Authors: James Donovan
Tags: #History / Military - General, #History / United States - 19th Century
On December 20, when Santa Anna learned of the defeat of General Cós at Béxar, he quickly moved to change his plans. The main portion of the army would now cross the Rio Grande at Guerrero, eighty miles upriver from Laredo—this route, he told his subordinates, would more likely guarantee a surprise attack on Béxar. Just a few days later, Ramírez y Sesma’s Vanguard Brigade reached the southern edge of Laredo to find Cós with his bedraggled column entering on the north side. They consolidated, and the Vanguard Brigade shared what they could with Cós’s men. Within a week Ramírez y Sesma set out for Guerrero, per His Excellency’s orders. Cós and his foot-weary
soldados,
still without their pay, proper food, or sufficient clothing, were ordered to march another two hundred torturous miles to Monclova, there to await the rest of the army.
S
OME OF THE UNITS OF THE
army moving north boasted experience during the civil wars of the previous half dozen years, but nearly half the soldiers were raw recruits—Indian peasants, vagabonds, prisoners, and the poor of the larger cities and towns—quickly conscripted with no experience and little desire to fight. That trait was shared by numerous veterans, at least in regard to this campaign. The thought of marching almost six hundred miles to Mexico’s distant northern frontier to fight
norteamericanos
who posed no direct threat to one’s village seemed an abstract cause. Most inhabitants of the sprawling nation still thought of themselves as Oaxacans, or Zacatecans, or Chihuahuans first, rather than Mexicans—the country was still too new, its towns and cities too far from each other, its politics too chaotic. In early December, Santa Anna had directed Ramírez y Sesma to “take advantage of the enthusiasm of the citizenry of the towns along your route by drafting those useful men familiar with firearms into the rank and file as auxiliary volunteers to enlarge the division.” The unfortunates thus impressed into service—unwilling conscripts were enlisted for ten years, volunteers for eight—were neither enthusiastic nor volunteers, further eroding the quality and morale of the Army of Operations.
The Mexican soldiers spent most of January 1836 in Saltillo familiarizing themselves with their weapons and learning rudimentary drills—there were, for example, seventy different bugle calls used as field commands. One of them, the
degüello
—“slit throat”—had been inherited from the Spanish, who had borrowed it from the Moors. It signaled “no quarter,” and would likely be sounded in earnest before long, since Santa Anna had issued instructions that the foreign rebels be treated as pirates:
The foreigners who wage war against the Mexican Nation have violated all laws and do not deserve any consideration, and for that reason, no quarter will be given them as the troops are to be notified at the proper time. They have audaciously declared a war of extermination to the Mexicans and should be treated in the same manner.
The Anglo colonists, and any other foreigners from the United States or anywhere else who attempted to assist them, would be summarily executed, as befitted such treasonous barbarians.
During their several weeks in Saltillo, the recruits were introduced to the basics of marching and formations, but little more: anything more complicated would normally take a unit months to master. The simple order to load and fire, for instance, required fifteen distinct commands to complete. This series of orders could be reduced to “rapid fire,” consisting of a few commands that would result in the soldiers firing at will, but whether their orders were truncated or drawn out, the first time many of these soldiers would ever fire their muskets would be when they confronted the enemy, a prospect that seemed not to bother the commander in chief.
The musket they carried was the India pattern Brown Bess, the standard-issue gun used by British line troops for almost a century—a smoothbore, muzzle-loading, .75-caliber flintlock that was reliable enough but showing its age. Its massive slug could do serious damage, but it generated a powerful kick, and its accuracy range was only seventy yards or so. And because Mexican gunpowder was often inferior—too much sulphur and charcoal—a double load was sometimes used, resulting in a larger powder flash in the pan near the face and eyes, and an even stronger recoil. Because of this, many soldiers fired their muskets from the waist, further reducing any accuracy. Its seventeen-inch bayonet was likely its most effective feature.
The basic army unit was the battalion, and each infantry battalion comprised eight companies of eighty men each, though most averaged half that number. The line units were the six
fusilero
(musketeer), or line, companies—the regular foot soldiers who did most of the fighting. The two other companies were considered the “preferred” units: the best of the line companies were placed in a single company of
granaderos
(grenadiers), veterans usually held in reserve, and the sharpshooters of the
cazador
(hunter) company were the light infantry, or skirmishers. The
cazadores
were better marksmen, and often carried the superior British Baker .61-caliber rifle, accurate up to three hundred yards and easier to load.
Infantrymen wore blue pigeon-tailed jackets with red trim and white crossbelts, and white or blue trousers, though some raw recruits sometimes wore simple white or blue cotton or linen outfits of trousers and a loose shirt. Many of these conscripts wore sandals. All wore a black shako—the stiff, cylindrical, high-crowned hat popular at the time—with a brass plate and small red plume.
The Mexican cavalry was in slightly better shape. Troopers carried short-barreled British Paget carbines and holster pistols, a saber in a waist-belt sling, and a formidable wooden lance—one and a half inches thick and nine feet long, with a red pennant near the end, below the metal point. They wore short red coats and blue cloth trousers, and their black leather crested helmets were decorated with brass plating and a high horsehair comb. Mexican lancers were skillful horsemen and feared opponents.
The artillery corps had suffered the worst during the revolutionary years. A severe shortage of funds and inadequate training for the branch’s thin ranks had left it in woeful shape—Santa Anna would head north with only twenty-one pieces of ordnance, the largest being two twelve-pounders, but most of them smaller cannon, scattered among his units.
The officers’ uniforms were, in a word, fancier—white or gray trousers; black riding boots; blue pigeon-tailed jackets with scarlet frontpieces, cuffs, and high collars, each embroidered with golden leaves of palm, olive, and laurel; golden epaulets; and a wide blue or green sash around the waist, all quite usual in that era of Napoleonic influence.
There were variations on these uniforms that distinguished the
permanentes
from the
activos,
this state unit from that one, and veterans from recruits, among other distinctions, but the overall effect was colorful and striking, especially against a background of desert tans, oranges, and scrub.
The lack of funds led to serious shortages in every area. The Army of Operations had neither surgeons nor adequate medical supplies. The hospital corps had been abolished in 1833, and interim measures to fix the problem had failed, so medical students and three hundred pesos’ worth of drugs obtained at Saltillo—and the occasional village quack impressed into aid—would have to suffice. The quartermaster corps had neither the equipment nor the money to properly equip and supply an army of six thousand. But the army would march north with what could be scrounged together.
Other deficiencies abounded. Because there was a scarcity of mules, hundreds of oxen would be used. They were slow and could only be driven for eight hours a day. The army’s train comprised more than two thousand carts. The two months’ rations ordered by the commander in chief included flour, corn, beans, rice, and lard, though the largest part of the soldiers’ diet would consist of the one hundred thousand pounds of maize hardtack that he had ordered his brother-in-law to have baked. That order would not be completely fulfilled, and eventually the soldiers’ daily ration would be cut in half. Officers were expected to provide for themselves out of their regular pay, with no extra campaign allowance, a move that caused much resentment.
Hostile Indians posed an even more significant problem. The army would be moving through territory controlled by the Apaches and Comanches, ferocious tribes that had been active lately. Furthermore, they as well as a handful of other Indian tribes had formed various confederations, an ominous development, since when the Indians were at peace with each other, frontier attacks on colonists increased. Though Santa Anna hoped to persuade them to side with the Mexicans against the
norteamericanos,
and the Texians expected and feared just such an alignment, the Indians refused to aid either side and continued to raid indiscriminately. The Army of Operations would be in great danger of harassment as it moved north.
Several other problems emerged. The road to Béxar manifested a lack of water and adequate pasture for the animals. Through the 150 miles north of the Rio Grande, the route crossed only two rivers dependable year-round for water, and much of the meager winter grass had been burned off by the rebels. Desertions, both by unwilling recruits desperate to leave before entering the emptiness of northern Coahuila and south Texas, and unpaid muleteers, who slipped away with or without their stock, threatened to reduce the effective troop strength by hundreds. The missing mule drivers would force inexperienced and untrained soldiers to take the reins and further slow the columns.
None of this seemed to faze Santa Anna, who showed no alarm and waved off complaints from his aides. There was no time to argue; everything would be taken care of, he maintained, for he personally attended to almost every detail. He issued a steady stream of orders intended to clear up any and all problems, though the specifics of many of these orders remained in question—“Whatever you find available there,” read one directive concerning food. Filisola was on the receiving end of many of these commands, but he was unable to comply with some of His Excellency’s demands. Many of the necessities—horses, hardtack, uniforms, blankets, and footwear, among them—simply could not be obtained. But orders to alleviate these shortages had been issued, and His Excellency remained confident of their execution.
Before leaving Saltillo, Santa Anna ordered a full-dress parade review of the troops. After witnessing the makeshift army he had attempted to whip into shape—or at least a semblance of such—march through the streets of Saltillo before cheering citizens, he waxed eloquent on its readiness. He reported to Secretary of War José María Tornel that he “had not in years seen in the Republic a more splendid body of troops”—they were well disciplined and equipped, he said, and unanimous in their enthusiasm. Whether he truly believed this, or wrote it to reassure Mexico City of the wisdom of his actions, is unclear, but several of his field officers felt quite differently. Among the various disconcerting issues: the men were owed back pay, were often hungry, and some lacked proper footwear—somewhat necessary for a six-hundred-mile march through desolate terrain.
To bolster enthusiasm for the distant war, Tornel established a Legion of Honor for all soldiers serving in the campaign. It would be Mexico’s highest military award, and no doubt the promise of glory and its rewards made up to some extent for the severe shortages and dangerous conditions of the difficult march they were about to undertake. Whether it compensated for the absence of clergy, which for some unexplained reason no one had thought to bring along, was another matter. A dying soldier would not have access to last rites of the Catholic Church, and the solace these rites provided.
A few days after the parade, despite the shortages and looming hardships, the Army of Operations was deemed ready to march north. Several on Santa Anna’s staff had advised him to move his men by ship to a Texas port, making troop transportation and resupply much easier, but the commander in chief had overruled them: he wished to make Béxar his base of operations—almost all its inhabitants were Mexican and would, he thought, provide more cooperation and badly needed provisions. Ignoring the importance of having a supply point on the coast flouted every principle of military art, but the fact was that Mexico had no navy to speak of, and certainly no troop ships, not to mention money to charter them.
His Excellency was convinced that the expedition could carry enough provisions for two months and live off the countryside thereafter—after all, it had been done before, when he had accompanied Arredondo’s army to Béxar twenty-three years earlier. Several of his commanders advised a southerly route into Texas, nearer the coast, perhaps to the formidable presidio at La Bahía (recently renamed Goliad), which could be used as a base of operations; then adequate supplies could be more easily routed by sea from the states of Tamaulipas and Nuevo León, and even from New Orleans. Santa Anna heard his aides out and continued with his plans: the army would march overland to Béxar.
T
WENTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD
José Enrique de la Peña also disapproved of the decision, though he was not privy to the general staff councils. A former naval lieutenant, he had switched service branches in 1827 and had subsequently received glowing reports from his superiors, including Santa Anna himself, which earned him a brevet promotion to lieutenant colonel. The native-born Mexican had recently been posted overseas as a member of a European diplomatic legation, but on the eve of departure he had changed his mind. Preparations were under way for an army to march north to chastise the upstart colonists there, to be led by His Excellency, and he wanted to be a part of it. He had admired the flamboyant general since fighting with him at Tampico, where the lieutenant had distinguished himself.
Despite his desire for martial glory, de la Peña was a romantic in every sense of the word. He was keenly aware of the beauty of the natural world: at one point during the march to Texas he would find himself in a field of lilies and poppies whose beauty was so overwhelming that he would ask the soldiers he was with to shoot him—“that I might be buried in this vast garden,” he wrote later. He was also madly in love with a young woman named Lucesita, a bewitching beauty who was capricious with her favors. Surely when he returned from this expedition draped with glory, she would yield to his love.