Soldiers of Conquest (8 page)

Grant climbed over the railing and led the way down one of the swaying ladders hanging along the hull and into the nearest bouncing boat. His men followed.

The coxswain of Grant's boat called out above the water noise of the sea. “You soldiers stay seated and stay low. Now hear me! Don't stand up for any Goddamn reason. You sailors, cast off forward. Push clear and man your oars. Pull on my calls.

“Pull! Pull!”

The coxswain threw the tiller over, the rudder bit water, and the boat pivoted away from the ship and plunged into the sea of waves. The soldiers hunkered low and gripped the gunwales with white knuckled hands. Grant glanced to the side and saw the other boat had shove clear of the ship. The die was cast.

Grant's boat fought one tall wave after another. When it sank to the bottoms of the troughs and water towered above on all sides, the shore and the other boats disappeared from view. At times the oarsmen on one side or the other missed a stroke as the sea fell away from under their oars, the boat would yaw and slide into the trough and take on water before the coxswain could swing the rudder and right it. By the time half the distance to the shore had been made good, water was sloshing back and forth over the bottom above the men's ankles. Still the sailors pulled their oars and the boat struggled on.

The bow of the boat grated on sand and the two forward oarsmen quickly shipped their oars and sprang into the surf. Wading water to their waists, they kept the boat from swinging sideways and broaching as they pulled its bow upon the beach.

“Out! Out! Before we're rolled.” The coxswain shouted at Grant.

“Abandon ship,” Grant shouted.

In a flurry of arms and legs, he and his men hastily jumped from the boat and waded to dry ground. Immediately he turned and helped push the boat back into deep water, and the sailors bent to the oars. The remaining boat swept ashore and disgorged its passengers to splash to the shore.

Grant shouted his men together and led them at a trot along the beach toward the nearest wreck wallowing in the surf. As he drew close the pain-filled screams of injured horses made the hair on the nape of his neck stand erect. One of those cries could be his mare's.

“You fifteen men stay with me to unload this ship,” Grant ordered and his hand moved indicating those men he meant. His mare was on this ship and he wanted to be here when she was found.

“Sergeant O'Doyle, take the rest of the men and get the horses off that next ship. Move fast! Make the sailors help you unload. Don't take no for an answer.”

Grant led his men and the sailors onto the groaning hulk of the old wooden ship and down into its creaking dark holds. He searched hurriedly among the horses, some on their feet, but most lying in tangled mounds on the rounded ship's side.

He came upon his horse and his breath caught at the awful sight. The mare was penned beneath two other horses. A crushed eye hung from a socket. Her right front leg was broken with the end of the splintered bone sticking out through the skin. She breathed feebly. Yet her good eye saw him, and she seemed to plead for his help.

He pulled his pistol and eared back the hammer. He blinked to clear his vision.

“Sorry, girl, there's nothing I can do for you,” he whispered to the faithful mare that had carried him hundreds of miles upon her back and never once let him down. With a stifled sob, he pointed the pistol at a spot between the mare's eyes and fired.

He reloaded and went among the horses and shot the ones with broken bodies. God! How horrible it was to shoot a lead ball into those beautiful animals.

He set the men to work at building a strong tripod using spare ship's spars, and then to hang a block and tackle from it, all the items being found in the ship's stores. Fighting to control the frightened horses, they began the long and laborious task of hoisting them one by one from the holds and setting them down upon the beach.

Early in the afternoon when the storm subsided, Lee came ashore on Collado Beach with Scott, Totten, Beauregard and McClellan in the Massachusett's gig. Behind them came three boats carrying Scott's army headquarters' paraphernalia; official papers, his personal possessions in two trunks, his weapons, and lastly three large tents to house everything. All the men were armed with pistols. The three junior officers also carried full knapsacks and rolled blankets across their shoulders for they wouldn't be going back aboard ship for days, and then only to get their private belongings.

As the officers moved up from the beach, Lee scanned the area occupied by the army that was about three hundred yards deep and stretching some half-mile along the shore. Hundreds of brush windbreaks had been built and on the lee side of them off duty men lounged upon their blankets. Lee identified the brigades by the colors of their standards stuck into the sand about each encampment. The sight of the men waiting for the order to move out into hostile ground caused his heart to pick up its tempo. The time had come when he would be put to the test. He felt the ebb of his life running strong and vital and looked forward to whatever assignments might be handed him.

Generals Worth, Patterson, and Twiggs had been waiting on the shore and now came to meet General Scott. They appeared grim, with their eyes red rimmed and clothing dust covered from spending the night out in the fierce windstorm. The three saluted Scott.

Scott returned the salutes. “What's our situation?” His manner was brusque as he glanced about at the enclave of soldiers.

“Our perimeter is well dug in and roving patrols are out in force,” Worth replied for all three generals since he was the senior one. “We'll have no surprises.”

“Very good,” Scott said to Worth. “I'll establish headquarters here in your section.” He motioned at the three boats with their bows up on the beach and the sailors holding them against the surf. “Assign some men to bring the headquarters' items ashore. Rig the tents there on that level ground above high tide?” Scott pointed at the location. “From here I can stay in contact with Commodore Conner and also with what is happening on the shore.”

“Certainly, general,” Worth said.

He called out to a lieutenant standing nearby self-conscious and listening. “Lieutenant Brodworth, take six men and get headquarters set up.”

“Yes, sir,” Brodworth replied.

“Now we should have a look at Veracruz and its walls,” Scott said. “We need horses, have any been brought ashore?” His words came swiftly.

Lee saw Scott look around as if expecting to see some of the animals. Lee had become aware of this characteristic of Scott, of asking a question with which he already knew the answer and didn't like the one he was about to receive.

“No, sir, not yet,” Worth said. “The sea has been too rough. But two of the ships that went aground last night had horses and men are working to unload them now.”

Scott's face registered disapproval. “I don't believe the sea is too rough for horses to swim. Send word to your quartermasters and cavalry commanders to drop them over the side to swim to shore. We need a company of cavalry on land and out on patrol.”

He pulled out his watch and checked its face. “So that we may have a better chance of reconnoitering without drawing fire, I've asked for a few cannon balls to be thrown into the city to divert their attention. We have about half an hour before that begins.”

*

Grant and his men saved ninety-seven horses and he considered that number a miracle considering the destruction that had occurred inside the ships. Seventy-five had been found dead or so badly injured that they had to be shot. The officers owning those horses would have to walk until Grant could go foraging and find them replacements, or a company of Lancers were fought and killed and their mounts taken. In a separate ship's hold they had found the saddles and bridles for the horses.

Grant cast an eye over the fleet of transport ships, their masts bare and sails furled, anchored in an area stretching for a mile along the coast. Among them were the thirty empty troopships that Scott had not allowed to return to the States. Should the Americans suffer defeat, the ships would be needed to evacuate the men from Mexico. The seventy remaining vessels carried the provisions, arms, and medical supplies for the fighting that would soon begin. The cavalrymen would bring their horses to shore, and the artillerymen their weapons. Grant and the other quartermasters, were responsible for unloading and transporting everything else, and establishing a central supply depot. A week or more would be required to accomplishing that Herculean task.

“Mount up,” Grant called out and yanked himself astride one of the horses. Once their hooves had stepped upon solid ground, the horses had mostly shaken off most of their ordeal aboard the wrecked ship.

His men had chosen mounts and now swung astride. The extra saddles and bridles had been divvied out amongst the men and were carried across the horses in front of them.

Grant led the company of men along the beach toward the landing site some half-mile distant. As he drew near, he saw General Scott talking to a score of officers that surrounded him. The general, towering above even the tallest man by half a head, was an impressive figure. Enlisted men were gathering about the general also, but keeping their distance from the officers.

Grant noted the boats being unloaded and tents being erected. Scott was establishing his headquarters on the shore and that meant he was here to stay. Now the preparations for the attack on Veracruz would progress swiftly and this pleased Grant. He must hurry his work so as not to be responsible for delaying the attack.

Grant held up his hand to halt his cavalcade of men and horses. “Dismount,” he ordered.

The men swung down and stood holding the reins of the animals as Scott and the other officers came to meet them.

Grant saluted the officers. “Lieutenant Grant, Quartermaster for Colonel Garland's brigade,” Grant said. It would be to Grant's benefit for these senior officers to know his name, especially General's Worth and Scott, both of whom would have to approve the recommendation for promotion that he intended to win.

Grant recognized Patterson and Twiggs the other two generals with Scott. He had become acquainted with Colonel Totten and his three engineers, Lee, Beauregard and McClellan while they had waited at Brazos Santiago for the transport ships to arrive and carry them to Veracruz. Lee had begun to earn a name for himself by the scouting he did for General Wool in the Mexican state of Chihuahua. Scott must prefer engineers as his staff officers for they made up the bulk of them.

“You're just in time for we need mounts,” Scott said. He looked past Grant to the horses. “Is this all you have?”

“Yes, sir. This is all that we could save from the wrecked ships. Some were dead and we had to shoot several others that were badly injured.”

“I don't see my horse here,” Scott said as he brushed past Grant to the animals. “I hope he wasn't one of those you shot.”

Scott's failure to acknowledge Grant didn't set well with him. Scott had been a general for more years than Grant had lived and perhaps because of that he couldn't see a lowly lieutenant of infantry. Grant would do something so heroic that Scott would have to take notice of him.

Grant shrugged. For now he won't let the general's attitude rile him. He moved away from the officers sorting through the horses and went up the beach a score of yards.

Grant heard Scott call out as he climbed astride a large gray horse. ”I'll temporarily borrow this one for today's ride. I hope the owner doesn't get mad that I used it without asking permission, but we have no time to waste to locate him.

“The rest of you who are accompanying me, mount your horse if it's here. If not, borrow one as I've done and let's get moving.”

A half minute later, Lee rode up to Grant and halted his horse. The quartermaster was well respected by his colonel and the officers of his brigade. His penchant for always finding his way into a battle was talked about among the officers, and so too was his bravery at Monterrey.

“Thanks, lieutenant, for saving my mare for I'm partial to her,” Lee said.

“You're welcome, captain, for I know how you feel,” Grant said.

”You were luckier than me for my mare was injured and I had to shoot her.”

*

“The siege line must be as close as possible to the city while still affording our men protection from the Mexican guns,” Scott told the officers riding horseback with him. “And strong enough to prevent even a large body of enemy soldiers from breaking through and reinforcing it.”

Scott was leading the group of three generals and four engineers along the narrow, sandy beach in the direction of Veracruz. The surf lapped noisily at the horses hooves on the right, and close on the left was chaparral made of thorny mimosa and prickly pear matted together in a tall, impassable barrier for long stretches.

Two miles from the city, Scott halted the group and looked at his watch. “About now,” he said expectantly.

As if in response to Scott's words, a cannon boomed. Lee looked quickly in the direction of the sound and saw a gray puff of gunpowder smoke rising from a gunboat sheltered behind Point Hornos and a mile closer to Veracruz.

“Ah, right on time,” Scott said with satisfaction. “The sailor boys will fire a round at the city every two minutes. That should keep the attention of the Mexicans away from us. Now let's go and choose the site for the siege line.”

He guided away from the beach through a break in the chaparral and into the broad expanse of sand dunes lying inland from the city. The men worked across the dunes, trying to stay within a mile of the city, but forced to take a winding course to avoid the chaparral thickets and low areas full of water. They frequently halted and lifted their field glasses to study the walls of the city. They came within sight of Vergara a small seacoast town on the distant side of Veracruz. Scott led his group to the tallest of the nearby sand hills and sent his horse in a difficult, scrambling climb to the summit.