Authors: Jason Manning
4
They marched in a very orderly and impressive array through the green corn fields surrounding the village of Las Vegas. After a long, dry march across the desert from the Raton Mountains, these corn fields, even the chocolate brown water in the irrigation ditches, looked appealing to both men and livestock. But Kearny had issued strict orders that not so much as an ear of corn was to be touched. The private property of the citizens of the town was to be respected. A good impression here was essential to the general's hopes for the peaceful occupation of the province.
Worrisome was Falconer's report that at least six hundred armed men—militia, not Regulars—held the Vegas Pass, a few miles past the village, down the road to Santa Fe.
Kearny halted the column at the edge of town. Las Vegas appeared deserted. The dusty streets were empty and eerily silent. The doors and windows of the low, flat-roofed adobe homes were shut tight. The general summoned Delgado to his side.
"Will you ride in with me under a flag of truce,
Mr. McKinn?" asked Kearny—as always, blunt and to the point.
"Not with you, sir, surely!" exclaimed Lieutenant Emory, who had overheard. "This smells like a trap to me, General. I beg you to reconsider."
Kearny scanned the empty street before him, then glanced at Delgado. "What do you think?"
Delgado was slow to answer. His feeling was that the residents of Las Vegas were merely scared out of their wits. If Governor Armijo and the priests had done their jobs, many of the people honestly believed that the Yankee barbarians would impale their children on bayonets and roast them over their campfires. But what if he was wrong and Emory right? Delgado liked and admired Kearny. If the general was killed, full-scale war would undoubtedly erupt. The Army of the West was fiercely loyal to its commander, there would be no restraining or reasoning with them if Kearny was shot down—especially if the deed was done from ambush.
"I will go in, and gladly," said Delgado. "But not with you, General. You would be taking too great a chance."
"I am a soldier, Mr. McKinn. That's my job, and it's for me to worry about."
"No, sir, I respectfully disagree. Without you there will be no peace."
"Well," said Kearny, mollified. "I hadn't looked at it from that point of view. Are you acquainted with the alcalde of this town?"
"I know of him. And I think he will recognize my name."
"You know what to say to him?"
Delgado nodded. "I think so, General."
"Then I will trust you to speak for me."
Falconer was sitting his tall coyote dun nearby, listening. Now he spoke up. "I'm riding with you, Del."
"That isn't necessary." Delgado didn't want Hugh Falconer to ride into an ambush either.
"Part of the reason I'm here is to get you home in one piece. I intend to do just that."
Delgado knew nothing would be gained by debating the point. The mountain man's mind was made up—and that was the end of that.
They rode in stirrup to stirrup, Delgado holding the truce flag, a piece of white cloth tied to a musket's ramrod. Falconer kept his Hawken mountain rifle in its fringed buckskin sheath, but it rode across the saddle, and Delgado figured the frontiersman could bring the long gun into play in the blink of an eye. Maybe quicker. Delgado prayed it would not come to that.
Entering the square, they saw several men emerge from an adobe into the bright summer sunshine. One was an older man, gaudily garbed in a maroon claw-hammer coat, with a gold vest straining to stretch over his paunch. White hair beneath a broad-brimmed hat framed a walnut brown face creased by the passage of many years. He was flanked by two younger men, both of whom were armed.
Delgado rode straight up to the men. Dismounting, he identified himself to the elder, who, as he had surmised, was the alcalde of Las Vegas. His name was Herrera, and Delgado could tell he was striving to conceal his anxiety with a gruff exterior. While scanning the rooftops, Falconer tried to keep one eye on the two scowling men with Herrera—they both had a pistol and a knife in their belts. His instincts warned him that the
pair with Herrera weren't the only threat—instincts finely honed by playing cat and mouse with often hostile Indians in the deep woods of the high country. You often did not see an Indian until he was in the process of taking your topknot.
"I know your father," the alcalde told Delgado. "Is he aware that his son is a traitor?"
That struck the flint of Delgado's temper, but he endeavored to keep his anger in check. "Am I a traitor because I want to keep the peace?"
His earnestness appeared to give the alcalde second thoughts. But one of the younger men spoke up. His tone and demeanor was so truculent that, for the moment, Falconer gave him his undivided attention.
"You are the lackey of the Americans," sneered the man, laying a hand on the butt of his pistol. "They have come to plunder and rape."
"You don't know what you're talking about," replied Delgado sternly. He turned back to the alcalde. "You are a wise and reasonable man, Senor Herrera. You must realize that this is inevitable."
The alcalde knew exactly what he meant, but he wasn't quite ready to admit it.
"If they come in peace, why so many soldiers?" he asked.
"Because Armijo and men like him are willing to sacrifice your lives to hold onto their power."
"Armijo has run away," said the alcalde bitterly. "He lost his nerve and fled into Mexico when he heard that the government would not send troops to support him."
Startled by this news, Delgado glanced at Falconer. He was relieved to know that Armijo was gone. This greatly reduced the chance of war. Ob
viously, the wily governor had never intended to keep his appointment with General Kearny. He had been buying time.
"Are you certain of this?" asked Delgado. There had been so many rumors. Perhaps this was just one more.
The alcalde nodded gravely. "We were prepared to fight to protect our families and our homes. But the governor deserted us."
"Your homes and families will be protected. General Kearny swears it, and he is a man of his word. Unlike Manuel Armijo, I might add. All I ask is that you hear him out, Senor Herrera. Then you can make up your mind."
Seeing that the alcalde wavered, the man who had previously spoken stepped forward.
"Don't listen to him! The Americans will rob us. They will violate our women. Murder our children. They will turn us into slaves."
The alcalde frowned. "You know the Americans," he said to Delgado. "Is it not true that they believe all people whose skin is darker than their own are inferior to them? Do they not force such people to live in bondage?"
Delgado was taken aback by the question. Images flashed through his mind—of Brent Horan buying the mulatto girl, Naomi, on the lane behind the levee in St. Louis; of the slavecatcher, Talbott, bringing the dead field hand out of the woods, surrounded by his hounds; of the abolitionist, Jeremiah Rankin, on the verge of hanging for his sins aboard the side-wheeler
Sultana
. Snippets of conversations came to him, too—"reptiles in the path of democracy," "a mongrel cross between the Negro and the Indian," "the Mexican is a rather ignorant, brutish individual."
How can I defend men who do and say such things?
wondered Delgado.
Why would I even want to?
On the face of it, the alcalde's concern was a valid one. The history of the Americans made it so. On the subject of liberty and equality of opportunity, they talked a good game, but their actions left a lot to be desired.
His hesitation birthed a light of grim exultation in the eyes of the alcalde's young hotspur. "You see?" exclaimed the man. "He knows what I say is true. We have no choice, Alcalde. We must fight! We must drive the invaders from our land, or let our soil drink their blood. And we will start with this traitor!"
With these words the man sprang forward, drawing the pistol from his belt, planting it in Delgado's chest before the startled Delgado could react.
Falconer struck the pistol down with the sheathed barrel of his rifle. The pistol discharged. The bullet plowed into the red dust inches from Delgado's foot. Then the mountain man struck Delgado's would-be-assassin in the face with the butt of the Hawken. The man fell like an axed tree, out cold. His cohort moved as though to bring his own pistol into play, but Falconer swung the rifle in his direction. The glimmer in the frontiersman's eyes froze the young New Mexican. In that same instant a dozen men seemed to materialize out of thin air on the rooftops ringing the square. They all had muskets or rifles, and they were aiming their weapons at Delgado and Falconer. Delgado felt a curious tingle start at the base of his spine and spread quickly through his body. At that moment, on the brink of death, he never felt more alive.
"Espere!"
cried the alcalde. "Wait! Manolo, put down your weapon."
"But, Father—"
"Do as I tell you!"
With a glower at Falconer Manolo laid his pistol on the ground.
"Now look to your brother," said the alcalde sternly.
"Your son?" asked Falconer, who knew enough Spanish to get by. He glanced at the unconscious man sprawled at his feet.
"Yes," said the alcalde gravely.
"I'm sorry, but I had to do it."
"I am glad you did not kill him. You could have. And," added the alcalde, looking apologetically at Delgado, "I am glad my son did not kill you, Senor McKinn."
"Will you at least listen to what General Kearny has to say, Alcalde?" pleaded Delgado, trying to appear unrattled.
"Yes. I will hear him out."
5
As it happened, all the people of the village of Las Vegas listened to General Kearny. Accompanied by the alcalde, he addressed nearly two hundred locals gathered in the square, who had been coaxed out of hiding by Herrera's assurances that no harm would come to them. Delgado admired the old man; it had required of him a great leap of faith, but he yearned to avoid bloodshed, too. Kearny stood on the flat roof of one of the buildings facing the square, with Herrera and the captain of the local militia.
"People of New Mexico, I have come here on the orders of my government, to take possession of this country and extend over it the laws of the United States. We come as friends, not as enemies, as protectors, not plunderers. We come among you for your benefit, not for your injury. Henceforth I absolve you from all allegiance to the government of the Republic of Mexico, and from all obedience to Governor Armijo. He is no longer your governor."
This caused quite a sensation among the civilian listeners.
"For the time being, I am your governor," continued Kearny. "I shall not expect you to take up arms against those of your own people who may oppose me. But I tell you that those who remain peaceably at home, tending to their crops and their herds, shall be protected by me and by my soldiers, in their property, their persons, and their religion, and nothing they possess shall be disturbed or taken by the men under my command without payment or the consent of the owner. But if any person promises to live in peace and
then
takes up arms against me, he will hang.
"You have never received protection from the Mexican government. The Apaches and the Navajos come down from the mountains and carry off your sheep, and sometimes even your women and children. My government will correct this. We will protect you.
"I know you are all good Catholics. Your priests have told you all sorts of stories about the Americans. These stories are false. My government respects your religion and allows every person to worship his Creator as he sees fit. Our laws protect the Catholic as well as the Protestant, the
weak as well as the strong, the poor as well as the rich."
Kearny turned to the alcalde and the militia captain. "The laws of my country require that all men who hold office must take an oath of allegiance. I do not wish to disturb your form of government, and if you are prepared to take such an oath, I shall continue you in office and support your authority."
Both men wavered, but finally relented under Kearny's steely gaze. Once the formality had been observed, the American soldiers gave three rousing cheers. The civilians responded in a more lackluster manner.
That same day the Army of the West resumed its march on Santa Fe. As they drew near Apache Pass, Kearny sent the dragoons ahead, sabers drawn, even though Falconer had earlier seen no sign of resistance. The pass was still clear. Just beyond they were joined by Captain Cooke. Kearny learned that his favorite officer had been present at a meeting between Manuel Armijo and Colonel Diego Archuleta, commander of the provincial militia, in the Palace of the Governors. It was there that Armijo had suddenly decided not to defend Santa Fe, after all. Archuleta had vigorously protested against capitulation, but Armijo stood firm. No longer a hostage, Cooke was released.
"Armijo told Archuleta that they would cede only the northern part of the province," Cooke informed Kearny. "Then he headed for points south in all haste, and left Archuleta as acting governor."
"To reach California I must cross the lower, or Rio Abajo, portion of New Mexico," said Kearny,
frowning. "Do you think Archuleta will resist us?"
"He probably won't as long as he believes only the north will be given up. But if he does resist us, we'll be in for one bloody scrape, General. He's that kind of a man."
Kearny grimaced. "So I must mislead him to keep the peace."
"I would heartily recommend that course of action, sir. At least until we are in possession of Santa Fe."
"Thank God Armijo let you go."
"He's no fool, sir. He's hedging his bets, just in case he gets captured, hoping he'll be as well treated as I was. And I was—no thanks to Archuleta. I think he would have preferred to see me shot."
The following day, before the army marched the last twenty miles through pine-covered hills to Santa Fe, Kearny had General Order Thirteen read to all his troops. In it he demanded that every soldier respect the persons and property of the inhabitants of New Mexico. Failure to do so would result in the most severe punishment.