by Drew McGunn
Several companies had continued through what had once been the Mexican line and were approaching Santa Fe. Will ran to catch up with them. As his heels slammed into the dry ground, he wished he had ridden his horse into battle, at least then he wouldn’t have to run to catch up to his advancing soldiers. With his heart pounding in his chest, and gasping for air, he caught up with the lead company on the edge of town. The first couple of streets were completely deserted. Homes were shuttered, and storefronts had their windows boarded up. As Will scanned the scene, it was apparent the citizens of Santa Fe were significantly less sure of victory than Mexican Governor Manuel Armijo had been.
As rifle teams worked their way into town, heading toward the central plaza, the sound of gunfire started up again a few blocks away. Will joined with a few rifle teams as they carefully worked their way down a street, which led to Santa Fe’s central plaza. He watched two men from one team sprint across the street, taking shelter in the recess of a door, while the other two riflemen covered them. Urban warfare was something he hadn’t taken the time to consider when he wrote the training manual. As he watched his riflemen crouching in doorways, Will vowed to do something about the oversight. It was another area where he had not thought things through as thoroughly as he should have. As he joined the two soldiers on the opposite side of the road, he wondered what else he had missed. Despite two tours in Iraq before the transference, it felt as though he was constantly discovering something new that he should have considered. They had arrived at the edge of the plaza and he set the unsettling thoughts aside. There wasn’t anything to be gained second-guessing himself in the middle of Santa Fe street.
He peered around the corner of the adobe building and saw the central plaza spread out before him. The presidio took up an entire side of the plaza, and he saw the Mexican flag flying over the long, barricaded building. Muzzles poked out the narrow slits for windows. Will swore as a musket ball chipped the adobe clay brick above his head. Involuntarily, he ducked, drawing chuckles from the riflemen behind him. A couple of rifle teams had already entered the plaza and were working their way across the open space, toward the presidio’s main gate. Bullets careened off the ground, and one of the riflemen dropped his weapon and fell noiselessly to the ground, as a pool of blood soaked the ground beneath him.
The handful of riflemen moved while they reloaded their breechloaders. They fired back at the flashes of gunfire coming from the presidio, but after two more were hit, the remainder fell back and found shelter on the opposite side of the plaza.
When he saw another rifle team start across the plaza, Will decided the odds didn’t favor a direct assault yet. “Enough of this,” he said to the soldiers nearby. He called out, “Get your asses back here, boys!” When the advancing soldiers saw who ordered them to retreat, they fell back, taking up defensive positions in the buildings opposite the presidio.
Will reached into his tunic and pulled out a small notebook and scribbled a message. He tore it off and turned to the nearest soldier behind him, “Give this to Major Wyatt. We’ll get one of our guns brought up here and make quick work for that gate yonder.”
As the messenger scampered down the street in the direction from which the soldiers had come, the other riflemen found positions in the nearby buildings from which they returned fire on the Mexican soldados in the presidio.
Thirty minutes passed before one of the six-pounders was brought forward from the battlefield. The artillerists set the bronze gun up in the side road and angled the barrel toward the presidio’s heavy wooden gate. The soldados, now surrounded, saw the field piece, and opened fire at the artillerists. A couple of men were knocked down, injured from the gunfire from the presidio and the riflemen returned fire, attempting to suppress the gunfire from the presidio.
Riflemen jumped in to assist the cannon’s loaders. They finished loading a solid shot and aimed it at the presidio’s gate. The gunner lit the fuse and stepped away from the gun and waited. An instant later, the round flew across the plaza, smashing into the wall beside the door, sending a jagged chunk of adobe crashing to the ground. As the riflemen tried to send enough aimed fire through the windows, the artillerists rushed to reload the gun. Less than a minute later, the gun fired again. The shot slammed against the gate, sending heavy splinters flying about.
While the artillerists raced to reload the gun, a white flag waved from one of the windows. The Battle of Santa Fe was over.
***
Before twilight several hundred men had been put under guard in the plaza. Nearly all the regulars and most of the militia had been accounted for. Next to the plaza, in the Church of San Francisco, Doctor Ashbel Smith had set up a hospital, after transferring the battlefield’s injured to the sacred space. A few other doctors from town had volunteered with him to save as many of the wounded as their skills allowed. As the doctors worked into the evening, the cries of the wounded echoed across the plaza, adding to the despair among the vanquished Mexican soldados.
Inside the Palace of the Governors, the cries of the wounded from the nearby church reached Will’s ears. The palace was within the presidio’s walls and now Texian soldiers patrolled the halls where a few hours before governor Armijo’s regulars had patrolled. Few residents of the town had yet to venture from their homes as Will’s army had taken control of the town. One who had, stood before Will. Miguel Archuletta was the town’s alcalde. He was dressed in the finery of a Spanish don, standing with hat in hand, waiting to be acknowledged. Correspondence was scattered across the large table, which until that morning had belonged to Governor Manuel Armijo.
Anger burned in Will’s eyes, as he stared down the alcalde. “Where the hell is that great worthy, Governor Armijo? What he has left here demands an immediate answer, Mr. Archuletta.”
Miguel Archuletta may have been the mayor of a provincial town on the edge of Mexican territory, but he was a sophisticated gentleman, educated at the best schools in Mexico City. He had not been addressed as “Alcalde, or Señor Archuletta. No, just the flat, norteamericano “mister.” Even so, it didn’t take an intelligent man to know that Will was furious.
“General Travis, I regret the, ah, worthy Governor Armijo was last seen riding west with a few mounted guards this morning.”
Will swore. He looked down at the finely crafted, imported table and saw the documents he had scattered across the desk a little while before. While Will’s Spanish had improved over the previous half dozen years, he relied upon Juan Seguin to translate the correspondence which had drawn his ire. The troubling letter was from the office of the President of Mexico. Will waved it under the nose of the alcalde.
“Santa Anna, God damn that one-legged, stinking bastard, ordered your superior to raise an army of a thousand men for the purpose of reclaiming Ysleta from us. When was he planning on carrying out these orders?”
The alcalde shrugged. “Mexico City is a long way away, General Travis. I do not know that Governor Armijo had any plans to fulfill el presidente’s orders.”
Will waved toward the Mexican official and a sentry guided him out of the governor’s personal office. Colonel Juan Seguin sat at the table, rubbing his eyes after translating a small stack of papers.
“Juan, I don’t understand how Santa Anna keeps getting power in Mexico City. That jackass has more lives than a cat.”
Seguin’s shrug nearly matched the alcalde’s from a few minutes before. “He’s charismatic, Buck. And I hear the women love watching him prance around Mexico City on his black horse.”
Will glared at his friend and fellow officer. “His orders to Armijo don’t bother me. What has me seeing red is the rest of this bullshit. He’s ordered General Woll into Texas with four thousand men, Juan. Where the hell are we in all this? Sitting in God forsaken Santa Fe!”
Will shook with anger and helplessness, as he realized how serious a blunder he had made. The correspondence from Mexico City did more than simply provide orders for the capture of Ysleta. It provided the highlights of pl
ans already underway to recapture Texas. He was seven hundred miles, as the crow flies, from San Antonio and the documents on the table revealed the Mexican Army of the North, under Adrian Woll was to invade Texas, commencing on 12 March 1842. Will closed his eyes, in defeat. This was the 12th of March.
Chapter 6
The doors to the courtyard were closed. The late winter wind blew frigid air down from the Rockies. Gusts rattled the glass window panes in their frames. The fireplace in the office of the governor crackled and warmed the room. The large, elegant table which had served Governor Armijo as his desk was covered with a large map of the western portion of Texas. Will was perched on the corner of the table. Major Peyton Wyatt, the 1st Infantry’s executive officer sat in a highbacked chair next to him. Lt. Colonel Juan Seguin sat in an identical chair beside the major. Captain Hays and several other company commanders crowded into the office, too.
Will had slept poorly the previous night, and his temper simmered below the surface. The fact that Santa Anna had reacted to the previous year’s enforcement of the Treaty of Bexar’s boundary limits by sending an army north had surprised him. The political chaos in central Mexico was so destabilizing, he had thought it unlikely President Bustamante, Santa Anna’s predecessor had the will to contest Texas’ enforcement of the treaty. In a moment of honesty, he knew his anger was directed inward at being so far away from Texas’ settlements with most of the army and losing anything to Santa Anna galled worse than he could have imagined.
When the last officer had come in and closed the door to the office, Will said, “Alright, gentlemen. We need to figure out how to get ourselves out of this this predicament.” The other officers grew quiet, turning their attention to him, as he continued, “We’re here to discuss options. As I see it, we have two from which to pick. Between us and San Antonio is seven hundred miles, as the crow flies. You all have read the correspondence from Mexico City, that the Alamo and the town are the Army of the North’s primary objective. If we were to take off and go directly cross country, it will take us at least five weeks to relieve the town and fort.”
He paused, watching the neutral expressions on his officers’ faces, before continuing, “The other option is to retrace our steps. That will add nearly two hundred miles to the route. That would put us getting back to San Antonio around the end of April. Either option gives Santa Anna’s army an intolerable amount of time to wreak havoc on our settlements.” Will grimaced, not liking the taste of any of his words.
Major Wyatt picked up from where Will had stopped, “Alright, men, let’s discuss the first option.”
Captain Hays approached the table and stared at the map for a lengthy moment. “That would be one hellacious march, General, but I believe we could pull it off. That stretch across the Chihuahuan desert will be the most brutal part. But if we take all the food and provisions from Santa Fe we should be good for several weeks, I’d think.” He drew a line with his finger between Santa Fe and the westernmost Ranger fort on the Red River. “Once we get to our frontier forts along the Comancheria, we could use them for supplies as we hurry back east.”
Lt. Colonel Seguin snorted. “Captain, what in the hell do you intend to feed our mounts? It’s the middle of March and you are proposing we hightail it back to San Antonio across the desert. Even if we could take enough feed and supplies to cross the desert, it would burden and slow us down, and I’m not convinced there’s enough fodder in Santa Fe to get us across that stretch of Hell.”
Seguin stood and walked over to the fireplace, where he warmed his hands for a moment. “Jack, I think what bothers me the most about going across country isn’t so much your idea but what it means for what we have accomplished here. Imagine what these poor folks are going through, here. We’ve just captured their town from the governor’s soldados. If we up and loot the town dry just to race back across country, it’ll take a lifetime to build up goodwill with our newest citizens, and I worry if we do so, starvation would stalk the land hereabouts.”
Listening to his officers debate the options let Will ignore his own anxiety and worry for the moment. When Major Wyatt joined in the conversation, he listened to his second-in-command. “My heart wants to throw ourselves eastward by the most direct path, just like you, Captain Hays. I know if we could round up enough supply wagons we could move our entire force across the desert. But my mind must consider the logistical nightmare such a proposal would require.” He looked back to Will. “General, I counsel caution. While we may be the largest component of Texas’ army, we’re not the only arrow in the quiver of Texas’ defenses. Colonel Johnston and General McCulloch, I believe will mobilize our reserves and militia when they become aware of Santa Anna’s attack. They may have no choice but to trade land for time, while they work to assemble the reserves, but within as little as a month, McCulloch can pull together between three and five thousand men. Even more than that, should President Crockett order Tom Rusk to mobilize the rest of the militia.” The major paused, his soft drawling Virginian accent momentarily easing the tension in the room. “I believe we have the finest and best trained men in the Texas army. Hell, in the world, to speak candidly. I would caution against recklessly risking them in a headlong, emotional lurch across the Chihuahuan desert. That kind of behavior is best left for our enemies.”
Will’s nod was nearly imperceptible, but he realized he had been more interested in racing back to the Alamo without regard to the consequences. Seguin, who normally was the most likely to offer up reckless options, had reminded everyone in the room there were political considerations worth remembering, and Wyatt had offered up a prescient reminder that there were ample defensive forces back in the settled parts of the Republic. His lips twitched up as he thought about Hays’ bold suggestion. As the commander for Texas’ nascent special operations force, he provided a risky and audacious option.
Will chuckled, mirthlessly. “Our hearts definitely lead us to hasten to our Republic’s defense. But you’re right, Major, as much as I hate to admit it, we need to listen to the counsel of our heads instead of our hearts.”
Having set aside the first option, Will had a few ideas about how they should proceed. Instead, he turned to Wyatt. “Major, what are you thinking?”
Wyatt stood and looked over the map. “I’m glad we’ve set aside the idea of heading off across the Chihuahuan desert, if for no other reason that while a crow can fly seven hundred miles, any route we would have taken would meander and add travel time. Add to that, as Colonel Seguin mentioned, doing so would likely destroy any goodwill with folks in Santa Fe, if we looted the town of available food and fodder, requiring a large garrison we couldn’t afford.
“On the other hand, let’s look at what it will take to get us back by our original line of march. We need only requisition enough food between Santa Fe and Albuquerque to get us back to Ysleta, it is likely they’d not miss it very much. If we pay for it, they’d likely miss it even less.”
He pulled the map closer to him and set his finger on El Paso del Norte, on the southern bank of the Rio Grande, opposite from Ysleta. “There’s a two hundred mile stretch of the Military Road between Ysleta and the nearest of our supply depots on the Pecos. What we can’t take here in Santa Fe because of political considerations,” he paused, smiling malevolently, “I think we can take from the Mexicans in El Paso. After all, Santa Anna’s correspondence is a declaration of war against Texas. In response, I say, we raid it, plundering everything we’ll need for the next few hundred miles.”
Will studied the map and slowly nodded. “That makes sense, Major. If we march out within the next twenty-four hours, we could be knocking on the doors of El Paso before the first of April. What do we have in Ysleta currently?
“Just a company of Rangers, sir. The engineers who laid out the military road are likely somewhere between Ysleta and Albuquerque, repairing the Camino Real in between the two towns. Probably another twenty soldiers there.”
Will glanced up at Seguin, seeking his rea
ction. “What do you think, Juan? Do you think this will work?”
The Tejano had earned a reputation for prickly notions of honor, especially when it came to how non-Anglos were treated in Texas. But he wore a thoughtful expression. After studying the map, he nodded. “Yes, sir. I think so. As far as I’m concerned, Mexican towns and settlements outside of the treaty boundaries are legitimate targets. I think we all agree, Santa Anna is at war with Texas. Had Mexico accepted our peace treaty back in ’36, this wouldn’t even be an issue. We can expect the Army of the North to capture Laredo and San Antonio, and even more if they are able. El Paso del Norte is simply our measured response to Santa Anna’s depredations.”
Hays asked, “When we capture the town, do we burn it to the ground?”
Seguin blanched. “Absolutely not. Doing something like that would give Santa Anna something to rally the Mexican people behind. Right now, he holds power because he controls or intimidates enough of the factions in Central Mexico. If we torch a city, that could stir more than a few factions and give Santa Anna more support. That would bode ill for Texas.”
He stood and waved his hand over the map, “Jack, we can’t do anything about Santa Anna calling us a bunch of norteamericano pirates. But we will not act like pirates, torching a town. I know we’ll plunder it for food and fodder. We do that so that our army is supplied, not because we are capricious. After six years, most Tejanos have truly embraced the Republic. In that span of time, we’ve had one president. The Mexican government has changed hands like a hot potato. I can’t speak for every Tejano, but I believe President Crockett has been a dear friend to every Texian whether his skin is white, brown, or red. All any of us want is a fair shake, and Texas provides each of us the best bet to receive it. When we capture El Paso, we will take all the food and provender we need, and we’ll burn the military supplies we don’t need, but we leave the people and their town alone, to the largest extent possible.”