News of political chaos in Mexico City reached the coast in early April. The fall of Veracruz, coupled with the recent Polkos Rebellion, caused a “great sensation” in the capital. Two of President Polk’s agents, Moses Beach and Jane Storms, had gone to Mexico City two months earlier and had helped finance the rebellion. In addition, Beach had succeeded in winning limited support, or at least sympathy, from clergy for Scott’s invading army. When Santa Anna arrived in the capital after his defeat at Buena Vista, Beach helped Storms slip out of the city so she could travel to Veracruz and report to Scott. Storms’s knowledge of the Mexican people allowed her to offer perceptive insights. She believed that “Gen. Scott can have the people with him—or at least passive—while he exterminates their old oppressors.” Instinctively understanding Scott’s carrot-and-stick approach, she continued, “he can march to Mexico [City] without the loss of a single man in battle, if he will pursue the wise, explanatory, protecting system . . . but if, like brave Old Taylor, he will use no argument but the sword, it will cost many lives.” Although her sentiments conformed precisely with Scott’s objectives, the haughty general did not appreciate having his views validated by “a plenipotentiary in petticoats.” Hoping to take advantage of the political turmoil and thinking that the Mexican government might be ready to negotiate, Scott sent word to the capital that the United States was prepared to receive peace overtures. Meanwhile, he said that “the army would continue to advance—presenting at once the olive branch & the sword.”21
As his army began its march on April 8, Scott sat down and penned a proclamation to “the good people of Mexico.” It was itself an enunciation of the carrot-and-stick approach that he intended to pursue as the army advanced. He opened by warning that he commanded “a powerful army” and that another army in northern Mexico was poised to march south. (Taylor’s army in northern Mexico actually was not poised for such a march, but saying so added weight to Scott’s pronouncement.) Then he extended the olive branch: “Mexicans! Americans are not your enemies; but the enemies, for a time, of the men who, a year ago, misgoverned you, and brought about this unnatural war.” It was a psychological approach, an attempt to position his army on the side of the Mexican people. “We are the friends of the peaceful inhabitants of the country we occupy, and the friends of your Holy Religion, its Hierarchy and its Priesthood.” In addition, he assured them that there were “devout Catholics” in the United States and that the church was “respected by our government, laws and people.” (He failed to mention that one of his own daughters had converted to Catholicism and in so doing had caused Mrs. Scott considerable grief.) He went on to guarantee the safety of “unoffending inhabitants” by explaining that the “few bad men in this army” were being severely punished. “Is that not proof of good faith?” he asked. He further promised cash payments for residents who wanted to sell animals and food to the army. The proclamation contained one more threat with the sword for civilians who attempted to bring injury to “any . . . person or property belonging to this army.” Such offending parties “shall be punished with rigor,” he warned.22
As Twiggs’s division of regulars led the army inland on April 8, the ground seemed to move slowly under them. With each difficult step, their feet sank ankle deep into the hot sand as they trudged under a burning sun. For several miles north and then turning west, American soldiers labored on the road that led away from Veracruz, away from the coast, and away from yellow fever country. One soldier thought it was “the hottest day I ever did see. Our men were loaded down notwithstanding the hot weather.” Massachusetts native Barna Upton described the heat as “extreme . . . as hot as any weather we have in the summer in the north.” Romeyn B. Ayres, a future Union general from New York, remembered, “I was nearly used up with fatigue.” Sometimes the sand was so deep that wagon wheels sank to the hub, and teamsters used the whip and “all the oaths of the catalogue” to keep mules moving forward. Despite the difficulty of the march, the men left Veracruz in high spirits.23
As they moved further inland, the soft sand turned into a wide highway built of heavy stone and covered with cement. It was the National Road, long noted for its sturdy construction, and although parts of it had fallen into disrepair, it made the difficult march a bit easier. The flat, sandy, coastal region looked much like a desert, but after several miles, the soldiers began to pass palm trees, then thick tropical vegetation as the National Road made a gradual ascent up the Sierra Madres and wound its way inland through and eventually out of the tierra caliente, or hot country. The steady uphill trek exhausted the men. A volunteer private from Pennsylvania noted that despite the sand, heat, and incline, his regiment covered over twenty miles the first day, but in the process left men “scattered for miles back.” After the long day’s march, men wearily entered the designated campsite, clothes drenched with perspiration, and as soon as the sun set, the temperature dropped so that the cold night winds made their uniforms feel like ice blankets. Building fires was a top priority, and despite protests from local inhabitants, fence rails or boards taken from nearby farms and villages served as fuel.24
U.S. Army’s route to Mexico City. From Donald S. Frazier, ed., The United States and Mexico at War (New York: Macmillan, 1998). Reprinted by permission of The Gale Group.
At the outset of the march, friction arose within the army high command. When striking out from Veracruz, Scott gave Twiggs the place of honor by allowing his division to lead. It was an obvious choice since Twiggs’s division was located on the northern end of the siege line and thus was closest to the point where the National Road turned inland. Because Worth’s division had been allowed to land on the beach first, and given his position on the extreme south, Scott, in a spirit of fairness, thought Twiggs should have his turn at the head of the army. The day after Twiggs’s division marched, Patterson’s volunteer division followed (except for Quitman’s brigade, which was still too sickly and broken down from the Alvarado expedition). Meanwhile, Scott ordered Worth’s division to remain in Veracruz until additional wagons arrived. The marching orders infuriated Worth and renewed the dispute over seniority that had occurred with Twiggs the previous year. Now Worth believed that he was being superseded by his old antagonist, and he “became almost outrageous, burning up as he was with hatred & jealousy of Twiggs.”25
Worth’s dissatisfaction drew comments from various soldiers. According to Lieutenant George Davis, a staff officer in Brigadier General James Shields’s brigade, everyone assumed from the outset of the campaign that Worth’s division was to have the post of honor in all of the army’s actions. That his men landed first on Collado Beach seemed to confirm the supposition, thereby fostering a “spirit of jealousy and unrest” in the volunteer division. John Gardner, an officer in Twiggs’s division, thought he perceived blatant favoritism in the placement of the batteries for the Veracruz siege. Most of them had been located in front of Worth’s division, making his section of the investment line the focal point. The “design from the first was to pile all the honor on Worths division, and accordingly little or no notice was taken of the services of any part of Twiggs’.” After getting all the credit at Veracruz, Worth “could not even play ‘second fiddle’ in this concert,” complained Gardner.26
After starting along the National Road, however, they had little time for such squabbling and were happy to be on the move. The soldiers knew that the road inland carried them to a healthier climate. Their destination was Jalapa, some sixty-five miles from the coast, which, at an altitude of 4,700 feet, was safely above the yellow fever region. The course of the road took them roughly along the same path that Hernando Cortes had followed three centuries earlier when he conquered the Aztec empire. However, as they left the coast behind them, many Americans believed the rumors that Scott would meet with Mexican officials at Jalapa to negotiate a peace, which, if true, would make their conquest of the country much faster and less costly than their Spanish predecessor.27
Early in the march, Colonel Henry L. Kinn
ey, beef contractor with the army’s quartermaster department, entered into an interesting arrangement to supply the army with cattle. The colorful Kinney was a well-known Texan who had served in the republic’s congress before it was annexed to the United States. A native of Pennsylvania and a former land agent in Illinois, Kinney had established a trading outpost in 1838 that later became Corpus Christi, Texas. Known for a multitude of business enterprises, one of which was smuggling, Kinney served in Zachary Taylor’s army as a quartermaster officer before joining Scott’s command. Before leaving Veracruz, Kinney had scouted the army’s inland route as far as Mango de Clavo, one of Santa Anna’s estates, which boasted thousands of cattle. There Kinney contracted to purchase some of the livestock, and Santa Anna, careful to conceal his involvement in the affair, had his agent, Manuel Garcia, arrange the terms of the sale. Then Garcia informed Kinney that another individual named Nicholas Dorich, whose nationality is unknown, would collect payment and finalize the transaction. When Twiggs’s lead division passed through the village where Dorich was staying, which was near Mango de Clavo, the army paid him $500 in silver and gold for an unspecified number of cattle. However, rowdy volunteers of Patterson’s division delayed the delivery of the animals when they came through. According to Dorich, they broke down his door, struck him, and demanded whiskey. When one of their officers came in and tried to control them, they attacked him also. Dorich ran to some nearby woods but the soldiers found him and stripped him of his clothes. Dragoons had to be called up to restore order, collect the cattle, and deliver them to quartermaster officials. In reporting this incident, Kinney claimed that “bandits” had prevented the transfer of the cattle into American hands. Records are unclear as to whether this was a one-time deal with Santa Anna or an ongoing enterprise, but it is evident that the Mexican leader made money from the war.28
chapter four
Cerro Gordo
A Brilliant Affair
One of the surest ways of forming good combinations in war would be to order movements only after obtaining perfect information of the enemy’s proceedings. . . . As it is unquestionably of the highest importance to gain this information, so it is . . . one of the chief causes of the great difference between the theory and the practice of war. From this cause arise the mistakes of the generals who are simply learned men without a natural talent for war.
—Henri Jomini, The Art of War
Despite the hopes that enemy resistance would evaporate, Antonio López de Santa Anna planned to stop the Americans before they reached Jalapa. Santa Anna was a longtime military and political leader in Mexico, admired and respected by some but distrusted and despised by others. First elected president in 1833, he dominated twenty years of Mexican history and has been referred to as both an eagle and an enigma. He became a national hero in 1838 when he lost a leg while defending Mexico from an invading French army, and he fancied himself the Napoleon of the West. However, the most recent study of Santa Anna calls him a “political opportunist” and “a curse upon Mexico.” Returning to the capital after his disappointing defeat at Buena Vista, the Mexican leader had reorganized the government and negotiated a loan from the church for two million pesos to help finance the war. Santa Anna, calling the capitulation of Veracruz a “shameful surrender,” decided that his talents were required to stop the American invasion. On April 5, he arrived at his hacienda, El Encero, near Jalapa, and immediately went to work organizing a defensive position east of Jalapa. Although some in Scott’s army believed that the war was practically over, others instinctively knew that a battle awaited them.1
On April 11, the Americans reached the National Bridge, which crossed the Antigua River thirty miles from Veracruz and about halfway to Jalapa. The bridge, an impressive stone structure, had five arches supporting its span of four hundred yards. Its road surface was over fifty feet wide, and it gently curved in a half-moon shape. The river was a hundred yards wide with steep hills all around. The well-watered area produced a lush, dark green foliage that covered the hills and cliff faces as far as the eye could see, and flowers in a variety of brilliant colors dotted the landscape. The scenery was breathtaking; a “wild and romantic place,” as one soldier described it. Lieutenant A. P. Hill described the bridge in a letter to his parents as “the most beautiful specimen of Bridge architecture I ever saw.” Another soldier named Fitzgerald wrote that the “National Bridge . . . is the grandest structure of the kind I ever saw.”2
Antonio López de Santa Anna. Courtesy of Special Collections Division, University of Texas at Arlington Libraries.
The cliffs overlooking the bridge bore evidence of a recently aborted attempt to defend the area. Indeed, before leaving the capital, Santa Anna had sent orders to his generals to defend the road that led inland. To General Valentín Canalizo, commander in chief of the eastern division, Santa Anna sent instructions to oppose the American advance at various points. He also issued a broadside to the Mexican people challenging them to “Awake!” and defend their country. One of the points that he implored Canalizo to fortify was the National Bridge, but construction of defensive works had only begun as the news of Veracruz’s surrender filtered down to Canalizo’s soldiers. This demoralizing news prompted most of the workers to flee in panic. Rather than a desperate fight, the only thing the Americans encountered at this place was a splendid vista of colors and architecture.3
The beautiful and majestic encounter with the National Bridge was followed later in the day by a far more serious encounter. Fifteen miles up the road, in the vicinity of a village called Plan del Río, Colonel William S. Harney’s cavalry screen ran into a body of Mexican lancers, who fired a few ineffective shots before retiring. Harney sent word back to Twiggs of the contact with hostile troops, and the general accurately ascertained that this was likely the advance guard of a Mexican army rumored to be in the area. Regardless, Twiggs was determined to act. He ordered a courier to ride back toward the coast, find General Scott, and inform him of the discovery. Then Twiggs rushed his division up to Plan del Río late in the day to encamp for the night, intending to conduct a strong reconnaissance the next morning. At least that is what Twiggs later called it—a “reconnaissance”—as have historians. However, a dispatch rider overheard the general say at his headquarters, “I shall fight them. . . . tomorrow I shall march out, whip them, and return to my camp.”4
At Plan del Río, the National Road ran north, crossing a rushing stream called Río del Plan. After winding through the rugged terrain, it turned west about a mile above the village, angled back toward the river, then turned and ran roughly parallel to it. After making its westward turn, the road ran through a deep gorge that ended three miles away at the town of Cerro Gordo. Hills and ridges dotted the landscape and lined both sides of the road before it reached the town and open country. Like a funnel, the road carried everything on it into the narrow Cerro Gordo pass—a deadly trap for an unsuspecting army. Any number of positions on this stretch of road would make ideal locations for the Mexican army to make a stand. This was on the edge of the vomito region, so if the Americans could be beaten back and forced to remain relatively close to the coast, they might yet feel the ravages of the deadly disease. Santa Anna’s hacienda with its thousands of acres was a few miles west of Cerro Gordo, giving him a personal interest in resisting further American advances in this area.
Aware of Harney’s clash with enemy cavalry, the men in Twiggs’s division knew that it must be an advance patrol and that a Mexican army of unknown strength could not be far away. That evening before going to bed, Joseph R. Smith recorded in his diary his expectation that he was “on the eve of a severe battle.” That his thoughts dwelt on both his immediate and his eternal future is evident in the way he closed his entry on April 11: “O, my God, in Thee do I put my trust. Let me not be confounded, still watch over me and shield me. Protect me in the hour of conflict and the day of battle. Preserve my life.” The last sentence of his prayer indicated his willingness to accept his fate: “Yet, o
h God, not my will but Thine, be done.”5 As it turned out, Smith’s foreboding about the morrow was premature by five days.
On the morning of April 12, Twiggs impetuously sent forward a reconnaissance force supported by the advance of his entire division. Without knowing the size or location of the enemy in his front, and without waiting for the rest of the army to come up or for instructions from the commanding general, he formed his division and started up the road toward the gorge. In his battle report written a week later, Twiggs explained his intentions “if practicable, to make an effective attack on all his works.” As historian K. Jack Bauer aptly described him, “‘Old Davy’ Twiggs . . . was not one of the army’s intellectuals.” Alfred Hoyt Bill, another chronicler of the conflict, wrote that in pressing the issue without adequate preparation, Twiggs was “disdainful as ever of all finesse.” In his classic study of the war, Justin H. Smith asserted that Twiggs’s “brains were, in fact, merely what happened to be left over from the making of his spinal cord.” A volunteer officer, Colonel William Campbell, wrote in a letter the next day that he had no confidence in General Twiggs, and neither did “the intelligent officers of the army.”6
A Gallant Little Army Page 10
