Soldiers of Conquest (32 page)

Grant walked toward the front door. He passed Dominguez who stood leaning against a wall and breathing hard. The spy had fought like a man gone mad. Dominguez, a man that had forsaken his country, had fought other men who had forsaken theirs. A strange battle indeed.

Grant left the convent and went into the front yard. There he saw more of the San Patricios, perhaps fifty or so who had tried to escape by a side door, under heavy guard.

Glad the fighting was over, at least for now, Grant shoved his bloody saber into its scabbard. He looked to the north where Americans were chasing the Mexicans in a full rout toward Mexico City. The enemy should not be allowed to regroup. He crossed the Churubusco River, using the bridge this time, and hastened after the retreating foe.

As Lee and General Shields approached the road between Portales and Churubusco, a large Mexican force of cavalry and infantry came into sight moving south from the capital to reinforce their men at Churubusco and San Mateo Convent. The enemy officers saw the Americans and shouted orders and their troops began to swiftly take up a defensive position along the road.

“Get the artillery firing on them,” Shields called to Lee. He spun his mount and rode off calling orders to his regimental and company commanders to form ranks and prepare to fire.

Lee ran his horse to Lieutenant Reno commanding the Howitzer battery. “Reno, blast the head of the Mexican column with canister. Try to hit the officers.”

“Yes, sir,” Reno shouted back. He yelled at his gunners and they speedily spun their weapons. With practiced skill, the gunners loaded and fired. The exploding shells fell upon the lead element of the Mexicans and knocked several men and horses down and sending others fleeing.

Lee surveyed the land beyond the end of the Mexican line and then reined his horse back toward Shields sitting his mount and watching the battlefield. All along the American line, men were falling under heavy enemy fire.

“General, we can't outflank them because the ground's too boggy,” Lee yelled out above the roar of guns. “And we can't just stand here for their fire is too severe.”

“We dare not retreat,” Shields replied, his face strained and his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword. ”That leaves just one option.”

Shields spurred his horse along the rear of the men and crying out to their commanders, ”Forward! Forward! Every man forward! Give them the bayonet! The bayonet!”

The officers and the hundreds of infantrymen took up Shields's cry. “Bayonet! Bayonet!” The line advanced into the enemy musket and cannon fire. Lee felt a warm surge of pride at the courage of the men.

The Mexicans stood fast, and another volley blazed out at the Americans. Bullets flew true and more gaps appeared in the blue line. Still the men on their feet went forward into the face of the enemy guns.

“They're ready to break,” Lee shouted as he saw a weakening in the firing from the Mexican ranks.

“I see it,” Shields called back.

American officers with their men in the advancing ranks also saw the wavering of the Mexicans and they shouted out, “Now, boys! Now! Charge! Charge!”

A wild, shrill yell rose from the soldiers and they broke into a run at their foe. First to break was the Mexican cavalry and they spurred and lashed their horses back up the road toward Mexico City. The infantrymen were close behind running off in all directions, dropping their weapons so that they could flee faster.

Shield's men gained the road just as the defeated Mexicans from Churubusco came wildly up it closely pursued by Worth's regiments after capturing the convent and the bridge. The two forces joined together and chased after the Mexicans.

Worth halted the chase after two miles and ordered the officers to attend to their wounded, and to form up the remainder of their men for return to Churubusco.

Lee wasn't sure stopping the pursuit was the best thing for Mexico City might lay open to the Americans. Yet there was danger in rushing ahead, Santa-Anna still had thousands of men, and the strength of the fortifications defending the city was unknown. And the American army was scattered, and had many wounded to care for, and many soldiers had used up their ammunition.

The crisis that had faced the American army had ended after nearly four hours of the most savage fighting. Churubusco with its convent and entrenchments was the last stronghold of Mexico City's outer defenses and had been taken. Its guns and powerful fortifications had offered Santa-Anna a chance to break the American Army before they reached the city. He had failed. The American victory could not be credited to the senior generals for through lack of reconnoitering and coordinated action they had lost control of the battlefield for more than an hour. The junior officers and the veterans and raw recruits alike, by simply refusing to believe they could be beaten had saved the army from destruction.

Lee reined his horse's head and rode south before the infantrymen clogged the road. He was weary to the bone, his heady woozy and the world trying to spin. He had been on his feet for a day and a half without rest, had crossed the Pedregal three times, much of that in darkness and rain, had been in the fight at Contreras, Churubusco and now with Shields near Portales. It was time to report to Scott and then find his bed.

He passed Americans too exhausted to march sitting beside the road with their heads hanging down. Others more undone, lay prone on the ground. Wounded Americans by the score were limping and staggering south toward the hospital at San Augustin. Often an uninjured man was helping his wounded comrade to walk. And there were wounded Mexicans mad with pain and despair dragging themselves along with torn and mangled limbs toward Mexico City. The passing Americans gave them but a glance.

Lee in his deep weariness was little affected by the suffering of the wounded. A truth came to him, for a soldier to fully function, he must always be able to stand outside of himself and look dispassionately at the madness and carnage of battle.

Lee came up behind an American officer walking south in the direction of Churubusco. As Lee passed, the man looked up and Lee recognized the quartermaster Lieutenant Grant. The lieutenant was a nightmarish sight. His clothing was all wet and muddy, and his sword hand and lower arm were covered with blood and splotches of blood were scattered across his breast and some on his face, as if an artery had spewed out its red liquid onto him. Through this frightful mask, his blue eyes regarded Lee with a weary, but calm expression.

“Are your all right?” Lee asked, concerned that part of the blood was from a wound on Grant.

“Just dog tired,” Grant replied.

“I know the feeling,” Lee said. From the appearance of Grant, he was one of the young officers, one of the brave warriors that had driven the Mexicans in hand-to-hand fighting from their fortifications at Churubusco, and had the blood of his dead foes upon him to show what he had done. Lee had gathered information that resulted in the deaths of the enemy, carried orders for his comrades to fight, and had aimed cannon that killed men. However he had not yet stood eyeball-to-eyeball with an individual foe and fought him to the death with hand weapons. He thought that was when a man knew whether or not he had true courage.

Lee sent his horse ahead. At the crossroads near the convent, he turned right and rode to Coyoacan. There he made his report to Scott.

When Lee finished, Scott spoke, “You are released from duty, major, go and rest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

In a stupor of fatigue, Lee didn't feel up to riding to San Augustin. He slept like a dead man in all his clothes in a bed in a deserted house in Coyoacan. Around him many other weary officers and soldiers found shelter instead of traveling to their camps. He didn't hear the sentry's challenges during the night, or the snorts and tromps of his horse tied just outside his open window.

*

In the growing evening dusk, Grant passed through Churubusco and down the Acapulco Road. On the causeway opposite the cornfield, he encountered a long line of ambulance wagons drawn up. Medical orderlies were going empty handed into the field, with others returning carrying bodies. Pain filled moans and groans came from bullet torn bodies lying in the beds of the vehicles. Grant walked on.

Night caught him as he entered San Augustin. By candlelight in his tent, he soaked in a tub of water and washed the blood and grime from his tired body. He gave little thought to the men he had slain. He recognized that he had changed as the months of war passed, and was changing still, becoming a hardened warrior who was ever more unmoved by the deaths and destruction around him. What would all this mean for the future? He guided his mind away from those dark thoughts. He climbed from the tub, dried himself, and fell naked upon his bed and went to sleep.

*

Lee left his tent, saddled his horse and rode off to report to Scott. This was the second day after the battle of Churubusco. The 138 Americans slain at Contreras and Churubusco had been sewed into their blankets, placed in wooden coffins and, to the sound of drums and the chaplain saying prayers over the dead, buried in shallow graves in a meadow just outside San Augustin. The 865 wounded men were receiving treatment in commandeered houses in the town.

The American losses were staggering and Lee worried at what such a weakening of the army meant for there were more battles yet to be fought to capture the capital.

Fortunately Santa-Anna's forces also had heavy losses. The estimate of killed and wounded were more than 4,000. The number of captured enemy was more precise, 2,645 with many officers, eight of them generals. Eight-five of the San Patricio Battalion had been captured, along with their commander Colonel Francisco Moreno.

Unfortunately about 200 of the deserters had escaped. Scott had directed court-martial boards be convened to hear the desertion charges against the captured San Patricios.

*

With a troop of Dragoons out front, General Scott and his staff officers, and accompanied by Trist, left San Augustin and struck out to the north along the Acapulco Road. A caravan of wagons loaded with headquarters paraphernalia and Scott's personal possessions followed.

A mile past Churubusco, a handsomely polished carriage drawn by a pair of fast stepping trotters came in sight on the road ahead of Scott and his entourage. The vehicle carried two military men, a general and a young lieutenant. The lieutenant drove. A large white flag on a tall staff was attached to the vehicle.

“Mexican officers,” said Hitchcock.

“Yes indeed,” Scott said. “I was expecting to see them after Mackintosh's visit.” Edward Mackintosh of the British legation in Mexico City had come to San Augustin the preceding day to request safety for his consulate and the British citizens, and to intercede for Santa-Anna who wanted a meeting with Scott to discuss an armistice.

The captain of Dragoons, worried about Scott's safety, reined his mount up beside Scott. “General, should I halt them out aways until we know their intentions?”

“No, allow them to approach.”

The driver pulled his team to a stop so that the seat of the carriage was opposite Scott's horse. The Mexican general was dressed in full dress uniform. He was thin of body and thin of face. He ran his sight over Scott's epaulets, and then stepped down to the ground.

“You must be General Scott. I am General Ignacio Mora y Villamil.” He saluted smartly.

Scott returned the salute. He spoke to Trist. “Please interpret for us, if you would.“

Trist faced the Mexican. “Yes, this is General Scott. And I am Nicholas Trist, special envoy of President Polk.”

“I have heard of you, Mr. Trist.”

“What can we do for you, general?”

“I have letters from Francisco Pacheco, Minister of Foreign Relations and Charles Bankhead, the British Minister.” Villamil extracted two seal papers from a leather pouch on the seat beside him and handed them to Scott.

“Mr. Trist and I shall study them carefully,” Scott said, and shoved the papers into the front of his tunic.

“Is there anything else?” Scott asked.

“Yes, I have a verbal message from General Santa-Anna.” Villamil glanced at the other officers within hearing range, and evidenced obvious reluctance to speak in front of them.

“Yes,” Scott said and a slight smile played about his mouth at the Mexican's action.

Villamil gave the slightest of shrugs. “General Santa-Anna has directed me to inform you that he desires peace and hopes a treaty can be swiftly agreed upon.”

“Tell the general that I have the same hopes,” Scott said. “Should you have further need to find me, my headquarters will be at Tacubaya.”

“I shall relay your words.” Villamil stepped up into his carriage and spoke to the lieutenant. The man wheeled the carriage around in the road, tapped each of the horses once with his whip, and sent them trotting back toward Mexico City.

“Lead on, captain,” Scott said to the captain of Dragoons.

Lee was worried. A liar and trickster such as Santa-Anna had proved himself to be, could so easily take advantage of an honest man like Scott.

“Unacceptable! Totally unacceptable!” Scott's voice was harsh. He turned to Trist. “Nicholas, listen to this if you would. Pacheco proposes a year's truce to discuss ‘the preliminaries of peace'. The PRELIMINARIES of peace, do you hear that, and not peace.” Scott tossed the paper onto his desk.

“Perhaps so general, but consider what British Minister Bankhead has to say in his letter. I quote, ‘I have been warned by intelligent neutrals and some of your American residents against a precipitous attack upon the city. And my humble opinion is the same. A treaty would be more likely to occur while the Mexican government officials were in possession of their capital, rather than have them scattered and the capital in the hands of an invader. Should the officials be driven to other towns, then it may not be possible to assemble a quorum to deliberate and reach a treaty'.”