Soldiers of Conquest (16 page)

Grant fixed on the hate filled eyes of the captain and read them as clearly as shouted words. The captain had but one goal, to kill this officer of the enemy and the cost wasn't considered.

Grant brought his right hand pistol up and sighted down the black iron barrel at the Lancer captain's chest. He fired. The pistol bucked in his hand and flame and smoke chased an invisible bullet that struck the man exactly at Grant's point of aim.

The captain flung both arms wide. An expression of great surprise swept his face. Still holding a grip on his pistol, he fell backward from the saddle, and rolled and tumbled on the ground.

Mounted Mexicans and horses with empty saddles crashed into the American lines. Men were bowled over by the horses, stomped upon by iron shod hooves, kicked. The Mexicans attacked with their long lances. Hodding's men fought back with bayonets. Chilton's men swung their sabers. Grant's men reversed their empty muskets and swung them as clubs.

On both sides of Grant the hand-to-hand fighting was savage, with fierce shouts, and thud of blows striking, and cries of pain. He barely heard the sound for his breath was whistling through his teeth as he dueled with a Mexican trooper trying to impale him on the iron point of his lance. Grant had shot a man with his second pistol and now fought with his saber. Sidestepping a powerful thrust by his foe, Grant swung the saber and struck the iron point with a clang of metal on metal and deflected it away. He immediately jumped forward and stabbed out and up at the man. The saber blade slid past the high pommel of the Mexican's saddle and plunged into his stomach. The man's face contorted with sudden pain and he sagged over the blade.

Grant ripped his saber free and whirled to look for another enemy. He found none. The courage of the Lancers had broken. By the twos and threes and then larger groups, they were pulling back from the Americans. As if on some signal that Grant couldn't hear, the remaining Lancers whirled their mounts and spurred away. Those who had had their horses shot from under them ran off on foot, most hobbling or limping

“Reload! Reload!” Grant gave a stentorian shout that swept over the Americans and snapped them into action.

On both sides of Grant, the men worked swiftly biting off the ends of the paper cartridges, pouring the powder down barrels and inserting the lead balls and seating them with the ramrod jerked from under the barrel of the muskets.

“Get set to fire,” Grant called.

Grant watched the Mexicans as he reloaded his pistols. They had reined their mounts to a halt some two hundred yards distant and were bunched and talking and gesturing as they decided what to do next. He estimated that half their original number still sat their saddles. A few gathered around one man and looked expectantly at the others to see what action they would take. No others joined this group. One man wheeled his horse and rode away. A half score followed, and then every one of the mounted men, carrying behind them those who had been unhorsed in the charge, streamed away across the meadow.

Hodding let out a great triumphant yell that was quickly joined by Chilton and all the men. They had broken the will of the Mexicans to fight and they were running, leaving many of their comrades dead and wounded on the battlefield. The two lieutenants laughed at each other knowing they had fought bravely hand to hand with death up close.

Grant saw both had an expression of pride upon their faces. They had just received a lesson in what it took to be an army officer. He called out to them. “The wounded need tending and then got to the hospital as fast as we can. Assign men to do that, and others to gather up the Mexicans' horses and arms.”

The laughter ceased and the men began to look for friends, to see if they too had won safely through the hail of bullets and thrusts of lances.

“You've been hit,” Grant said to Chilton.

Chilton touched the side of his face where blood ran from a long wound on the cheek. He looked at the blood on his fingers. “Yeah, I know. Burns like hell. That Mexican almost got me with his lance.”

Grant faced his own men. “Hackett get out the medical supplies and pass it around. O'Doyle, take some men and empty five wagons by shifting cargo so the wounded and the dead can ride. We're rolling soon as everybody's bandaged up.”

“What about their wounded?” Chilton asked as he stared at the Mexicans lying on the green grass, many dead, others alive but wounded and bleeding and groaning.

“Their comrades will come back for them soon as we're gone.”

“A man in death looks damn lonely,” Chilton said as he stared around at the crumpled, motionless forms on the ground.

“Yes,” Grant said. “It's best not to be one of them.”

He insured the thirteen wounded were as comfortable as they could be made in the wagons, and the four dead had been loaded, and then left to examine the Lancer captain he had shot. As he passed through the fallen Lancers, he looked down at their brown faces and black eyes, some blank and staring in death and others filled with pain and fearing the Americans would kill them. Three of these dead were by his hand, and he would spill more blood before Mexico was conquered and the war ended. He was a soldier and must not feel regret at his past deeds nor of the future ones to come, for he fought men who had an equal chance to kill him.

He came to the Lancer captain lying crumpled on the grass, his chest bloody and eyes wide and unseeing.

“You were a brave one,” Grant said to the unhearing officer.

The captain's horse, a magnificent black animal, approached timidly. Its ears were thrust forward and gold-flecked brown eyes warily watched Grant. It wanted to be with its master regardless of the strange man standing over him.

Grant picked up the captain's pair of pistols heavily inlaid with silver. They were .45-caliber cap and ball pistols with octagon barrels. He hefted them and found they were excellently balanced, better than the pair he owned. Examining them closely he saw the name Morales engraved in the silver of the butts. Was this young officer the son of General Morales who had been commander of Veracruz? He unfastened the cartridge box from the man's belt. Carrying the pistols and box, he approached the captain's long legged mount.

The animal began to back away. “Steady, old fellow,” Grant said in a soft voice. “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm thinking you and I should get acquainted. I need a mount and you need someone to look after you.”

The horse stopped, trained not to desert its master. It trembled as Grant's strange hand touched its neck. “Horses have always liked me. You will too.”

The bridle and saddle, like the pistols, were resplendent with silver inlays. Here too he found the name Morales. “You look fine with all that silver, but I've got to take it all off. If I don't everything will be stolen some dark night.”

“Lieutenant, he's got gold on him.”

Grant saw one of Hodding's men squatting beside the officer and holding up a leather pouch heavy with coins. “Soldier, put that back. A dead enemy's weapons and mount are property of war and fair game for a victor. What's in his pockets isn't. That belongs to his family.”

“Sir, how do I get it to them,” asked the private. The expression on his face spoke clearly that he didn't agree with the difference Grant was making between taking the pistols and horse and taking the coins.

Grant looked about and saw other men were waiting his answer before they too began to search the dead. He turned back to the captain's horse without answering. Let the men take what they wanted for hadn't they won it by their blood? As for him he had drawn a line between horse and pistols and what he considered personal to the man. But was he right, or was he too just a thief scavenging the dead?

*

Lee wound his path through the people on the boulevard fronting the sea. Evening shadows were growing, still the streets were crowded with Mexican citizens and American soldiers and all going about the business of buying and selling and the search for pleasure. The fears of the citizens to be out and about in the occupied city had vanished quickly upon Scott's swift execution of the American Issac Kirk who had raped a woman of the city.

Scott had a gallows built in the public square, borrowed the city's public executioner, and with Justus Bustamente, Alcalde of Veracruz, the townsfolk, and all off duty soldiers present, Kirk was hung for all to witness. The executioner, a tall, gaunt man in dark pants and shirt and tall leather boots and a black mask, alone was sufficient to put fear into a man.

Lee came upon a score of Mexican hucksters bawling out their goods at the tops of their voices. One vendor was selling fresh oysters and Lee wished Connally had been here so that he could buy some for the mess. He walked on passing the camp followers selling zinc coffins and the embalmer. The two men bragged about their wares and promised they would bring you back from the place where you caught the bullet to your home and loved ones. Of course payment had to be made in advance. A few soldiers were inside and talking with the proprietors. A Mexican lad went by selling copies of the American Star. Within one day after the fall of Veracruz, the publisher of the newspaper, John Warland, Quartermaster Sergeant of the Ninth Infantry, had set up his printing press and put out his first edition. Lee bought a copy. The newspaper always quickly sold out for it was immensely popular with the soldiers wanting to know what was happening, be it only rumors.

Farther along the street in front of the row of buildings commandeered by the medical corps for hospital use, several wagons were drawn up. Three officers sat their mounts close by the wagons and watched hospital orderlies unload wounded men and place them upon stretchers and carry them inside for treatment by the surgeons.

Lee recognized Grant, Chilton and Hodding. He was aware that the men had been on a foraging expedition, and wanting to know their success, he lengthened his stride to draw nearer and speak with them. Before he could call out to the three, they galloped off along the street.

Lee arrived at army headquarters just behind Generals Twiggs and Patterson. He fell in silently behind the two and followed them past the armed guards stationed at the entrance and went into the building and along the wide hallway to Scott's office. The door stood open and Lee could see the big man at his desk, his ponderous brow creased with thought as he studied maps spread before him.

Scott, looking up and seeing the generals and Lee, called to them. “Gentlemen, come in.”

The three entered and after saluting took seats as directed by Scott beside the officers already there, Henry Scott, Army Secretary, Colonel Banks, Chief Of Artillery, Captain Huger, Chief Of Ordnance, and Colonel Harney, Chief Of Cavalry.

“Since we're all assembled, let's get down to business,” Scott said. He nodded to Henry Scott who had taken out a pad of paper and was prepared to record the meeting.

Lee was surprised at the absence of Worth, for never had an important matter, and obviously by the attendees this indeed was one, been discussed without his presence. Lee knew Scott and Worth were long time friends, and that Scott had been instrumental in getting the man promoted to major general.

“As you are all aware we've received reinforcements and provisions today, a brigade of 1300 volunteers, our long awaited siege guns, and 1200 horses and mules. We require another 13,500 men to reach our full complement of 25,000 men. We're still short of wagons and draft and pack animals. Further we have more than a thousand men in the hospital, with forty of them down with yellow fever. The chief surgeon estimates that one in ten of our sick will die.”

Scott swept the men with a penetrating look, telling them to pay attention for he was going to say something important. “Time has run out for us. We must make a thoughtful and deliberate choice between waiting here in the lowlands for more reinforcements to arrive, with our men dying all the while, or striking out for Mexico City with the force of men and arms that we have on hand. Should we march inland it would be impossible to keep the road open behind us for all the two hundred and sixty miles to Mexico City. So we'd be cutting ourselves off from our supply depot here in Veracruz and must live totally off the land.”

Lee listened intently. Over the past weeks he had grown to understand Scott and knew the man had already made his decision of which alternative would be chosen. The reality of the matter was plain, to stand still meant the ruin of the American army, and Scott was a realist of the first order.

Scott continued to speak. “What we must do is as clear as day to me. We will cut ourselves off from the coast and march our men into the mountains. Our first objective is Jalapa seventy miles distant on the inland plateau. At an elevation of 4,000 feet it's above the vomito zone. I have information that Santa-Anna is there with an army of 20,000 men.”

Scott focused on Twiggs. “General, reinforce your division with the volunteers that have just arrived. Have it ready to march, infantry, cavalry, and field artillery at first light day after tomorrow. Add the heavy siege guns we've just received to your artillery.”

He spoke to Patterson. “General, be ready in all aspects to march with your division and the Marines the navy has loaned us the following morning. Stay close behind General Twiggs at all times and when he meets resistance from Santa-Anna, you must quickly move your men forward to support him. This should occur at some strong defensive position below Jalapa for Santa-Anna will want to hold us in the vomito zone.

“Now as to your duties,” Scott said to Banks, Harney, and Huger. ”Your task is to assist the generals in every possible way to be fully equipped and ready to move by the time stated.”

Scott spoke to Lee. “Captain, send Beauregard and four other engineers with General Twiggs. They will do his reconnoitering.

Scott turned back to Twiggs and Patterson. “We are short of wagons and draft animals so you'll have only five hundred. Divide the wagons as you see fit among your commissary, ordnance, and medical supplies. Your men will carry their weapons and sixty rounds of ammunition and rations of hard bread and cooked beef for three days, and hard bread alone for another three. After those rations are used up, you must live off the land. Drive your quartermasters hard to find what you need to survive.”