by F. M. Parker
The day just past, a messenger from Colonel Childs, who with a garrison of 400 men held Puebla and guarded the 1,800 men in the hospital there, had arrived at Scott’s headquarters to report that he was under heavy attack by a large number of Mexican irregulars. Within an hour thereafter, the spy Dominguez had appeared and informed Scott that General Santa-Anna had marched south from Guadalupe toward Puebla two days earlier with an army of 6,000. Scott knew General Lane had arrived at Veracruz with a division of 2,500 volunteers and should now be approaching Puebla. Putting the information together, Scott reasoned that Santa-Anna planned to crush Lane’s army of untested recruits with overwhelming numbers and then capture Puebla. A major defeat loomed, and the wounded Americans from Cerro Gordo now in a hospital in Puebla were in danger of being massacred. Scott had immediately ordered Colonel Sumner and Colonel Hays with all their available men to ride at once to warn Lane and help him to defeat Santa-Anna and hold Puebla. Grant and seven other officers that weren’t part of the Dragoons or Rangers had requested permission to accompany Sumner. Knowing the importance of every man to the small force, Scott had given his approval. Dominguez rode with them as scout and interpreter.
Sumner had told the men that he meant to make a forced march all the way to Puebla within thirty-six hours, a distance of nearly seventy miles. Grant knew they would make it for the colonel had set a reasonable pace and was wisely halting at intervals to rest his men and horses.
“Mount up,” Sumner called out and the word moved like a fading echo down the column.
Grant pulled himself upon his horse. He set his rump just so in the saddle, anchored his feet in the stirrups, lowered his head, and glad for the soft, rocking chair step of the horse, went back to sleep.
*
October 9 was born with a hot sun that grew into a sweltering fireball as the day wore on and baked the Americans riding on the National Highway hemmed in between steep, brush covered hills. Choking dust rose from under the iron hooves of the horses in a dense brown cloud. The men and horses, wavering and indistinct and wrapped in streamers of dust, moved like misshapen ghosts.
Cavallin and Dominguez, spurring their horses, broke into sight ahead. The two men had been sent out in advance by Sumner to find General Lane. They sped up to Sumner and pulled their mounts to a halt on their haunches.
“We found the general,” Cavallin called. “He’s got trouble. His mounted riflemen under Captain Walker are under siege at Humantla. Lane wants us to hurry forward and help Walker.”
“What’s the story?” Sumner said.
”Walker was scouting ahead when he found and attacked guerillas at Humantla. He whipped them but couldn’t get out of the town before Santa-Anna with his army caught and penned him in. Now Walker’s taking a beating. Lane’s infantry is about three miles back and will take some time to come up.”
“I know Walker,” Hays said. “He’s a hell of a fighter but too damn reckless.”
“We’ll go and help him,” Sumner said. He signaled his men and kicked his horse into a run along the road.
Cavallin reined his horse in beside Grant. “Here we go again,” he said and gave Grant his rakehell, battle smile.
Soon gunfire could be heard ahead of them. It grew loud as the column crested a rise and Humantla lay in front and below them. The town was long and narrow and strung out along the National Highway for half a mile. Four streets paralleled the highway, two on each side. Grant saw a brigade of Mexican cavalrymen in their red and blue uniforms, pennons flying, and a sea of lances was galloping along the streets and converging upon a giant building that appeared to be a warehouse on the southern end of the town. Companies of Mexican infantrymen were following behind.
“Walker must be near that big building for that’s where those Mexicans are heading,” Sumner said to Hays. “We’ll fight our way there and try to hold out until Lane comes up.” He twisted in the saddle and shouted out behind to the lieutenants. “We’re outnumbered so stay together.”
The Americans charged along the narrow street. Musket fire poured from the buildings lining the street. The Americans fired back at the men on the housetops and in the windows. Grant shot a sniper who was aiming a rifle from a rooftop. He saved his second pistol for a more desperate time.
Two Dragoons were hit and clutched their saddle horns to keep from falling. A horse went down throwing its rider. Both lay unmoving on the pavement. The Dragoons’ weapons fell silent, empty and useless.
The revolvers of the Rangers kept on cracking, hurling lead balls at the Mexicans. The immense fire of the Mexicans emptied two Ranger saddles. Grant saw two other Rangers clinging to their mounts. He glanced at Cavallin and saw blood dripping from a wound on the side of the face. His crooked battle grin was twisted fiercely. Cavallin aimed his colt up and shot a Mexican from a rooftop.
A bullet exploded the right ear of Grant’s horse. The poor beast screamed, shook its head and almost tripped itself. Grant fired his last shot up at the rifleman and saw him tumble backward and out of sight on the roof.
The charging Americans broke through the ring of Mexican cavalry, and sped on to halt by Walker’s men. They leapt down from their mounts. Speedily they began to reload their carbines. Then using the horses as protection and shooting over their backs, they added their fire to that of Walker’s men.
The Mexicans, taking heavy punishment from the concentrated balls, reeled back. They regrouped in the mouths of several streets, and continued the fight with long range shots.
“Ration your shots. Make every one count.” Sumner called out. “Where’s Walker?” he said to a rifleman nearby.
“Captain Walker’s dead.” The man pointed at a body slumped on the ground at the edge of the group of Americans. “He was lanced in the side as we retreated here. He made it just this far.”
A storm of rifle shots erupted on the south side of town. Grant recognized the crash of American muskets. Lane and his Yankee infantry had arrived and entered the fray. They were a quarter mile away and fighting their way through the town.
The shooting swelled for a few minutes and then gradually slackened. One of the companies of Lancers retreated. Others saw the first leave and they, too, rode away. The Mexican infantry melted away among the houses and off along the streets. The shots from the buildings stopped. In a moment the Americans stood alone with their dead and wounded.
CHAPTER 44
General Lane stomped up and down in front of the eight tents of the field hospital set up on the main street of Humantla. He was a big, burly man wearing an worn blue coat and a black hat. A brace of pistols were buckled around his thick waist. He frequently cast a piercing look into the opening of the larger operating tent to gauge the progress of the surgeons with their instruments working swiftly on the wounded. Now and again he looked in the opposite direction at the blue clad body of Walker and others of his men that lay in a row on the pavement.
Except for the squads patrolling the borders of the town, the remaining men of his army was gathered in silent platoons and companies on the street close by. His staff officers stood nearby in a solemn rank as they watched the angry general. Not far off the wagon train was drawn up in the town square.
Two orderlies gently lifted the last wounded soldier, unconscious from the pain of the operation, and laid him on a stretcher. They carried him to one of he hospital tents. The chief surgeon came out of tent and onto the street.
“Is that the last one, colonel” Lane asked.
“Yes, sir,” said the surgeon with a sad voice. “We’ve done as much as we can for them.” He removed his bloody smock as he watched Lane for it was obvious he was going to speak.
Lane faced his officers. “Our wounded have been tended to. Our dead have all been found. This has been a costly battle. Captain Walker and many of his men have been killed. The Dragoons and Rangers have also suffered losses. Santa-Anna led the attack and has escaped again. But we’ll catch him.”
The general hesitated and his hard eyes swep
t over the gathering. He pointed at the men drawn up in long rows both ways along the street, and then at his officers. His voice crackled with hatred. “This town belongs to our men. They’ve paid for it with their blood and may take what ever they want from it. The women, the gold, the silver. Anything and everything. I want this place to remember the day they helped Santa-Anna. Go tell the men exactly what I said.”
Lane called out in an even harsher voice. “This town is theirs and yours!”
*
Grant listened to the blood roar of the male hunting pack, deep and savage, coming from all parts of Humantla. It had gone on for better than an hour now as the Americans stormed through the town, yelling wildly as they destroyed and pillaged. He heard a woman scream now and again and his nerves crawled. Pistol shots rang out as soldiers fired their weapons in exuberance of their license to plunder and rape. Or they could be signaling a Mexican dying while defending his possessions and womenfolk.
The dusk of the day had fallen upon the town and Grant lay on a feather tick bed in the shadow filled room of some unknown family’s home. Where had the people gone? Had they run from Santa-Anna, or later, during the attack of the Americans? It didn’t really matter. Civilians were expendable during combat. But General Lane had been terribly wrong in his deliberate violence against the civilians after the battle had ended. Grant scowled at himself; that was a fine line to draw in war. However he wanted no part in further hurting the people of Humantla.
The door of the room opened and a young woman, more a girl stole into the room. Grant didn’t stir, watching her closely and saw that she held no weapons. Watching the door, she sank down to huddled by the wall and cocked her head to listen. Her face was stark and she trembled with fright. The girl’s fear saddened Grant.
A man shouted close by and a second answered. Grant heard running feet drawing nearer. The girl hunkered lower and seemed to shrink into herself.
The door was hit a powerful blow by a shoulder and slammed open half torn from its hinges. Two of Walker’s mounted riflemen stormed inside.
Grant snatched up the two pistols lying on the bed by his side. He cocked them as he sprang to his feet.
The men slid to a halt in the center of the room. One of them was but a body length from Grant. His face blanched as he looked down the barrels of Grant’s pistols.
“Hold it!” Grant commanded. He looked past the nearer man to make sure the second one wasn’t drawing a weapon. Then swiftly back to the first man.
“Goddamn! I’m sorry lieutenant,” said the man. “I didn’t know you were here.” He spun to the rear and shoved his cohort. “Let’s get out of here.”
The two men lunged out the door and were gone
The girl stood rigid, surprised by Grant’s presence in the room. She turned to the open door and edged toward it. She halted on the threshold and stared into the dusk, listening to the cries and noises outside and the danger that she knew existed there.
Grant spoke in Spanish to the girl. “You may stay here and be safe.”
She gave no sign she heard his words. A pistol exploded close by and she began to shake.
“You will be safe here,” Grant said again. “Please shut the door.”
Watching Grant over her shoulder, the girl closed the door.
She gave no sign she heard his words. A pistol exploded close by and she began to shake.
“You will be safe here,” Grant said again. “Please shut the door.”
He saw her hips and breasts moved beneath the printed calico dress as she moved to comply with his request. She had light brown skin, black eyes set in a pretty face and all together quite attractive. He understood why the two men had chased her.
As she closed the door, Grant lay back down on the bed and propped his head up with a pillow. She took a seat on a chair and sat tensely, poised to dart away if he should move toward her.
Weariness from the battle and the long ride from Mexico City lay upon Grant. Lulled by the softness of the feather tick mattress, he half watched the girl and half dozed.
She was examining him through slitted eyes. He saw her look at his pistols lying on the bed beside him. It might not be wise to go to sleep with the girl here.
The door swung quietly ajar. Cavallin peered inside. He looked at the girl on the chair, and then at Grant who had sat up quickly with his guns when the door opened.
“Well, Sam, I see you found one, but she seems a little bashful.”
He turned to the girl and held out a bottle of tequila. She came hesitatingly and took it. Cavallin winked at her, motioned at Grant, and spoke in Spanish. “Take this to him and be friendly for he’ll be kinder to you than anyone else will.” He left closing the door.
Grant had understood Cavallin’s words and didn’t like him ordering the girl about. Even as that thought came, he felt a stir of excitement, of anticipation at what she might do.
She came to the edge of the bed and held out the bottle to him. “Tequila,” she said and tried to smile.
She is a woman trying to survive in a time of war, thought Grant as he saw the timid smile she gave him as he took the bottle. He recognized the fragile curve of her lips as a signal from a woman to a man. She was offering the only currency she possessed, herself, in exchange for protection from the brutality of the conquerors. He accepted the offering and the condition attached to it. In this time and this place of savage violence and death, it was the only thing to do. Grant reached out and took her hand and gave it the gentlest of pulls. She came willingly down on the feather tick beside him. She pressed her bosom against him, and then the full length of her body.
Regardless of the circumstances of why she was here with Grant, the feel of her in his arms, his hands exploring the mounds and curves and hollows of her warm and pliant body, sent his desires soaring.
*
Lee hadn’t seen Scott in such high spirits since the day he had marched into Mexico City as the commander of the conquering army. Scott with General Lane in tow was moving from one group of men and women to another and talking in a jovial manner with them. Some two hundred people; influential Mexicans, American officers, and foreign residents were gathered at the large, rambling hacienda of Alberto Salazar a wealthy business man of the capital who was throwing the party to celebrate the arrival of Percy W. Doyle the new British Minister replacing Bankhead who had left for England.
On a broad stone paved area adjacent to the hacienda, tables and chairs had been set up and an elaborate feast with food and wine of many kinds had been prepared. Servants stood ready to serve. Once the sun hid its warm face and the evening cooled, there would be dancing. Beyond the paved area were well-tended grounds with flowerbeds, trees, and a winding path leading down to the shore of Lake Texcoco two hundred yards distant.
Scott had reasons of his own for his festive manner. Four commissioners had been approved by the Mexican Congress to carry on negotiations for the treaty. General Lane had whipped Santa-Anna at Humantla, and then quickly lifted the siege of Puebla. Santa-Anna, following his defeat, had been removed as commanding general of the Mexican Army and told to make himself available to stand before a board of enquiry for his conduct of the war against the Americans.
Lee’s companion at the celebration was Elizabeth Thornton. He spent much of his free time with the lovely woman and found her a very pleasant companion.
Lee had never seen so many beautiful women in one place at one time. Many of the officers had come with ladies on their arms. For men that had come alone, carriages were arriving one after another to stop in front and deliver another family with a marriageable age young woman. The moment the women placed their feet on the ground, their eyes darted about to examine the scores of American officers in dress uniforms. They smiled, obviously liking what they saw. The attraction between the officers and the women was a palpable force filling the space between them. Lee noticed more than one set of bright eyes showing interest in him. However he had a woman that satisfied him abundantly.
“A glass of wine would be nice, Mr. Lee,” Elizabeth said and took Lee by the arm. “And then let us go and talk with your General Scott.”
“I’m sure he will find pleasure in talking with such a beautiful lady.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly and squeezed his arm.
As he approached the wine, he saw Grant put down an empty glass and march off toward a group of young women that were talking among themselves.
*
Grant noticed upon arriving at Salazar’s party that there were more women than men. That bode well for the evening. He approached the women who had no male escorts and had gathered together in groups of four or five and were talking. He would choose one from among them.
General Lane’s division with the Dragoons and Rangers had reached Mexico City the day just past. After the defeat of Santa-Anna’s army, Lane had remained in Puebla three days, and for all that time the Rangers and cavalry had been in the saddle from daylight to dark and scouting the surrounding countryside. Three times they had encountered companies of Mexican soldiers that had stood and fought. The Americans had sent them running. Guerillas were treated differently from soldiers. In a town where the Americans fought and defeated guerillas, the town was burned for harboring the guerillas.