the opportunity of carrying into effect the wishes of the President, under whose immediate command many of the officers had distinguished themselves in the defense of their city and state in the memorable triumphs of December 1814 and January 1815.” Gaines addressed this letter to Cass, as protocol required. But his intended audience was made obvious by his closing: “All which is submitted for the information of the President of the United States, with profound respect.”
Gaines and Houston weren’t the only ones looking to Jackson. Samuel Carson was the Texas secretary of state; whether from conversations with Houston or on his own, he concluded that American intervention might be the salvation of the infant republic. “News—good news,” he reported to Texas president David Burnet in early April from East Texas. “I have just heard through a source . . . that a company or battalion of U.S. troops left Fort Jessup [on the American side of the Sabine] eight or ten days since, crossed the Sabine, and were marching toward the Neches. I believe it to be true.” In fact, it wasn’t true yet. But even if premature, the report persuaded Carson that help was in sight. “Jackson will protect the neutral ground, and the beauty of it is, he claims to the Neches as neutral ground.”
General Gaines knew better than to expect explicit endorsement from Washington of his forward policy, but in the absence of contradictory orders, he proceeded with his planning. He relocated his headquarters to Natchitoches, to be closer to the front, and he filed reports to Washington that painted the threat to American territory—and to American standards of decency—in increasingly lurid colors. Portions of several Indian tribes had crossed over from Louisiana into Texas, he said. “When to this fact is added the reports daily received at this place, that the army of Mexico, commanded by the President, St. Anna, in person, is rapidly approaching in this direction, through the center of Texas; that his plan is to put to death all he finds in arms, and all who do not yield to his dictation; that as soon as he comes to the section of country occupied by the Indians in question, on the waters of the Trinidad, or Trinity, river, they will unite with him in his war of extermination; and that no boundary line, save such as that they find properly guarded with an efficient force, will be sufficient to arrest the career of these savages, I cannot but deem it my duty to prepare for action.”
In a circular letter to the governors of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee, Gaines went on to say that he had heard that a Mexican national named Manuel Flores had been traveling among the Indians of the borderlands, apparently at the behest of the Mexican government, urging the aborigines “to join them in the war of extermination now raging in Texas,” as Gaines described it. The general asked rhetorically “whether I am to sit still and suffer these movements to be so far matured as to place the white settlements on both sides of the line wholly within the power of these savages.” He concluded that he was not. This was why he was writing the governors: to request reinforcements, in particular mounted troops, the only kind that would “enable me to interpose an effectual check on the daily increasing danger.” Gaines went on to say that additional federal troops would take too long to reach the frontier; he didn’t mention—but must have thought—that additional federal troops would require positive action from Washington, which wanted to stay at arm’s length from whatever occurred on the border.
Sam Carson met Gaines at Natchitoches “and had with him a full and satisfactory conversation,” as the Texas secretary of state reported to President Burnet. Gaines had to be careful what he told Carson. “His position at present is a delicate one and requires at his hands the most cautious movements,” Carson said. Gaines’s reticence kept Carson from predicting definitively how the general would act. “But one thing I think I may say, that should he be satisfied of the fact that the Mexicans have incited any Indians who are under the control of the United States to commit depredations on either side of the line, he will doubtless view it as a violation of the treaty. . . . Be assured that he will maintain the honor of his country and punish the aggressor, be him whom he may.” Speaking for himself, Carson said he believed the Mexicans did have some Caddos, Cherokees, and other tribesmen with them. “It is only necessary, then, to satisfy General Gaines of the facts, in which case be assured he will act with energy and efficiency.” The general was preparing to march to the Sabine. “The proofs will, I have no doubt, be abundant by the time he reaches the Sabine, in which case he will cross and move upon the aggressors.” Carson concluded this message to Burnet by saying: “I shall write General Houston and advise him fully upon this subject.”
Gaines in fact advanced to the Sabine, to await further developments and instructions. Among the latter was a message from Secretary Cass explaining President Jackson’s position. “It is not the wish of the President to take advantage of the present circumstances, and thereby obtain possession of any portion of the Mexican territory,” Cass disclaimed. He then went on: “Still, however, the neutral duties, as well as the neutral rights, of the United States will justify the Government in taking all necessary measures to prevent a violation of their territory. Recent events induce the belief that the Mexican forces, as well as the inhabitants of Texas, must be in a high state of excitement.” Cass said that the government at Washington had reason to believe that the Mexicans were provoking the Indians against the Texans, as General Gaines had indicated. “It may, therefore, well be, as you anticipate, that these various contending parties may approach our frontiers, and that the lives and property of our citizens may be placed in jeopardy. Should this be the case”—and now came the words Gaines had been waiting for—“the President approves the suggestion you make, and you are authorized to take such position, on either side of the imaginary boundary line, as may be best for your defensive operations.” In what parsed as a constraint but, in the context of this authorization, served as permission, Jackson added, speaking through Cass: “You will, however, under no circumstances advance farther than old Fort Nacogdoches, which is within the limits of the United States, as claimed by this Government.”
C h a p t e r 1 8
A People in Arms
At the beginning of April 1836, Santa Anna felt victory over the Texas rebels to be within his grasp. “The capture of the Alamo, in spite of its attendant disasters, and the quick and successful operations of General Urrea gave us a prodigious moral prestige,” the president-general recalled. “Our name terrified the enemy, and our approach to their camps was not awaited. They fled disconcerted to hide beyond the Trinity and the Sabine. . . . The attainment of our goal was now almost certain.”
Santa Anna’s sole problem was the result of his brilliant success—the very terror and disconcertion of the enemy. The president-general had hoped to crush Houston and the rest of the insurgents as he had crushed their comrades at Béxar and Goliad. But Houston knew only how to run. “The enemy was not undertaking a retreat but was in full flight.”
Chasing Houston further might be futile and even counterproductive. A rabble in flight traveled faster than any army could advance in decent order. And though Santa Anna couldn’t know the intentions of General Gaines on the Sabine, he could guess. Andrew Jackson’s scorn for international boundaries and the niceties of law was patent; Santa Anna saw no reason to give the American president—the father of filibusters—an excuse to invade Mexico.
That left two alternatives. The Army of Operations could transform itself into an army of occupation and remain in Texas indefinitely. Santa Anna found this personally distasteful (where was the glory in occupation?) and politically prohibitive (who would pay to keep
the soldiers so far from home? How would the rest of Mexico be defended?).
The other alternative was to decapitate the rebellion by seizing the rebel government. Santa Anna learned that the ringleaders of the insurgency had abandoned Washington-on-the-Brazos, heading toward the coast. “Through some of the colonists taken, among them a Mexican, I discovered that the heads of the Texas government, Don Lorenzo Zavala, and other leaders of the revolution were at Harrisburg, twelve leagues distant on the right bank of Buffalo Bayou.” Because Houston had gone in the other direction—north, toward Groce’s Crossing of the Brazos—the rebel government was undefended. “Their arrest was certain if our troops marched upon them without loss of time.”
This was the opening Santa Anna had been looking for. With typical audacity and decisiveness, and “without confiding in anyone,” he staked the outcome of the war on a gamble. Conventional wisdom dictated keeping his army together, lest he lose his most important advantage over the rebels. But like Napoleon, Santa Anna disdained convention. To deliver his coup de grace, he pulled some 750 dragoons, grenadiers, and riflemen out of their regiments. “I started with these forces toward Harrisburg the afternoon of the 14th.”
By then Houston had nearly lost control of the Texan army. During the final weeks of March and the first weeks of April, he continued to retreat, believing that his force was no match for Santa Anna’s and hoping to draw the Mexican general toward the border and a collision with General Gaines and the U.S. Army. But as Santa Anna pressed forward and the refugee stream of Texas settlers swelled into a terrified torrent, demands that Houston stand and fight became shriller and more insistent. Sam Carson wrote to David Burnet from the banks of the Trinity River in early April, describing a scene unlike any he had ever imagined. “The panic has reached this place,” Carson said. “Destruction pervades the whole country.” Three hundred people were crowded to the river’s edge, hoping to get across, but the spring rains were raising the river and soon they all would be trapped. “Never till I reached the Trinity did I despond,” Carson explained. The fear and flight were uncontrollable, short of a victory in the field by Houston. “Nothing can stop the people unless Houston is successful.” Houston simply must fight. A single victory could change everything. “If under the providence of almighty God he has whipped them, the panic can be allayed and the people will return and drive the enemy out of the country. But should it be otherwise . . .” Carson shuddered and declined to speculate.
David Burnet agreed. “Our friend the commander-in-chief has heavy responsibilities resting upon him,” the Texas president told War Secretary Rusk. “It were perhaps hyperbolical to say ‘the eyes of the world are upon him,’ but assuredly the people of Texas are looking toward him with an ardent and anxious gaze. They regard his present conduct as decisive of the fate of their country.” Burnet asked why Houston’s army should be retreating before a “contemptible Mexican force” of a mere thirteen hundred men. “Have we so far forgotten our wonted boasts of superior prowess as to turn our backs to an equal number of a foe that has given us every imaginable incentive to action—vigorous, prompt, daring action? I hope it will not be.” The people of Texas were crying for a battle, and Burnet shared their feeling. “A further retreat without a fight would be infinitely disastrous. . . . For our country’s sake, let something be done, something that will tell upon our enemies and upon ourselves.”
To Houston himself, Burnet was even blunter. In a letter carried by Rusk to Houston’s camp, the Texas president declared:
Sir: The enemy are laughing you to scorn. You must fight them. You must retreat no farther. The country expects you to fight. The salvation of the country depends on you doing so.
Houston bridled at the criticism from persons not even in the field. “Taunts and suggestions have been gratuitously tendered to me,” he complained, “and I have submitted to them without any disposition to retort either unkindness or imputation.” But a man could tolerate only so much. “What has been my situation? At Gonzales I had three hundred and seventy-four efficient men, without supplies, even powder, balls, or arms. At the Colorado, with seven hundred men, without discipline or time to organize the army. Two days since, my effective force in camp was five hundred and twenty-three men.” And with this he was supposed to defeat a Mexican force of thousands? “I have, under the most disadvantageous circumstances, kept an army together . . . but I can not perform impossibilities.”
The carping of his troops was harder to ignore. Throughout the retreat, grumblers asserted that they ought to be marching west rather than east, that in a real war real men wanted to fight. The first serious trouble surfaced at San Felipe, when it became clear that Houston wouldn’t defend Austin’s capital. Wiley Martin had fought under Jackson at Horseshoe Bend, where he outranked Houston, and he had emigrated to Texas long before Houston, as part of Stephen Austin’s original three hundred. On both grounds he chafed at taking orders from Houston, and at San Felipe he decided he wouldn’t do so any longer. When Houston ordered the town evacuated, Martin simply refused, and he became a focus of resistance to Houston and the strategy of retreat.
Mosely Baker was another objector. Baker had run afoul of Houston at Nacogdoches, and he would remain at odds with Houston for the rest of their careers. Yet the nadir of their relationship occurred during the campaign of 1836. Even years later, Baker boiled to think about that trying period. “By your retreat you abandoned the whole country west of the Colorado to the enemy,” he accused Houston. “But what was still more disastrous than all, you infused a feeling of terror and dismay into the minds of the people.” At the time of the declaration of Texas independence, Baker said, the people of Texas were eager to fight the Mexicans and were confident they could win. “So soon, however, as it was found out that you were retreating, a new face was given to the whole matter.” The farther Houston retreated, the further public confidence fell. “So soon as you crossed the Colorado, the families all to the west side of that river hurried away to the settlements on the east side, and by the dreadful accounts given in their terror the feeling became general, and universal consternation seized the country.” With many others, Baker had expected Houston to make a stand at the Brazos; when the commander ordered San Felipe abandoned, Baker revolted. Like Martin, he insisted he would stay.
Houston faced a dilemma, either horn of which might gore him and eviscerate the revolution. To treat the Baker-Martin challenge as the mutiny it was risked rending the entire army; for all he knew, half his men would side with Baker and Martin against him. On the other hand, to acquiesce in their insubordination would certainly make discipline an even greater problem in the future.
Houston adopted the course of lesser resistance. If Baker and Mosely wanted to draw a line at the Brazos, he would let them. But to save face, he made permission mandatory: he ordered them to defend the Brazos. Baker and one company would guard the crossing of the Brazos at San Felipe, Martin and another company the crossing at Fort Bend, twenty-five miles downstream. Meanwhile Houston would take the balance of the army, about five hundred men, upstream to Groce’s plantation.
As he guessed it would, Houston’s refusal to confront this challenge to his authority merely borrowed time. The army spent two weeks at Groce’s, during which Houston rested and trained the men and allowed the sick to recuperate. The time also allowed the malcontents to mutter that the army needed a new general. A principal among the complainers, Alexander Somervell, a lieutenant colonel of the volunteers, tested sentiment in favor of deposing Houston. “He came to the tents of the company to which I belonged, and talked with the men, expressing himself strongly,” recalled J. H. Kuykendall, the youngest of three Kuykendall brothers in the rebel army. “Should General Houston persist in avoiding a conflict with the enemy, and continue to march to the eastward, as it was generally believed he intended to do, he said he was in favor of depriving him of the command and supplying his place with a more belligerent leader, and wished to know whether our company favored s
uch a course and would take it, should it become necessary. He was assured by both officers and men that he might rely upon their cooperation.” Somervell and his sympathizers then queried the rest of the army and apparently got much the same reply. What surprised Kuykendall was the openness of the insubordination. “There was no injunction of secrecy; no one disguised his sentiments; and General Houston could not have been ignorant of what was in agitation.”
