Michener, James A. (102 page)

Garner demonstrated his professionalism shortly after his contingent completed its furtive crossing of the northern desert on 4 February 1847 and reported to Lieutenant Colonel Cobb, who, as before, would serve as their superior. The fastidious South Carolinian, watching them straggle in, a disjointed file with men and horses in every conceivable condition, winced at the ugly prospect of dealing with them through another campaign, but he did take Captain Garner in to see General Taylor, who proved to be as gruff as ever: 'Bad situation. We know Santa Anna's coming north. But where and when and how many? That we don't know.'

'And it's our job to find out?' Garner asked without bravado.

'That's why I sent for you.' The general hesitated, then decided to be frank: 'I was damned glad to see you go, Garner. Never seen a rowdier group of soldiers. Can't you instill any discipline?' Before the lanky captain could respond, Taylor added: 'And I'm damned glad to have you back.' He wanted to shake Garner's hand or even embrace him in a soldierly way, but instead he said gruffly: 'Everything hangs on the next few days. Find out what they're up to.'

Garner decided to take eight Rangers with him on a protracted scout of the southern approaches to Saltillo, and as his men gathered in that beautiful cathedral square where the Frenchman Rene-Claude d'Ambreuze had courted Trinidad de Saldana, he knew their task was a dangerous one, for if discovered on this foray, they might have to fight large forces of Mexican lancers. But the Rangers were skilled in clandestine operations, and if a solitary Ranger was suddenly cut off from his fellows, he would know that he must proceed alone; he could be counted upon to sneak his way back to headquarters with a reliable report of how things stood in the areas he had seen. And if only that one Ranger survived to deliver essential information regarding the forthcoming battle, the scout would be judged a success.

When Garner's men left Saltillo they entered almost immediately upon a terrain that seemed as if it had been carved out of rock by the god of battles for some special Armageddon. It was a narrow defile, lined on the east by mountains so high they could not be scaled; their lower reaches, however, provided a sloping field across which cavalry could charge. The west flank consisted of a deep gully backed by lower hills; here cavalry could not function

but foot soldiers could. General Taylor, marching south into the defile, would have to smash head-on into General Santa Anna marching north, and the outcome would depend upon how skillfully each general utilized the sloping hills to the east and those gaping gullies to the west.

This ain't gonna be easy/ Panther told Otto as they studied the brutal terrain. When Otto made no reply, for none would have been relevant, Panther added: 'But I guess you fight your battles where they happen,' and again Otto said nothing, for he was studying those ominous slopes to the east, wondering how his Rangers would utilize them if an attack by Santa Anna's lancers suddenly developed.

On 20 February 1847, Garner and his men reconnoitered the oncoming Mexican army, and as brave as the Rangers were, they were shaken when they got to the crest of a hill and saw the endless manpower that Santa Anna was bringing north. Panther called back to those still climbing below: 'Damned lines go on forever.'

'Can you spot the camp they'll be using tonight?' Cobb asked, cupping his hands to muffle his voice.

'Off to one side,' Komax replied, lowering his voice too. And then he tossed in a typical Ranger addition: 'We can reach it tonight.'

When the huge fellow clambered down, Garner asked: 'Panther, can you and three men ride ahead and create a diversion? Allow them to chase you back this way without getting caught?'

'Don't mind if I do get caught. We can handle them . . .'

'Panther, you're not to get caught. You're to tease them on. Because me and Macnab, we're gonna go right into the heart of their camp, and we want them to be chasing you, not us.'

Otto displayed not the slightest emotion. He dismounted, took of! his white duster, folded it meticulously, and handed it for safekeeping to one of the two Rangers who would not be involved in either foray. This done, he hitched up his trousers, felt for his two Colts, stowed his two old pistols in his saddle, and climbed back on his horse. Together with Garner he started the perilous, tortuous advance to the Mexican lines.

They rode through the scattered advance posts, boldly keeping to their horses. Disguised as Mexicans, with Garner wearing a colorful serape, they rode straight into a position at which they could dismount, tethered their horses, and moved cautiously about, noting strengths and dispositions.

For a day, twenty-six hours, they remained inside enemy lines, one sleeping while the other watched, and in the early part of the night when the Mexicans were careless and talkative, they crept

very close to the tents, and it was in the moon-cast shadow of one of these that Macnab saw a Mexican officer bending over to tighten the guy ropes. As he did so, Otto realized that it was Benito Garza, not fifteen yards away.

'Captain,' he whispered. That's Garza, I'm sure. I'm going in and kill him.' Garner restrained him: 'Any noise would be fatal.'

'But he's the brains in the Strip.'

'I know who he is,' Garner snapped, 'and I know that any motion now . . .'

Now Macnab experienced agonies of indecision: there was Garza, an enemy he was obligated to kill, almost within touching distance; behind was the American army needing information. It was Garner who solved this dilemma: 'If he's that important to you, Otto, break in and shoot him. You'll not get out alive, but . . . Give me fifteen minutes lead, and I'll be safe.'

'It is that important,' Macnab said.

'So be it,' Garner said, but before he could return to his tethered horse, someone else left the tent to catch a breath of clean night air, and the watchers saw that it was a woman, a young woman of great charm and obvious breeding. She was, it seemed likely, the wife of some officer, and her presence deterred Macnab's plan of bursting in with pistols blazing. Garner grasped him by the arm, as if to pull him away, but then Garza reappeared, and placed his arm about the woman's waist, and kissed her.

Who could the woman be? She seemed no more than twenty, and Garza must be at least forty, but that they were in love there could be no doubt, none whatever.

'Has he a wife?' Garner asked.

'Who knows?' Otto replied, and quietly the two Rangers retreated.

They slept about a hundred yards from their horses, Garner spreading his serape on the ground for both of them, and when the sun was well up, they mounted their steeds, walked them quietly north, saluted sentries as if on an inspection tour, and when they saw a break in the lines, galloped like terrified ghosts, neither shouting nor looking back at the men who were firing the bullets that whistled past their heads.

When they reported to General Taylor, he was awed by their adventure and dismayed by the estimates they gave of Santa Anna's strength. 'We must draw back,' he said. 'If we stay, we're trapped.' He thanked Garner for his daring and turned to do the same for Macnab, but the little Ranger was gone.

'Where is he?' Taylor asked, and Garner pointed to where Otto was retrieving his duster from its custodian. Shaking it out and

slapping away any dust, he slipped it about his shoulders and considered himself ready for the impending battle.

Benito Garza, commanding General Santa Anna's scouts, was not informed of the infiltration of the mexicano lines by American spies; the sentries who had fired at Garner and Macnab were afraid to report the sortie lest they be shot for having allowed it to happen.

He remained in his tent with his wife, Lucha Lopez, and with the regular army officers with whom he worked. This was 21 February 1847, a cold, damp day, and because the two armies had moved so near to each other, it was obvious that battle could not be avoided, with visible advantage to the mexicanos. Garza was especially hopeful: This time, Lucha, we annihilate them.' He spent the morning making arrangements for her to move far to the rear, to be with the other women who had accompanied their men, but at noon he was alerted by reports from his scouts: 'General Taylor is retreating.'

Kissing Lucha, he rode out to check this surprising development and found that the news was accurate: the Americans were withdrawing, and rather precipitately, but he was not deceived by their tactic: They're seeking more favorable ground, and they're right.'

Nevertheless he had reason to be hopeful about -this battle, for Santa Anna, blustering across Mexico, a wooden leg in one stirrup, had performed his customary miracle of assembling a huge number of men and forging them into a respectable army. He had at his disposal, of course, a reliable cadre of young, able and dedicated officers like Benito Garza, none better in all the armies of the world, and on them he relied to stiffen the ranks. He was also supported by a fierce patriotism which invariably rallied whenever Spanish, or French, or especially American enemies threatened. But most important, he still retained that tremendous charisma which designated him a true romantic hero and which bound men like Garza to him with unbreakable bonds.

Santa Anna in the saddle again! A thrill ran through the nation. Santa Anna was in command of the army again! Men marched with more vigor, lancers rode with more elan. Santa Anna was heading back to avenge his unlucky defeat at San Jacinto, to repeat his earlier triumphs at the Alamo and Goliad. Tejas would be regained. New Mexico and California would be saved. As the sun set almost every man in the mexicano army believed that on the morrow Santa Anna would celebrate his birthday with another stupendous victory.

He almost did. In fact, he should have, not on the twenty-

second, which was more or less a stalemate, with the Americans suffering major casualties and a loss of valuable position, but on the twenty-third, when the three-to-one Mexican superiority in numbers and mobility began to tell.

About midmorning the attack along the foothills of the eastern mountains, the attack which Garner and his men had known to be inevitable, began, with a furious charge by several companies of elite lancers supported by rapid-firing dragoons. Ashen-faced, General Taylor observed: 'They're turning our left flank!' Perceiving that if they did, the superb Mexican cavalry would chop up his rear echelons and throw the entire American army into rout, he called for all available men to stanch the blood being let by the lancers, and under his stalwart leadership, a few cavalry and many foot soldiers assembled to halt the surging Mexican horsemen.

Old Rough-and-Ready may have been slow-witted, but he was no fool. Never first-rate in overall strategy, when engaged in a specific battle, he knew where to throw his strength at critical moments, and now he dug in, a stubborn man fighting his last encounter.

With appalling power and skill the Mexicans hammered at his left flank, but like a wounded bear Taylor growled and gathered power and fought back. At the critical moment, when the battle seemed lost, he called upon a Mississippi gentleman whom he had once despised to save the day. Twelve years before, Colonel Jefferson Davis, then age twenty-seven, had eloped with Taylor's daughter Sarah, an act that still rankled the general. But now Taylor had to swallow his pride and call upon Davis and his Mississippi Rifles to held off Santa Anna's rampaging cavalry, and with support from the Texas Rangers, Davis led his troops in a gallant charge.

The Rangers were led by Persifer Cobb, braver almost than they, who relished the chance to gallop his horse right at the Mexican lancers and test his skill against theirs. Cobb was supported, he was relieved to note, by Garner and Komax on his left and Otto Macnab on his right, the latter firing his pistols like a little arsenal. Together they simply rode down the Mexicans, who had smaller steeds and inferior firepower.

'Watch the lances!' Cobb shouted as he knocked down a lancer about to pierce Macnab, who raised his Colts in a salute as he roared past in pursuit of his own targets.

When General Taylor saw that the day had been saved, he had the grace to say to his son-in-law: 'Colonel Davis, my daughter was a better judge of men than I was.' But none of the Americans believed this battle to have been a victory, not by any means. Losses were great. Valuable positions had once more been wrested

away by superior Mexican numbers and performance. Indeed, as night fell General Taylor had to consider the likelihood that on the morrow he was doomed to suffer a crushing defeat, and with this mournful prospect staring at him, he assembled his officers.

'Can we hold them if they make a dawn attack?' he asked.

'Our men and horses are exhausted.'

'But can they make one last effort?'

'They can always make an effort. But . . .'

Throughout the night the discussions continued, and at one o'clock or thereabouts Taylor suggested that his best Texas scouts be sent out to bring news of exactly when the Mexicans would begin their major attack. Lieutenant Colonel Cobb thought the general had tears in his eyes as he said: 'Give us what help you can, Persifer. I knew your uncle Leander. Good man. Good man with horses, that one.'

Despite Captain Garner's urgent suggestion that Cobb remain safe with General Taylor, the South Carolinian insisted upon sharing the scout with his Texans, and they went alarmingly deep into enemy territory. Two o'clock, and only sporadic signs of enemy action. Three o'clock, and still darkest winter night, with Mexican troops huddling to keep warm. Four o'clock, and only that ominous silence. Five o'clock, and just a faint show of light from a campfire visible here and there.

At six, when dawn would betray their presence, the Rangers were in maximum danger, and Cobb, aware of this, cautioned additional care, but Panther Komax ignored his warnings, rose boldly in his saddle, stared ahead in disbelief, and shouted: 'Jesus Christ!'

When the others rode up, several of them repeated Panther's cry: 'Jesus Christ!'

On the evening after the great battle at Buena Vista, when the Mexicans had stood within six inches or six minutes of an astounding victory, General Santa Anna had convened a meeting of his officers, and such is the strangeness of battle that approximately identical questions were being asked.

'Can we crush them in the morning?' the one-legged Napoleon asked.

'Our lancers, all our cavalry, they did what they could this afternoon.'

'Can they repeat?'

Silence. No one dared tell the dictator of Mexico, the commander in chief, the Benemerito de la Patria, El Supremo, that something was impossible, but it was clear even to him that the mex-

icano cavalry had shot its bolt. It had been a gallant bolt, one of the best, but it was finished.

'The infantry?'

More silence. No other infantry in the world suffered the disadvantages that were the common lot of the peasants who formed the bulk of any Santa Anna army. Conscripted at gunpoint, they marched barefoot, clad only in thin cotton shirts even in the dead of winter—like now. And they bled and shivered and died of dysentery, for their army provided no field hospitals to accompany them and no medicines to soften the dreadful fevers they contracted. Despite these deprivations and the lack of food, they were obedient and brave, and when they started running at an enemy line they usually breached it. Such soldiers had defeated Spaniards, Frenchmen, Americans and other Mexicans, and if ordered on the morrow to attack the weakened American lines, they would do so, until their bodies piled higher than a small tree.

But their officers stood silent, for they knew that because of supply problems, those faithful soldiers shivering in the wintry blast had eaten nothing for nearly thirty hours. They would obey orders and start toward the norteamericano lines tomorrow, that was certain, but they might well collapse before they got there, and not necessarily from enemy gunfire.

To the surprise of everyone in his tent, Santa Anna changed the course of his discussion and said most abruptly: 'We had a great victory today, did we not?'

'Yes, General.'

'And we overran six or seven headquarters positions, did we not?'

'We did.'

'Did we capture many enemy flags?'

'We did. Cortes alone has seven. I saw them.'

'Let Cortes speak for himself.' The gallant lancer was sent for, and Santa Anna asked: 'Did you capture enemy flags?'