One more attitude that constituted a prevalent theme in soldiers’ writings deserves notice. It was a notion that began to take root in the second year of the conflict, not just in the army but back in the States as well, and that was the growing conviction that most, if not all, of Mexico should fall under U.S. control. Few people doubted that the war was about land and that some territorial concessions would be required of Mexico in order to consummate a peace, and by 1847, the American appetite for land was growing. Back in the spring, Secretary Marcy had written to General Scott instructing him to look for “the most effective way in your power” to encourage the severing of political ties between the government in Mexico City and any region wherein the people seem to favor the idea. Later in the year, William P. Chambliss, while on duty with a Tennessee regiment, noted a particularly beautiful spot near the National Bridge that he thought would make an ideal manufacturing location because of the power that could be generated by the rapidly flowing river. And he speculated that the area would be host to just such an enterprise “at no distant day, should this country become a part of the U.S.”22
Other soldiers began to harbor similar assumptions as the war progressed, believing that the United States should absorb its southern neighbor because of its inferior institutions and backward culture. “They are a poor excuse for a nation, and dont deserve the beautiful country with which heaven has blessed them,” wrote John Dodd to his wife. In the latter stages of the campaign, Roswell Ripley wrote to his mother regarding the dishonesty and corruption that prevailed in Mexico. Then he opined that if a treaty is made and broken by the enemy, “we shall be ultimately obliged to take possession of the country, as an outlet to the superfluous energy of our own, and a corrective to the exuberant rascality of this.” In a later letter, Ripley expressed the opinion that conditions in Mexico would improve only with a prolonged American presence in the country. William Austine echoed the same sentiments when he decried the state of disrepair into which many of the roads and buildings had fallen. The “Mexicans never repair . . . any of these great works except when absolutely compelled to do so,” he complained. “If the country is not soon taken possession of by some enlightened nation it will eventually return to its primitive state.” Even Robert E. Lee weighed in on the idea of taking over the country: “They will oblige us in spite of ourselves to overrun the country & drive them into the sea. I believe it would be our best plan to commence at once.”23
All of that speculation, however, had to give way to the business at hand, which was marching on to the Mexican capital and ending the war. The want of money and men was somewhat remedied when General Pierce arrived with both on August 6. Sporadic guerrilla attacks had also plagued this column as it marched from Veracruz, including a major skirmish with over a thousand irregulars at the National Bridge. Just before reaching Cerro Gordo, they discovered that guerrillas had destroyed the bridge across the Río del Plan, and after spending a day and a half making repairs, they continued on to Jalapa and beyond. West of Perote, guerrilla activity had been temporarily quelled by the time Pierce’s troops marched through, thanks to a surprise raid the previous week by American dragoons from Puebla under Captain Charles F. Ruff. In that skirmish near Ojo de Agua, some forty guerrillas were killed. Manuel Dominguez’s Mexican spy company also did its part to suppress the presence of irregulars on the roads and in the mountain passes.24
The difficulties that Pillow, Cadwalader, McIntosh, Pierce, and others faced illustrate that the guerrilla threat had grown in magnitude. By summer, it had become a constant nuisance and worry for Scott, to the extent that the safe movement of troops and supplies between the coast and the army became an important consideration for the commanding general. Scott realized that to ensure security his troops could no longer travel in groups of a few dozen or even a few hundred; rather, they needed to march in strong columns numbering a thousand or more. It was obviously with this concern at the forefront of his mind that he drew in his vulnerable garrisons at Jalapa and Perote. Ultimately, though, the guerrilla war that emerged was never more than a significant irritant, a thorn in the flesh. It did not cause Scott to alter his plans or slow down his operations, and it never rose to an unmanageable proportion. In short, it never threatened the outcome of the conflict. Certainly columns of troops and supplies had difficulty traveling the roads, but none ever failed to reach its destination.
The nature of these partisan attacks and the Americans’ attitude toward them are best illustrated by quotes from two officers, Major William B. Taliaferro and Captain Benjamin S. Roberts. While traveling inland from Veracruz with a body of reinforcements in September, Taliaferro recorded the following comments about an encounter with irregulars. After a skirmish near the National Bridge, he recounted how they drove the guerrillas away with artillery: “Our shells burst all over them, and we could see them leave the fort . . . without a shot being fired” by the enemy. The major then commented on the sporadic gunfire that went on all night: “Indeed it is so common to hear the reports of escopettes that I hardly care to get up at night to go out and see where they are fired from, and sleep soundly although I may be called to a fierce conflict before morning.” The former quote illustrates the common knowledge that the guerrillas would not stand and fight in a set battle, while the latter demonstrates such a lack of fear that Taliaferro did not even bother to get out of bed to investigate the sounds of gunfire. Such indifference was reiterated by Roberts, a member of the Mounted Rifles, who wrote several weeks after the army left Puebla that his regiment had “marched for hours without paying attention to their firing upon our train and rear. They have kept in the hills beyond our musket and rifle range and their escopeta balls if they hit a man would seldom break the skin.” Such was Roberts’s disdain for the military prowess of the guerrillas that he concluded that “One hundred riflemen would consider it an amusement to fight a thousand guerillas daily.”25
One more development that occurred before the army left Puebla warrants notice, for it provides clues about Scott’s motivations once he reached the vicinity of Mexico City. This involves a revealing exchange of notes between the commanding general and his British contacts inside the capital. Clearly Scott and Trist had cultivated relationships with Minister Bankhead, Secretary Thornton, and undoubtedly others, and these well-placed individuals had acted as unofficial intermediaries between the American army and Mexican officials, both political and military, for much of the campaign, as evidenced by the aborted bribery scheme. Before leaving Puebla, Scott received a letter from one of these sources indicating that if the Americans marched only part way to the capital—say, to San Martin, which was a third of the distance—then halted, the Mexican government might extend a request for peace talks. If Scott, however, decided to march all the way to the capital, the letter went on to make the incredible request that he identify the point of the city that he intended to attack. The nature of the letter made it suspect as to which side the correspondent was attempting to aid, but Scott did not fall into the trap. He responded by writing a note that Lieutenant Colonel Hitchcock called “the most remarkable ever penned by any commander in any campaign on record.” Hitchcock read the note (in fact, he saw it more than once), and several months later, he recounted its contents. Scott audaciously informed his contact that he intended to advance to the capital and would “either defeat the enemy in view of the city, if they would give him battle, or he would take a strong position from the enemy, and then, if he could restrain the enthusiasm of his troops, he would halt outside of the city and take measures to give those in the city an opportunity to save the capital by making a peace.”26
On its surface, it was a bold assertion from a confident army commander, but on deeper reflection, it also served as a signal of Scott’s moderate approach. It clearly indicated that capturing Mexico City was not his primary objective and that he would use only as much military leverage as necessary to win a peace. Thus, when he reached the outskirts of the capital, he would look fo
r that signal victory “in view of the city,” then give his opponent time to seek peace. It was Scott’s consistent strategy throughout the campaign: sword, then olive branch; fight, then wait.
Pierce’s column brought the army’s fighting strength to 10,700 with an additional 2,500 hospitalized with illness and wounds. Preparations for departure were already underway when Pierce arrived, and on Saturday, August 7, the army began marching out of Puebla by division. The four division commanders were David Twiggs, who led the army out of the city and away from their ten-week hiatus; William Worth, who just days earlier had written a “half apology” to Scott for the problems he had caused; John Quitman, who continued to command volunteer troops; and Gideon Pillow, whose deficient military mind caused him to rely heavily on his new adjutant general, Captain Joseph Hooker. Pillow once said to Hooker, “When you see occasion for issuing an order, give it without reference to me. You understand these matters.” It was just as well, for many of the soldiers, especially subordinate officers, resented orders from Pillow. For him to give orders, thought Captain George Davis, was like “the tail attempting to wag the dog.”27
With bands playing and regimental flags flying, the army departed the city with a flash of pageantry that suited the commanding general nicely. As Twiggs’s lead division began its exodus from the city, he yelled with his thunderous voice for his boys to “give them a Cerro Gordo shout!” Quitman, Worth, and Pillow followed, on successive days through August 10, and covered only a half day’s march initially so that each division would remain within supporting distance of the ones in its front and rear. The order of march each day consisted first of mounted troops, then light infantry and artillery, followed by the main infantry regiments. Behind them came the supply train, and finally a strong rear guard to protect the wagons from attack.28
As they marched out, some of the soldiers were struck by the level of disinterest exhibited by the Pueblans, who appeared to pay little attention to their departure. William Austine expressed disappointment when a “market woman,” who had sold pigs to the troops, and whom Austine had visited on numerous occasions, acted entirely indifferent as he left town. “I must confess my mortification when on mounting my . . . horse, neither the mother, daughter or even the babies . . . deigned a look, not even a parting glance, at one who for three months had daily . . . taken the liveliest interest in their secular affairs, what base ingratitude.”29
Scott’s tentative plans for his final advance on the capital dictated the order by which each division left Puebla, and he had formulated his plans on the basis of long-range reconnaissance by Captain Lee and Major William Turn-bull, Scott’s chief topographical engineer. During the army’s long summer encampment, Lee and Turnbull had scouted the roads between Puebla and Mexico City, talked to residents along the way, and made crude pencil maps of the possible approaches to the capital. They each made their own maps on the basis of separate reconnaissance missions and without consulting each other. Also after each mission, Scott called them to his headquarters, where he questioned them separately to see if he got the same answers from each. Their maps slowly developed over time “from information procured in every possible way you can imagine.” When they were confident in their finished products, they compared their maps and corrected any discrepancies. Scott assigned great responsibility to his engineers, especially to Lee, in whom he placed considerable trust. As a result of their findings and recommendations, Scott decided to advance on the city from the south, and to placate his old friend, he would give Worth’s division the honor of leading the way. No one but Scott knew about the plan that was percolating in his head while in Puebla, but to pursue what he envisioned, Worth’s command needed to be the third to depart. The reason for his placement there would become apparent after the army arrived in the Valley of Mexico.30
Having pulled in his garrisons, except for a small one to remain in Puebla to care for the convalescent soldiers, and cut off his communications with the coast, Scott displayed bold leadership. Like the Spaniard Hernando Cortez who burned his ships on the coast before striking out to conquer the Aztec empire, Scott’s decision signaled that there was no turning back. The advance, not the rear, was where the Americans must focus their attention. According to intelligence from the capital, Santa Anna had spent the previous ten weeks strengthening the city’s defenses and building an army that exceeded 20,000 men. He enjoyed several advantages in addition to his significant numerical superiority. Now that he would be fighting in and around the capital, his previously long line of communication was nil. Most importantly, he would be fighting with interior lines. Operating with interior lines, he would be able to shift troops and communicate with his officers much more quickly and easily than could the Americans. Conversely, Scott’s army, by severing its ties to the coast, had no choice but to fight while isolated and deep within hostile territory. Clearly, there was no room for error. “But we are ready for anything,” recorded Lieutenant Kirkham, and come what may, “General Scott will do the thing up in the most scientific order.”31
chapter nine
Into the Valley of Mexico
No Room for Error
Santa Anna had now had nearly four months (since the battle of Cerro Gordo) to collect and reorganize the entire means of the Republic for a last vigorous attempt to crush the invasion. A single error on our part—a single victory on his, might have effected that great end.
—Winfield Scott, Commanding General
After leaving Puebla, the climate changed rapidly. With the volcanic peak of Popocatépetl visible in the distance, the army gradually approached the last mountain range, which made up the eastern rim of the Valley of Mexico. On the third day, the road began to ascend, and the men marched for hours uphill through a uneven terrain covered with pine woods. The mounted troops must have been fuming over the elevated march into the mountains because some of their horses had been taken from them before leaving Puebla for use in wagon teams. The temperature became “quite cold” and the air damp as the men continued their trudge up the mountains. As they ascended, the altitude made breathing difficult and eardrums bore witness to the effects of the pressure, but up they marched until they had to look down at the clouds. Still on the eastern side of the range, the army came to Rio Frio, which has an altitude of more than 10,000 feet. It was a small stream that flowed from the mountain tops, and true to its name, it was “nearly as cold as ice.” Now the volcano, Mount Popo, as the locals called it, was on the left, still twenty miles away but jutting up seven thousand feet higher than their current altitude.1
The army continued unopposed through the mountain passes. Here and there, abandoned log breastworks served as clues that they would not have another fight until they reached the capital. At the Cordilleras Pass, just beyond the summit where the troops stopped to rest, Noah Smith told Scott that he had something to show him and asked if the commander would ride with him a short distance. The two men left the road and in a few minutes came to a spot that Smith knew about where the Mexican capital was visible, and from that location, Scott got his first glimpse of his objective, far in the distance in the valley below. In his Memoirs, he described the spellbinding vista as a “sublime trance.” The “surrounding lakes, sparkling under a bright sun seemed, in the distance, pendant diamonds.” Below stretched the valley floor, and several thousand feet above him towered mountain peaks. Taking it all in “filled the mind with religious awe,” Scott wrote years later. Before leaving the spot, he called for his staff officers so he could show them the sight and the place where the army’s journey would end.2
At this point, the road began a rapid ten-mile descent into the valley below, and after going a short distance down the west face, the troops made a turn in the road. Suddenly they marched into an opening where “the luxurious valley of Mexico burst upon us.” Several thousand feet below, they saw the entire breadth of the valley, thirty miles wide and forty-five miles long, all the way to the dark mountains that surrounded it on all sides. L
akes and small villages dotted the panorama, but there, twenty-five miles distant, was the object of their quest: Mexico City, with its domes and towers clearly visible. Numerous descriptions in letters and diaries indicated that the sight was as unforgettable for the soldiers as it had been for the commanding general. “The Valley of Mexico shut out from the surrounding world by a range of lofty mountains which completely encircles it, was spread out far below us,” wrote Lieutenant Simon Bolivar Buckner to a relative. “From the height at which we viewed it, we gazed upon the many beauties which it unfolded;—upon the highly cultivated fields, upon the villages, and cities, and spires, . . . upon the distant mountains which bounded the horizon, and which were mirrored in the smooth surface of the lakes which reposed tranquilly beneath.” The Englishman George Ballentine remembered “the uniform appearance of a green-swept plain dotted with white churches, spires, and haciendas, and containing several large sheets of water.” The clear air allowed them to discern an incredible amount of detail for a great distance. “It is certainly the most magnificent view in Mexico,” Ballentine concluded, “perhaps the finest in the world.” During the long trek through the mountains, the tired marchers had trudged on in “sullen silence,” but on catching their first glimpse of the Mexican capital, their mood changed as they began “briskly chatting and laughing most merrily.”3
Understanding the historic nature of their enterprise, some of the soldiers could not resist making comparisons between their campaign and Cortez’s sixteenth-century march into this same valley to conquer the Aztecs. Moses Barnard pondered the fact that he was beholding the same sights that the Spaniard had seen as he crossed the mountains. “We were treading the same ground, gazing on the same scenes, experiencing the same delight that Cortez & his gallant little band of Cavaliers experienced three centuries before us. Our expedition was as full of hazard & romance & I have the vanity to think our hearts were as stout.” Cortez, with a tiny army, had defeated a magnificent empire, and here in 1521 he had captured the great Aztec capital Tenochtitlan, the ruins of which lay beneath Mexico City. Now the Americans imagined that if they could pull off the same feat, their fame would equal that of Cortez.4
A Gallant Little Army Page 22
