Michener, James A. (100 page)

The mountain on the south flank of the road was Federacion, topped by a substantial fort; the one to the north was Independencia, topped by a massive, stout-walled, dilapidated building called the Bishop's Palace. To capture Monterrey, these two peaks must be taken; if they were left in Mexican hands, enemy artillery would make retention of the city impossible.

The Texas Rangers, supported by a much larger cadre of the best regular army troops under General Worth, were assigned to take the two mountains while Taylor took the city itself, and on the night of 19 September amid a downpour the Texans moved in a wide circle to the north, coming down to the Saltillo road, where on the next day they captured that highway. Now all they had to do was climb two mountains in the face of heavy enemy fire and capture a fort on one of them, a stout-walled, defended palace on the other.

On 22 September, a rainy Monday morning, General Worth decided to make the attempt on Federacion and its fort. His men spent the first six hours gaining, with much difficulty, positions from which to launch the charge up the final slopes, and at noon all was ready. 'We go,' Captain Garner called with no discernible emotion.

Up the formidable steeps the Texans went, and whenever they were pinned down by enemy fire, the regular troops, just as brave, surged forward in their sector, but as the miserably hot afternoon unfolded, the wiry Texans had one advantage: they were accustomed to the oppressive heat and the rivers of sweat that poured down their faces.

'Give 'em hell,' Garner called quietly, and on his Rangers went.

Incredibly, they gained the crest of the mountain and diverted so many defenders that the panting regulars soon took their sector too. Without cheers or battle cries, the regular officer in charge simply pointed at the waiting fort, and like an army of remorseless ants attacking a parcel of food, they started across the top of the mountain and literally overwhelmed the fort, not by sheer numbers, but by the terrible firepower and irresistible force they represented.

At three that hot, wet afternoon Federacion and its fort were in their hands, but before the Texans could congratulate themselves, Garner pointed north across the chasm that separated them from Independencia and said: 'Tomorrow we take that.'

Without adequate food and with no tents or protection from the intermittent rains, the Rangers passed a short, fitful night, during which Lucas, who had led the slaughter at Granada, asked Otto Macnab: 'Do you think we can climb that one? It looks steeper.'

'We'll see.'

'That stone building. Much stouter than the fort.'

'We'll find out.*

'Were you afraid, today? I mean, you're so much younger than me.' When Otto made no reply, Lucas confessed: 'I was scared real bad.'

'Only natural.'

'Tomorrow, can I fight alongside you 7 I never seen a man fire as fast as you can.'

'I always fight with Panther Komax.'

'I know. But can I sort of trail along?'

'Nobody stopping you.'

At three in morning, when the rains ceased, the Rangers launched their attack on Independencia, but now the rocky slopes were so steep and slick that it seemed absolutely impossible that they could be scaled. 'Christ, this can't be done,' but then came the quiet voice of Garner, that indomitable man who found handholds

where none existed: 'A little more,' and up the struggling men went.

This time they left the regular troops well behind, but close to the top their sector became so steep that each man had to fend for himself, and the regulars moved well ahead over their easier terrain. At this perilous point, with Mexican riflemen shooting down from the rim of their protected hilltop, Otto found himself with Lucas, who was on the verge of exhaustion.

'Breathe deep,' Otto said, and extending his right leg so that Lucas could grasp it, he pulled the near-fainting man up to the next level. There they rested, unable to catch any breath, but soon Otto pointed to a declivity in the rocks and said: 'Looks easy,' and he led Lucas up a steep incline and onto the crest of the hill.

There a wild fight was in progress, with the regular troops giving an exceptionally strong account of themselves and driving the enemy always backward toward the security of the Bishop's Palace. But now Garner, seeing an advantage while the Mexicans were engaged with the regular troops, gave a wild shout, no longer muted, and rallied his Texans, who with a mighty surge drove at the palace gates. The fighting was intense and terrifying, but with the horrendous firepower of their repeater Colts, the Texans simply shot the Mexican defenders out of their positions.

'Otto!' came a fierce cry from Panther Komax, and together the two men dashed at the gate, blasting a score of Mexicans and forcing their way into the interior. In doing so, they had moved far ahead of their companions, but their experience as Rangers made them confident that others would soon crowd in to support them. Within minutes Garner and six or eight of his best men had joined them inside the walls.

The killing was short and sharp, for the Mexicans had no response to the deadly fire of the Colts. How many died was not immediately determined, but when the fight was almost over, a brave Mexican who had holed himself into a position from which there was no escape fired resolutely at the Texans, and put his last bullet through the guts of Ranger Lucas, who died in prolonged agony.

Macnab, seeing him fall, wheeled about, spotted the trapped Mexican and blasted him with his revolver.

The guardian hills were taken and the fall of Monterrey was assured. The pathway to Saltillo lay open and the culminating battle of the north now became inevitable, for a Mexican adversary much more powerful and competent than pusillanimous General Arista was preparing an army at San Luis Potosi, an army so huge that it might well drive the norteamericanos from the soil of Mexico forever.

Although President Polk and General Taylor started this war, it was Benito Garza who started the fighting with his bold foray across the Rio Grande. But he did not participate in the disaster at Monterrey, where a fortified city protected by superior numbers failed to defend itself. As recognized leader of the irregular forces in the north, he had been summoned south, where he would participate in a bewildering series of events that would alter the progress of the war.

In Havana the exiled dictator Santa Anna, who faced immediate death if he returned to Mexico, had been having clandestine discussions with American officials during which the invasion of Mexico was discussed in candid and sometimes shocking terms. The wily general pointed out that a bumbling old fool like Zachary Taylor was never going to march all the way to Mexico City. 'Frankly,' Santa Anna told his listeners, 'he's incompetent,' and he proceeded to analyze with remarkable insight the other weaknesses of the American position: 'Should you try to land at Vera Cruz and force your way onto the central plateau, all Mexico will rise against you and cut your supply lines, and no army can sustain an invasion over that distance without adequate supplies.'

When the American strategists argued that their troops could live off the land, Santa Anna replied: 'Never! A million patriots will destroy them in the night.'

His arguments were so seductive that President Polk, hoping that a bold move would solve the strategic impasse, launched one of the most extraordinary diplomatic maneuvers in history. 'What we must do,' Polk told his advisers, 'is test this Santa Anna to determine how reliable he will be . . . how far we can trust him, that is. Then use him to our advantage.'

'Risky,' an army man warned. 'He's a sly fox.'

'We're just as sly,' Polk assured him, a boast that each man would often remember in later years.

New negotiators sailed to Havana, where they talked frankly with Santa Anna, receiving from him a brazen proposal: 'There's only one sure way to end this war. Have your fleet deposit me at Vera Cruz with half a million dollars, in gold. 1 will then act as your agent and terminate this unfortunate affair on terms favorable to you and acceptable to Mexico.'

'But will Mexico accept you?'

'When I set foot in Vera Cruz ... I lost my leg in that city, you must remember. The people of Vera Cruz venerate me. I can handle this in a week.'

The American representatives were not fools, and before ac-

cepting such a proposal, they investigated it from all angles, but when they talked with silver-tongued Santa Anna, who knew English well enough to smother them with glibness at any difficult juncture, they convinced themselves that here was a noble patriot who wished only to end a disagreeable war on terms favorable to both sides.

A remarkable agreement was drawn up, initialed by everyone: Santa Anna would be given a huge sum in gold, with more to come when the peace treaty was signed; a boat of British registry would be provided at the port of Havana; and Commodore David Conner, commanding the United States Caribbean fleet, would be issued presidential orders directing him to assure Santa Anna's ship safe passage through the American blockade and into the port of Vera Cruz. If necessary, Commodore Conner could sink any Mexican vessels that tried to prevent the return of the hero to his native soil.

At this point Benito Garza received cryptic instructions forwarded secretly from Cuba: 'Report immediately to Vera Cruz and prepare a spectacular reception for a secret arrival.' He was not pleased with these orders, but he was prepared to report where his country needed him.

So Benito dropped other responsibilities, including his often-interrupted honeymoon, rode south along back roads where norteamericano patrols would not stumble upon him, reached Potosi, and hurried on to Vera Cruz, where secretly he organized a rabble for one of those demonstrations that flourished regularly in Mexico. He had not the slightest intimation of what was afoot, but he supposed that some general opposed to the present inept government of the country was going to make a pronouncement with a fresh new plan—fifty-third since 1821, counting those which flourished for a single heady afternoon—for saving the country. On the reasonable grounds that anything would be better than what Mexico now had, he supposed that he would support the new grito.

How astonished he was on the morning of 16 August 1846 when the latest hero prepared to save the country arrived not from some inland barracks but from the little British steamer Arab, delivered into the harbor by the American fleet itself! Even at that dramatic moment Benito did not guess the identify of the savior, and then to his great joy he saw General Santa Anna, Benemerito de la Patria, come stumping down the gangplank on his best ceremonial leg. Garza needed no prodding to start his wild cheering, but to his dismay hardly anyone watching this charade bothered to join him, and the resuscitated dictator marched into his domain in near-silence. Seven or eight men, led by Garza, shouted: 'Santa

Anna! Santa Anna!' but older men and wiser asked quietly: 'What can he be up to this time?'

Soon all knew that Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was once again Mexico's El Supremo, with powers doubling any he had enjoyed before, and it was rumored that he himself would assume command of all armed forces, north or south. But whether he would fight, as some said, or sell out to the norteamericanos, as others predicted, no one knew.

When Benito and a score of trusted lieutenants met with Santa Anna that night, they asked bluntly: 'Excellency, what are your plans?' and he replied: 'Only one. Crush General Taylor at Saltillo. Drive General Scott back into the sea if he tries to land here in Vera Cruz.'

When the applause ended, Garza asked: 'When do we march north?' and his hero replied: 'When my nation calls me. And she will call.'

President Polk had by this rash action placed on Mexican soil the one leader who had a chance to defeat America's grandiose plans, and what was more astonishing, Polk had also provided the American dollars which could help Santa Anna turn the trick.

When word reached General Taylor that Santa Anna had returned to Mexico as supreme dictator and was assembling a massive army to bring north, the old man faced a series of difficult decisions. It had become apparent to President Polk, a Democrat and a wily one, that General Taylor, a Whig and a blunt one, was receiving in the press a flood of adulation as reward for his victories at Palo Alto, Resaca and Monterrey. With the shrewd insight which characterized Tennessee politicians like Andrew Jackson and Sam Houston, Polk foresaw that Taylor was going to use his military popularity to win the presidency in 1848, and this had to be forestalled, because Polk considered that the general would be a hopeless President.

Making a move that was both politically and militarily astute, Polk forbade Taylor to leave Monterrey lest he become trapped in the vast desert area separating Saltillo and San Luis Potosi. When Taylor's officers received the orders, they immediately spotted the error: 'My God! This keeps us from chasing the defeated Mexicans into Saltillo and crushing them there '

Persifer Cobb fired off a bitter letter to his brother:

The only good news I can report is that during this enforced idleness we have had the good sense to send all the Texans home Yes, they're all gone, and I'm a free man at last, one who can sleep well at night.

Did you know that at the height of our effort one Texas company of foot soldiers demurred at fighting as infantry, saying that every decent Texan was entitled to his horse-* Well, they took a vote. Yes, Somerset, on the eve of battle they took a vote whether to fight or not and it was 318 to 224 in favor of quitting. So they just quit. Can you imagine Hannibal, as he faced the Alps, allowing his soldiers to take a vote as to whether they wished to scale those snowy heights? That clinched matters with General Taylor, who summoned me and said: 'I want no more of your Texans. Send them home.' 1 wanted to remind him that they were not my Texans, but instead I saluted and informed Captain Garner: 'Your Rangers are dismissed. Take them home.' And what do you suppose he did? Stared at me with those icy eyes and said: 'We voted last night to quit when our second three-month enlistments were up. You're not sending us home. We're going home.' As we watched them ride off, one of my officers muttered: 'I pray that all decent Mexicans are safe in their beds,' because as I've told you, the Texans shoot at anything that moves and take no prisoners.