Lone Star Nation (52 page)

José de la Peña judged the dismay of the Mexican soldiers to be the work of their own officers as much as that of the Texans. The Texans didn't succeed in destroying all the crops and livestock of the district they abandoned. “There was a great abundance of pigs and chickens,” de la Peña wrote regarding the vicinity of Gonzales. But through mismanagement, corruption, or simply the arrogance of the ruling class, the officers withheld the best for themselves and let the rank and file suffer. “At the Colorado the soldier's half-rations of corn tortilla terminated, and his total diet was reduced to one pound of meat and a half-ration of beans.” Hunger makes everything harder, and it made the Mexican soldiers, confronting the privations of an army long in the field, utterly miserable. “Think of the soldier so poorly fed, clothed and shod even worse, sleeping always in the open, crossing rivers and swamps, exposed to hours of burning sun, at other times to heavy downpours, and even during hours of rest having to protect his firearms from the rain, as he had no protective covers for them, though the campaign required crossing wilderness.”

The hungry soldiers were told to guard bags of corn reserved for the senior officers. They did so without open complaint, but not without resentment that became manifest in their behavior. “When by accident a sack would tear, we have had the unpleasant experience of seeing the soldiers and the women who accompanied them gather around like chickens in order to pick up the last grain.” Absorbing insult after injury, the soldiers were charged for their rations even when they received none.

To de la Peña, the worst aspect of the war was its wanton destructiveness. The fleeing rebels put the torch to the products of the Texans' labor as they left; the Mexican soldiers and camp followers ravaged much of what the rebels didn't ruin. “I found one house still standing and others that had been burned, among which there were indications that one had been a large one and that another cotton gin had been lost during the fire,” de la Peña wrote after investigating a neighborhood recently abandoned by the rebels. “There was also a medium-sized barn full of cotton bales, many of which had apparently been used for a trench, all scattered along the bank of the river. . . . It was really sickening to see so many of these destroyed.” One resident woman, a Tejana who hadn't fled, told de la Peña that the cotton losses alone tallied more than ten million pesos. In a bitter tone she explained that the rebels had disseminated tales of terror that frightened even the law-abiding into leaving. Often the latter burned their property on the way out; when they didn't, the rebels lit the match.

The experience caused de la Peña—a professional soldier—to question the whole enterprise of the war. He conceded nothing to Santa Anna in love of Mexico or desire to defend it, but he thought the war disgraceful. “No one would disagree with me that provisions should have been made to prevent the war, or that, once begun in order to vindicate an injured nation, it should have been carried out in a less disastrous fashion.”

While de la Peña decried the destructiveness of the war, Houston and Santa Anna did their best to extend it. Destruction was an essential part of both generals' war means. Each embraced a strategy of scorching the earth, although for different reasons. Houston wanted to deprive Santa Anna of sustenance for his Army of Operations, which to be successful, Houston knew, had to become an army of occupation. Houston guessed that he could supply himself from the east, from his rear, longer than Santa Anna could supply himself from the west, from
his
rear. And by burning whatever his men or the refugees couldn't carry, Houston would prevent Santa Anna from living off the land. Santa Anna sought not to starve Houston but to terrorize the Texans into abandoning their rebellion. This strategy dictated the no-quarter policy on the battlefield; applied to the countryside at large, it called for laying waste to whatever the Texans had wrought for the good during the previous decade.

All this was obvious—often painfully so—to observers on both sides. What was not obvious was Houston's second strategy, a secret alternative designed to guarantee victory even if the Texans didn't win another battle, which appeared entirely possible. Not for nothing had Houston cultivated Andrew Jackson, and vice versa, all those years; not without cause, and consequence, had Houston huddled with America's foremost expansionist in Nashville en route to Texas; not without reason had Houston posed as an Indian agent on arrival and renewed his Indian acquaintanceships even while the siege tightened around the Alamo. When Houston spoke of falling back to the Sabine if necessary, he did so with confidence that help waited there in the form of U.S. troops. Old Hickory's impatience with border troubles that threatened American territory was a matter of historical record, as Florida-less Spain could have told anyone in Mexico (and probably did, now that Spain was speaking to Mexico again). Jackson's desire to add Texas to the Union was also a matter of record. Jackson claimed the Neches River, rather than the Sabine, as the southwestern border of the United States, and the fact that almost nothing in diplomacy or prior usage supported this claim revealed it as the ruse, or rationale, it almost certainly was. Very little imagination was required to envision a scenario in which Santa Anna chased Houston toward the Sabine and sent a flood of Texas refugees into Louisiana, creating chaos that would trigger a clash between Mexican and American forces. American soldiers would be killed on what the American president would assert to be American soil; an outraged Congress would declare war on Mexico; a conflict would ensue in which the United States would seize Texas and perhaps additional territory.

Major General Edmund Gaines was the commanding officer of the Western Department of the U.S. Army, with responsibility for the defense of Louisiana and the southwestern frontier of the United States. Perhaps Gaines had studied the career of Jackson; certainly he knew Jackson's reputation as the scourge of Spain and Britain. And Gaines was very much the man to make the most of whatever opportunities crossed his path. In the last week of March 1836, while Houston was retreating east, the American general informed War Secretary Lewis Cass of the measures he was taking to secure the border of Louisiana. He said he had checked his arsenals for adequate arms and ammunition, that he might carry out the duties assigned to him—“duties which derive great importance from the recent accounts of the sanguinary manner in which the Mexican forces seem disposed to carry on the war” currently raging across the border. So far he had kept aloof from the conflict, but perhaps not for much longer. “I take leave to suggest whether it may or may not become necessary,
in our own defense
, to speak to the contending belligerents in a language not to be misunderstood—a language requiring
force
and military supplies that shall be sufficient, if necessary, for the protection of our frontier.” Because the United States maintained correct relations with Mexico, communications from Washington to Gaines nearly always spoke in terms of defending the border against Indians, which was expressly allowed by treaty between the United States and Mexico. Gaines, writing in the other direction, included Indians in his threat assessment but more candidly mentioned Mexico. “Should I find any disposition on the part of the Mexicans or their red allies to menace our frontier,” he declared, “I cannot but deem it to be my duty not only to hold the troops of my command in readiness for action in defense of our frontier, but to anticipate their lawless movements, by crossing our supposed or imaginary national boundary.”

Gaines recommended raising a force substantially larger than Santa Anna's army. He said he had taken the liberty of applying to New Orleans to borrow that city's legionary brigade, which had answered in a way that signaled its leaders' understanding of what was required. “The officers of the legion, with the gallant general at their head, cordially responded that they would, whenever it might be deemed necessary, promptly repair to the frontier, delighted with the opportunity of carrying into effect the wishes of the President, under whose immediate command many of the officers had distinguished themselves in the defense of their city and state in the memorable triumphs of December 1814 and January 1815.” Gaines addressed this letter to Cass, as protocol required. But his intended audience was made obvious by his closing: “All which is submitted for the information of the President of the United States, with profound respect.”

Gaines and Houston weren't the only ones looking to Jackson. Samuel Carson was the Texas secretary of state; whether from conversations with Houston or on his own, he concluded that American intervention might be the salvation of the infant republic. “News—good news,” he reported to Texas president David Burnet in early April from East Texas. “I have just heard through a source . . . that a company or battalion of U.S. troops left Fort Jessup [on the American side of the Sabine] eight or ten days since, crossed the Sabine, and were marching toward the Neches. I believe it to be true.” In fact, it wasn't true yet. But even if premature, the report persuaded Carson that help was in sight. “Jackson will protect the neutral ground, and the beauty of it is, he claims to the Neches as neutral ground.”

General Gaines knew better than to expect explicit endorsement from Washington of his forward policy, but in the absence of contradictory orders, he proceeded with his planning. He relocated his headquarters to Natchitoches, to be closer to the front, and he filed reports to Washington that painted the threat to American territory—and to American standards of decency—in increasingly lurid colors. Portions of several Indian tribes had crossed over from Louisiana into Texas, he said. “When to this fact is added the reports daily received at this place, that the army of Mexico, commanded by the President, St. Anna, in person, is rapidly approaching in this direction, through the center of Texas; that his plan is to put to death all he finds in arms, and all who do not yield to his dictation; that as soon as he comes to the section of country occupied by the Indians in question, on the waters of the Trinidad, or Trinity, river, they will unite with him in his war of extermination; and that no boundary line, save such as that they find properly guarded with an efficient force, will be sufficient to arrest the career of these savages, I cannot but deem it my duty to prepare for action.”

In a circular letter to the governors of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee, Gaines went on to say that he had heard that a Mexican national named Manuel Flores had been traveling among the Indians of the borderlands, apparently at the behest of the Mexican government, urging the aborigines “to join them in the war of extermination now raging in Texas,” as Gaines described it. The general asked rhetorically “whether I am to sit still and suffer these movements to be so far matured as to place the white settlements on both sides of the line wholly within the power of these savages.” He concluded that he was not. This was why he was writing the governors: to request reinforcements, in particular mounted troops, the only kind that would “enable me to interpose an effectual check on the daily increasing danger.” Gaines went on to say that additional federal troops would take too long to reach the frontier; he didn't mention—but must have thought—that additional federal troops would require positive action from Washington, which wanted to stay at arm's length from whatever occurred on the border.

Sam Carson met Gaines at Natchitoches “and had with him a full and satisfactory conversation,” as the Texas secretary of state reported to President Burnet. Gaines had to be careful what he told Carson. “His position at present is a delicate one and requires at his hands the most cautious movements,” Carson said. Gaines's reticence kept Carson from predicting definitively how the general would act. “But one thing I think I may say, that should he be satisfied of the fact that the Mexicans have incited any Indians who are under the control of the United States to commit depredations on either side of the line, he will doubtless view it as a violation of the treaty. . . . Be assured that he will maintain the honor of his country and punish the aggressor, be him whom he may.” Speaking for himself, Carson said he believed the Mexicans did have some Caddos, Cherokees, and other tribesmen with them. “It is only necessary, then, to satisfy General Gaines of the facts, in which case be assured he will act with energy and efficiency.” The general was preparing to march to the Sabine. “The proofs will, I have no doubt, be abundant by the time he reaches the Sabine, in which case he will cross and move upon the aggressors.” Carson concluded this message to Burnet by saying: “I shall write General Houston and advise him fully upon this subject.”

Gaines in fact advanced to the Sabine, to await further developments and instructions. Among the latter was a message from Secretary Cass explaining President Jackson's position. “It is not the wish of the President to take advantage of the present circumstances, and thereby obtain possession of any portion of the Mexican territory,” Cass disclaimed. He then went on: “Still, however, the neutral duties, as well as the neutral rights, of the United States will justify the Government in taking all necessary measures to prevent a violation of their territory. Recent events induce the belief that the Mexican forces, as well as the inhabitants of Texas, must be in a high state of excitement.” Cass said that the government at Washington had reason to believe that the Mexicans were provoking the Indians against the Texans, as General Gaines had indicated. “It may, therefore, well be, as you anticipate, that these various contending parties may approach our frontiers, and that the lives and property of our citizens may be placed in jeopardy. Should this be the case”—and now came the words Gaines had been waiting for—“the President approves the suggestion you make, and you are authorized to take such position, on either side of the imaginary boundary line, as may be best for your defensive operations.” In what parsed as a constraint but, in the context of this authorization, served as permission, Jackson added, speaking through Cass: “You will, however, under no circumstances advance farther than old Fort Nacogdoches, which is within the limits of the United States, as claimed by this Government.”