by F. M. Parker
Grant shouted out. “Bob, stop the wagons and prepare to defend them. Mat, come with me.”
Grant reined his horse toward the fighting. Chilton brought his horse up beside Grant. Raking their mounts with spurs, the men drove them in a flat out run toward the guerrillas.
“Follow me!” Chilton shouted out to each of his troopers as he passed them riding at intervals along the train. They formed up swiftly behind him.
Within half a minute Grant drew close enough to see the attacking guerrillas numbered at least four hundred. They were riding along the wagons and shooting at the drivers, and at the few troopers that had raced up. Some drivers had been killed and their teams were stampeding off over the land. Wagons were overturning and spilling their loads. Other teams tried to run but were anchored by the weight of a dead teammate. Eight or ten guerrilla horses without riders fled the tumult, showing the teamsters’ and troopers’ shots were taking a toll. Still the overwhelming number of guerrillas would soon swamp the Americans.
A few of the guerrillas left the fight and chased after wagons pulled by runaway teams. The riders caught up with the vehicles and nimbly transferred from their horses and took up the reins. They drove the wagons off across the plain as fast as the horses could draw them.
Grant saw Cavallin and his Rangers riding hard to join the fighting from near the rear of the train. Both he and Grant would be too late to prevent heavy losses of men, horses and supplies.
The gunfire began to slacken. Then it ended as if on a signal and the guerrillas broke off the assault and streamed away at a fast run across the plain.
Grant shouted out to Chilton above the rumble of the horses’ hooves, “Stay here. Tend to the wounded.”
He saw Cavallin and his band of Rangers alter their course to give chase to the guerrillas. He reined his horse to follow the Rangers. His blood pounded through his veins. He would catch the guerrillas and take deadly revenge for his men that had been killed.
Ahead of him the guerrillas dropped out of sight as if the land had swallowed them. Then the Rangers vanished. In four or five seconds, the guerrillas popped back into view whipping and spurring their mounts. The Rangers reappeared riding fast. The guerrillas knew the land, and this low place had been where they had hidden until the wagon train had drawn close.
One mile passed under the flying hooves of the horses, two miles, then three. The heart-bursting race was telling on the horses and their labored breaths came as hoarse sucks and blows.
The better horses were showing their quality with the two groups of riders stretching out, the faster horses of each drawing to the front. Grant was pleased with his mare that was clawing her way up through the pack of Rangers’ horses.
Cavallin and Grant and some of the speedier riders were gradually closing in on the slower guerrillas. Those men were casting frightened glances over their shoulders at the Rangers. Cavallin pulled his carbine and fired. The tail-end Mexican fell from his running horse. The Rangers let out a shrill cry of pleasure at the kill. Another Ranger took a shot, and missed. A third tried and scored a hit. Other Rangers entered the contest and more guerrillas fell.
Grant doubted the guerrillas would stop to fight even though they greatly outnumbered the Rangers. They were civilians who had become guerrillas and not trained for a standup and shoot it out fight. They wanted to live to raid the Americans another day.
The land turned down and ahead beyond a steep bank a river came into view. The Mexicans rode straight to the bank and over it to a narrow strip of land adjacent to the water. The Americans came up and halted their blowing mounts on top of the bank and looked down on their foes.
Grant stopped beside Cavallin. He thought the river, some eighty yards wide and fast flowing, was a lower reach of the Rio Xopanae. A double column of Mexicans was forcing their mounts into the river on top of a narrow ledge of rock that made a ford. The crossing would be slow and dangerous on the constricted width of the ford with the swift water coming to the chests of the tired horses. Even as he watched, one of the horses was swept off the ribbon of rock and into deep water. Both man and horse came up downstream with the man having lost his saddle and the current carrying them speedily away. The man splashed and desperately fought the water, then slid beneath it and was seen no more.
“This’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel!” exclaimed a Ranger happily.
“It’s a damn lot of fish and they sure as hell will shoot back,” said a second Ranger staring down at the more than three hundred Mexican horsemen.
Grant called out to Cavallin. ”We’ve got them bottled up against the river and now they’ll fight.”
Cavallin lifted his head and sniffed the wind flowing from the guerillas to him, as if he could smell their intentions on it. “Yeah, they sure will.”
At that moment one of the riders below them shouted an order and the bulk of the Mexicans nearest the Rangers on the bank pulled their carbines. Grant saw fear on some faces, anger and the will to fight on most. He recognized the leader of the guerrillas by his strangely marked face. The man was General Alvarez, known as the Pinto General from his pale bleached skin with black spots caused by a type of leprosy. He had skillfully devised a successful attack on the wagon train, however he hadn’t known the Rangers would pursue them so relentlessly. Now he was hastily forming up part of his men to hold off the Rangers while the remainder escaped across the river. At the general’s command, the Mexicans fired a ragged volley up at the Americans.
Bullets went by Grant with a deadly, whirring noise. He smiled grimly at the sound and drew his two pistols from their holsters.
“They’re rattled and can’t shoot straight from that range,” said Cavallin as he looked down at the Mexicans beginning to hastily reloading. He glanced at Grant. “Now it’s time to hit them.”
“It’s your men and your show,” Grant said.
Cavallin nodded and shouted out. “Fan out single rank. We’ll take them before they can get ready. Man for man they outnumber us. But with these we outnumber them.” He held up his pair of Colt five-shooters.
Grant knew Cavallin’s arithmetic was correct. The Rangers and their revolvers had the advantage. He had told Lee that the way to stop guerrilla attacks was to put hellish fear into the Mexican riders. With some three hundred of them corralled against the fast running river and ripe for the killing, it was time to do just that.
“Kill them all,” Cavallin shouted at the top of his lungs. “Charge!” He spurred his horse and it plunged down the bank.
Grant and the rest of the Rangers sent their steeds lunging down the bank and onto the level ground with their foes. The rapid bang of the Colts started and rose to an earsplitting din. The line of Mexicans staggered under the fusillade of pistol balls. Men and horses screamed, and fell, and bled as they thrashed in death throes.
Grant fired his pistols at two of the enemy and knew the balls had gone true to their mark. He holstered one gun and reached into his cartridge box for powder and ball. On both side of him, the Rangers’ Colt revolvers continued to bang away. He caught sight of the Pinto General and saw the disbelief on his diseased ravaged face as the Rangers pistols fired on and on and his men fell like wheat before the scythe. Grant must somehow obtain a pair of those marvelous pistols.
More than a score of frightened guerrillas ran their horses onto the crowded, narrow ford knocking each other and several riders already there into the swift current of the river. Other men forced their mounts directly into the fast water. Some lost their seat in the saddle and went under not to reappear. Other riders able to swim slid off the backs of their mounts and dropped back to catch the tail of the animal and were towed along toward the opposite bank. Most men and horses that went into the river simply vanished below the surface and were not seen again. Mexican horses without riders bolted through the Rangers and up the bank and away.
Grant saw Cavallin crash through a ring of Mexicans protecting the Pinto General. The Ranger fired his pistol and the general reeled
under the impact of the bullet. Hard hit and sagging in the saddle the general reined his mount away from Cavallin and drove it into the river. His horse was large and swam strongly and made headway toward the opposite shore, being carried downstream all the while. The last thirty or so of the general’s men still on horseback followed his lead, better to gamble with the river than certain death at the hands of the Americans with the guns that never became empty.
“Let them go,” Grant shouted at a half dozen Rangers shooting at the men in the river. The chase had ended with slaughter, a simple task of shooting down men who had only empty guns.
Cavallin gave Grant a questioning look. “You getting kind hearted, Sam?”
“A few more dead Mexicans won’t weaken the lesson we just gave them.” Grant was staring at the bloody men and horses that littered the river bank so densely that he could’ve walked anyplace he wanted without having to step on the ground.
”I reckon not.” Cavallin seemed disappointed the shooting had ended.
“Best we get back to the wagons,” Grant said.
Cavallin shouted out to his sergeants. “Granger see to the wounded as best you can and get everybody moving back to the wagons. Pippin, round up all the sound horses and take every gun worth having.”
*
“Listen to this,” Chilton said and holding up a London newspaper in preparation to read and looking around at Grant, Hazlitt, and Cavallin seated at the table with him. “The paper quotes the Duke of Wellington, who as you know defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, is quoted as saying Scott has made the same mistake in Mexico that Napoleon did in invading Russia and trying to live off the land. And he further says, ‘Scott is lost. He can’t take Mexico City and he can’t fall back upon his bases for he has none. He won’t leave Mexico without getting the permission of the Mexicans.’”
The four men were in the Aztec Club in Puebla with more than half a hundred other officers. Some men were drinking or playing cards, most were reading newspapers, a large bundle of which had been recently brought up from Veracruz by General Pillow arriving with a division of volunteers. All around loud discussions were being held about the antiwar articles in the newspapers, articles calling the war “Polk’s War” and demanding the troops be brought home.
“There is a similarity with Napoleon,” Hazlitt said. “We’re a damn small army in the heart of a country of seven million people who may at any time be goaded into rising up in all out guerrilla warfare against us.”
“I’d say were in a better position than Napoleon,” Grant said. “We can feed ourselves off the land.”
“And don’t forget, the winters are mild here,” added Cavallin. He made a mock shiver. “I sure wouldn’t want to fight in a Russian winter.”
“What I like best about our situation is that we’ve got General Scott,” Grant said. “He’s done everything right so far, and if he keeps that up, we’ll win this war. Once we get reinforcements we’ll march and take Mexico City.”
Because of his almost constant foraging, Grant was far behind in keeping up with the news. He sorted through the news papers until he found a copy of the American Star. His eye caught the heading of an article that read “Officers Promoted”. Scanning the list for promotion to captain he saw the names of two of his classmates, Roswell Ripley and Frank Gardner, both had won a rank for their actions at Cerro Gordo. Grant had no chance to earn laurels at that battle. He must somehow twist old man fate, or luck, or whatever it was called into giving him the opportunity to perform some deed worthy of promotion. And importantly a high-ranking officer must see the deed or it meant nothing.
“Sam, what’d you read that you didn’t like?” Hazlitt asked.
“Nothing,” Grant said shortly.
“Fellows, I recommend that instead of sitting here and talking to each other that we go and see what Wade Ussing has in the way of entertainment at his gambling parlor?” Chilton said.
“It’s not cards or the wheel that you want,” Cavallin said. “You want to see Sophia, that pretty blond partner of Ussing.”
“She’s gorgeous and that’s the truth of it,” Chilton replied as a slight blush came over his face.
“I hope Ussing doesn’t get mad at you for coming so often to see his girl,” Hazlitt said in a serious voice. “I believe he’s a mean one and would shoot you.”
“I don’t think Sophia is his girl,” Chilton said. “And besides I’m not afraid of Ussing. A lot of men had tried to kill me in the last few weeks and I’m alive and they’re dead.”
“Even so, a little caution around Ussing might be smart for I don’t think he’s very particular how he’d kill a man,” Cavallin said.
“I’d listen to Cavallin,” Grant said. Chilton had become quite friendly with a woman, one of the camp followers who had part ownership of a gambling establishment brought from New Orleans.
“You going with us, Sam?” Cavallin asked.
“Just far enough to buy some tobacco. I’ve got some supply contracts to check.” Grant had bargained with two large bakeries for fresh bread sufficient to feed his brigade and delivered daily to the brigade commissary. Also he had joined with the other army quartermasters as to how best to clothe their men, who had received no new uniforms since leaving the States. Puebla was known for its cotton mills so obtaining cloth wasn’t a problem. Within three days the quartermasters had hired a thousand seamstresses and cobblers to make uniforms for the army.
“Let’s go,” Chilton said impatiently.
They filed out of the club, and moved off along the street crowded with townsfolk of the captured city.
CHAPTER 29
General Scott sat his horse on the green meadow outside the walls of Puebla and watched his army parade its skill at marching and maneuvering. He wore his full dress uniform with epaulets, gold braided cockade hat, and all his ribbons. His generals and senior staff officers, also in full dress uniform, sat their mounts on his right. On his left was Nicholas Trist, President Polk’s special envoy.
The exhibition was ending with every company and regiment having strutted its stuff, drilling with practiced precision before their commanding general. Now they were marching in final review with their muskets at the correct slant over their shoulders and head snapping to the side to look at the general as they passed immediately in front of him.
Lee thought the soldiers had performed a commendable exercise. Even the recently arrived companies of volunteers had done acceptably well. From the expression on Scott’s face he must be thinking the same thing. The last company passed by, the men were released from ranks, and Scott led his entourage of officers and Trist off the field and toward headquarters.
Trist was a man of average size with a thin face and curly brown hair. He had joined with one of the military detachments that Scott occasionally sent to Veracruz and returned with it to Puebla. For days neither would speak to the other. However kindhearted Scott had taken pains to look after Trist’s comfort by arranging for him to have mess with General Persifor Smith. Trist had become ill and Scott sent him a jar of guava marmalade. Trist sent a note of thanks and an invitation to come for a visit. Scott quickly accepted and Trist showed him the documents explaining his mission and the conditions for negotiating with the Mexican Government. Scott saw at once they contained nothing to usurp his authority as military commander. Trist’s task was to lead peace negotiations and Scott to have authority over all military matters, strategy, safety of the army, and conditions of an armistice. That had ended all conflict between the two men and they had become warm friends.
Scott had now been with his army in Puebla six weeks. Immediately upon arriving he had ordered the troops be whipped into shape by drilling every day regardless of the weather. The officers practice with pistol and sword. Lee trained his engineers for the special work expected in the attack on Mexico City’s defensive works. He prepared detailed maps from information gleaned from the maps and documents found at Santa-Anna’s hacienda, El Encero, and from every available
source in Puebla.
General Pillow had arrived ten days before with a long wagon train of supplies, 3100 volunteers, and three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. President Polk had promoted Pillow to Major General and he now out ranked Worth, which further soured Worth’s already foul mood. Lee felt regret that the army, even with Pillow’s volunteers, was so small that Scott could do nothing but stand guard at Puebla and wait for President Polk and Secretary of War Marcy to carry out their promise to equip him for the battle to capture the capital of Mexico. Lee had come to believe that Scott would never have the 25,000 men promised him back months before in Washington. Further the morale of the army was low because of the lack of pay, and the depression caused by the almost daily drum taps of the death procession transporting one or more dead soldier to the cemetery outside the city walls.
Scott and his group arrived back at headquarters to find Edward Thornton, assistant to Charles Bankhead, British Minister and stationed in Mexico City, standing near his mount and talking with the lieutenant of the headquarters guard.
Thornton came to meet Scott. “Good evening, General Scott, and to you Mr. Trist.”
“Evening to you, Mr. Thornton,” Trist replied.
“You have a message for us?” Scott asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Regarding our Mexican general?”
“Yes, general.”
“Let’s not do business on the street,” Scott said. “Come with Mr. Trist and me to headquarters. And you gentlemen come along too for this will effect you,” Scott said to the assembled officers.
Lee believed he knew the reason for Thornton’s appearance. Two weeks prior, British Minister Bankhead had sent his top aid Thornton to see Trist and Scott with the message that Santa-Anna, now in Mexico City and building a large army, had hinted that a cash bribe to him and certain legislatures might buy peace. Scott had invited his general officers and staff to consider Santa-Anna’s proposal. Knowing the scheme was dangerous, Scott had remained quietly in the background and let the generals and Trist carry the discussion. Pillow quickly came out in support for paying the bribe saying it was common practice in Mexico. Trist had recommended acceptance. So too did the other generals. Scott had released the ten thousand dollars advance payment Santa-Anna had requested into the care of Mr. Trist. Lee thought Scott had cleverly handled the hazardous situation. The down payment and a peace proposal had been given to Thornton to carry to the Mexican general’s go-between. The British would certainly do all that they could to see that the scheme succeeded for they were being much harmed by the war.