A Gallant Little Army

by Timothy D Johnson

  General Pillow was in the rear squatting behind a bush talking to Lieutenant McClellan. When the lieutenant suggested that they needed regulars to break the enemy line and capture the ridges, Pillow consented to allow him to ride back, find General Scott, and request that he send some regulars to reinforce the volunteers. While they conversed, a canister shot ripped into Pillow’s right arm above the elbow, breaking the bone and tearing the muscle. As Pillow made his way further to the rear, he came upon Colonel William B. Campbell, who commanded the First Tennessee. Campbell’s orders had been to support Wynkoop’s regiment in his attack on the southern ridge, but the First Tennessee was far to the rear during the march and consequently was just arriving in the vicinity. The wounded Pillow turned over command of his entire brigade to Campbell and ordered him to press his men forward quickly to join Wynkoop.20

  Campbell, a Whig politician and no friend of Pillow’s, “was in a most furious humor” over the way the battle had been managed—or rather mismanaged—thus far. He pushed his men forward, but even while trying to get them into position, they fell under heavy fire from Mexican artillery. His men had fought under Taylor at Monterey the previous year, but some of his veterans later said that they had never experienced such heavy fire. Just trying to get into position on the far left, they had to pass under the fire of the enemy guns. Samuel Lauderdale, from Sumner County, Tennessee, was a member of the regiment. His father, Major William Lauderdale, had built a block house fort on the southeast coast of Florida during the Seminole War, and the city that eventually grew up around it bears his name. The younger Lauderdale stopped to wipe the sweat from his face not far from where Pillow had been wounded only minutes earlier when canister struck him in the forehead, just above the right eye. He died within two hours, and friends later carried his body back to camp and buried him near the Río del Plan.21

  When Haskell found Pillow in the rear, the scene was not pleasant. Over the noise of battle, the two Tennesseans exchanged angry words. Haskell was mad because his men had rushed into the fight without support and as a result were being badly mauled, and Pillow was obviously frustrated because thus far he had been unable to accomplish his assigned task with any degree of coordination. Pillow accused the colonel of neglecting his duty by leaving his men and ordered him to return to his regiment immediately and resume the attack. Then he berated the Second Pennsylvania troops and went off to find Campbell, who was trying desperately to press the attack. Campbell had ordered the Pennsylvanians to advance, but because he did not specify First or Second Pennsylvania, neither obeyed. Mad and with a “perfectly rampant” disposition, Campbell “damned the Pennsylvanians for a set of cowards.” When Pillow found Campbell, the former resumed command of the brigade, and was trying to help bring order to his chaotic situation when word arrived from General Scott that the Mexicans on other parts of the battlefield were retreating.22

  Earlier McClellan had ridden off to find Scott and ask for reinforcements. He found the general with elements of Worth’s division, following Twiggs’s path around the north flank. By this time, Harney had captured El Telégrafo and Shields had blocked the road, leaving Worth’s men nothing to do but join the pursuit. When McClellan rode up and asked for regulars to assist in Pillow’s attack, Scott refused, saying that he could not spare them. The bulk of the Mexican army was retreating toward Jalapa, but Scott wanted to be ready in case Santa Anna turned to fight. Besides, the enemy in Pillow’s front was now cut off, and Scott knew that their surrender would be imminent. Upon receiving the news from Pillow’s front, the commanding general was “not much surprised and not much ‘put out’ that Pillow was thrashed,” and according to McClellan, he seemingly “attached no importance to [Pillow’s] future movements.” He simply instructed McClellan to tell Pillow that he could attack or not attack again—whatever he wished to do. McClellan’s description suggests that Scott’s battle plans had been designed to pacify the president’s friend and keep him occupied on the American left. No doubt he hoped that something positive might result from Pillow’s attack, but he knew all along that the real battle was on the American right. This idea was borne out in a letter written several days later by future Union general John Sedgwick, who asserted that Pillow’s attack on the American left “was thought unimportant, as the fall of the hill would give us command of all their works.”23

  When McClellan returned to the left flank, the first officer he encountered was Colonel Wynkoop, who reported having seen a white flag raised over the Mexican works. Obviously by this time, around 10:00 A.M. or shortly after, the Mexicans were aware that the rest of their army was in flight toward Jalapa, and as Scott predicted, they understood the hopelessness of their situation. But Wynkoop did not know what the flag meant, and when told that it was a sign of surrender, he declared that he was going to attack anyway, orders or not. As historian Justin H. Smith asserted, “Wynkoop felt . . . eager [to attack] when it was too late.”24

  The battle on the American left had lasted about forty-five minutes, and it had been ugly. Most observers blamed Pillow, as have subsequent historians. A sergeant in the Second Pennsylvania thought that Pillow would “always be censured” for his faulty approach to the enemy position. Campbell wrote to his wife that Pillow “as I expected . . . managed the whole affair most badly.” A few days later, in a letter to another relative, he emphatically asserted that Pillow “is no part of a Genl. or military man and as light as a feather and is always making himself ridiculous by his foolishness.” Lieutenant Roswell Ripley leveled harsh criticism at Pillow, saying that because he was a volunteer he did not know what he was doing. Consequently, “he was most confoundedly well thrashed.”25 Historians like Justin H. Smith and K. Jack Bauer have also criticized Pillow’s handling of the attack. He indeed made critical mistakes, including the way he arranged the regiments in their march to the jump-off point, his spontaneous decision to change the approach route, and his sheer inability to create order out of chaos. These are all mistakes of an inexperienced and naive commander who was too anxious to win glory. And frankly, some of his subordinates did not like him or did not trust him—or both. What Pillow most lacked was modesty and military skill, but as Nathaniel Cheairs Hughes and Roy P. Stonesifer assert in their biography of the Tennessean, he was no coward.

  In Pillow’s front, the furious noise of battle gradually gave way to an occasional musket shot. Some Mexican soldiers fled in an effort to escape the American trap and get to Jalapa, while others simply gave up and handed over their weapons. The units defending the three ridges surrendered virtually intact, having suffered, according to one source, only one casualty. In a letter home, Hiram Yeager instructed his brother to tell one of his friends that after the battle, “I kicked a Mexicans behind after he gave me his musket.” As they collected their prisoners, the Tennesseans and Pennsylvanians also began the arduous task of carrying the wounded from the field. One Tennessean, wounded in the hip, made his way to the rear complaining of his great agony, and upon reaching a doctor, he moaned, “Oh! I am killed. . . . I believe I shall die.” After examining him, the doctor assured him he would be fine and would only suffer temporary discomfort in sitting.26

  On the American right, troops were also beginning to care for the wounded, Mexican and American alike, while many of Twiggs’s men pursued the retreating enemy soldiers up the National Road toward Jalapa. Atop El Telégrafo, Mexican corpses lay along their breastworks, some of them stacked two and three deep.27 A future Union general and veteran of the 1862 Peninsula Campaign, Lieutenant Napoleon Dana, charged El Telégrafo with the Seventh Infantry. He was seriously wounded in the side and left for dead by his comrades, only to be discovered a day and a half later by a burial party. Also lying among the bodies, conscious but suffering, was Tom Ewell, who had been shot in the abdomen inside the Mexican works. His friend, Thomas Claiborne, found him “prone on his hands, head and knees,” and tried to offer comfort as other comrades gathered round. Upon examination, they found that the musket ball
had not quite passed all the way through his body. It was just beneath the skin, next to the spine. Knowing that he was dying, Ewell requested opium to relieve him of his excruciating pain. Among the Mexican dead on top of the hill was General Vasquez and also a colonel, “his face handsome and composed,” whose chest had been blown away.28

  Brigadier General Gideon J. Pillow. The Nathaniel and Bucky Hughes Collection, courtesy of Lupton Library, University of Tennessee at Chattanooga.

  Scott was with elements of Worth’s division and was following Twiggs’s path in pursuit. Along the way, they passed through the hilly terrain and around the north side of La Atalaya, getting their first glimpse of the grisly aftermath. The aristocratic Scott always showed his soft side when caring for his men, even if he was sometimes clumsy in his well-intended efforts. Wishing to see the top of El Telégrafo up close, he made his way to the crest, where he came upon staff officer and prankster Lieutenant George Derby. The lieutenant, whose name was pronounced “Durby,” was lying on the ground suffering from his wound when Scott spotted him and said, “My God, Darby, you’re wounded!” Derby responded, “Yes, General Scatt.” To which the general retorted in a testy manner, “[M]y name is Scott, not Scatt!” “And my name is Derby, not Darby!” said the lieutenant.29

  At some point, Scott came upon a group of soldiers huddled around the wounded Tom Ewell. He pushed his way through, knelt by Ewell’s side, and, grasping his hand, said, “Mr. Ewell you are an honor to your name, an honor to the service to which you belong.” Then, proclaiming the lieutenant a hero, he concluded, “you must not die.” A short time later, Ewell’s brother, Richard, ascended the hill to see him. Dick, as he was called, had advanced with the dragoons, and while riding along the base of the hill, an acquaintance had told him of Tom’s condition. The brothers exchanged words in the brief moments before Dick rejoined the pursuit. Tom told him that he knew he was going to die, and he asked Dick to write a letter to the family. Before the two parted, Tom told him that his commanding officer had his watch and purse. Dick then rode off, but he returned in the evening and spent the remaining hours of Tom’s life by his side.30

  Despite the unpleasant sights, Scott was exuberant about the day’s events. He had already told McClellan that he had watched the attack on El Telégrafo and that it was “the most beautiful sight that he had ever witnessed.” When he happened upon Harney, Scott reportedly exclaimed, “I cannot now adequately express my admiration of your gallant achievement, but at the proper time I shall take great pleasure in thanking you in proper terms.” He was especially proud of the reconnaissance work done by the West Point officers and remarked to Lieutenant Isaac Stevens, “You engineers are too daring. You require to be held back.”31

  General Shields’s condition was grave and his pain intense. As he led the charge on the Mexican camp, only thirty yards from the enemy battery, he had been hit in the right side of the chest by grapeshot that broke his ribs before exiting his back. He vomited the coffee that he had drunk that morning, and Captain George Davis thought that it was tinged with blood. Davis quickly detailed eight men to take him to the surgeon’s station two miles away, and he accompanied them to the rear. Four men would carry him at a time, one under each arm and one under each bent knee. When they tired, they would switch and the other four would take their turn. The bouncing movement caused excruciating agony, evidently because of broken ribs “raking into his flesh.” In his suffering, Shields begged them to put him down and let him die in peace, and once, when they stopped to comply with the general’s wishes, Davis drew his sword and threatened anyone who tried to lay him down. When they reached the field hospital, a doctor named McMillan stuffed lint into the entrance and exit wounds, then instructed that Shields be placed in a comfortable place to die.32 Working in the rear of the American army was Belgian-born Dr. Pedro Vanderlinden, who was actually a surgeon in the Mexican army. He attended to the Mexican wounded who had fallen into American hands, and at some point during the afternoon, he examined Shields and left with him a bottle of wine. In defiance of all expectations, the general did not die that evening—indeed, he survived the wound after an extended convalescence. Vanderlinden continued to look in on him in the days after the battle, and he later surmised that Shields had survived only because the grape ball had entered at such close range and with such force that it went through his body at maximum velocity, thus doing less damage than it might have otherwise.33

  While Shields’s men were carrying him to the rear, both mounted troops and infantry chased the Mexicans up the road for several hours. At dusk and eight miles west of Cerro Gordo, the Americans reached Santa Anna’s “magnificent Hacienda,” Encero. With darkness setting in and the chase hindered by a drizzling rain and tired horses, the pursuit halted. Just as Scott had predicted the previous evening while writing his orders, the enemy’s batteries would be “carried or abandoned,” and the ensuing American pursuit “may be continued many miles, until stopped by darkness or fortified positions, toward Jalapa.”34

  Casualty figures for the battle of Cerro Gordo were lopsided. Out of approximately 8,500 engaged, the Americans lost 63 killed and 368 wounded. The cost for the Mexican army was most assuredly high, although exact numbers are more difficult to ascertain, and the number captured—approximately three thousand, including five generals and two hundred other officers—was significant. Justin Smith’s dated but still useful study of the war put the Mexican killed and wounded at approximately a thousand. The morning after the battle, Scott wrote his initial report of the engagement before setting out for Jalapa, and he estimated the Mexican killed and wounded at 350. Scott’s preliminary report, written less than twenty-four hours after the battle, may have been grossly inaccurate, but the commanding general’s numbers probably included only the enemy casualties around the immediate vicinity of the Cerro Gordo battlefield. In the days ahead, additional reports from the American units that pursued the enemy west to Jalapa would no doubt increase Scott’s initial estimate. If this accounts for the disparity in the numbers, then the Mexican retreat was bloody indeed.35

  Trained American officers were certainly aware of the vulnerability of an army during a retreat, and they took full advantage. Henri Jomini wrote in his classic work, The Art of War, that a “retreat, even when executed in the most skillful manner and by an army in good condition, always gives an advantage to the pursuing army; and this is particularly the case after a defeat.” Jomini also wrote that “preservation of order is the only means of saving a body of troops harassed by the enemy during a retrograde movement.” The Mexican army lost all semblance of order after the battle, and its officers ceased any attempt to maintain organization. Napoleon’s maxim that retreats always cost an army more than the bloodiest of engagements certainly held true at Cerro Gordo. An American correspondent reported that there were dead horses and Mexican soldiers from El Telégrafo to Encero, and at places where the pursuing Americans overtook the retreating Mexicans, their bodies lay in heaps. Benjamin Wingate of the Mounted Rifles asserted a few days later that the reason his regiment went to Mexico was “to kill some of them Mexicans which we have shorly don.”36

  The Battle of Cerro Gordo was a disaster for the Mexicans, and the soldiers of both armies knew it. They “never expected to be defeated at this place,” wrote Wingate. “Santa Anna told the citizens of Jalapa when he was on his way to Cerra Gordo that he defied all europe to take it away from him.” Cerro Gordo was “a perfect place for a blunderer to sacrifice an army. But Scott was no blunderer.” Rather than walk into an enemy trap, he sprang one of his own. Later Santa Anna reportedly told an American officer that Cerro Gordo was the greatest American victory of the war. Contemporary accounts notwithstanding, Santa Anna overestimated the strength of his position at Cerro Gordo, and he should have listened to his engineers. Although he commanded the high ground overlooking the road, his various strong points were not interconnected and were thus incapable of providing mutual support. Therefore, when one position fell,
the rest were put in peril. Finally the failure to stop the Americans at the Cerro Gordo Pass cost the Mexicans their most important ally; yellow fever and other diseases that were just beginning to arrive in the coastal lowlands.37

  The victory at Cerro Gordo awed young officers in the army and probably influenced the way they viewed military operations. Lee called it a “great victory.” He was impressed with the Mexican defenses, but he was even more impressed with the manner by which they were defeated. “[T]heir whole line was turned by the left. It was a beautiful operation & came in well after our turning San Juan de Ulua by first taking Vera Cruz.” In the first two encounters of the campaign, Lee learned the value of flanking enemy positions. Captain Robert Anderson, future commander at Fort Sumter and a general in the Union army, was learning another lesson from Scott’s leadership. Having previously served under Zachary Taylor, he made a perceptive comparison of the two commanders. Taylor took few prisoners, Anderson observed, but Scott had captured over 7,000 at Veracruz and Cerro Gordo, and even more astonishing to the young captain was the low casualty rate in Scott’s army. Taylor’s bravery was unquestioned, but in battle, all must remain under his immediate supervision, whereas Scott’s generalship was more sophisticated. He went to great lengths to reconnoiter in an effort to find any advantage that could be gained through science and skill, and the result was that his casualties were fewer. In sum, Anderson concluded, “matters are managed here differently.”38